Chapter Twenty-Five: The Way Out Lies Within the Mountain

The giant rat nodded its head repeatedly at his words. Clearly, after surviving for so long, it had developed a certain intelligence.

Delighted by this, he realized he could finally leave. But then he remembered: this giant rat would hardly help him out of kindness; it must want something in return. "Is there something you need from me?"

Upon hearing his question, the giant rat immediately stood on its hind legs and gestured frantically with its two short claws. He watched for a long while but still couldn't decipher the meaning, his gaze fixed steadily on the creature.

After a fruitless attempt at gesturing, the giant rat turned to one of its pups and squeaked twice. The young rat rolled onto its back, exposing the organ unique to its sex. The giant rat pointed at the organ, then at itself.

With a moment’s thought, the meaning became clear. "You want me to find your mate?"

The giant rat was overjoyed that he finally understood. He pressed on, "Where did your mate go?"

The rat pointed upward in response. Further questioning revealed that the mate had gone above ground to forage and never returned. Fearing danger on the surface, the giant rat dared not search for her itself. Upon his arrival, the rat saw an opportunity and lured him here to ask for help.

Seeing that he had not harmed it or its young, the rat assumed he was a good person. Although the rat had developed intelligence, it had little understanding of deception and cunning. Only a moment before, he himself had considered killing the creature for meat.

Luckily, he hadn't done so. Otherwise, he would never have found this burrow.

He asked the rat about the tomb, but the creature, oblivious to the concept of time, only bared its teeth and made unintelligible noises. Still, he managed to glean something—when he covered his forehead with his hair and mimed a braid at the back, the rat nodded vigorously.

This detail confirmed that the tomb must belong to a Qing emperor. Yet, no Qing imperial tombs were supposed to be in the Changbai Mountains. The only explanation was that this was indeed Nurhaci's tomb. The tomb in Eastern Shenyang, said to be Nurhaci's, was perhaps empty, or only held Empress Xiaoci.

A legend had long circulated on Changbai Mountain. It was said that at the end of the Ming dynasty, three celestial maidens descended to bathe in the Heavenly Pool—now known as Tianchi. A divine magpie flew into the forest, carrying a crimson fruit. The youngest maiden, Fokulun, ate the fruit by mistake and soon gave birth to a boy who could speak from the moment he was born. That boy was Nurhaci, the founding emperor of the Qing.

Although this was merely folklore, legends often contain a grain of truth. Nurhaci always claimed to be a child of the great mountains, and it made sense that he would be buried here in Changbai after his death.

If he wanted to obtain the North Sea Black Ice Nurhaci had spoken of, he would have to collect eight keys to unlock the main tomb. The tomb had rested in the mountains for three centuries, and he only knew vaguely that the keys were eight sword-shaped weapons. Yet the grooves were shallow—he couldn't rashly assume they were actual swords.

With this in mind, he realized staying in the tomb any longer was pointless. He asked the giant rat to lead the way and followed behind.

It is said that a cunning rabbit has three burrows; the same could be said of this giant rat. The exit was not in the current tunnel—the rat led him out, only to disappear into another burrow. Upon entering, his hair stood on end and goosebumps crawled over his skin. This giant rat’s den was teeming with rodents. The smallest were of ordinary size, but none matched the giant rat’s bulk. Though not large, their sheer numbers were overwhelming.

The giant rat squeaked at the horde, and the once-hostile swarm immediately dropped their guard and resumed their business. Only now did he realize the giant rat was their leader. Seeing there was no danger, he continued on.

This was a true rat colony: red eyes glittered in the darkness, countless points of crimson light that sent chills through his body.

He thought to himself how close he’d come to disaster. Had he killed the giant rat earlier, the horde might well have taken revenge and left nothing of him but bones, forever entombed in the emperor’s mausoleum.

After crawling for a while, the giant rat stopped, unwilling to move forward. Clearly, something ahead frightened it, and it must be the exit.

Not forcing the issue, he crawled onward alone. The tunnel widened noticeably, revealing that it was no longer the work of rodents, but a natural cavern.

Soon, the temperature began to rise, and he felt a familiar warmth. From deep in the cave came a long, resonant cry—part dragon’s roar, part horse’s neigh. Drawn by curiosity, he hurried toward the sound.

He emerged from the cave at last. No wonder the temperature and air felt familiar—he and Baozi had been here before. This was the heart of the Qing dynasty’s dragon vein, deep within the mountain.

Now he understood why the giant rat had refused to proceed: it feared the guardian spirit beast here, a massive python. Rodents were the python’s favorite prey—no wonder it didn’t dare go further.

At this moment, the python’s hind body had grown two legs, showing signs of transforming into a dragon. There were several people in the cave whose backs seemed oddly familiar. On reflection, he realized they were five of the eight who had used the reversed trigram formation to break the temple’s seal in the mountains. There had originally been eight; only five remained, meaning the other three must have been injured and replaced at the last minute.

The five were locked in combat with the giant python. The python lashed its tail again and again, but failed to inflict real harm. Yet the swords and knives in the five men’s hands did wound the beast. The serpent’s body was covered in gashes, from which red and yellow blood seeped. When the blood turned fully yellow, the python’s transformation into a dragon would be complete.

He had no time to ponder further. With a shout, he commanded, “Stop!”

He spoke out because he did not want to blindly rush in and offer help. He knew nothing of the five men’s motives for breaking the temple’s seal or attacking the python. He needed answers, or the mystery would haunt his sleep.

All parties—men and serpent—were startled by his sudden appearance. One of the men called out, “Who are you? Why are you here?”

“This python is my friend. I should be the one asking you that,” he replied coldly.

The man sneered, “If you’re a friend to this beast, you’re our enemy. Fourth, Fifth, take care of him—quickly.”

He was taken aback by how swiftly they moved to violence, but the only result was that, caught off guard, he needed a few extra moves to defend himself. But he was no longer the man he once was: blue spiritual energy extended from his body, striking invisibly at his foes. Before Fourth and Fifth could reach him, they were both lying motionless on the ground, their fate uncertain.

He lunged forward at the remaining three. They were no match for him; in a single exchange, four out of five were dead or grievously wounded.

He seized one man by the throat, eyes narrowed, and demanded, “Why have you come here? Why are you trying to harm this python?”