Iron Bull taucht wieder auf

Kapitel 85

I woke up to bright, blinding sunlight; it was already noon.

I turned over and looked sideways towards the door, where I could see the statue holding a clock.

"Hmm? Something seems off! The clock hasn't rung since Guan Baoling disappeared last night, right?" I scratched my head, my mind still sharp from just waking up. Indeed, in the tense search for Guan Baoling and the battle with the plague, I had completely overlooked the clock. And before Guan Baoling disappeared, it had strangely rung eight times in a row.

Suddenly jolted awake, I jumped out of bed and threw the blankets onto the floor.

At this moment, the living room was well-lit, and from five or six meters away, I could see that the clock face was open, and the lotus key was still inserted in the winding hole, blocking the minute hand of the clock, so the clock had actually stopped long ago.

I walked up to the statue and looked at the clock.

I remember when I left with the key in the 11 o'clock position this morning, the key was inserted at the 8 o'clock position. Now that the minute hand is stuck, the hour hand is also stopped at the 11:40 position.

"If the clock struck eight times last night, it should have represented at least eight o'clock, right? Why are the hands of the clock stuck between eleven and twelve o'clock, while the chimes are all over the place and have no pattern?"

This is a huge point of suspicion. I paced back and forth in front of the statue four or five times, took out the key, looked at my watch, and set the hands to 11:50, which is the normal time.

At this moment, I couldn't help but think of this: "Last time, one of my wristwatches stopped at 8 p.m. and started running again at 8 a.m., while the other stopped exactly at 8 a.m. - What about this time? It stopped unintentionally at 11:40 a.m. yesterday, and only started running again today, losing 24 hours in between... Could there be some strange connection between everything?"

Time is a strange thing. The twelve hours repeat endlessly on the round dial, but the outside world is constantly changing rapidly. There are absolutely no two twelve-hour periods that are exactly the same.

There was a rather philosophical statement in old school textbooks: motion is absolute, stillness is relative.

Imagine a "person" or animal whose living space is confined to the hour or minute hand of this circular clock face. They have no chance to contact the world outside the clock face, and can never escape from the hands. Would their world then be a monotonous repetition, endlessly cycling from twelve o'clock to twelve o'clock, then to another twelve o'clock, until the end of their life?

I shuddered again. If that kind of situation really existed, it would be... absolutely terrifying! To begin and end one's life in a meaningless "circle" is, no matter how you look at it, more terrifying than death.

I seemed to find clues about something in the statue, but the inspiration deep in my mind was fleeting and I couldn't capture it for the time being.

"Mr. Feng, is dinner ready?" An Zibin's polite voice came from the stairwell.

She was also wearing a new outfit today, and coincidentally, it was also a ladylike pantsuit, but in an elegant and serene smoky gray, extremely light and flowing, perfectly showcasing the young girl's slender waist. Her jet-black hair was styled into a classic Japanese bun, making her appear more mature and composed than her loose hair yesterday.

I've never had any particular likes or dislikes towards Japanese girls; I neither like nor dislike them, just indifferent to them.

"Okay—oh, Anzi, I'd like to ask you a question: can the sword on this statue be pulled out?"

I pointed to the bronze sword and politely asked her for advice.

Anzi took a few steps forward gracefully, made a typical Japanese bow, and replied softly, "Mr. Feng, Miss Xiao has tried many times but can't draw it. Perhaps it's cast together with the scabbard?"

The scabbard is engraved with rare and exotic birds and beasts from traditional Chinese culture, such as dragons, phoenixes, qilin, and giant snakes. It is so exquisite that I really can't believe that such a beautiful work of art could be crudely cast together with the sword and hilt. That would be like a cow chewing on a peony, a complete waste of resources.

Seeing the auspicious animals that only appear in Chinese culture, I am certain that this statue was cast by the Chinese, or even that it was transported from China.

According to the common explanation of patriots, 99% of the Chinese cultural relics detained in Japan were forcibly looted from China during World War II. The remaining 1% were "borrowed" by the incompetent late Qing government, which watched helplessly as the Japanese "borrowed" them.

If we could figure out where the statue came from, it would definitely help in uncovering the secret of the clock's timekeeping. My hand unconsciously gripped the hilt of the sword again; the filed part was rough and prickly. I really don't know why the previous collector would do such a thorough restoration to a perfectly good antique.

