Chapter 31: The Strange Whistling of the Wind

Liang Qiu encountered a situation much like mine. Because he was facing forward, he only felt something soft behind him. When he glanced back, he saw a dark, shadowy presence. Fear struck him; he kicked at it, but the thing was yielding and pressed itself closer. At that moment, Liang Qiu was utterly at a loss, overwhelmed by the pressure of being underwater. He nearly lost his breath.

In his panic, Liang Qiu immediately swam toward me. As soon as he moved, the thing followed, clutching his legs and propelling him forward. So, with one pulling from the front and one pushing from behind, we were thrust out of the water tunnel together.

“Where are those two things now?” I asked.

Both shook their heads. Anna told us she nearly lost consciousness and hadn’t paid any attention to the creature. Liang Qiu’s answer was similar; his oxygen was almost depleted, and he hadn’t noticed anything.

Suddenly, Liang Qiu asked, “Brother Yun, do you think that thing could be a water monkey?”

“What’s a water monkey?” Anna was puzzled.

“It’s a water ghost,” Liang Qiu replied, adjusting his glasses. “I’ve read some legends, and it seems exactly like what we just encountered.”

I knew of the water monkey—a creature said to dwell in water, resembling an ape. In folklore, they are called water ghosts, water lion ghosts, water corpse ghosts, or fallen corpse ghosts, depending on the region. Usually, they live in water, occasionally coming ashore, often found in ponds, reservoirs, and wild water sources. Water monkeys are adept swimmers; out of water for ten minutes, they lose strength in their limbs. In the water, their strength far exceeds that of humans, making encounters dangerous. Legends say water monkeys possess mysterious, immense power underwater, burrowing through earth beneath rivers and ponds, dragging people into the depths, smearing mud over their orifices to suffocate them. Some tales claim they drink human blood, eat fingernails and eyeballs. In places with water, every child has heard warnings from their elders about water monkeys.

Anna listened, entranced, fear creeping back into her eyes. I hurried to reassure her, telling her these were only legends, not to let her mind run wild.

I suggested we rest for a while and not concern ourselves with what those creatures really were. After all, they hadn’t shown any malice; had they wished harm, they could have easily killed us then and there.

During our break, I swept my flashlight around the surroundings. I guessed this was likely an ancient water source area. In ancient times, the foundation of every Western kingdom was water; without it, survival was impossible. Where there was water, a nation would be established, and the larger the source, the greater the nation.

Thus, this ruin was probably once a country. Judging by the size of the water source, it must have been a small nation. Could it be that the ancient Li Kingdom founded a small state here in the Western regions?

The walls were adorned with carvings, almost identical to those I’d seen in the Li King’s tomb on Mount Dalong. Some depicted giant serpents, likely the legendary Candle Nine Shadows; others showed insects, probably the poisonous Gu. There were all sorts of strange beasts—Li Kingdom seemed like a veritable zoo, filled with unusual creatures. One mural showed an ape-like animal, strikingly similar to the one I had slain.

Suddenly, it struck me—could that creature be the water monkey? But legends claimed water monkeys die outside water, and the one I’d seen wasn’t in the water. I asked Liang Qiu and Anna if they’d gotten a clear look; neither could say if it resembled the mural.

Once rested, we gathered our gear and prepared to move forward. This seemed to be the entrance to the ruin. Many places had sand subsidence, suggesting that these structures were once above ground but were buried by wind and sand, becoming subterranean relics.

Due to the sand, we often had to detour, but eventually found a path into the ruins. Wind whistled through, creating a rhythm and melody—an ancient, sorrowful song that stirred a strange melancholy in the heart.

Anna began quietly reciting something. When I asked, she told me it was scripture.

Every brick and tile was ancient, and the style was distinctly Central Plains, utterly different from Western cultures. Liang Qiu was excited, regretting he’d brought no camera, resorting to pen and notebook. I searched with my flashlight, hoping for clues about the poisonous Gu. My purpose here was simple: to find any information related to it.

According to Li Ling, after its downfall, the Li Kingdom migrated here and vanished from the records. This should be the last vestige of Li culture.

I never understood why, according to history, the Li Kingdom—once a powerful vassal state—disappeared after the regime was overthrown. Their ties to Miao territory were strong, so why didn’t they move there? Every vassal state of the time was powerful; why not occupy the established lands instead of migrating deep into the Western desert?

History is shrouded in secrets, many of which we may never uncover. As I observed and searched, Anna and Liang Qiu diligently took notes, their fear gone, replaced by seriousness. Just then, I seemed to hear a faint voice in the wind—like a whisper at my ear.

I thought it was an auditory illusion, but Liang Qiu paused, saying he heard it too. Anna, however, heard nothing but the wind’s music.

The silence here was profound—only the wind, no other sounds. It made me uneasy; perhaps I was overthinking it, but being in such an underground ruin always brought a sense of oppression. Sometimes sand would fall from above, but the ceiling seemed solid, implying we were far below the surface, beneath a thick layer of sand. We’d descended for some time before reaching this level.

Judging by appearances, these ruins had been buried for millennia. I touched a stone block; this must have been a residence, not the simple stone houses of the West, but small courtyards rich in ancient Chinese architectural style. Entering one, I found the furnishings still intact beneath layers of thick sand.

I’d always felt something was off, and now I realized what it was: where had all the residents gone? Did they migrate? But in the vast desert, where could they have gone? Why did history leave no trace of them?

War? That couldn’t be it—war leaves bodies, and in the Western regions, conflict was common, mostly for resources. But where were the conquerors? I found almost no remains, and the buildings showed no signs of battle.

It was as if the city had been suddenly forgotten and its people vanished without a trace.

If only Li Ling were here, she would know more and understand the Li culture better. We pressed forward, and though it was said to be a small kingdom, upon entering it seemed anything but small. The streets were straight, the layout orderly; in ancient Western regions, this must have been an unusual place.

Following the road, we soon reached the center—a small palace, or rather, a large courtyard, two stories. I shone my flashlight; aside from sand covering, it was nearly undamaged, remarkably well-preserved.

Just then, Liang Qiu tugged at my sleeve. I frowned, thinking he was frightened again. Instead, he pointed and said, “Brother Yun, there was a light over there!”

I suspected he was imagining things—how could there be light in such darkness and silence? I replied, “Do you think anyone still lives here after thousands of years buried?”

Before I could finish, faint voices drifted to us—human voices, unmistakable, though barely audible and unclear. More than one voice. Liang Qiu and I froze, chills running down my spine. Was it possible someone still lived here after all these centuries? It seemed absurd.

“I don’t believe there are people; if there are, they must be ghosts.”

As soon as I said this, I wanted to slap myself—why bring up ghosts at a time like this? Liang Qiu immediately collapsed onto the ground, trembling, “No... no way... could there really be... ghosts?”