Chapter Forty: The Octagonal Pavilion

“Ah! How could I have forgotten about that?” Gu Anqi straightened up, disappointed, pressing her lips together.

“Anqi, it’s alright,” I said with a comforting smile. “The Ming Mausoleum is such a treasure of the ages—any clues must be hidden with great care. There’s no need to rush if we can’t find them right away.”

“Why is it just the two of you? Where’s Lianshan?”

At Yue Qianling’s question, I realized that I hadn’t seen any sign of Xiao Lianshan all morning.

“There’s a young man by the Bagua Pavilion, burning incense and praying with great devotion. He’s been at it all morning,” whispered a tourist passing by.

I immediately thought of Xiao Lianshan—few but he would be so stubbornly persistent.

When we reached the Bagua Pavilion, we found Lianshan swaying unsteadily as he walked. The incense burner was crammed full, and there was another large bundle of incense sticks in front of it—clearly all his doing.

“Lianshan, what on earth are you doing?” I asked, curiosity piqued.

“Brother, the Daoist priest said the Bagua Pavilion enshrines Laozi, the ancestor of Daoism. The spirit here is very efficacious. If you walk three circles around the pavilion clockwise, then three circles counterclockwise, and make a sincere wish before bowing in prayer, it will come true.” Lianshan’s mind seemed muddled, his hand rubbing his forehead. “Brother… I’m so dizzy.”

I glanced at the incense burner. According to Lianshan’s account, he’d been circling the pavilion all morning, first three times one way, then three the other, before lighting incense and praying. No wonder he was dizzy.

“Lianshan, why did you burn so much incense? What are you praying for?” Yue Qianling was dumbstruck.

“Heh, I lit incense for all of you, to guarantee your safety and health,” Lianshan replied with a guileless smile.

Gu Anqi handed him a tissue, her face softening as she helped dab the sweat from his brow.

“Lianshan, there’s only three of us. You didn’t need to burn so much incense.”

“It’s not just for you… but also for my comrades,” Lianshan said, voice darkening as he drew in a heavy breath. “So many brothers who went to the front with me never came back alive. I remember seventy-two names. I burned incense for each of them, hoping they’ll be reborn soon into lives of prosperity.”

Yue Qianling and Gu Anqi’s eyes grew moist at his words. I walked over and patted him silently, words failing me.

I lifted my gaze to the Bagua Pavilion before us.

Its layout was compact and elegant, built in three stories atop a raised platform. The stone foundation was square, the pavilion circular—symbolizing the ancient Chinese concept of ‘heaven round, earth square.’ The double eaves soared with mythical beasts, while turtle-patterned gates and cloud-carved windows lined the perimeter. The southern entrance bore a relief of the twelve zodiac animals arrayed on a Taiji diagram—simple yet sophisticated. The entire structure was fashioned from wood and stone, joined without nails or pegs; instead, beams and pillars were pierced and fitted together in perfect harmony.

Within stood a statue of Laozi, depicted as he was when he left Hangu Pass, his green ox’s head turned to the west.

I furrowed my brow, musing aloud, “This Bagua Pavilion…”

“There can’t be any clues in the Bagua Pavilion,” said Yue Qianling firmly. “It burned down in the twelfth year of the Tongzhi reign, and was later rebuilt exactly as before.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. The orientation of the pavilion is wrong!” I looked around, surprised.

“Yan Hui, why do you say the orientation is wrong?” Gu Anqi asked, curious.

“When Laozi left Hangu Pass, he headed west, so the ox’s head should face west. But the couplets on either side of the pavilion suggest otherwise.”

Gu Anqi looked up to read the couplet I indicated:

“Stars traverse the sky, casting down their divine light; the trigram’s position brings together all the immortals.”

Yue Qianling walked over and explained in a measured tone, “The couplet was restored from the original. ‘Traverse’ refers to the degrees and order of the stars; ‘Well’ is one of the twenty-eight lunar mansions. In effect: the pavilion corresponds to the Well star, bathed in divine light; below, it occupies the positions of the eight trigrams—Heaven, Earth, Water, Fire, Thunder, Wind, Mountain, and Lake—where immortals gather.”

“But the pavilion’s main entrance faces Zhen, which corresponds to wood and the east!” My astonishment grew. “The ox’s head should face west, but now it faces east?”

“So it faces east—so what? Qingyang Palace is laid out along a central axis; maybe it’s just for symmetry. No need to overthink it,” Yue Qianling said with a shrug.