I pulled my hand outwards, and suddenly, a bright white light flashed, and the sword was pulled out...

"Huh? Ah—" Anzi exclaimed in surprise. After a few seconds of stunned silence, she immediately turned around and ran downstairs. Just as she turned the corner of the stairs, she shouted repeatedly, "Miss Xiao, Miss Xiao, the sword... the sword is out! The sword is out!"

This result was both reasonable and somewhat unexpected, considering that we had tried to remove it many times before without success.

The sword is one meter long, with a bluish-gray blade and a faint moon-white tinge on the edge. It feels heavy in the hand, weighing approximately ten to twelve kilograms. Ancient warriors were mostly strong and incredibly fierce, so the weapons they carried were beyond the dexterity of modern people.

There were only three thuds on the stairs before Xiao Keleng arrived gracefully. She must have been in such a hurry that she pushed her lightness skill to the limit and no longer cared about maintaining a ladylike image.

"How...how can I pull it out?" She looked at the sword in my hand in disbelief.

The blade exuded a distinct chill. Even under direct sunlight, it didn't reflect any light at all, but instead emanated a sinister coldness that made the hairs on the back of my hands stand on end.

Xiao Ke gasped, exclaiming, "What a sword! Only an ancient sword that has killed over a thousand people could possess such an extremely sharp killing intent. The ten most famous swords listed in the ancient manuals are probably not much different from this one, are they?"

According to ancient records on swordsmanship, a famous sword kills without leaving blood on the blade, often taking the soul of the victim with it. Therefore, a sword that has killed too many people will naturally carry a sinister killing aura, and to someone with "divine eyes," a sword will appear to be accompanied by a multitude of swarming, malevolent spirits.

“I have tried countless times to draw this sword, but I have never succeeded. Congratulations, Mr. Feng! It seems that you are its true master.” Xiao Keleng deliberately avoided my gaze.

I was also puzzled: "How could it suddenly be drawn? What happened to cause the mechanism inside the scabbard to malfunction?"

Xiao Keleng took the sword and casually twirled it a few times, instantly filling the room with a chill.

“Mr. Feng, this sword is very strange, it has a lot of yin energy. Drawing it seems... it doesn’t seem like a good thing!” Xiao Ke’s face suddenly darkened. He handed the sword back to me and sighed worriedly.

As if to echo her words, the sunlight outside the window was suddenly blocked by a thick cloud, and the light in the room immediately dimmed. At the same time, a cold wind swept through the room, rushing into the study and blowing open the covers of more than a dozen books, making a "rustling" sound.

Xiao Ke and I exchanged a cold glance, both of us secretly alarmed.

"What should we do then? Put it back?" I smiled, stubbornly refusing to believe in the superstition, but the wind was so strange that it sent chills down my spine. I looked down at the sword in my hand and surprisingly felt a sense of "love for it."

“Mr. Feng, the ancient sword is shrouded in evil, especially the empty scabbard, which is something swordsmiths fear most. I think we should return the sword to this general—” She looked up at the statue with utmost respect.

The Japanese have a deep reverence for God and are extremely devout. Having lived in Japan for a long time, Xiao Keleng inevitably became influenced by the westward spread of Japanese culture.

When it comes to swordsmanship, the Japanese know absolutely nothing. They only know how to make those clumsy samurai swords that you hold with both hands and slash horizontally and vertically, unlike the ancient Chinese who not only knew how to forge swords but also how to discuss swordsmanship.

Xiao Keleng was right. In ancient times, when warriors went into battle, they often had no time to wipe their swords after the fierce fighting. The swords, still covered in the enemy's blood, would be sheathed directly, inevitably bringing the enemy's blood into the sheath countless times.

Filthy blood breeds dark demons, and over time, the scabbard indeed becomes unclean.

I decided to return the sword, regardless of whether I believed in ghosts or gods. But then I glanced into the scabbard and noticed a thin, cloth-like substance against the inner wall. I couldn't help but be startled: "What is this?"

Xiao Keleng used a knife to pick out the object and spread it on the coffee table. It turned out to be an oval-shaped piece of sheepskin, extremely thin and carefully tanned, so the writing on it was completely undamaged and without any deformed or soiled marks.

Such parchment was generally used in ancient times to record very important information, such as imperial edicts, family precepts, or pirate treasure maps—treasure maps were definitely every adventurer's dream, including mine. So, I hurriedly sheathed the bronze sword and, together with Xiao Keleng, leaned on the table, staring intently at the parchment, which was about the size of two palms.

