Chapter 2: Liang Ye

Haichao was startled awake by thunder.

Opening her eyes with a start, she found herself in the middle of a mountain forest.

It seemed to be dusk. Low thunder rolled across the horizon, occasionally startling flocks of evening crows into flight.

The wind howled through the trees like a chorus of ghosts. Something seemed to lurk and stir in the dark depths of the forest slopes, waiting for night to fall completely before rushing out to devour its prey.

Before her lay a long flight of stone steps leading up the mountainside, shrouded by trees. Through the dense foliage, she could faintly discern the glow of lamplight.

At the base of the steps stood two carved wooden pillars. They looked quite ancient; their colorful paint was peeling, and their stone bases were partially rotted.

Atop each pillar was a carved wooden bird. They were not the usual phoenixes or golden pheasants, but two small, nondescript birds. Though their paint had peeled away, each held a gleaming, iridescent pearl in its beak, looking from afar like two lit lamps.

Was she dreaming?

Haichao pinched her arm hard, hissing in pain.

It didn't feel like a dream.

Had she died? Was this the Gate of the Underworld?

She felt her waist. Fortunately, her pearl-diving knife was still there.

Just then, the deep, resonant toll of a bronze bell echoed from the top of the steps. It sounded like a temple bell, yet differed from any Haichao had heard before; its ring carried an older, more secretive power.

Instinct told her that once darkness enveloped the mountains, only that place would be safe.

She began to climb. Raindrops as large as beans pelted down, quickly merging into a dense curtain of rain.

There were at least a hundred stone steps, but the branches of the trees on either side arched overhead like a canopy, sheltering Haichao from most of the downpour as she climbed.

At the top stood a mountain gate. Passing through it, she climbed dozens more steps until a grotto temple, carved directly into the cliff face, appeared before her.

A stone stele stood before the entrance, carved with two characters. They looked less like writing and more like drawings—wavy, twisted, and indescribably strange. Haichao had never seen such script before.

As she pondered this, a man's thoughtful voice sounded behind her. "This is bird seal script..."

Turning around, Haichao saw a man in his early twenties wearing a nomadic hat and colorful brocade robes that made him look like a golden pheasant.

He had red lips, white teeth, and handsome features, though for some reason he did not look particularly bright. In the words of the elders in her village, he possessed a sort of "silly beauty."

The man smiled at her, flashing a row of neat white teeth, which only added to his simple look. "Apologies, I've fallen into my habit of talking to myself again... I am Cheng Hanlin—Han as in brush, Lin as in Qilin. A native of Luoyang. Might you be a local, miss?"

Haichao shook her head. "I came from outside as well. What is bird seal script?"

"Bird seal script is a variant script that flourished in the southern states during the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods," Cheng Hanlin explained. "It is generally only found in bronze inscriptions..."

"What do these two characters say?" Haichao asked. "Do you recognize them?"

"Very little bird seal script has survived, and I only know a bit of it..." Cheng Hanlin peered closely at the stone. "These characters seem to be... Xi... Zhou."

"What does that mean?"

Cheng Hanlin shook his head. "It is quite baffling. Among the fifteen circuits and three hundred and fifty-eight prefectures of the empire, there is indeed a Xizhou—the former Gaochang in the Western Regions. But the vegetation here is clearly southern; they have absolutely nothing to do with each other. Furthermore, this 'zhou' character has the water radical, meaning an islet or island, not the 'zhou' of a prefecture."

A flash of disappointment crossed Cheng Hanlin's face, but he quickly offered a cheerful smile. "The rain is getting heavier. Let's go inside to talk."

They stepped inside and found the grotto temple was about the size of three rooms, its ceiling soaring out of sight. Colorful murals adorned the stone walls. Every few feet, a niche had been carved into the rock, each holding an ever-burning lamp. There must have been hundreds of them, lighting the cavern as bright as day.

Three people were already inside, sitting around a campfire.

