Year 427 of the Era of the Ashen Wheel, period of the Shifting Winds.
It should have been the season when vegetation was lush. But eight months earlier, a meteorite had torn through the sky and radically transformed the landscape of Paichelan.
After the earthquakes and floods, a burial site, sealed for a millennium, had come to light. A configuration with five courtyards, a privilege reserved, 1500 years ago, only for members of the imperial family according to the funeral rites of the time.
In peacetime, a discovery of such importance would have inevitably shaken the entire world of archaeology, and leading figures from all sides would have flocked long ago. Logically, an excavation of such magnitude should never have fallen to you, a young field archaeologist. But in the wake of the disaster, vestiges were emerging from everywhere like springs.
The entire continent reeled under natural disasters; the archaeology institute's personnel were requisitioned for rescue efforts, equipment was cobbled together. Being able to maintain a team on site was already a luxury.
Following a reorganization of resources and a temporary mission order, this tomb, which should have gone to a high-ranking researcher, fell into your hands, those of a mere junior researcher.
You remember simply nodding absently upon receiving the mission order. But you knew that at that precise moment, your fingers were trembling slightly.
Since your childhood, you had been fascinated by this magic that allowed one to traverse millennia of history through the misty forest of texts, to hear the truth. You believed that archaeology was not just a science, but a calling, a response to a kind of pact with fate.
You had always hoped – hoped to become the one history would choose. And this tomb, it was the prey offered to you.
You had spent nearly six months gradually cleaning this cemetery, soaked by floods. Groundwater infiltration was severe, mud and humus formed a thick layer of sediment; each descent into the shaft was akin to a fight to the death against a man-eating swamp.
Work was frequently interrupted – lack of equipment, collapse of supports, breakdowns of recorders, and even once, a sudden rise in water at the entrance of the shaft nearly destroyed the entire passage. It was under these conditions that you met Wei - Chen Jingwei.
She was the mechanics expert sent by the technical support team – returned from studies in Revachol, specializing in device engineering and emergency mechanics. This introduction sounded like the resume of a high-precision tactical equipment designer. Logically, with such a background, Jingwei should not have been assigned to such a place.
For a time, no one understood what she was doing on this dirty, tiring, and boring archaeological site. The first time you saw her was in the temporary repair shelter after the collapse of the shaft entrance. A group of technicians was debating how to weld a support point.
She kicked aside the tent curtain, a roll of blueprints in hand, her voice shriller than a drill: "Let me through, how did you learn mechanics? The equations you've set up are completely wrong. If you really do that, people will die!"
This woman had a somewhat shrill voice, like a whistle, you thought.
Your superiors probably really didn't take you seriously to send such a petite young woman as the head of the mechanical team; she didn't look capable of doing strenuous work. You even suspected she had never gotten her hands dirty, considering this some sort of practical exercise. Your attitude changed radically afterwards.
One night of heavy rain, you were repairing the main shaft. The downpour beat against the celestial vault, and water began to flow back into the tomb corridor. Jingwei stood before you, shouting directions for the water pumps to change conduits, while turning to yell at you: "Comrade! Pass me the toolbox!"
Rushing over, you nearly slipped. She caught you by the arm, with surprising strength. Your eyes met briefly in the pouring rain. Then, they called for a meal on the site, and she was again the first to rush over.
At a time when even food was scarce, eating a bowl of white rice was difficult. Every day, on the site, only a few vegetable dumplings were steamed – chopped vegetables mixed with brown rice, a little sweet potato flour, all mixed together and cooked. The texture was coarse and gritty, like brick dust under the teeth. She, however, ate this with an appetite that gave a strange sense of comfort – a tangible impression of being able to survive, no matter what.
She didn't usually talk much, at most just looking up and nodding at someone. But, curiously, everyone liked her very much.
Not a demonstrative affection, but a trust that had accumulated discreetly. She became the figure you crossed most often in the tomb corridor. You cleaned artifacts, she inspected the walls; you compared funeral rites, she adjusted the stabilizer at the shaft entrance.
