I was unconscious for three days. When I woke up, I had already been taken to the hospital. The moment I opened my eyes, I couldn’t remember anything; I just felt dizzy and nauseous, as if the world was spinning around me.

Two days later, my condition began to improve little by little, but I had lost all my ability to speak. No matter what I wanted to say, the sounds that came out were just strange noises. I thought my brain had been damaged, affecting my language nerves, and I was very scared. However, the doctor told me that this was just a symptom of a severe concussion and that I shouldn’t worry.

I communicated with others using gestures like a mute. 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 the Beilin District of Xi’an, and that I had been brought in by several armed police officers. He couldn’t explain exactly how they found me, only saying that I had probably broken about twenty bones, likely due to a fall from a height.

My chest and left arm were in casts, but I had no idea how serious my injuries were. Hearing what the doctor said made me realize how lucky I was to be alive. I asked him when I might be able to be discharged, and he smiled, saying it would be at least ten days to two weeks; I couldn’t even get out of bed yet.

That evening, the armed police officer who had brought me in heard that I could speak and came to visit me with a basket of fruit. I asked him the same question I had asked the doctor, but he didn’t know how to answer either. He only mentioned that some villagers had found me by a creek in Lantian and that I had been placed on a bamboo raft. My wounds had been treated somewhat, and the doctor said that if it weren’t for that, I would have died long ago.

I found it strange; my last memory was of falling into the water, and logically, I should have been washed up on the riverbank at most. How did I end up on a bamboo raft? Moreover, Lantian is seven or eight miles away from the area where I fell. Had we unknowingly traveled such a long distance through the underground river?

I fabricated a story about climbing the mountain and thanked the armed police officer profusely before sending him on his way. I immediately called Wang Meng and asked him to come to Xi’an, bringing some money and my clothes. He arrived the next day. I paid off my medical bills and then bought a new phone and laptop.

I asked Wang Meng how business had been lately. He said there wasn’t anything important going on except that my dad had tried to contact me many times. I thought to myself that I hadn’t expected it to take this long to come out; he must be worried. So, I reported my safety to my family, but my dad wasn’t home. I exchanged a few words with my mom and casually inquired about my third uncle, but there was still no news.

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

In the following days, I felt bored and suddenly thought of Lao Yang. Feeling a pang of nostalgia, I lay on my hospital bed, flipping through the tattered mountaineering jacket I had been wearing when I fell, searching for Lao Yang’s diary. The diary was still there, but it had been soaked in water, making it impossible to read. I struggled to decipher a few lines, but it was no use. I then called the hospital and went online to pass the time.

I have looked up a lot of information, but there isn’t much available online about antique trees. I could only briefly describe the image of the bronze tree in my mind and share it with some friends. Later, I received responses one after another, most of whom didn’t know what it was and didn’t believe my description. However, a few letters were quite enlightening.

One of the letters came from a friend of my father’s in the United States, with whom I get along well. In his email, he wrote that this kind of bronze tree is called a “pillar,” because its shape resembles an ancient musical instrument. In 1984, a similar object was found in a mine in Panzhihua, but it was far smaller than what I described; it was only a fragment, and the part buried deep underground had completely rusted away.

So far, there hasn’t been any literature that can explain what this object was used for. However, according to the “Shan Hai Jing” (Classic of Mountains and Seas) and some narrative poems recorded by minority ethnic groups, it is indeed related to ancient activities of capturing “earth dragons (snakes).”

The “Zhu Jiu Yin” is said to be a type of snake living deep in the earth’s veins. Because it has survived for a long time in steep rock crevices, it has had almost no opportunity to look straight ahead, resulting in its two eyes having mutated to resemble those of a flatfish. The ancients would draw it out from the deep earth with fresh blood, then shoot it and make candles from it. It sounds quite tragic, but at that time, a lasting light source was extremely precious, especially for those who were active at night or lived in pitch-black caves.

I found some reason in his analysis, but it still didn’t explain why encountering the so-called “pillar” would produce such a wonderful yet terrifying ability. I wrote back to ask him if there had been any similar occurrences in history.

