Chapter 147: The Living Tomb
Bai Hongqi nestled in his arms, saying nothing.
She recalled the past. Bai Mingyu hadn’t lied—this foolish boy had indeed always treated her well.
Whenever she wrote him a letter, no matter how trivial the matter, Bai Mingyu would respond seriously. He could explain a minor issue over two pages, and along with his letters came little gifts—some expensive jewelry, others amusing trinkets bought from roadside stalls: rattles, paper lanterns… he was always like that, seeing something he liked and wanting to present it all to her.
For some reason, while she was thinking this, Bai Mingyu happened to mention something: “Aunt, when I came here a few days ago, I saw a beautiful Shu brocade. When we get out, I’ll have the best tailor make you a few new dresses, gorgeous ones. And shoes—I’ll buy you two… no, ten pairs.”
Bai Hongqi gripped his sleeve, feeling awkward. “I don’t want them.”
“Why?”
“How do I know you haven’t given them to someone else?”
Bai Mingyu said urgently, “What do you think I am? I haven’t given a single thing to anyone else—everything’s for you!” With the reckless sincerity of his age, he swore seriously, “I’ve only ever bought things for you. If I lie, may heaven strike me with lightning! You know it—you’re the only one on my mind.”
His last words carried a hint of grievance.
After a while, Bai Hongqi murmured, “Shanghai is so big… there must be people better than me…”
“No, no, there isn’t! I haven’t seen a single one!” Bai Mingyu interrupted her hastily. His chest felt like it was burning with a small flame, and though he hadn’t said anything inappropriate, his face flushed inexplicably. He hugged her tighter, leaning close to whisper, “I don’t care what others say. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the best.”
Bai Hongqi pushed him slightly but couldn’t move him; his strength was like a wild ox. She was pressed so close to his chest that she could feel his heart pounding, a rapid thump that seemed to echo through her own chest. For a moment, she couldn’t tell whose heartbeat it was.
“Aunt, I liked you the moment I first saw you in the East Courtyard. In Nanfang, all I thought about was how to marry you and take you home.”
Bai Hongqi bit her lip.
“In Nanfang?”
At that time, she had treated Bai Mingyu as a competitor, a disciple of Uncle Jiu, always comparing herself to him. Bai Mingyu, foolish as ever, would idly come to irritate her. Several times she had been so angry she almost struck him with a whip—he was thoroughly annoying.
She had thought Bai Mingyu just wanted to compete with her.
But in retrospect, there were signs she hadn’t noticed.
That year in Nanfang, during an autumn rain, Bai Mingyu had waited at the carriage station, soaked through, yet the little wooden box tucked in his sleeve remained perfectly dry. He had guarded it carefully, waiting at the door for her. On the train in the North, he had insisted on escorting her to the outskirts, ignoring the stares of others. In Shuiniu Town, from the very first moment until being trapped in the underground palace for several days, Bai Mingyu had protected her, never complaining, never giving up on her—or on himself.
This person, strong and reckless, knew how to care for others.
He just didn’t show it in ordinary times, and around the person he liked, he acted foolishly.
“You’re such a fool,” Bai Hongqi muttered.
Bai Mingyu, hearing her, grew suspicious: “Aunt, did you just scold me?”
“No, I’m praising you.”
“You say I’m foolish…”
Bai Hongqi laughed, pinching his solid arm lightly. “You really are a fool, but fools have their blessings.”
Bai Mingyu, usually direct, rarely bent like this. In a flash, he understood, his eyes lighting up. He grinned widely, ecstatic and unsure what to do. He held her hands in his, rubbed them in his palm, blew warm air on them, and hugged her carefully.
Bai Mingyu thought: I’m doomed, I’m doomed. In dramas, they say just one glance, one word from the lady, and your heart leaps out of your chest—turns out it’s true.
Forget mountains of gold; he would give his life without hesitation.
After a few days, Bai Mingyu, relying on his strength, pushed through two blocked earthen walls and finally found a way out.
Supporting Bai Hongqi, they stumbled through the darkness, feeling their way forward. After an unknown distance, they finally saw a faint yellow light.
Overjoyed, Bai Mingyu almost carried her on his back, crawling through the low earthen tunnel. But it wasn’t an exit—it was another chamber.
This wasn’t a simple earthen hole, but reinforced with stone walls and wooden planks, resembling a room. In the center stood a small altar. On either side, offerings of grain were arranged according to the four directions. A small oil lamp on the altar cast dim light. In the light, a few wrinkled fruits lay in a clay dish, long dried out.