She lived in the prefabricated barracks next to yours, the door always ajar. She never seemed tired. She seemed to be constantly working – welding, drawing plans, dismantling machines, screwing, cleaning, consulting plans, reading...
One night, you woke up and found her standing in front of her door, a book in her arms, silent, simply watching the rain. You didn't call her, just sat down to listen to the "ta-ta-ta" of the raindrops on the sheet metal, like a countdown.
You started dreaming about her. Not the kind of dream that makes your heart race, no – she stood in a desert, you couldn't see her face clearly. She never turned around, and at her feet were piled thousands of unopened letters. You didn't dare approach.
For six months, nothing had actually happened between you.
The days were silent and endless.
A month ago, you discovered that this five-courtyard tomb had never been looted. At that moment, you almost couldn't contain your exuberant joy – an intact royal burial, its value was inestimable.
However, excitement soon gave way to perplexity. Logically, this should have corresponded to the standards of the early Xu dynasty, but the interior of this tomb was far from conforming to it. It was too simple, too... modest.
Last week, the cleaning work progressed considerably, and you found the epitaph stele:
「大煦昭惠公主墓志
字兰猗,世祖皇帝掌珠,孝诚皇后遗珍.生而玉质兰心,总角之年即显异禀.帝甚爱之,常携至书房,亲授诗礼.
永徽十六年,适进士柳氏.柳生文采斐然,与公主志趣相投.每值花朝月夕,常有新词相和,帝闻之欣然.
景和元年,霜露既降,琼英遽陨.公主随先帝之志,永辞椒房,春秋二十有一.
铭曰:
明珠韫椟 芳兰委露
风雅长存 音容如晤
当风而折 环佩声遥
遗韵流芳 永世昭昭
——景和元年太傅张怀谦奉敕恭立」
"Epitaph of Princess Zhaohui of the Great Xu Dynasty. Courtesy name Lanyi, pearl of Emperor Shizu, treasure left by Empress Xiaocheng.
Born with a jade-like nature and an orchid heart, she showed exceptional gifts from a young age. The Emperor loved her dearly, often taking her to his study to personally teach her poems and rites.
In the sixteenth year of the Yonghui era, she married the scholar Liu. Mr. Liu was of remarkable literary talent, sharing the same aspirations as the princess. During the flower festivals and moonlit nights, they often composed new verses in harmony, which the Emperor was pleased to hear.
In the first year of the Jinghe era, as the frost and dew fell, the jade flower suddenly perished.
The princess, following the will of the late Emperor, forever left her apartments, at the age of twenty-one.
The inscription says: Bright pearl hidden in its casket, fragrant orchid abandoned to the dew. Elegance remains eternal, her voice and face as if seen. Broken by the wind, the sound of her jade ornaments recedes. Her fragrant legacy spreads, shining for eternity.
—— Respectfully erected by imperial order by Zhang Huaiqian, Grand Tutor, in the first year of the Jinghe era."
The night was deep, the power supply system still half-paralyzed, the four small hours of daily light already consumed. The yellowish flame of the kerosene lamp flickered slightly in the wind, elongating your shadow, projecting it distorted onto the dilapidated wall.
You had been sitting, for a whole week, in front of the desk in the city's reading room, poring over all the fragments of ancient books you could find – The History of Xu, the Imperial Compilations, the Chronicles of the Splendid Capital, the Official Registers, and even the obscure Archives of the Inner Palace Offerings and the Register of Imperial Consorts. But this Princess Zhaohui, Lanyi, mentioned on the epitaph, remained untraceable in the illustrious annals of history.
And her father, Chu Jin – honored by posterity under the name Emperor Wenguang – historical chronicles clearly indicated that he had only had one son, the crown prince. So where did this princess come from? In the historians' writings, Emperor Wenguang was not a martial and resolute sovereign. He had no extraordinary accomplishments, nor was he a legendary emperor with the vivid colors of operas. Reading his biography, one only detected between the lines a lukewarm character of "benevolence." He was indulgent towards his ministers, compassionate towards the people, and even towards rebellions within the imperial family, he rarely showed severity.
