Miao and Han have historically been at odds, living separately and placing great importance on their privacy and lineage. This is especially true for the Southern Miao, an area that has seen the most ethnic conflicts throughout history. In ancient times, there was the Sanmiao Rebellion, and before liberation, there were Hakka villages that fought fiercely over a well or a river, with Han and Miao, and even Miao village against Miao village, leading to extreme violence. This tension directly contributed to the Taiping Rebellion, illustrating just how deep the mistrust and divisions between ethnic groups were at that time.

Therefore, it is completely impossible for Han and Miao to coexist. Even if some Miao people were willing to accept Han residents in their villages, Han individuals would have to live in Miao houses; there is absolutely no way a Miao king would allow Han people to build imposing towers in a Miao village.

I cannot fathom this; it’s like finding a watermelon in a sorghum field!

As I slowly descended and quietly observed this ancient building, I noticed something even more peculiar: this Han-style ancient building was completely surrounded by tall stilt houses, and the color of the roof tiles was identical, as if it had been deliberately protected by the stilt houses. From the outside, it was impossible to detect the presence of such an ancient building inside.

Looking at the scale of this Han building, it was very strange; it was shaped like a square with a courtyard in the middle, surrounded by three stories of buildings. The base and outer walls were constructed entirely of stone slabs. Anyone knowledgeable in architecture could tell at a glance that this was the style of large family compounds from prominent families in southern China during the Ming and Qing dynasties—generally built by local gentry, featuring several courtyards, gardens, and more buildings behind. The massive stone slabs were used to defend against bandits, making this exceptionally sturdy structure capable of protecting hundreds of people living in the compound.

In other words, this ancient building should be the façade of a deep family residence, with its entrance facing the high wall that encloses the entire compound, surrounded by large and small gates and a screen wall. Some doors allowed servants to come and go, while others might have served as storefronts. Upon entering the main gate, a complex corridor led to the inner courtyard. A typical example of such a layout can be found in the Lake Qingyu area of Hangzhou.

However, here there is only this one solitary building, as if the rest had been cleanly severed, leaving the entire ancient village with just a head.

I walked slowly around the building, and it was indeed the case; behind it was a bluestone street, surrounded entirely by Miao stilt houses, with no other Han-style architecture in sight—truly unbelievable.

I had seen similar situations before. After liberation, some large residences were divided among the poor, with dozens of households living in one building. The pathways to the back courtyards were blocked off, and what was once a single compound was transformed into many independent units. But the situation here was clearly different.

Having read so many books, especially with a deep memory of Chinese classical architecture, countless concepts flashed through my mind, yet I could not find any understanding that I felt was adequate. Outsiders might think I am making a mountain out of a molehill, but for me, it felt like a thorn in my throat. Who built this building? Why was it constructed in this way?

The blue light came from this ancient Han-style building. Just as I arrived, it suddenly went out. Could it be that the “inhabitants” of the house discovered an uninvited guest? Or perhaps it was trying to tell me that this was my destination? I even thought that since this was a Han-style village, the spirits within should also be Han people, and maybe they would spare me out of kinship.

In any case, I had to enter this ancient building to investigate. My overwhelming curiosity even made me feel less afraid.

Floating above the courtyard, it felt like I was looking down into a massive, dark well. I turned on my flashlight to its brightest setting and shone it down, but saw nothing that could emit light, nor any debris.

I no longer allowed myself time for panic or imagination. I forced myself to steady my mind, turned around, and dove down headfirst, using my flippers to propel myself into the courtyard.

As the space condensed around me, the light brightened. I quickly adjusted the brightness so my eyes could adapt, and by the time I finished, I had descended into the courtyard.

The feeling was immediately different. The white particles floating around were all stirred up by my descent, and below me were indeed stone tables and chairs covered in sediment. I shone the flashlight in all directions. There were large pillars at each corner of the courtyard, with two on each side, totaling twelve. Inside were wooden and stone corridors, and further back were the rooms, all adorned with carved window decorations, decayed and collapsed, completely covered in white, making them look incredibly dilapidated.

The wooden doors and windows had fallen apart and rotted, but miraculously, the structure of the building was still relatively intact, likely due to the use of high-quality timber at the time.

As I turned the flashlight around, I saw doors on all sides. The front led to the back door of the main hall, the back led to the entrance of the courtyard, and the sides led to the side chambers. The columns at the doorways were hung with couplets, the wood of which was not as good as that of the columns, twisted and sprouting fungal-like growths. Among them, two of the couplets had half fallen to the ground and rotted, while only the couplets at the back door of the main hall were relatively well-preserved.

