Chapter 34: Luan Jade

The Underground River was likely beneath the sand layer.

When we first entered this place, we saw dragon pillars on all four sides and naturally assumed we were in a square-shaped Side Chamber. But that wasn’t the case. After I toppled the bronze cauldron, a massive and ancient mechanism hidden in the walls was forced open. The floor tiles began to collapse, and all the quicksand poured down into the lowest level—the Underground River. Only then did we see the original structure of the Side Chamber.

It was a massive funnel-shaped “trap.” I reached out to touch the wall—it felt damp, much like the sensation I’d experienced during my hallucination. I couldn’t figure out why the tomb’s master would build such an odd, mismatched trap, but at this point, there was no need to dwell on it.

Based on all the clues we had, this was the only conclusion that made sense. I quickly shared my theory with He Yu and the others, hoping to hear their thoughts.

“If I’m right, the quicksand layer here is pretty shallow. If we use an ordinary stick to probe down, we should hit a clear boundary between dry and wet layers.” I gestured to illustrate.

He Yu leaned against a dragon head, stroking his chin. “Gan Ji, you’re good with mechanisms, no doubt about that. But I’m not entirely sold on your theory. Quicksand isn’t something you can just dive into. If we go down and it turns out there’s no connection to this so-called Underground River, then we’re done for. The safest bet right now is to keep climbing. Maybe there’s a way out at the top.”

Lu A’yao tilted his head, thought for a moment, then nodded silently, siding with He Yu.

Compared to my “wild guess,” He Yu’s reasoning was definitely more convincing. But honestly, I was almost certain about the quicksand and the Underground River. Over the years, I’ve developed an uncanny sensitivity to mechanisms. I don’t need to overthink it—just follow the feeling, and I’m usually right. On this, I was 99% confident.

If we really needed proof, we could jab a long enough pole down and find out. But that was easier said than done—we didn’t even have a basic stick.

This was a matter of life and death. After going back and forth, we ultimately decided to go with the safer option: keep climbing.

“Little Yao, you’re climbing with us this time. We’re running low on food—we need to pick up the pace.” He Yu opened his backpack to show me.

I looked up at the top of the pillar and noticed that the dragon carvings were becoming more intricate, and more iron chains were hanging down from above. For a climbing rookie like me, this was fantastic news. Even if they told me to stay put, there was no way I’d be left alone down here again.

After a short rest, we adjusted our positions and resumed the climb.

The footholds on the dragon pillar were narrow, so they still insisted I use the iron chains. I looked at the dense web of chains, stretched a bit, and mentally prepared myself to channel my third-grade self climbing the school’s jungle gym. I told myself I couldn’t freeze up like a corpse again.

As I reached for the nearest chain, He Yu and Lu A’yao stood on the bracket above, watching me like I might fall at any second.

“Seriously, you two? Is that really necessary?” I pulled my hand back and put my hands on my hips. “I’ve got experience now, okay? Go do your thing.”

He Yu said, “Gan Little Yao, just take it easy. If anything feels off, report it immediately. Don’t try to figure it out on your own, got it?”

I waved him off impatiently. They picked up the pace—He Yu started climbing the pillar next to me, and Lu A’yao stepped onto a chain and quickly moved forward a dozen meters, grabbing onto a dragon head on the opposite eave and pulling himself up. I rubbed my hands together, hooked onto the nearest chain, and began my slow ascent.

Climbing chains isn’t like climbing a ladder—every step makes you sway. But luckily, the higher I went, the denser the chains became. Once I got the rhythm, it got easier.

“Little Yao, you must’ve sucked at P.E. in school. Climb a little and you’re gasping like an old man. A guy can’t be this weak,” He Yu teased, already above me.

I shot back, “You’re the one who’s weak! You weren’t doing any better when those bugs were chasing us in the tunnel!”

Okay, so he was right about me being bad at P.E., but that didn’t mean I didn’t exercise. I was still decent enough to make the school basketball team.

By the time we reached the third bracket, He Yu shouted, “Hey, you up front! Take a break! It’s been over half an hour—I’m beat!”

Lu A’yao stopped, and I grabbed a chain to rest. He Yu climbed onto the bracket, wiped his sweat, and fanned himself. “Damn pillar, why’s it so tall?”