If he had been born into an ordinary family, he might have been a much-loved elder; but sitting on the dragon throne, such a temperament became, on the contrary, a weakness of irresolution.
And the figure of Zhang Huaiqian, he, traversed the entire court of Emperor Wenguang.
The pen of this great scholar and Grand Tutor filled edicts, political treatises, and poems. Even the learning manuals you recited as a child contained his works. His sister had entered the palace as a concubine and, although limited by her social rank and unable to become empress, she was deeply loved by Emperor Wenguang.
The chronicles report that Consort Zhang perished in childbirth – if Princess Zhaohui was indeed her daughter, Zhang Huaiqian was then the princess's maternal uncle.
But the strangest thing was that after the first year of the Jinghe era, this Grand Tutor who held the reins of power had also disappeared from the chronicles.
No edict of dismissal, no recorded date of death. Your fingers unconsciously stroked the rubbing of the epitaph, the rough grain of the paper hurting you.
In a moment of bewilderment, a question pierced your mind like an icy arrow – what unforgivable fault had Princess Zhaohui committed to not even deserve a single line in the registers?
History is never silent without reason. These deliberately erased names are often the most burning truth.
At that moment, these words buried for a millennium, through the yellowed paper, burned your palm.
"Little comrade, when are you finishing your work? I'm going to close the main gate!"
You started and, following the voice, looked up. You saw the old night watchman, wrapped in a faded old military uniform, leaning on a cane, standing at the entrance of the reading room. He stood against the light, his shadow stretching long.
"I'll be right there!" you replied hastily, hurriedly packing your books into your bag. Turning around, you saw the pile of documents on the table and were momentarily embarrassed.
"It's nothing," said the old man, waving his hand.
"Are you coming back tomorrow? I'll keep the table for you."
"Tomorrow, I'm afraid I can't, but I'll have to continue later."
"That's nothing either," smiled the old man, revealing a few yellowed teeth. "I'll keep this table for you."
He paused. "What's your name, young man?"
"Sima Nantang. Just call me Nantang, that'll be fine."
"Did you arrive not long ago?"
"I graduated a little over a year ago."
"That's what I thought." The old man, leaning on his cane, took two steps forward. "I see you're constantly consulting the chronicles of the Xu dynasty. You're in charge of remains from that period, aren't you?"
"Yes, that's right. I find there are rather few written documents."
You hesitated for a moment, then casually asked: "What is your surname, sir?" The old man didn't answer, just smiled.
His cane tapped the steps, clack-clack, as he slowly descended the stairs. You followed him, watching him go down step by step, his movements slow but steady, though laborious.
You couldn't help but reach out to help him: "Let me give you a hand..."
"No need." He moved away, his tone, without being harsh, brooked no objection.
After a few steps, he suddenly stopped, as if saying randomly: "My surname is Liu, Liu Zhenchuan."
You stood dumbfounded, as if something had resonated with a delay in your mind. You remembered that name. The elders at the institute had mentioned it discreetly several times. This "rallied" toufouzi, who before the founding of Paichelan, had been a tomb raider. He was surprisingly knowledgeable about ancient Paichelan customs, funeral rites, underground structures, sometimes with more precision than orthodox experts with meticulous research.
"Master Liu..." you called him in a low voice, the volume soft, but the tone imbued with unconscious respect.
"My leg, it's been like this for about twenty years," Old Liu said in a detached tone. "Back then, Paichelan was in a civil war. I was foolish, I absolutely wanted to go up the mountain with my easel to paint. As a result, the villagers spotted me, said I was a spy drawing maps, and they started beating me up. That's how my leg became crippled."
"And then?"
"Then, huh..." He shrugged. "The institute was short-staffed. My leg was done for, but I could still paint. So I made tracings of frescoes, drawings of objects, then restoration... Decades passed in the blink of an eye."