“That can’t be. Qingyang Palace is one of Daoism’s most important temples. Such a mistake in orientation is unthinkable, especially for an ancestral figure like Laozi,” I replied resolutely.

Lianshan, still dazed, could only stammer, “Brother, all the pillars are carved with dragons. I’m so dizzy, it’s like the dragons are moving.”

Only then did I notice the sixteen massive stone columns forming two rows around the pavilion. Eight of them, at the octagonal corners, were encircled by lifelike golden dragons carved in high relief, their forms majestic and vivid.

“There’s a legend about these dragons,” Yue Qianling said, seeing where my gaze fell. “After the pavilion was rebuilt, legend has it that the dragon on the right column facing the Hall of Three Purities came to life and tried to ascend to heaven. The celestial guardian saw this and struck it back with a divine punch, leaving a fist mark on the dragon that’s still visible today.”

A sudden realization struck me. “There’s no way the pavilion’s orientation is accidental. The only possible explanation is that it was done deliberately!”

“But why would someone do that?” Lianshan asked, still holding the incense, bewildered.

“If all the buildings are correct except for one…” Gu Anqi’s eyes widened in excitement. “If only one thing is out of place, then that’s the clue!”

Yue Qianling looked at the pavilion, not seeing anything remarkable. “Clues left in the Bagua Pavilion? Impossible. It’s been rebuilt many times—over ten times according to the records. Any clues would have been destroyed.”

I shook my head, pacing. “They wouldn’t have hidden the clue somewhere that could be destroyed. What could preserve a clue forever?”

“Qianling, you said it was rebuilt exactly as before, right?” Gu Anqi asked.

Yue Qianling smiled uncertainly. “They tried, but the original was gone. Who can say it’s truly identical?”

My gaze landed on the dragons carved around the columns as I circled the pavilion, counting under my breath.

“One, two, three… thirty-seven…”

Yue Qianling, finally realizing what I was doing, said lightly, “No need to count. Don’t forget my specialty. The pavilion has eighty-one dragons in total, representing Laozi’s eighty-one transformations.”

I fell silent, mulling it over, then said, “There are also sixty-four trigrams, based on Daoist cosmology—heaven and earth, yin and yang, the eight trigrams combining in myriad ways. That’s why it’s called the Bagua Pavilion.”

Suddenly, Gu Anqi looked up, eyes alight. “I know where the clue is hidden!”

“Where?” Yue Qianling asked, astonished.

“Yan Hui said the clue must be somewhere people wouldn’t notice and couldn’t destroy. This pavilion embodies the sixty-four trigrams. The trigrams never disappear—with them, the clue is hidden among the sixty-four trigrams!”

A smile broke across my face, excitement brimming. “Anqi is right. The secret lies in the sixty-four trigrams!”

“But which one?” Lianshan asked, puzzled. “There are so many.”

“I know which one,” I replied with confidence.

“Can you just say it all at once?” Yue Qianling urged impatiently.

With a satisfied grin, I explained, “You said it yourself: there are eighty-one dragons here, symbolizing Laozi’s transformations. Legend says one dragon tried to ascend but was pinned down, leaving only eighty dragons. The story is meant to disguise the importance of the number eighty.”

“Eighty?” Gu Anqi’s brow furrowed. “But there are only sixty-four trigrams, not eighty.”

I pointed to the statue of Laozi inside the pavilion. “That’s exactly the secret. The ox’s head should face west, but it faces east. The directions are reversed—left is east, right is west. So, if you reverse eighty, you get eighteen.”

“Eighteen! The eighteenth trigram is the ‘Corruption’ hexagram,” Gu Anqi said thoughtfully. “It means: ‘Great progress, favorable for crossing great rivers. Three days before the new cycle, and three days after.’”

“The ‘Corruption’ hexagram is suited for sacrifices and for overcoming great obstacles. Its highest line means ‘Not serving kings and lords, but pursuing noble deeds’—that is, upholding the Dao and following the Way,” I said, glancing again at the statue of Laozi. “The ox’s head facing west but actually pointing east refers to a mountain east of here, a mountain associated with sacrifice and the propagation of Daoist teachings. The clue to the Ming Mausoleum is on that mountain!”

Yue Qianling paused, her mouth moving as she turned to where I pointed.

“To the east… there really is a mountain, just as you say.”

“Qianling, which mountain?” Lianshan asked anxiously.

“Mount Qingcheng!”