The Tomb Gate Chronicles04:The Celestial Palace atop Clouds

**Chapter 1: New Developments**

I was unconscious for three days. When I woke up, I found myself in a hospital. The moment I opened my eyes, my mind was blank—everything spun violently, and I was overwhelmed by nausea and dizziness.

It took two more days for these symptoms to gradually subside. However, I had completely lost my ability to speak. No matter what I tried to say, all that came out were strange, garbled noises.

I feared that my brain had been damaged, affecting the nerves responsible for speech. But the doctor reassured me that it was just a side effect of severe brain trauma and told me not to worry.

Like a mute, I communicated through gestures. It wasn’t until the fourth day that I managed to ask the doctor where I was. He told me I was at the Red Cross Hospital in Beilin District, Xi’an. A few armed police officers had brought me in, though he wasn’t sure exactly how they had found me. He only mentioned that I had broken about twenty bones, likely from a high fall.

My chest and left arm were in casts. I hadn’t realized how badly injured I was until he told me—apparently, I was lucky to be alive. When I asked how long it would take before I could leave the hospital, he smiled and said I wouldn’t even be able to get out of bed for at least ten days to half a month.

That evening, the armed police officer who had brought me in heard I could speak again and came to visit with a fruit basket. I asked him the same questions I had asked the doctor, but he didn’t have any answers either. He only said that some villagers had found me by a stream in Lantian County. I had been placed on a bamboo raft, and my wounds had been given basic first aid. The doctor said that without that initial treatment, I would have died.

This puzzled me. My last memory was of plunging into water. Logically, I should have been washed ashore, not placed on a raft. Moreover, Lantian was about seven or eight *li* away from the Jiazigou area. Had we really traveled such a long distance underground without realizing it?

I made up a story about falling while mountain climbing and thanked the officer profusely before sending him off. Then I immediately called Wang Meng and asked him to come to Xi’an with some money and clothes for me. Wang Meng arrived the next day. I paid the medical bills and bought a new phone and laptop.

I asked Wang Meng how business had been. He said nothing major had happened, but my father had been looking for me repeatedly. I realized I hadn’t expected to be away for so long—he must have been worried. So I called home to let them know I was safe, but my father wasn’t there. I spoke briefly with my mother and asked if there was any news about Third Uncle. Still nothing.

It seemed everything was just as it had been when I left. I sighed.

Over the next few days, bored out of my mind, I suddenly thought of Lao Yang. My heart ached, so I lay in bed and rummaged through the completely tattered climbing jacket I had been wearing when I fell. I was looking for Lao Yang’s diary. It was still there, but the water had ruined it, making the text nearly illegible. I struggled to decipher a few lines but couldn’t make out much. Then I connected to the hospital’s phone line and surfed the internet to kill time.

I looked up a lot of information, but details about antiques online were scarce. I could only roughly sketch the image of the bronze tree from memory and send it to a few friends for their opinions. Eventually, I received replies, but most had no idea what it was. Worse, they didn’t even believe my description. Still, a few letters were enlightening.

One email came from the U.S., written by a friend of my father’s whom I got along with well. He wrote:

*This type of bronze tree is called a "Pillar" because its shape resembles the ancient musical instrument "Qing." In 1984, a similar one was discovered in a mine in Panzhihua, though far smaller than what you described—just a fragment, with the part buried underground completely rusted away.*

*To this day, no historical records explain its purpose. However, based on the "Classic of Mountains and Seas" and some minority folk epics, it does seem connected to ancient "earth dragon" (snake) hunting rituals.*

*"Zhu Jiuyin" was likely a type of serpent that lived deep underground. Having spent so long in steep rock crevices, its eyes mutated like those of a flatfish, losing the ability to look forward. The ancients lured it out from the depths with blood, then killed it to make candles. It sounds cruel, but back then, a long-lasting light source was incredibly precious—especially for those active at night or living in pitch-black caves.*

His analysis made some sense, but it still didn’t explain why touching the so-called "Pillar" granted that bizarre and terrifying ability. I replied, asking if there were any similar historical incidents.

He responded with an attachment—a fragmented notebook-style novel recording an incident during the Qianlong era of the Qing Dynasty. It mentioned a blue-and-white stone box with dragon patterns unearthed from a mine in Xi’an. When Emperor Qianlong opened it, he secretly summoned several ministers to the palace that night. Their discussion lasted until midnight, after which a fire broke out in the Palace of Heavenly Purity. Of those ministers, only one died a natural death—the rest were mysteriously executed.