A shadow stirred near the altar. Bai Hongqi noticed and, clutching Bai Mingyu’s shoulder, whispered, “Someone’s there!”
Bai Mingyu, braver, set her down, picked up a wooden stick wrapped in silk, approached, and recognized the figure. “Mr. Huang?!”
After winding through the earthen tunnels for what felt like ages, they unexpectedly found Huang Mingyou.
Huang Mingyou was tied up, his ropes loosened but not fully undone. He looked tired but conscious, recognizing them. Relief flickered in his eyes as he muttered, “As long as we’re alive, it’s enough.”
They helped him up, noticing his leg dragged limply, likely broken.
Bai Mingyu clenched his teeth in anger: “Those wretched people!”
Huang Mingyou, looking pale, pointed to the altar. “There are still a few jars of grain. Find the intact ones; chew the grains with shells to stave off hunger. I’ve survived these days on them.”
Bai Mingyu obeyed and rummaged through the jars.
By the dim lamp, Huang Mingyou could see Bai Hongqi’s gold-leaf clothing and Bai Mingyu’s bloodstained and muddy body. His head wound had scabbed, hair matted with dried blood—quite a sight.
Huang Mingyou asked how they were captured and learned it happened in Jiangkou. He sighed.
Bai Hongqi asked, “Sir, what exactly is this place? Could it be where they hide treasure?”
Huang Mingyou shook his head, frowning.
Bai Mingyu found a small jar of wine, unsure how long it had been stored. It was strong and spicy, but at least clean. He shared some with the others. Bai Hongqi sipped a little, coughing, her face flushed red.
Bai Mingyu was fine, chewing grains while studying Huang Mingyou. Noting his unusual robe, he asked, “Sir, how come you were captured here too? And what’s with this clothing—it looks like something from a stage performance?”
Huang Mingyou drank a bit of wine, feeling slightly better. “It’s what the Imperial Tutor used to wear. The villagers didn’t know much and just tossed a few pieces on me. A mess.”
Bai Mingyu frowned: “Why? They captured us to perform a play? The emperor’s gone—what use is this?”
Bai Hongqi’s expression changed. Her hand brushed the rustling gold-leaf clothing.
“If I were alone, I’d only have a guess. But seeing your clothes, Miss Hongqi, there’s no doubt,” Huang Mingyou said. “This isn’t a tomb—it’s a living tomb.”
“A living tomb?”
“Yes, a tomb built for the living. We are his offerings.”
Huang Mingyou asked Bai Mingyu to help him up, scanned the room, frowned while calculating, then said, “No, according to the old calendar from 200 years ago… yes, now it all matches.”
Bai Mingyu: “Sir?”
Huang Mingyou gave a wry smile: “Have you heard the story of the Western King’s sunken silver?”
Bai Mingyu had no reaction. Bai Hongqi, resting nearby, asked: “Sir, do you mean the Sunken Silver Secret? But this is the mountains, not rivers.”
“When the Western King entered Shu, he was defeated and fled, melting gold and silver into ingots and coins, taking them along. Part was sunk in rivers at Jiangkou, part secretly sent into the mountains. Over 300 stonemasons were employed to guard the treasure for future generations. None of the 300 emerged alive. Some say they were killed, but the treasures vanished. Now it seems they were hidden and guarded here.” Huang Mingyou’s cracked, dry lips rasped.
Bai Hongqi clenched her fists nervously. “Sir, you mean they weren’t hiding treasure in the mountains—they were building tombs?”
Huang Mingyou nodded.
It all made sense now.
Shuiniu Town, over a century, had few residents, little contact with the outside world. Its carvings were mostly dragons and tigers, and traditional rules were strictly observed.
The tomb chamber had a few murals. Huang Mingyou lit an oil lamp, had Bai Mingyu carry him to examine them, wanting to understand more. The captors hadn’t chosen the site randomly. As they examined, he asked, “When you were captured, did the villagers say anything?”
Bai Mingyu: “They asked for our birth dates. Aunt refused; they broke my head before I told them.”
They gave their birthdates when asked.
Huang Mingyou, versed in Zi Wei astrology, calculated: “They were seeking people with noble fates to suppress luck. Both of your charts are good, but Hongqi’s is better. That’s why they dressed her in gold-leaf clothing.”