He replied with a letter and included a fragment of a novel in notes, which recorded an event that took place during the Qianlong era of the Qing Dynasty. It mentioned that a blue-white stone dragon-patterned box was excavated from a mine in Xi’an. When Emperor Qianlong opened it, he secretly summoned several ministers to the palace that night for a discussion that lasted until midnight. Shortly after, there was a fire in the Qianqing Palace. Among those ministers, except for one who was well-known, the others all met mysterious ends, ultimately being inexplicably killed.

Looking at the timeline, it seems to coincide with the event mentioned in Li Pipa’s “He Mu Ji,” suggesting a connection. It appears that the person who excavated the white stone dragon-patterned box and those who understood the matter all ended up silenced. The emperor was determined to keep a secret, so what exactly was in that white stone dragon-patterned box? Could it be related to the origins of this bronze ancient tree?

I wrote back again to seek his opinion, and he replied with a single sentence: “You have to dig deeper to find out.”

I smiled wryly, knowing that this was unlikely. Who knows how deep it goes? Perhaps it took them centuries to cast this thing. Even if someone were willing to dig, I would definitely not be around to see it come out.

There are a few letters from my second uncle addressed to me. He mentioned that at that time, the ethnic minorities inherited the decorative style from the Western Zhou period. Due to limited ethnic interactions and extremely underdeveloped transportation and communication, there should have been a time lag. In other words, I estimated the timeline too early. According to general patterns, that period should have already been during the late Qin Dynasty in the Central Plains region.

At that time, almost all activities were related to Emperor Qin Shi Huang’s construction of his mausoleum. They hunted the mythical creature “Zhu Jiu Yin,” possibly to refine “dragon oil” as tribute to the emperor for alchemical practices or similar activities. Moreover, geological surveys indicate that there are large metallic objects at the lowest level of the Qin Shi Huang mausoleum. Surrounding the entire tomb, logically, the metallurgical technology at that time should not have been capable of completing such a massive project. The builders of this part should have been an externally advanced ethnic group with particularly developed metallurgical skills.

My second uncle is a loyal fan of Qin Shi Huang and can relate everything back to that period, but I do not agree with his speculations.

A month later, after being discharged from the hospital and returning home, I began to sort out my feelings and re-engage with life. I organized my nearly overflowing mailbox, and after sorting through some magazines and newspapers, I found an unsigned parcel.

Old Wu:

Can you guess who I am?

Yes, I’m not dead, or rather, I’m alive again.

I’m sorry to involve you in this matter, but after all, you are the only person I can trust, and I have no other choice.

Now that the whole thing is complete, our relationship must come to an end here. I’m glad to have been friends with you, but now all of this no longer matters.

Are you very curious about what happened three years ago?

Three years ago, I went to the Qinling area with a group of border folks from Liao, and based on local legends, we found a tree hole in a banyan grove at the top of the mountain. After careful consideration, we decided to take the risk and go down. You know the whole process; later, I got trapped in a stone cave.

At that time, I was already in despair. Although I wouldn’t die so quickly, living became more terrifying for me—forever trapped in the narrow, pitch-black depths of the mountain with no hope of escape. That kind of pain, you should have experienced as well.

I spent four whole months in darkness, and those months were like hell. However, during this time, I kept thinking. I realized that this ability is related to the subconscious. For example, if I wanted to open a door in the stone, I had to make myself believe that there was a door in the stone itself; otherwise, no matter how hard I tried, the door wouldn’t appear.

One cannot deceive the subconscious, so using this ability requires guidance, which is very difficult. As I told you before, once the guidance fails or deviates, what you materialize could be something unknown and terrifying.

I kept doing things and gradually mastered some tricks. However, at this point, I discovered that this ability gradually faded over time. This feeling was very obvious, like a person slowly feeling fatigued. I realized that if I didn’t find a way to get out, I might starve to death here.

I was at my wit’s end and tried to use that ability to copy myself. I didn’t expect it to succeed, and I was taken aback when it did. Suddenly, I found myself outside the cave. At that moment, I didn’t realize that I was the copy; all of my memories were exactly the same as my original self’s. So when he called out to me, I completely rejected the idea that I was a replica. He started to curse at me, saying that I wanted to replace him in this world and that I should disappear. I was very scared; I felt that the one inside the cave was a monster. So, regardless of how my original self called out from inside the cave, I brought in explosives and completely collapsed the cave.

