Chapter 28: The Right Decision

Throughout history, inverted murals and decorations haven’t been all that rare. Sometimes, the ancients used reflections in lakes to create illusions that blended reality and fantasy—like using water to mirror the figures in a mural, crafting the illusion of an underwater city, a so-called “divine miracle.”

He Yu was an authority on ancient paintings and artifact authentication. So when he said the image was “upside down,” I knew he wasn’t talking about something as simple as a figure being painted inverted. I hurried forward to take a closer look—and finally understood just how literal his words were.

The third mural was noticeably more vibrant than the first two. The colors were richer, and the painted textures far more refined. My eyes were immediately drawn to the figure at the top—He Yu had called him a priest, but to me, his long robe looked more like the garb of a court astrologer from memory.

The figure was painted to appear towering and grand, but you could only tell it was a person if you stood close. From a distance, it looked like a swirl of mist. I had no idea how He Yu had figured out the image was upside down.

Compared to the priest, the Giant Dragon was much more three-dimensional in its depiction. But it didn’t resemble the traditional Chinese concept of a dragon. It looked more like a massive centipede plummeting from the sky—falling, not descending.

I say “falling” because of the way the creature’s body twisted and spiraled. It didn’t look like a divine being descending to earth—it looked like something thrown down, hanging upside down from the clouds. The further murals only made the scene more bizarre.

The enormous centipede crawled out from a crack in the stone, coiling around a resplendent palace, and hung upside down before the masses. Tens of thousands knelt before it in worship. I quickly realized the same thing He Yu had: no matter which mural the creature appeared in, it was always depicted hanging upside down in the same posture.

There were no mirrors, no pools of water here—clearly, this wasn’t some artistic trick to create an illusion. The posture instantly reminded me of the hanging corpses we’d seen earlier—bodies suspended from the cave ceiling, thin as cicada wings.

Was the mural’s design a deliberate message from the tomb’s owner? Or was it simply depicting a strange legend?

He Yu stroked his chin, shining his flashlight carefully over the paintings. “Most murals record the life of the tomb’s occupant. But this? A bunch of incomprehensible mythological scenes. Are they trying to tell us the tomb owner was a giant centipede?”

Lu A’yao said, “In ancient times, if a creature was that big, calling it a dragon wouldn’t be unusual. Before we came down here, Tian Yuqing didn’t give me any information about the tomb owner’s identity. But their family is known for being meticulous and cautious. Coming down here with no intel at all? That doesn’t make sense.”

He turned to He Yu. “Can you estimate the era of this tomb?”

He Yu ran his hands along the tomb bricks. “Judging by the scale, at the very least it’s a noble’s tomb from the Warring States period. But based on the structure and the clothing on that wet corpse I saw earlier, it’s more likely from a minority culture. And this group had an obsessive reverence for these multi-legged creatures.”

I widened the beam of my flashlight and shone it down the dark corridor ahead. The passage was long—so long that only the small area where the three of us stood had any light. The rest was swallowed by darkness. I was hoping to find some burial artifacts, maybe something with inscriptions that could offer clues.

“Let’s keep moving. We’ll probably find more clues in the Tomb Chamber,” I said.

At this point, moving forward was our only option. All three of us aimed our flashlights into the darkness and walked on. After about ten minutes, we came upon a flight of stone steps leading downward. The flashlight beam revealed that the steps were smooth and translucent—clearly expensive, likely made of white marble.

“This tomb owner really knew how to flaunt it,” He Yu muttered as we descended. “Marble steps? With that kind of money, they could’ve reinforced the passageway instead. These bricks are brittle as hell. Aside from those giant bugs, there’s no real anti-theft measures. Any Tomb Raider could waltz in and out.”

I teased him, “Aren’t we basically Tomb Raiders ourselves until we find the main team? And don’t forget, the two corpses we saw earlier were seasoned Tomb Raiders. That says something about the tomb owner. Maybe some trap’s already been triggered—we just haven’t noticed yet.”