I used my flippers to wipe away the debris on the couplets at the back door of the main hall, revealing these two lines:
“Having carved the Yanran, high praises still echo, while low verses linger in Qufu.”

These were quite ordinary couplets, but I could discern their meaning, indicating that the owner of this building had military achievements. Was the owner a soldier? Given the scale, it seemed they should be an officer.

The back door of the main hall had collapsed into a heap of mud. One of the window frames had cracked with several large gaps, crumbling into powder at the slightest touch, swirling in the water like smoke, as if it could vanish at any moment. I shone my flashlight through the gaps, revealing an incredibly chaotic interior, filled with collapsed beams and indescribable debris, indicating that the interior had been severely damaged.

I could vaguely see the central wall, which stood in the middle of the room. In Feng Shui, the qi enters from the front door and should not exit directly through the back door; there must be a wall in between to slow down the qi, allowing it to linger in the room. There’s also a belief that this way, the opening at the back changes from north-south to east-west, which is more favorable for wealth flow.

This actually makes sense; if you were engaged in some conspiratorial activity, you certainly wouldn’t be able to escape easily. Having a central wall provided a space to maneuver, giving you a bit of time to hide even if robbers came in.

I cautiously swam inside, and the reason I entered the front hall first was because the couplet made me think of something… In the front halls of wealthy families in Guangxi and Guangdong, there are usually plaques and spirit tablets in the lofts. The plaques there are inevitably related to the identity of the owner, so I decided to take a look first to find some clues.

As I entered, I was stunned by what I saw. Shining my light around, I discovered that the interior of the front building had completely decayed. The wooden floor had all collapsed, and looking up, there was no ceiling; I could see directly to the highest roof. The only parts that hadn’t rotted were the stone components and some massive rough wooden beams. A large number of miscellaneous items had fallen to the floor, leaving a scene of devastation. The entire interior space of the building resembled an old structure that had been stripped down to its skeleton by demolition, or a huge, simplistic scaffolding.

I floated and swept my light towards the upper end of the back wall; it was mostly decayed. The only thing I could reach was a plaque, which was also severely rotted. I swam up carefully and wiped away the debris on it. The color had completely faded, leaving only the raised outline in a muddy hue. I could vaguely make out four characters: 樊天子包 (Fan Tianzi Bao).

I couldn’t understand the meaning, but the signature made my eyelids twitch—it was… Zhang Family Master. The date and seal were at the bottom.

This kind of plaque might have been given by someone else. If it wasn’t a gift, the owner, being a great scholar or a refined person, would have written it themselves. In this Yao village, it was unlikely that any Yao people could write Chinese, let alone write such beautiful calligraphy. This was an exquisitely crafted slender gold script. After making rubbings for many years, I could tell that the calligraphy skill was very profound. This Zhang Family Master was likely the owner of the ancient building.

“Zhang Family Master…” I muttered to myself, “Zhang Family?”

Zhang Qi Ling, Zhang Zhang Zhang Zhang, is it just a coincidence?

Thoughts of everything that had happened before flooded my mind. The numerous clues found here seemed to have a vague connection to the “dumb oil bottle” (a character from the story), could it really have some relation to him?

Interesting! Talented people do remarkable things; the strange ancient building—could it be the old residence of the “dumb oil bottle”? This Zhang Family Master could be his ancestor? It really could be possible when I think about it.

This Zhang Family Master was able to build such a grand residence in the mountains, clearly indicating a wealthy background. Moreover, he could write well, and the content of the couplet was extremely refined and elegant. He seemed to embody the style of a cultured merchant like Hu Xueyan. But why would such a family build such a peculiar house in a remote Yao village? Were they hiding from persecution, or did they have other motives?

I suddenly felt a bit excited, thinking that a lot of stories must have happened in this ancient building. If it really has something to do with the “dumb oil bottle,” then this trip would be worth it! Unfortunately, there was nothing else to see. The front hall must have displayed many books, but now they were all surely decayed. It would have been great to find more texts. It seemed I could only go through one room at a time to search for all the clues.

Glancing at my oxygen gauge, there was still half left, so I needed to hurry. I planned to retreat to the courtyard first and think about which room would be the most suitable to explore next.

Just as I was about to kick my fins, I suddenly felt a chill at the back of my head, and a cold green light flickered behind me.