In fact, I did know that I was a copy, but my subconscious was unwilling to accept this fact. So I chose a destructive state; I killed my original self and told myself that I had only killed a substitute. The ability granted by the bronze tree was very short-lived, so I took a branch from the bronze tree and exited through the hidden passage at the base, hoping that taking a part of the bronze tree with me would make my ability last longer, which would give me a chance to escape outside. It turned out that my idea was correct. I returned outside and dug up what we had found before we got here. Afraid that the bronze branch would be too conspicuous, I buried it and then returned to Xi’an, hoping to find a place to sell what I had.

Unfortunately, while doing business, I was caught by plainclothes officers at an ancient market. Later, as you know, when I returned home, my mother had already left. I did not lie to you about these things.

There are also some things I must tell you: having this ability does come at a cost. My memory is very poor; I have to write down many things in advance to remember them. That is a side effect of using the ability. All along the way, I could have settled you well and made you unknowingly help me complete this adventure, but unfortunately, over the past three years, I have forgotten many things. I can’t even clearly remember how I got out, so I have left many gaps. I estimate that in another two or three years, I might completely lose the ability to remember.

You also have that peculiar energy within you. I don’t know if it will affect you, so take care of yourself. According to my calculations, this power may linger in you for several years, but it will be very weak, almost imperceptible.

Lao Yang

After I finished reading the letter, I let out a sigh, not knowing what to say. Inside the envelope, there was also a photo of him and his mother sitting on a bench, with the sea in the background. They must have gone abroad. His mother was very beautiful and young, and standing next to him, they looked more like a couple. I took a closer look but felt that there was a strange aura on her face, a kind of indescribable fierceness; perhaps it was a psychological effect.

Before I knew it, winter had arrived. Cuddled up in an air-conditioned room, I spent the entire afternoon lazily, lacking even the energy to doze off. I lay on a recliner in the “Xiling Seal Engraving Society,” my feet cold as ice, not knowing what to do. Just as I was in a half-dreaming state, Wang Mengpo walked in and said to me, “Boss, someone is looking for you.”

I barely reacted, yawned, and thought to myself, “It’s freezing cold, and there are still people wandering around antique shops. This person is quite enthusiastic.” But then again, it’s business. I got up, patted my face, shook off the drowsiness, and walked out.

Outside, the air conditioning was weak, and the cold wind made me shiver. I looked and saw that it was the young girl from Uncle Hai’s team, shivering from the cold. I thought to myself that she probably came to bring me a check, and my heart warmed up. I quickly called Wang Meng to make tea and asked her, “So, girl, did Uncle Hai send you?”

The girl, Qin Haiting, was a relative of Uncle Hai. At just seventeen, she was already an experienced hand in the antique world. She nodded and said, “Oh my gosh, why is Hangzhou colder than the north?”

Wang Meng laughed and said, “The south has that dry, biting cold weather. And you know, Jinan isn’t that far north.”

Seeing Qin Haiting shivering, I hurriedly pulled her into the inner room where it was warm from the heating. I handed her a hot water bottle and asked, “You’re really sensitive to the cold. Is it warmer now?”

After drinking a few sips of hot tea, she began to feel better but was still stamping her feet in the room. “It’s a little better. People say Hangzhou is so beautiful, and if my uncle hadn’t stopped me, I would have rushed over here myself. Who knew it would be this cold? Oh, I won’t come again next time.”

I asked, “What did your uncle want you to come for? Why didn’t he call to let me know?”

Qin Haiting took off her scarf and pulled out an envelope from her bag, saying, “Of course it’s important business. Here, a cash check for the money from that fish eye stone.”

When I heard that, I realized it was indeed the case. I took it, glanced at the amount, which was quite good, and immediately put it in my pocket, saying, “Please thank him for me.”

She then took out an invitation and handed it to me. “My Uncle Hai is coming to Hangzhou the day after tomorrow for an antique appraisal meeting. He said to invite you too; he has something important to discuss with you.”

I asked, “The day after tomorrow? I don’t know if I have time. Why didn’t he mention it over the phone, being all mysterious?” In fact, I didn’t want to go. Antique appraisal sounded too boring. For those in the industry, it was just a bunch of old men chatting, and honestly, how many stories could there be? You could tell if something was real or fake in just a few seconds.

Qin Haiting leaned closer to my ear and whispered, “My uncle said it’s related to that bronze fish. If you don’t go, you’ll regret it.”