Four drawings were made on the paper, and the ink used was an extremely fine black. This alone is enough to surprise us. Neither ancient Chinese brushes nor modern Western quills could produce such fine brushstrokes.

The first painting depicts three islands in a vast ocean. With just a few simple strokes, it vividly portrays the vastness of the ocean and the islands' proud and unique character.

The second painting depicts a series of zigzagging steps that begin in mid-air and descend downwards, spiraling back and forth numerous times before finally reaching the waves of the sea. To emphasize the sheer number of steps, the artist cleverly placed many dots, which can be interpreted as ellipses, between the upper and lower sections of the steps.

The third painting depicts a square house with a bald Buddha statue in the center, holding a sparkling gem in its hand.

The fourth painting is a solo portrait of the gemstone, magnified more than ten times in size. The strokes representing the light are also drawn extremely densely, expressing the meaning of "radiant and dazzling".

"What is this?" Xiao Keleng pinched a corner of the parchment and twisted it, frowning and smiling bitterly.

The most readily available answer is the words "treasure map," and the radiant gem is the "treasure" that the author wants to guide others to seize.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the stairs again. Xiao Ke and I exchanged a cold glance, and she immediately got up and went downstairs to stop the An sisters from going up. Of course, the fewer people who know about such strange and eerie things, the better.

“Mr. Feng, I have many ideas. Let’s talk about them after we’ve sent them away…” She turned around at the top of the stairs and said this to me in a low and urgent voice before quickly going downstairs.

There are no words on the parchment, only these seemingly continuous simple line drawings.

The image naturally leads to the following interpretation: There are three islands in the sea. After reaching the islands and climbing countless steps, one arrives at a place underwater, perhaps a house containing a Buddha statue, where the glittering gem can be seen.

The key questions now are: "Who would build so many staircases leading down to below sea level? When was this blueprint recorded? What is the connection between the blueprint, the sword, the general, and the clock?"

After lunch, Xiao Keleng arranged for the An sisters to return to their villa to sort out the year's financial accounts, successfully getting them out of the way.

We sat on the living room sofa, spread out the parchment for the second time, and placed two notebooks and two pencils next to it.

The first thing Xiao Keleng said shocked me: "I can roughly estimate the age of this parchment to be around 200 BC."

Her expression was very serious, she bit her lip hard, and her short hair fell down to cover her brow bone. When she was concentrating on thinking about a problem, she had long lost the ladylike demeanor she had when she first arrived in the morning. In front of such a capable girl, I often overlooked her gender and regarded her as a comrade-in-arms who could share hardships and work together.

"Are you... sure?"

She nodded, her short hair bouncing slightly.

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass doors, casting dappled shadows on the floor.

"Two hundred years BC? What does that even mean..." I pondered. That was the era when Qin Shi Huang unified China and all the surrounding barbarians submitted. If the parchment came from the Qin Dynasty—

"Impossible, right? Xiao Xiao, can you be even more certain?"

My basis for this statement is that the Qin Dynasty's technology for producing brushes and ink was not advanced enough to possibly leave behind such detailed brushstrokes. Furthermore, the first painting's perspective is an aerial view of the sea, which can be understood as a workflow similar to "aerial photography." From any perspective, it's impossible for a painting to have been created in the Qin Dynasty from an "aerial" viewpoint.

Xiao Keleng stretched out both hands, holding the parchment in mid-air. He examined it carefully for five minutes before sighing heavily, "Mr. Feng, I come from a family of painters and calligraphers. I've been learning mounting and rubbing since I was seven, especially studying texts from before the Han Dynasty. I read, looked at, traced, and copied them almost every day. So please don't doubt my judgment. This parchment, only 0.4 centimeters thick, is made from the skin of a type of 'fish-tailed sheep' from the Loess Plateau of China. This type of sheep is recorded in the *Records of the Grand Historian* and the *Zizhi Tongjian*. It was created by Qin Prime Minister Li Si, who ordered people to crossbreed two types of sheep from Qin and Yan, specifically for the emperor's consumption."

She put down the painting, then frowned and added, "I can cut out a millimeter sample and send it to a friend at Sapporo University, where I can get an accurate dating analysis within 48 hours."

