The tea vendor had already set off early in the morning for business. After we freshened up, we found that the innkeeper had prepared plenty of food for us, along with some herbs to ward off insects. She also let peacock guide us to the cave entrance at the foot of Zhelong Mountain, where there was a sizable bamboo grove. We could cut down a few big bamboos to make a raft.
We thanked the innkeeper several times and headed into the woods behind the Caiyun Inn with our gear. The main trees around here were mostly Hopea hainanensis, followed by Emmenopterys, with a few silver-leaved laurels. There was a low-lying area where a lush grove of bamboo grew, not far from the waterway leading into Zhelong Mountain.
Once I got my bearings, I sent peacock back home to avoid making her sister worry. Fatty suggested, “Old Hu, why not let this little girl guide us? She can sing and dance, and it would make our journey more enjoyable.”
I replied, “Let’s skip that. We’re not here for sightseeing. I have a feeling this trip won’t go smoothly. I suspect there’s something dangerous hidden in the tomb of King Xian in the Insect Valley. We don’t need extra people around, even if it’s just a guide. A human skin map is enough; too many people would just complicate things.”
Fatty nodded, “You’re right. We don’t want to scare the little girl with that old zombie King Xian. Plus, having outsiders around would make it awkward when we need to take out the burial objects. Just the three of us means we can go all out. Let’s finish this big task quickly, and then we can enjoy our time in Yunnan.”
Shirley Yang said to us, “The clouds are getting thicker; it looks like a storm is coming. We should hurry and make the raft before it rains.”
Without wasting any more time, Fatty and I grabbed our machetes and went to find thick bamboo to cut down, while Shirley Yang took care of stripping the branches off the bamboo. We worked together efficiently.
Back when we were in Inner Mongolia’s Greater Khingan Range, both Fatty and I had worked in a forest farm. Without roads or trucks to transport logs, we would send them downriver one by one. In Fujian, there are also places with intricate waterways where rafts are used, so this kind of work wasn’t new to us.
If we needed the bamboo raft for long-term use, it would be quite a hassle. We’d have to soak the bamboo in hot oil to prepare it, along with some other processes. But since we only needed it temporarily, we could skip all those unnecessary steps.
Shirley Yang checked the depth and flow of the waterway in the cave. She estimated that six bamboos, each as thick as a human leg, would be enough to carry the three of us along with all our gear.
After all the hustle, we finally made a small bamboo raft and dragged it into the cave. Just as we stepped inside, thunder rumbled outside, and rain began to pour.
This was a limestone cave. After walking down a slope for about ten steps, we found ourselves above a river. However, it was more accurate to call it a deep stream, as it was nearly a meter below ground level and over three meters deep, with a gentle current. It might be a tributary of the Lancang River, with the first half hidden underground, only revealing itself in the lower terrain of the cave.
The cave was spacious. I used my wolf-eye flashlight to scan the dark depths, noticing significant height differences inside. In the wider areas, a tank could fit, while in the lower spots, it was just over a meter high, filled with bizarre limestone formations that had taken thousands of years to form. This was just the entrance; the environment inside would likely be even more complex. It seemed that if we wanted to navigate the raft through the cave, we’d have to lie down in some sections. Aside from the gentle sound of flowing water, the cave was eerily quiet; we couldn’t hear the rain or thunder outside, as if we had entered a completely isolated underground world.
We pushed the bamboo raft into the water, and I quickly jumped on, using a bamboo pole to secure it in place and prevent it from drifting away. Shirley Yang followed suit, and as she climbed aboard, I took a few steps forward while she moved to the back of the raft to maintain balance.
Then Fatty tossed our three large backpacks filled with gear and two insect nets onto the raft, one after another, before jumping in himself. As he landed, the raft sank a bit, and Shirley Yang quickly pulled two of the backpacks to the back of the raft while I secured the last one at my feet, balancing us out for the moment.
We made our final preparations on the raft. Since there were many hanging stalactites and stalagmites in the cave, we all put on our climbing helmets to avoid hitting our heads. The helmets had tactical lights that could last six to eight hours.
Finally, I set up a powerful spotlight at the front of the raft. This type of light consumed a lot of energy, so we couldn’t use it for long. I planned to turn it on every minute or two to check the cave’s conditions ahead.
Fatty, sitting in the middle with a bamboo pole for balance, saw me struggling to set up the spotlight and couldn’t help but ask, “What’s taking so long, Old Hu? Are we going or not? I can’t wait to dig up those burial objects from that old King Xian!”