“Pfft, pfft, pfft!” He Yu spat three times. “You little bastard, always jinxing us. Just you wait—between the three of us and our years of experience, we’ll get out of here even without Tian Yuqing. Besides, we’ve still got the old path, don’t we?”

We bantered as we walked, and soon the corridor took its first turn. After the bend, it became a straight passage again. In the middle, we found a fork. We chose to continue along the original path. After about twenty more minutes and three more turns, we came across another row of murals.

“This damn corridor’s a square loop—we’ve come right back,” He Yu cursed, slapping my shoulder. “I told you we should’ve taken the other path. Should’ve trusted my gut.”

He Yu turned and started back. I had to admit, being in this oppressive place for so long had dulled my senses. I turned to follow him, but after a few steps, I noticed Lu A’yao hadn’t moved. He was still studying the murals, so I stopped to wait.

“I’ve looked at them—they’re the same as before,” I told him.

Lu A’yao examined them a few more times. Once he was sure there was nothing new, he quickly caught up. I figured it was fine to double-check—better safe than sorry in a place like this.

We returned to the fork, and He Yu took the lead down the other corridor.

My flashlight didn’t reach far, so I followed behind, calling out, “He Yu, slow down! If some monster grabs you, we’re not coming to rescue you!”

He Yu moved fast, and Lu A’yao and I unconsciously picked up the pace to keep up. I didn’t stop him for a reason—the atmosphere in this corridor felt off. Oppressive. Maybe it was the strange murals from earlier, but I had a strong urge to find a Tomb Chamber as soon as possible.

We kept following the corridor, and soon the number of forks increased dramatically—six or seven in a row. The layout was bizarre. At first, He Yu and I could still chat a bit, but eventually we were so exhausted we didn’t want to say a word.

Just as I was about to suggest we stop, He Yu spoke up. “No good, guys. We need to stop and think.”

He leaned against the tomb wall to rest. I could barely walk anymore—my legs were jelly. I collapsed onto the stone steps. Lu A’yao looked better than either of us—probably worked out regularly.

Panting, I said, “Damn it, are we ever going to reach the end? How long’s it been?”

He Yu checked his watch. “An hour.”

I felt like we’d stepped into some kind of nightmare. We’d only taken one path since the beginning. From my years of studying tomb layouts, I knew that no matter how complex a tomb’s design, there was always a main route and side paths. If we were on the main route, it had to lead to a final destination.

That’s why I hadn’t even considered switching paths. The main Tomb Chamber would never be at the end of a side corridor. But we’d been walking this “main” path for over an hour and still hadn’t reached the end. That just didn’t make sense.

“Maybe we should try one of the other paths,” He Yu suggested.

I shook my head. “No. You saw how many forks there were—at least seven. If each of those leads in a different direction, and each of those has more forks, we’ll be completely lost. At least on the main path, we can retrace our steps.”

Lu A’yao walked past me and stopped near a wall up ahead. I thought he was just tireless, but then I saw him shining his flashlight repeatedly on the wall, his expression serious.

I figured he’d found a clue, so I got up and walked over. What I saw shattered everything I thought I understood—the mural on the wall was identical to the one we’d seen earlier.

How was that possible?!

We’d been walking straight the whole time. No turns. Even a Penrose staircase needs a twist to create an illusion. I slapped myself, trying to clear my head.

Lu A’yao placed a hand on my shoulder and pointed to the second mural. I looked—and understood. A small piece had flaked off. That wasn’t there the first time.

“Relax. The layout’s just similar—we haven’t gone in circles. The murals are the same, but this isn’t the same place. You were right. If we’d taken one of those other paths, we might already be trapped.”
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—In the Warring States period (475–221 BCE), “minority culture” meant the traditions of non-Han groups like the Rong, Di, Xiongnu, and Baiyue. They had distinct customs in clothing, rituals, and lifestyles, which influenced and interacted with the central Chinese states.