"How come you're a night watchman now?" Old Liu didn't answer immediately. He slowly turned his head, looked at you, remained silent for a few seconds, then smiled, his voice very low.
"Now, well, the old comrades all have to 'redouble their efforts,' 'toughen themselves up.' Those in high places said it was necessary to 're-evaluate value,' so I went to get re-evaluated." He spoke in a light tone, smiling.
In the courtyard, many people like him had been transferred to the 'grassroots' in recent years. Some swept the streets, others had been sent down to the warehouses, and a few had simply disappeared.
You knew you shouldn't ask too many questions and smiled awkwardly.
"Before, huh," Old Liu's eyes suddenly lit up, "I was always studying Xu dynasty frescoes and things like that. I've visited quite a few tombs from that period!"
"Huh? Really?"
"Really." The old man lowered his voice mysteriously. "And I can tell you that in all of Paichelan, no one knows the structure of Xu dynasty tombs better than I do."
You froze for a moment, unconsciously tightening the strap of your bag. "This tomb I'm currently working on, the epitaph, the funeral rites, everything is very strange. I can't find any official mention of the tomb owner. If you remember anything..."
"There are things I can't get involved in." He paused, then resumed as if to himself: "You're still young, you shouldn't get too mixed up with old codgers like me."
You said nothing for a long moment. You just walked. You soon arrived in the courtyard. The night wind was blowing. A few peonies in the courtyard were in full bloom. Under the grayish light, these flowers seemed to have come out of a dream, their branches and leaves moved, but the petals were so still they seemed frozen.
"... Eh, these flowers are still alive," Old Liu said, stopping and bending down to caress a peony petal. You looked at these few beautifully blooming flowers. "Sometimes, I think," Old Liu murmured, "that flowers are the most disobedient things. Even if the world is in complete chaos, they stubbornly bloom every year."
You didn't answer. You had also understood the implication of his words.
Leaning on his cane, he stood for a moment in front of the peonies, as if contemplating a painting. "The frescoes in your burial corridor, how are they preserved?"
"The frescoes are preserved... strangely," you said, choosing your words carefully. "The corridor should have been adorned with frescoes, but they were deliberately scraped off, leaving only a few scattered traces of pigment."
Old Liu's fingers gently caressed the peony petals, but his gaze was lost in the distance, as if he were reminiscing about something.
"Scraped off?" he repeated in a low voice, his voice tense. "Not natural degradation?"
"No," you shook your head.
"The scraping marks are very regular, very superficial, but uniformly distributed. And there's no trace of looting in the tomb."
"So, it was the people from before who did that. In that case... are the objects in the side niches still there?"
"Yes, the furniture is almost intact. Just a few wooden objects that have cracked due to humidity. Groundwater seeps in a lot, but overall, it's still good. But it's true there's nothing of great value."
Old Liu nodded, his expression calmed, but you felt that his whole being had suddenly tensed like a rope, without it showing.
"You found a lot of fabrics, didn't you?" he asked.
"Yes. Once taken out, they all faded very quickly. Nothing to be done," you replied. "According to the records, there were over four hundred pieces. Some were already carbonized, but the inventory numbers were clearly marked. We didn't even dare to unfold them, we froze them first for preservation. But now... our team shouldn't have access to them for quite a while. The machines are too strained."
He said nothing, just a "hmm."
You looked at him, hesitated for a moment, then said anyway: "Tomorrow, we plan to open the main burial chamber." Old Liu remained silent for a moment, as if swallowing what he wanted to say.
"Make the most of it while you have the chance," he said, turning to you. "Remember to look carefully. Not for the report, but to remember."
You nodded, saying nothing. He said nothing more either and turned to continue on his way.
"Go to sleep quickly, young man. Tomorrow might be a tough day."
The sound of the cane hitting the ground echoed slowly and clearly in the night, each tap like a metronome beat on your heart.
The peonies swayed in the wind, as if someone had just passed by them.