Chapter Twenty-Three: The Mausoleum of Nurhaci

As long as there is wind, there must be an exit. With this thought, Zhou Yi held his breath and remained utterly still. That faint breeze was so slight that even a single exhalation or the smallest movement might alter its course, making it impossible to trace. The wind is formless, yet he could sense that delicate current passing by—this was inseparable from his recent breakthrough into the third tier of the Demon-Subduing Realm. Had he not advanced, he might never have perceived it, even if it blew for an entire day.

Moments later, another faint breeze drifted in from outside, dispersing behind him. Relying solely on instinct, he caught its direction—the first thing that came to mind was that there must be a crack behind him. Turning to look, he realized it must have been forced open by his shout during the breakthrough, when spiritual energy had unconsciously surged with his cry. The stone chamber was sturdily built; a single shout would never have shattered the wall. However, some days prior, when the massive stone fell, it had already loosened the chamber's structure; his cry was merely the final blow.

Without further thought, he gathered spiritual energy into his fists and struck at the fissure. One punch dented the wall by an inch, a second widened the crack, and after more than ten blows, the wall burst open with a thunderous crash, leaving a hole about a meter in diameter. Looking through, he saw that he was suspended in midair, above an abyss of unknown depth. Having reached the Demon-Subduing Realm, he could see in the dark for fifty meters or more, but downward, there was no end in sight.

Still, an exit was better than being trapped forever. In that moment, thoughts of Wu Qian flooded his mind—his yearning for her only grew, longing to see her gentle, lovely face at once.

He hesitated, uncertain whether to descend, for the unknown is always tinged with instinctive fear. Yet if he stayed, he would be trapped here for good. As he wavered, the stone chamber began to tremble, the vibrations growing stronger—collapse was imminent.

If he remained, death was certain; if he jumped, there was at least a sliver of hope. However slim the chance, it was better to die from a fall than be crushed beneath rubble. Even at this perilous moment, he could still reason through his options and make a decision—a testament to his calm mind and analytical skill in the face of crisis.

As his thoughts raced, the chamber shook violently with a final, deafening rumble; a chunk of stone crashed from above. No longer able to hesitate, he leaped through the opening in the wall.

The moment he jumped, the chamber above reached its breaking point: with an even greater crash, the entire place collapsed.

During his descent, he gripped the two corners of his sheepskin coat. Still wearing it, he pulled the corners taut, turning the coat into a makeshift cloak, resembling a small parachute. He also extended his spiritual energy to slow his fall.

Words are always insufficient to capture such moments of peril—between the chamber’s collapse and his leap, only an instant had passed.

Twenty meters down, he glimpsed the ground below. Something living moved there, but falling so swiftly, he could not see what creature it was. Still, the presence of life reassured him—where there are living things, there must be water, and with water, survival is possible.

He touched down, his legs bending instinctively; as he landed, he rolled forward to soften the force of the fall. Though he had prepared as best he could, the impact was still too much. At the moment of landing, he heard a crack—an agonizing pain shot through his right leg; it must have been fractured.

He stopped, quickly rolling up his trouser leg to inspect the injury. To his relief, it was only a dislocation, with some minor damage to the bone but nothing grave. Grasping his thigh, he pressed down and pulled, snapping the joint back into place before rising to survey his surroundings.

He could see in the dark, and though there was no light, he took in the chamber around him. The space below was not large—about a hundred meters across. The walls all bore relief carvings. On the eastern wall, landscapes and a rising sun; he studied the peaks and recognized them as Mount Changbai.

On the southern wall, a great river winding into the distance; he examined it but could not name it. Anyone from the Northeast, though, would immediately recognize the Songhua River.

The west wall was covered with depictions of mountain spirits and ghosts, many with human forms—both male and female, bare-chested and unclothed, some in childbirth, others nursing young. The carvings traced the cycle of life from birth to death.

The northern wall resembled a great door, upon which was carved a five-clawed golden dragon, poised for flight. Seeing this, he realized he stood in the tomb of a Manchu ancestor, and the dragon signified the occupant was an emperor.

He knew it was Manchu and not another people because the western wall’s carvings depicted the mountain spirits and ghosts found in Shamanist texts. In ancient times, the Manchu were devout followers of Shamanism, while outsiders generally shunned it—a matter of cultural difference.

This raised a question: Manchu culture, and thus Shamanism, only emerged with the Later Jin dynasty, roughly three hundred years ago. During those three centuries—the Qing dynasty—no other power would have dared carve a five-clawed dragon in a tomb, for such an act was treason, punishable by extermination of the entire clan.

He dismissed the possibility that someone else had built the tomb here. Only one person could have been buried in such a place: Nurhaci. Yet historical records state Nurhaci was entombed in the Eastern Mausoleum in Shenyang, a thousand miles from here.

This inconsistency troubled him; there were too many gaps. Yet pondering further was useless—only by opening the main tomb could he learn the truth.

With that thought, he approached the northern wall to search for an entrance. The mechanism was simple—pressing the dragon’s eye triggered the device, and soon a passage opened, just wide enough for a person.

He slipped through and found himself in another world. If the outer chamber was the courtyard of a residence, this was the front hall for receiving guests. Without descending further, he could already tell the layout was modeled after a Later Jin palace; the main tomb must be behind the front hall, at the very heart of the mausoleum.

Entering the front hall, he saw it was arranged like an emperor's audience chamber, though on a smaller scale—nine steps led up to a throne, and behind a screen stood a dragon chair. Seated upon it was a stone statue unmistakably modeled after Nurhaci himself.