One was a young woman of eighteen or nineteen, delicate and elegant, wearing a brocade blouse and a pomegranate skirt. A piece of mutton-fat jade hung from her waist, marking her as an unmarried young lady from a wealthy family.

The other two were men. One was in his thirties, wearing a green robe and a black headcloth. He had a square face and a wide mouth—normally handsome features, except for his downcast eyes and brows, which gave him a timid, useless look.

The last was a middle-aged monk in a filthy, worn robe of indistinguishable color. He was heavily built with plain features, save for his nose, which had somehow been broken in two, resembling a twisted, ugly grub crawling across his face.

Sitting cross-legged, the monk held a string of prayer beads with his eyes closed. Hearing their arrival, he merely parted his eyelids a fraction to sweep a glance over them before closing them again. He gave a slight nod, adopting the aloof air of an enlightened master.

That glance made Haichao uneasy, giving her the distinct feeling of being watched by a wild beast in the jungle.

The man in the green robe, however, was very friendly. "Did you two also wander in here by mistake? It's pouring outside, must be freezing. Come, warm yourselves by the fire."

Haichao sat down by the fire and looked around. In the central niche directly facing the entrance stood a stone statue. It was neither Buddhist nor Daoist, but a monster with the head of a bird, the body of a human, and wings sprouting from its back.

The creature possessed three eyes and wore robes like a human, yet crouched like a sparrow. Its hands and feet were bird talons. Looking at it for too long made one's skin crawl.

Quickly averting her eyes, Haichao asked the kind-faced man in green, "What is this place? How did we end up here?"

The man in green shook his head with a bitter smile. "I am just as bewildered."

The others took turns explaining how they had arrived.

The young woman's surname was Lu, a native of Yangzhou. She had been resting peacefully in her bedchamber, only to wake up here.

The monk was a wandering cleric who had been staying at a small monastery in the capital region, and had been meditating just before he arrived.

When it was Cheng Hanlin's turn, he spoke without guile, spilling his life story like beans from a bag.

He was the son of a wealthy merchant from Luoyang. His ancestors had started in the fur trade, but their primary business now was antiques and ancient books, with shops spanning the length of the country, particularly in the two capitals and Sichuan.

His father desperately hoped that his only legitimate son would study and pass the imperial examinations, but he had no interest in official rank, preferring instead to collect legends and strange tales from past dynasties.

While traveling to Anxi to acquire a collection of ancient texts, he was passing through the desert when a sudden fog rolled in, and he fell asleep in his camel cart.

The man in green asked Haichao, "Judging by your attire, miss, you seem to be from the south?"

Haichao nodded. "I am a pearl diver from the coast of Lianzhou. I encountered a thick fog at sea, fell asleep, and woke up here."

"Fascinating, truly fascinating!" Cheng Hanlin's eyes shone. "I have read countless tales of the strange and supernatural, but I have never heard of anything so bizarre. If I write this down and publish it one day, it will surely be a sensation, causing the price of paper in Luoyang to soar..."

Haichao: "..." He actually sounded quite pleased.

Realizing he had lost his composure, Cheng Hanlin scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Forgive me, I got carried away."

"We all encountered a thick fog," the man in green noted. "It seems there is some mystery to it. Ah, I have yet to introduce myself. My surname is..."

Before he could finish, his smile froze. A look of sheer terror crept into his eyes.

Haichao turned around and immediately understood why he looked as if he had seen a ghost.

Someone was walking in through the curtain of rain.

The figure was clad in white, with long hair hanging loose. Drenched from head to toe, he walked with slow, faltering steps, water dripping steadily from his clothes.

For some reason, the silhouette looked familiar to Haichao. Before she could make sense of it, a wild, absurd thought flashed through her mind.

Her heart pounded wildly, and the blood rushed to her head.

As the figure drew closer, the firelight illuminated a pale face and dark, bottomless eyes.

The absurd thought suddenly solidified before her.

It was Liang Ye.