I was still two securing bolts away from finishing and turned to Fatty, saying, “What’s the rush? The tomb of King Xian is in the Insect Valley. Even if we’re a few minutes late, it won’t run away!”
From the back, Shirley Yang chimed in, “You two, stop arguing. I have a suggestion. Americans like to give each military operation a code name. Why don’t we do the same for our trip to dig up King Xian’s treasures? It might not be entirely pointless; it could make us seem more organized and purposeful.”
Fatty said to Shirley Yang, “This is our territory as Chinese people; your American methods won’t work here. But since the American advisor suggested it, let’s just call it the ‘Operation to Dig Up Burial Objects.’ It’s straightforward and not at all pretentious; we’re going straight for the burial objects.”
I had just finished installing the last securing bolt for the spotlight and turned to Fatty, saying, “That’s a bit too direct, don’t you think? It sounds a bit crude. But the idea is good. Back in the day, the Allies’ Operation Overlord broke the Atlantic Wall of the Third Reich and shortened the course of World War II. We could come up with a nicer code name to bring us good luck and ensure a successful start. Since we’re pretending to go into the Insect Valley to catch butterflies, let’s call it ‘Operation Butterfly.’ I declare ‘Operation Butterfly’ officially begins now!”
Without waiting for Shirley Yang and Fatty to agree, I turned on the spotlight to illuminate the terrain ahead, pulled out the bamboo pole I had stuck in the water, and let the gentle current push the raft forward as we slowly ventured deeper into Mount Zhelong.
When we encountered narrow spots, Fatty held up a horizontal pole, and together we used the bamboo poles to stabilize the raft. The small bamboo raft drifted through the cave, but unfortunately, everything around us was pitch black. Without the spotlight, we couldn’t see anything; otherwise, I would have loved to sing a few mountain songs.
Unlike the humid heat outside, the deeper we went into the cave, the cooler it became. Occasionally, we spotted clusters of phosphorescent lights flickering in the distance, indicating the presence of animal carcasses. It seemed this place wasn’t devoid of life after all.
Sitting on the raft, I could feel some water snakes and small fish swimming around. I dipped my hand into the water to test it; it was cold enough to be a bit numbing. In this spring-like Yunnan, such low water temperatures were quite rare. Perhaps snowmelt from the top of Mount Zhelong was flowing down.
Shirley Yang explained that it wasn’t due to snow or ice water. The temperature difference between the cave and the outside created an illusion; once we adapted, it wouldn’t feel so cold. Additionally, there were no signs of artificial construction in the cave; it seemed entirely natural.
As we spoke, the speed of the water suddenly changed, picking up significantly. We all started to feel tense; if we weren’t careful, the small bamboo raft could capsize. Shirley Yang grabbed a short pole and joined us in trying to maintain balance as the river became even more winding, with sharp turns appearing frequently.
I couldn’t spare a hand to turn off the spotlight, so I let it stay on. To my surprise, this allowed us to see clearly in the distance. The scenery deep within the cave was astonishing, and as the beam of the spotlight swept across, the bizarre stalactites flashed into view before disappearing back into darkness, making us feel like we had entered a surreal, dreamlike maze.
Suddenly, the river widened, and several smaller tributaries merged into it, causing the water flow to slow down. The spotlight ahead also stopped shaking as violently as before.
Under the beam of light, we saw that the cave walls on both sides were lined with naturally formed, smooth lava terraces, stacked layer upon layer like waves in the ocean, resembling a frozen silver sea. A massive crimson stone bead hung suspended in the middle of the river, and behind it, the water flowed into the mouth of a gigantic beast head. This stone creature, resembling a mix of a tiger and a lion, seemed to be roaring with its mouth wide open, revealing sharp fangs, as if it were trying to swallow that stone bead. Time appeared to have frozen in that moment, its pose likely unchanged for thousands or even tens of thousands of years.
The river flowed right through the beast’s mouth, and it felt like we were facing a gateway to hell. My heart raced, and my breathing became heavy as I gripped the bamboo pole tighter to maintain our balance.
How could such a distinctive place not have been mentioned by the innkeeper? Had the river changed its course? The spotlight illuminated countless ancient figurines hanging behind the beast’s mouth, reminiscent of those long-distance bus rides where crushed stone shells filled with maggots would make my stomach churn at the thought. I never expected to encounter something like this again.
The three of us on the raft exchanged glances, speechless. I wondered what Shirley Yang and Fatty were thinking upon seeing this scene. I suddenly felt a deep sense of unease, as if crossing this threshold would lead us to touch a thick veil of ancient mist in this dark, deep cave.