Chapter 7: Trapped in a Maze of Spirits

I had no idea how long I’d been walking—perhaps a long time, perhaps only a short while. All I knew was that this small river at the foot of the mountain seemed endless; no matter how far I went, I never reached its end.

As I walked, I suddenly stopped in my tracks. There, under a tree, was the empty wrapper of a compressed biscuit. My heart sank. I’d noticed, more than once, that I’d somehow circled back to where I started.

I’d wanted to test it again, and sure enough, I had walked a full circle and returned to my original spot. That biscuit wrapper was the marker I’d left on purpose.

But what unsettled me even more was that along the way, every scene I passed felt different—nothing repeated except for the point I had marked. I tried marking a new spot, and I was certain I never retraced my steps, yet I always ended up at the place I’d marked before.

It reminded me of a science fiction story I’d once read, about a looping or three-dimensional space. Every place you reach is different, and yet you always come back to the same spot—a dividing line, the point you inevitably encounter.

My mind was a tangled mess for a moment, but gradually, I calmed myself. This was precisely the time not to panic. Out here, I was alone. If I lost my head, I’d be hopelessly lost with no one to save me.

Thinking it through, I became more convinced of my theory—this place was just like when I first entered the mountain. The path itself subtly changed, shifting without me even noticing.

I’d always loved reading and listening to stories, so I knew about so-called “ghost walls”—those tales where people lose their sense of direction and wander in circles. I remembered Uncle Zhang, our neighbor when I was a child, once shared his own experience.

One night, when he was young, he drank a little then had to go to the neighboring village. He chose a shortcut—an unfrequented path that should have taken only a few minutes. Instead, he wandered nearly half an hour, always returning to the same spot.

He wondered if he’d run into one of those “ghost walls” the elders spoke of. So he stopped, lit a cigarette, and when he finished, he set off again—and quickly found his way out.

Of course, it’s all superstition. The so-called “ghost wall” is just the confusion people feel when walking at night or in the wilderness, losing their sense of direction and awareness, wandering in circles. When you try to explain the experience to others, they don’t understand, so it gets blamed on ghosts. In reality, it’s a state of muddled consciousness. Uncle Zhang cleared his mind with a cigarette, and naturally found the right path.

But I suspected this was an ancient formation—one of those mystical arrangements from history, like the Nine Palaces Eight Trigrams formation used by Zhuge Liang in the Three Kingdoms era, said to halt armies of hundreds of thousands. Maybe history exaggerated, but it proved such formations existed.

Yet what I faced now seemed even more advanced—a formation using the entire mountain, with trees, strange rocks, and rivers as its core points. Coupled with the bizarre things that had happened: the ghostly hand beneath the water, the giant black serpent like a dragon… It was clear the tomb my ancestors guarded was anything but ordinary.

Though I had a lead, I had no idea how to break the formation. I’d read plenty of books and heard countless stories, but had little practical experience.

Just as I was at a loss, a cold wind swept past, sending a chill down my spine. Before I could react, an overpowering stench hit me—the smell was all too familiar. It was the giant serpent!

I snapped to attention and found myself staring into lantern-sized eyes, the deep violet pupils streaked with brown. Instinctively I drew my short blade, but before I could move, its gaping maw opened wide, the stench so thick it nearly made me retch.

The serpent reared its head, then lunged toward me at lightning speed, clearly intent on swallowing me whole.

There was no time for hesitation—no human could fight such a beast. I dodged aside in a swallow’s tail motion, barely escaping. I thought my move must have looked pretty cool, but I had no time to dwell on it. I cursed under my breath—why wouldn’t this beast give up and leave me alone? How did it even track me here?

As I kept evading, my foot suddenly slipped—one of the rocks at the river’s edge sank into the water, and icy water instantly numbed my foot.

Of all times for this to happen—the ghostly hand appeared again. In a flash, I saw it clearly: it wasn’t the hand of a water ghost, nor a skeletal claw, but the paw of some animal, vaguely human-like, covered in backward-facing barbs. I had no time to study it more closely.

As the serpent lunged again, the ghost hand gripped me with far greater strength than before, yanking me straight into the river.

In an instant, my whole body went numb, as if my organs were frozen solid. I struggled desperately, trying to move, but the more I fought, the stiffer I became—as though my entire body were encased in ice.

At that moment, I could hardly care about the serpent anymore. I felt I’d freeze to death in minutes—no, maybe just one minute would do it.

And something still gripped my ankle—a monstrous hand, incredibly strong. In the freezing depths, I forced my eyes open and glimpsed the creature’s outline. It looked like a fish, but with limbs almost human, and something like a fish tail. Three words flashed through my mind: mermaid—no, this thing was nothing like the legends, more like a fish-man. Could it be one of those “merfolk” or “jiao people” from old stories? I’d only ever read about such things in books.

My thoughts were a confused jumble, but these ideas surfaced in an instant. Oddly, time seemed to drag on; my body was growing stiff, my mind cloudy. Was this how I would die?

Gradually, I stopped feeling cold, stopped struggling. I just felt so sleepy, so very tired, wanting only to let my mind go and drift into peaceful sleep.

I don't know how much time passed—maybe only a brief moment—when suddenly I felt warmth spreading through my body. Was it water? That couldn’t be. The river was bone-chilling. How could it be warm? Yet slowly, I realized my body was regaining sensation.

It was indeed water, but… it was warm, almost like a hot spring. The upper layer of the river was icy cold, but below, the water was warm. It defied all common sense.

Still, I had no strength to move, and the feeling of suffocation grew ever stronger. It seemed this respite was brief—soon, water flooded my nose, and I was overwhelmed with discomfort.

Surrounded by warmth, my body began to revive, though I was still weak—if anything, I felt even more like resting. Subconsciously, I relaxed, my mouth falling slightly open. In that moment, I genuinely longed for release.

Drip. Drip.

I have no idea how much time passed before I slowly opened my eyes, just a sliver. I sensed at once that the air was damp, as if I were in a cave.

But I was still utterly exhausted, as though recovering from a grave illness. I shut my eyes again and drifted off. Who knows how long I slept before gradually opening my eyes once more.

I sensed nothing nearby, so I began moving my limbs slowly. After some time, I managed to sit up halfway. It was very dark. I felt in my pocket for my small backup flashlight. Though tiny, it was bright and, thankfully, waterproof and still working.

Switching it on, I looked around. It was more like an underground chamber, with a river flowing behind me—a subterranean stream. I must be underground, and the cave itself was a pitch-black natural tunnel. I could tell because there was no trace of human excavation.

Then I realized something was off. Where was the ghostly hand at my ankle? Where was that fish-man creature? And the giant serpent?

I fell into deep thought, trying to recall—how long had I been here? Who brought me? Did the water carry me, or was it that fish-man?

It was probably the fish-man. I vaguely recalled, as I lost consciousness, that something was pulling at my ankle. But why had it brought me here?

Shaking my head, I decided not to dwell on it. My body was still exhausted, my chest tight. I shone my flashlight around and discovered my backpack was gone. All that remained was the black-gold short blade at my waist, this little flashlight, and a waterproof lighter—still usable. My half pack of cigarettes was soaked and useless.

I had no other supplies. Now I was truly in trouble—no provisions, and even without considering the unknown dangers here, I might not survive long on my own.

After a while, feeling I could move my limbs, I slowly stood up, stretching and breathing deeply, trying to wake my body. Gradually, my stomach began to stir—a sign that wasn’t necessarily good. I was hungry.

After surveying my surroundings, I turned my gaze to the underground river. Perhaps, I thought, my only hope was with the river.