The solitary light deep within the ancient village at the bottom of the lake is difficult to pinpoint—where exactly in the village did it shine from? Is it emanating from deep within or from a window of some ancient building? The color of the solitary light is truly indescribable; its glow is incredibly opaque, as if shrouded in a layer of dark greenish veil, hazy and unlike any earthly light.

This eerie lake has already given me too many surprises; the tranquility beneath this serene surface conceals too many secrets. What has transpired here that has left everything feeling as if it is cursed?

In this ghostly environment, I plunged alone into the depths of the mountain lake, without any support or assistance, feeling an overwhelming sense of panic and solitude for the first time. This helpless despair frightened me even more than death itself. For a fleeting moment, I had the illusion of thinking of a grotesque fish from the deep sea that preys with light; the ancient village felt like a giant creature using that light to lure its prey into a trap.

I glanced at my oxygen gauge, and the rapid beating of my heart was depleting my oxygen quickly. That chilling sense of nightmare lingered persistently. I forced myself to suppress the panic, silently telling myself, “If I want to uncover the truth, I must take risks. If Fatty and the Silent Oil Bottle are still alive, they must be in a very strange situation right now; I might be their only hope. Since I have come this far, there is really no turning back. That green solitary light, whether it brings misfortune or fortune, is a guiding beacon calling me.”

This was almost self-hypnosis, but in that moment, I truly didn’t know where to find the courage to continue deeper. I repeated my mantra three times before I felt the panic slightly ease. I drew my dagger and held it firmly, though I had no idea how it would help against a ghost, but at least it bolstered my courage.

I kicked my fins and began to swim toward the ancient village, skimming along the rocky bottom of the lake. Before long, the ethereal glow from the village was gradually obscured by the angle of my descent, and it quickly vanished from sight. The surrounding darkness began to envelop me again, and the ancient village sank back into the depths of the ghostly realm.

I gradually calmed down, and miraculously, the panic began to dissipate. It seemed that the fear had stemmed entirely from the greenish glow. I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief; with my temperament, watching the light draw closer would have driven me mad.

I was not far from the edge of the ancient village, and as I approached, I noticed that on the sloped rocky beach at the village’s edge, there were quite a few decayed wooden logs—some still standing, while others had collapsed and lay across the lake bed. It was evident that before this ancient village was submerged, a dense forest surrounded it. Indeed, the feng shui here was excellent.

In less than a moment of diving, I reached the highest point of the ancient village, with the nearest wooden stilt house only two or three meters away from me. Because I was diving down from the slope, the water depth here might have already exceeded seventy meters, and the pressure was quite uncomfortable. “Not recognizing the true face of Mount Lu, only because I am in the midst of this mountain.” At this point, I could see none of the village’s full view; all I saw were densely packed building roofs, and I could vaguely see the greenish glow within the village not far from me. At the same time, I noticed beneath my feet, at the edge of the village, many stone tablets standing like tombstones.

I slightly dove down and used my flashlight to illuminate the area, discovering that the stone tablets were covered in water rust. Clearly, these stones originally contained limestone, which had dissolved in the water, leaving the stones pockmarked and full of holes. The inscriptions on them were completely illegible, but they were not tombstones; they were a unique type of stone tablet belonging to the Yao Miao people.

The ancient Yao had a tradition of establishing laws through stone tablets. When the Yao people encountered matters requiring collective discussion, they would hold a “stone tablet meeting.” After the meeting, a stone tablet would be erected in the village, known as the “stone tablet law.” This is akin to a legal code for the Yao people, which everyone, including the Yao king, must adhere to. The Yao refer to these stone tablets as “A Chang.”

The sanctity of these laws is beyond the imagination of Han people; the Yao believe that “the stone tablet is greater than the sky.” Many historical conflicts between Han and Yao arose from Han attempts to undermine the stone tablet laws. Each stone tablet has a custodian known as the “stone tablet head,” who wields significant power.

There are many stone tablets here, and if these are indeed the stone tablet laws, they must record numerous important matters. Unfortunately, the inscriptions are no longer discernible, and many of the stone tablet laws involve obscure ancient secrets of the Yao village. Thus, most of them are uninscribed, relying on the personal integrity of the parties involved to uphold the regulations.

I thought that if I could read the inscriptions on these stone tablets, perhaps I would understand what events had transpired in this ancient village.

Crossing the group of stone tablets, I found myself hovering above the village again. Because I was so close to the lake bottom, the dilapidated stilted wooden houses and the paths between them became incredibly clear. At that moment, a greenish glow reappeared; I couldn’t see the source, but a dim halo was right ahead. My scalp began to tingle again, my heart raced even more violently, and the feeling of panic surged back into all my senses without any diminishment. At the same time, I sensed that this panic was strangely different; it seemed to stem from a primal, deep-seated fear within my memories that I couldn’t describe or dispel. What exactly was I afraid of?

From this height, overlooking a millennia-old village, there are probably fewer than a hundred people in the world who have had the same experience as me. Looking down at the decaying wooden houses, which seemed within reach, felt like floating in mid-air above an ancient path. The scenes from a thousand years ago inevitably formed in my mind, only to be swept back into reality by the flowing water and certain emotions. This intertwining made everything feel surreal.

This was my first close look at the ancient village at the bottom of the lake. I found that the entire village was very similar to Ba Nai, with the stilted wooden houses built very closely together. Between the two- to three-story wooden houses, there were narrow blue stone paths and steps wide enough for three people to walk side by side. These decaying wooden houses leaned to one side, looking as if they could collapse at any moment. Some roofs had slid down onto the walls of adjacent buildings, forming a shape resembling a “door.” I floated above these doorways, watching the bubbles I exhaled rise to the surface, and my heart involuntarily tightened. If I were to dive into the village, even a minor mishap could lead to the wooden houses collapsing around me, and if I couldn’t escape in time, I would be buried alive. Being buried alive underwater meant having no chance of rescue whatsoever.

As I skimmed past several dilapidated stilt houses, the source of the light grew closer, and my sense of suffocating heartbeat intensified. Judging by the angle between the light and the stilt houses, I deduced that the light came from within one of the ancient buildings, likely reflecting through a window. Just as I was about to grit my teeth and dive down, suddenly it went dark, and the light disappeared.

My mind was on high alert, and this sudden change nearly made me faint; my breathing tube slipped from my mouth. But in that fleeting moment, I had already seen where the light was coming from.

It appeared to be a very large composite stilt tower, formed by several stilt houses combined together, likely a tower belonging to a prominent Yao family, typically the richest family in the village. The moment had passed too quickly for me to catch which window the light had shone through.

I slowly descended, shining my light down, and was taken aback—oh my, what kind of building is this?

This tower was indeed different; its outer structure was made of stone, and the eaves of the tiled roof were surprisingly in the Huizhou style.

This wasn’t a Yao tower; it was a Han building.

I was stunned. What was going on? Why was there a Han-style building in an ancient Yao village?