I was just about to tease him when I suddenly felt something hard in my pocket. I reached in and pulled out a small round object—a piece of jade. The texture was smooth and delicate. It must’ve fallen into my pocket when the bronze cauldron tipped over, but I’d been so tense I hadn’t even noticed it until now.

“Oh? Got yourself a little bonus?” He Yu’s sharp eyes caught it immediately. He raised a hand. “Hold it up, let me get a look.”

I held the jade above my head. He Yu let out a surprised “Whoa!”

“Damn, not bad! That’s blood-soaked jade!”

So-called “blood-soaked jade” is a rare type of ancient jade with red stains that look like blood. It’s pretty eerie.

I remembered once tagging along with my grandpa to a dinner at a famous local collector’s house. That guy had a piece of “Blood Jade” displayed in a rosewood box. He even pulled it out of a safe just to show off. Later, Grandpa told me the blood stains were artificially made using animal blood—not a real, priceless artifact.

True blood-soaked jade, steeped in cinnabar or animal blood for centuries, is incredibly rare. So I’d subconsciously written this piece off as not particularly valuable.

But He Yu suddenly stood up straight on the bracket. He ran a few steps along the eave, the glazed tiles creaking ominously under his feet. He grabbed the chain next to me and slowly made his way over, motioning for me to hand him the jade.

I passed it over. He gripped it tight and shined his flashlight up and down, muttering in awe the whole time.

I thought he was just messing with me. “Cut it out. I can’t even stand steady right now. Wait till we’re on solid ground—I’ll show you what’s what.”

He sighed. “Little Yao, you really don’t understand your Brother Yu. This isn’t just some trinket. If you don’t believe me, let Brother Lu take a look.”

He tossed the jade to Lu A’yao, who was making his way over along the chain. Lu A’yao caught it smoothly, turned it over in his palm, and examined it. I shone my flashlight on him and caught a subtle change in his expression—something off. He quickly masked it, but I was sure I saw it. It wasn’t like when he saw bugs or something supernatural. This time, there was a trace of confusion, not surprise.

He handed the jade back and said, “Looks like a one-of-a-kind piece.”

He Yu nudged me with his elbow, grinning. “See? Told you I know my stuff. Whether it’s cinnabar or blood, this jade’s coloration is no ordinary thing. It’s a genuine jade bi from the Warring States period. They say jade chooses its owner. After everything we’ve been through, and this thing stayed in your pocket the whole time? Gan Ji, you and this jade are meant to be.”

I ran my fingers over the fine carvings. “Master He, can you be a little more professional? These patterns are pretty interesting—any idea what they mean?”

The jade was carved into the shape of a large bird with a long tail. The head and tail met at the opening of the bi. After seeing so many dragon and taotie motifs, this design was a refreshing change.

Lu A’yao chimed in, “That’s not a Vermilion Bird. It’s a Luan.”

He Yu nodded. “If there’s one flaw in this jade, it’s the Luan. Not a Vermilion Bird, but a Luan. Sure, it symbolizes peace and harmony, but there’s always been a tinge of sorrow to it.”

He was probably referring to the old tale from *Yiyuan*, something about “sorrow before the mirror.” I couldn’t recall the details, but Luan birds have always carried a melancholic tone in mythology.

Not that I cared. I stuffed the jade back into my pocket. “Sad or not, who cares? We done resting? Let’s keep climbing. I think there’s something hanging up top. If this pillar’s connected to the surface, we need to find out.”

Author note:

If you’re curious, look up the symbolism of the Luan bird—it’s actually pretty fascinating.

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Translator’s Note:

The jade bi (璧) is a flat, circular disc with a hole in the center, commonly made of jade and used in ancient China. In the Warring States period (475–221 BCE), such objects weren’t just decorative—they carried ritual, symbolic, and even political significance, often associated with heaven, status, or spiritual power. The idea that “jade chooses its owner” comes from long-held beliefs in jade’s spiritual qualities, thought to embody virtue and confer protection.

As for the carving: the Luan (鸾) is a mythical bird often compared to or confused with the phoenix. Unlike the fiery Vermilion Bird, the Luan symbolizes peace, virtue, and harmony, but also carries a note of melancholy in classical literature—famously linked to the phrase “sorrow before the mirror” from the ancient text Yiyuan (异苑). So when He Yu calls the jade “flawed” because it depicts a Luan instead of a Vermilion Bird, he’s pointing to that bittersweet undertone.