Chapter Seventy-Nine: Hints

Before I could say a word, the man in the black cloak nodded. “Sixth Master, I understand what you mean. You’re suggesting that the place we’re in is like a mathematical paradox, similar to the ‘Penrose stairs,’ aren’t you?”

The Kaleidoscope nodded as well. “That’s right. This is precisely an environment akin to the Penrose mathematical paradox.”

Zhang the Ghoul frowned. “I don’t understand what this Penrose thing you’re talking about is.”

The man in the black cloak chuckled and began explaining the so-called “Penrose Stairs,” one of the world’s top ten paradoxes.

The Penrose stairs refer to a staircase that seems to ascend or descend endlessly without ever reaching the top or bottom. On these stairs, one can never find the highest or lowest point. The Penrose stairs were proposed in 1958 by the British mathematician Roger Penrose and his father, geneticist Leonid Penrose.

After listening, Zhang the Ghoul was stunned for a moment, then took a drag from his cigarette. “If that’s the case, then we can’t get out, can we?”

The Kaleidoscope waved his hand dismissively. “Of course not. We’ll find the entrance and exit to this place eventually, won’t we?”

“So how do we verify your so-called stairs hypothesis?”

“Ah!” The Kaleidoscope smirked. “It’s simple. When we tested the first hypothesis just now, Third Brother, you made a mark on this wall with your knife. If we’re truly trapped here, we’ll end up circling back around.”

“No need for that. I’m quick on my feet. Wait here for me. If I show up behind you, then it means the Kaleidoscope’s theory is correct.” With that, he disappeared down the narrow passage without another word.

We waited anxiously, hearts pounding. If the Kaleidoscope was right, we’d be in a dire situation. Even if this tomb passage wasn’t exceptionally long, it was at least a hundred meters or so. Finding the entrance and exit amid these mountain walls would be harder than scaling the treacherous paths of Shu!

Tap…

Footsteps echoed from behind us. We turned to look—Zhang the Ghoul was right behind us, his expression dark and brooding as he glanced at his pedometer and timer.

“Five and a half minutes. A total of five hundred eighty-seven steps,” he said gravely.

“Five hundred eighty-seven steps? How long will it take to find the entrance and exit if it’s that many?” Dragon King’s face grew pale with shock.

I felt dizzy upon hearing this. Five hundred eighty-seven steps—subtracting the parallel segments of the Penrose stairs, we’d descended at least fifty or sixty meters. How long would it take to find the entrance and exit at this rate?

“There’s no other way. We’ll just have to search inch by inch along this corridor.”

Upon hearing this, a chill crept into my heart. Clearly, our team lacked figures like the “Marquis of Unsealing of the Central Plains” or the legendary Nine Gates of Changsha. We had to rely on slow, methodical searching. I began to doubt the composition of our group—were these people all just amateurs?

Clang, clang, clang!

We proceeded step by step along the passage, starting from the mark Zhang the Ghoul had carved into the wall. With each step, we tapped the walls on either side.

I don’t know how long this tiresome work went on. The pain in my arm and the accumulated dangers along the way stoked my anger until my head was ready to explode. But just as I was about to lose my temper, a nearly worn-away inscription on the wall caught my eye.

prajñāpāramitā

A jolt of electricity shot through my mind, as if I had been struck by lightning. This inscription seemed so familiar, yet I couldn’t recall what it was. I muttered under my breath, “Wait a second!”

My sudden outburst startled everyone. Zhang the Ghoul turned to me. “What’s the matter?”

I pointed at the wall. “What is this?”

Zhang the Ghoul leaned in. “P…rajna…paramita? What’s that?”

As soon as he uttered the string of letters, Mengya, my master, and the man in the black cloak all froze, quickly turning to examine the strange inscription. Then, as one, they looked back at me, making me feel extremely uneasy. At that moment, the Kaleidoscope came over as well. “What is it? Let me see.” He adjusted his glasses and squinted at the wall.

“Prajñāpāramitā? This is Sanskrit from India. It means ‘arrived at the other shore,’ or simply, ‘to the other shore.’ It’s a phrase from a scripture.”

Hearing that, my mind was struck by lightning once again—a flash, and then nothing. The memory felt erased, perhaps even completely forgotten, yet somehow still familiar. I glanced surreptitiously at the three beside me. Mengya’s face had turned ashen, her expression terrifying, as if she were about to commit murder.

Zhang the Ghoul, unconcerned with our internal turmoil, began tapping on the wall bearing the inscription, but clearly found nothing unusual.

“Ahem!” Zhang the Ghoul called out to me. I snapped back to myself. “Come here and take another look. Does this inscription stir up any memories?”

Evidently, Zhang the Ghoul had noticed our strange reactions and realized the inscription must be connected to me in some way.

I nodded and stared at the inscription, still at a loss. I scratched at the wall, but nothing changed. It was clear the inscription wasn’t carved recently; it was at least five years old, if not older. The wear on the inscription seemed deliberate, as if meant to keep it hidden, or perhaps intended to trigger a response in a particular person or thing.

Clearly, Zhang the Ghoul saw that I was clueless. He shoved me aside and stood before the inscription, examining it carefully and running his fingers over the characters. After a long while, he suddenly tapped on the inscription’s surface. As if he’d discovered something, he called out, “Hand me the flashlight!” One of the men quickly handed it over. Zhang the Ghoul switched it on and shone it onto the inscription—and something unexpected happened.

Under the beam, the carved characters suddenly reflected light from their crevices. It was obvious that this rock had been placed here artificially, and the inside was hollow. In the dim light, there was no way you’d notice anything amiss.

Zhang the Ghoul nodded, lifted his foot, and drew a sharp dagger from his boot. He pried at the rock again and again. After just a few tries, with a grating sound, the fist-sized stone bearing the strange Sanskrit inscription came loose.

He glanced at everyone standing behind him, a look of satisfaction on his face. He returned the dagger to his boot and peered into the opening. The fist-sized hole was pitch-black and unfathomably deep, enough to chill the soul. He shone the flashlight inside and inspected it carefully. “There’s a candle in here,” he said quietly.

“A candle?” the Kaleidoscope asked, puzzled. “Could it be an old candle left over from when the tomb was illuminated?”

Zhang the Ghoul waved his hand. “I suspect this candle is a kind of switch.”

“A switch? For what? The tomb passage?”

He nodded, lit a cigarette, and put it in his mouth. “Looks like I need to light this candle.”

Everyone froze at his words. Lighting a candle was simple enough, but what if there was a trap inside, or if the candle was a fuse connected to explosives? We could all be buried alive. More importantly, the inscription on the stone meant “to the other shore”—wasn’t that an invitation to the afterlife? If lighting the candle sent us to the next world, weren’t we all doomed?

Before anyone could intervene, the man in the black cloak stopped Zhang the Ghoul with a raised hand. “Third Master Zhang, I urge you to reconsider. What if the candle triggers a deadly trap?”

Zhang the Ghoul frowned. “Do you have a better idea?”

The man in the black cloak shook his head. Though we all understood lighting the candle was extremely dangerous—a gamble with our lives—there was no better option. Lighting it seemed to be the only path forward.

Zhang the Ghoul said nothing more. He took a deep drag of his cigarette, exhaled slowly, and produced a lighter. Without hesitation, he reached into the hole.

Click.

He flicked the lighter and set the candle inside the cavity ablaze. A sudden crack sounded, and in an instant, countless candle flames illuminated the chamber. It was as if we were standing on a moving escalator, gliding forward in parallel.