Judging by the timing, this likely coincided with the events described in Li Pipa’s *Records of the River and Trees*. There must have been a connection. It seemed everyone involved in excavating that stone box or who knew about it had been silenced. For the emperor to go to such lengths to keep a secret—what could have been inside that box? Could it have been the origin of that ancient bronze tree?

I wrote back to ask for his thoughts. His reply was brief: *You’d have to dig deeper to find out.*

I laughed bitterly, knowing that was impossible. Who knew how deep it went? Maybe the original builders had spent centuries crafting it. Even if someone were willing to excavate, I’d never live to see the results.

A few other letters were from my second uncle. He believed that the minority groups of that era had inherited decorative styles from the Western Zhou Dynasty. However, due to limited cultural exchange and underdeveloped transportation and communication, there would have been a time lag. In other words, my initial estimate was too early—by general historical patterns, the Central Plains region should have already entered the late Qin Dynasty by then.

At that time, nearly all activities were related to Qin Shi Huang’s mausoleum construction. Their hunting of Zhu Jiuyin was likely to extract "dragon oil" as tribute for the emperor’s alchemical pursuits or similar rituals. Moreover, geological surveys indicated that the deepest layer of Qin Shi Huang’s tomb also contained massive metal structures encircling the entire burial site. Given the metallurgical limitations of the era, such an engineering feat would have required the involvement of an outside ethnic group with advanced metalworking skills.

Second Uncle was a die-hard fan of Qin Shi Huang and could connect anything to that period. I wasn’t convinced by his speculations.

A month later, I was discharged and returned home. After settling in, I tried to pull myself together and get back to normal life. As I sorted through my overflowing mailbox, sifting out magazines and newspapers, I found an anonymous express letter.

**Old Wu,**

Guess who this is?

That’s right—I didn’t die. Or rather, I came back to life.

I’m sorry for dragging you into this, but you were the only person I could trust. I had no other choice.

Now that everything is over, our relationship must end here. I’m glad we were friends, but none of that matters anymore.

Do you want to know what really happened three years ago?

Three years ago, I went with a group of treasure hunters from Liaoning to scout the Qinling Mountains. Following local legends, we found a tree hollow in a banyan grove atop a mountain. After much deliberation, we decided to venture inside—you know the rest. Later, I got trapped in a stone cavern.

At the time, I was in despair. Though I wouldn’t die immediately, survival was even more terrifying—an eternity in a pitch-black, cramped space deep within the mountains, with no hope of escape. You’ve experienced that agony yourself.

I spent four months in that darkness. It was hell. But during that time, I kept thinking. I realized this ability was tied to the subconscious. For example, if I wanted to create a door in the rock, I had to truly believe there was already a door there. Otherwise, no matter how hard I tried, nothing would happen.

The mind can’t deceive the subconscious, so using this power requires guidance—a very difficult process. As I told you, if the guidance fails or goes awry, whatever you materialize could be horrifying.

I kept experimenting and gradually grasped some tricks. But then I noticed the ability fading over time. It was unmistakable, like slowly feeling exhausted. I knew if I didn’t find a way out soon, I’d starve to death.

In desperation, I tried using the power to replicate myself. To my shock, it worked. Suddenly, I found myself outside the cave.

At the time, I didn’t realize I was the copy. My memories were identical to the original’s, so when he called out to me, I refused to believe I was the duplicate. He started yelling, accusing me of trying to replace him, saying he’d make me disappear. Terrified, I saw him as a monster. So despite his pleas, I fetched explosives and sealed the cave.

Deep down, I knew I was the copy. But my subconscious rejected the truth, so I chose destruction—I killed the original and convinced myself I had only eliminated an imposter.

The bronze tree’s power was fleeting, so I broke off a branch and escaped through a hidden passage at its base. I hoped keeping a piece would prolong the ability long enough for me to get out. It worked. Once outside, I dug up what we’d buried before entering and, worried the branch would draw attention, reburied it. Then I returned to Xi’an, planning to sell what I had.

Unfortunately, I was caught by plainclothes officers at an antique stall. You know the rest. When I got home, my mother was already gone. That part wasn’t a lie.

There’s more you should know. This power comes at a cost. My memory is terrible now—I have to write things down to remember them. That’s the side effect. I could have arranged things smoothly, guiding you through this journey without you realizing it. But over these t