Dragon Vein Storyteller

Ladies and gentlemen, let's continue.

What's the scariest trap? It's not a hail of arrows, nor a falling dragon-slaying stone. Those things come fast enough that before you even have time to be afraid, your bones are pierced and your body is crushed. The truly maddening traps are those where you don't know when they'll come, whether they'll come, or how they'll come. It's when you've placed the memorial tablet on the altar, and suddenly there's a very faint, almost imperceptible sound all around. Your hair stands on end, and you run for your life, crouch outside the door for a while, then look back... and nothing's wrong. Once. Twice. Three times. Every time you think, "This time it's finally coming," but every time it's like it's playing a joke on you, letting out a fart and then nothing more.

This is the real torture.

I don't know how many times I've placed memorial tablets on those three stone platforms. Zhang Liang with Guan Yu with Empress Lü—no good. Zhuge Liang with Qin Qiong with Empress Ma—no good. Jiang Ziya with Han Xin with Empress Xu—no good either. Once, I got impatient and put Zhang Liang on the military generals' platform, Guan Yu on the emperor and empress's platform, and Empress Lü on the civil officials' platform… I wanted to see how it would react. But there was still no reaction. Not even a sound. It was as if I had simply moved the three stones from one place to another, not worthy of its anger.

Unworthy.

The three of us went around in circles like donkeys pulling a millstone. Three-pounder wielded the flying dragon claw, Baldy handed over the memorial tablet, and I placed it on the stone platform. After that, nothing happened, so the three of us squatted there waiting. We waited a while, still nothing, then moved on to the next group. Again. Waiting again. Again. The diamond thread was initially tied around my waist, but later I found it too tight and took it off; anyway, I never needed it when I went out… I'd run to the door and then sheepishly turn back, like a coward.

Tired. Damn, so tired. Not physically, but mentally. Every time you let out a breath, you hold it in, and once you've let out, you're afraid to relax; it's stuck in your throat, you can't swallow it down or spit it out. The longer it goes on, the more blocked that feeling becomes, making your stomach churn and your head throb. At this point, it's not about solving a puzzle anymore; it's about battling your own mind. When you close your eyes, all you see are imaginary projectiles shooting at you from all directions; when you open them, there's nothing there.

And this grand hall would occasionally produce some noise, whether it was the cracking of the stone due to temperature changes or something deep underground turning over. Every now and then, a crisp "crack" would sound, like a stone falling to the ground; after a while, a very long and very fine grinding sound would come, like someone filing their nails under a stone slab. Normally, you wouldn't even hear such noises. But here, every sound felt like someone was hammering your eardrums. You were already afraid, already on edge, and then suddenly there was another strange sound... The moment that sound reached your ears, you would dart out like a startled donkey. Each dart depleted the little courage you had just mustered. After a few more darts, you became more and more tired, more and more timid, and more and more suspicious.

Anyway, nothing really happened.

In this state of shock, anger, frustration, and exhaustion, a person's emotions gradually erode, as if they are being soaked in lukewarm water—the skin and flesh remain, but the bones slowly soften.

Later, Sanjin sat down next to the stone platform, leaning against the base of the "General" stone platform, with his head down and his hands on his knees. His old cotton trousers were worn out at the knees, and the exposed kneecaps were bluish-gray, like the bottoms of two rough porcelain bowls with chipped glaze.

"I'm not moving anymore," he muttered, the bloodstain on his forehead from the gravel already scabbed over, a dark, caked mess he didn't bother to wipe. "This wretched place, so many memorial tablets, trying them one by one, it'd be fucking exhausting. I'm not moving."

I lay on the ground, my face pressed against the cold bluestone slab. The chill seeped into my brain from my cheekbones, and I felt like a dead dog that had been pulled out of the river and left to dry on the bank for half a day.

"You're not moving?" I didn't even bother to reply. "You're too tired to move it. As for me? I'm so tired I could chop myself up. Stop calling me Three Pounds, start calling me Three Grandsons. I'm a grandson too, we're all grandsons."

The bald man sat on the edge of the "Emperor and Empress" stone platform, his buttocks pressed against the base, his body hunched over like a shrimp whose spine had been removed. Several blisters were on his bald head, caused by falling rocks when the Hidden Armory collapsed earlier; each one was shiny, bursting and bleeding, then scabbing over. He held his Tang sword across his lap, supporting the scabbard with three fingers, and looked at me listlessly.

"Master, come up with a solution. This wall covered in names..." He gestured with his chin towards the wall, a movement that seemed to drain all his remaining strength. "Even if the three of us brothers worked ourselves to death here, we still couldn't try them all. Just do the math: how many civil officials, how many military generals, how many emperors and empresses? There are at least several hundred people. Just imagine tens of thousands of possible arrangements. And we've only tried a handful!"

"If I had a solution, I'd be out here already. If I knew which three people they were, would I be stuck here like a coward, moving things for so long? Do you think I'm trying to exercise here? You ask me for a solution? Who am I supposed to ask?"

I lay on the ground, turned my face over, and let the other side of my cheek rub against the cool stone slab. The stone slabs of this hall were damn cool; the coolness made my brain feel a little bit better.

"Little chick," I called out with my eyes closed.

No one answered.

"Little chick!" I opened my eyes and turned my head to look. The little guy was sitting on the bottom step, his legs stretched out on the stone slab, his back against the step, in a more comfortable position than any of the three of us. His little face looked very calm in the pearly light, showing neither tiredness nor fear, but rather as if he was watching a play... watching the three of us adults running around like monkeys.

"Get me some water and food, I'm about to collapse."

The little chick stood up, took out half a jug of water and a piece of dry rations from its bag, and handed them to me. Then it went back to the stone steps and sat down, still in the same spectator's pose.

I gulped down two mouthfuls of water, which slid down my throat, so cold it made my esophagus feel tight. I broke my dry rations into three pieces, tossing one piece to Sanjin and another to Baldy. Sanjin caught it, didn't eat it, and put it on his lap. Baldy caught it, took a bite, and chewed for a long time, his expression as if he were chewing a lump of mud.

I leaned against the stone platform, staring at the little chick's indifferent face for a long time, when suddenly a thought popped into my head. It wasn't because I thought he could break the deadlock; it was just that I was so tired that my head was spinning, and I wanted to talk to someone and banter with them.

"Hey little chick, look at us, the three of us have been busy here for ages, and you're just sitting here like nothing happened. If you had to choose three names from these names on the wall, who would you pick?"

"I don't recognize any of these words," the little chick blinked.

"Don't worry about whether you know him or not, choose three. Let Sanjin help you put them in."

"Why aren't you letting go?" Sanjin raised his head from the ground, his face still covered in gravel.

"I'm fucking exhausted, and you still want me to carry this!" I spread my finger on the ground. "You carry it. He chooses. It's a choice either way, and maybe the kid will have better luck than us."

Sanjin glared at me, then didn't say anything more. He propped himself up on his knees and grabbed the shovel. His extremely tired face was filled with resignation... well, it's all the same whoever chooses, even if it's a child.

"Alright." The little chick tilted his head and thought for a moment, his posture resembling that of someone squatting on the street watching sugar figurines when he was a child, completely unlike someone who would normally be a conspirator. "For the civil official, I choose Zhang Liang."

Why?

"That's what Uncle Cripple said." The little chick pulled out the red string around its neck, glanced at it, and then put it back. "He said that Jiang Ziya was the one who brought prosperity to the Zhou Dynasty for eight hundred years, and Zhang Liang was the one who established the Han Dynasty for four hundred years. Is there even a need to choose?"

"Then why didn't you choose Jiang Ziya?"