I pointed to the second painting: "Xiao Xiao, if this is a painting from the Qin Dynasty, how could it have such a complex stepped structure that leads all the way to the seabed? You know, workers who go underwater need a strictly controlled supply of compressed oxygen. Did the people of the Qin Dynasty have this kind of technology? Without oxygen, how could they have completed such complex underwater operations?"

The footage shows that there are quite a few steps leading to the seabed. There is no doubt that the construction of such a complex underwater project was unimaginable in the Qin Dynasty, where productivity was extremely low.

Xiao Keleng could naturally have thought of the problems I had analyzed as well. If we insisted on the conclusion that it was "Qin Dynasty parchment," then any of the subsequent questions would be difficult to justify.

The sky gradually darkened again, and I felt a bit cold, so I lit a fire in the fireplace.

We dragged the two sofas to the fireplace and sat facing each other. I remembered last night, in this very living room, I had also sat facing someone else, but she had mysteriously disappeared.

“Mr. Feng, I want to ask… are all the things you said this morning true?” Xiao Ke stared at the flames in the fireplace, lost in thought.

I smiled wryly, speechless: "Of course it's true, including the sound of the bubbles I heard. It's a pity you don't believe me, and nobody else does either." At that moment, the first person I thought of was Suren: "I wonder if she would believe me?" Intuitively, Suren would trust me unconditionally and believe every word I said.

“I believe you,” Xiao Ke replied succinctly.

"Why? Didn't you say you didn't believe it at all? How come you believe it now?" I sat cross-legged, talking to you while meditating and adjusting my internal energy.

“Because…because what I say can be doubted, like this two-thousand-year-old parchment…” She laughed a little embarrassedly, stretched out her hands to warm them by the fire, and her expression relaxed considerably.

Guan Baoling's disappearance is the strangest thing. Although Xiao Keleng said he believed what I said, I myself cannot make sense of it.

According to statistics on global strange events over the past decade, nothing seems to come close to Guan Baoling's disappearance, except for the long-standing legend of the "Bermuda Triangle" disappearances. In that mysterious area, numerous ships, airplanes, and passengers vanish without reason or warning, leaving no trace.

So, Guan Baoling just mysteriously disappeared? Vanished into thin air, never to return?

She's no ordinary person; she's a dazzling star in the global film and television industry, a highly sought-after figure, and the mistress of tycoon Ye Hongsheng. Her disappearance would likely attract even more attention than Princess Diana's car accident. This would certainly make Xunfuyuan quite lively for a while, and I'd become famous overnight too.

“Mr. Feng, I have a suggestion—tonight, let’s stay here and see if there are any bubbling sounds or other mysterious events. Of course, if the plague reappears, we must make him tell us everything, no matter the cost…including the ‘Book of Purgatory’!”

Mentioning that ancient book, Xiao Keleng's emotions became visibly excited. She stood up, pointed in the direction of the restroom, and continued with great enthusiasm, "We can take turns going to the restroom and see if we can see that mysterious disappearance happen again. Of course, not only do we have to go, but we also have to imitate Guan Baoling's entire movement trajectory and actions—washing her hands, opening the window, and then returning to the sink. What do you think?"

Her suggestion is very reasonable, and I'm willing to go along with it.

“I hope… that I’m the one who disappears this time, so that I can at least go to another mysterious world and find a way to rescue Guan Baoling—” I was joking.

Xiao Ke's cold smile vanished, and she gave a sullen "humph": "Mr. Feng, compared to Sister Su Lun, isn't Miss Guan Baoling more passionate, proactive, and charming? But don't forget, she's a tycoon's mistress, and girls in the entertainment industry are promiscuous by nature. She's just using you, so please don't take it seriously, okay?"

She was younger than me, but she spoke with an air of maturity and worldly experience.

I haven't forgotten these things, and I certainly won't have any unrealistic thoughts about Guan Baoling. Instead, I'd rather be with Su Lun, join forces to defeat the enemy, and share this continuous life of adventure.

Xiao Keleng tossed her short hair and strode toward the restroom, looking like a fearless outlaw on the verge of death before her execution.

Early morning of December 15, 2006

Part 2: Tower of the Dead

— Chapter 1 - The Golden Finger —

Dusk seems to come particularly early on cloudy days, and it gives people an especially heavy and oppressive feeling.

When Xiao Keleng first came out of the bathroom, she had a mischievous excitement on her face, but after taking turns with me twelve times, the excitement disappeared and it became a mechanical repetition.