Chapter Twenty-Four: The Giant Rat in the Tomb

Just as Zhou Yi was absorbed in his observations, a sharp squeaking came from behind him. Startled, he turned around and cried out in alarm. The sound was made by a rat, its beady eyes fixed on him. Yet calling it a rat was almost inaccurate—this creature was enormous, its eyes glowing red, its body as big as a domesticated pig, surely weighing over a hundred jin.

He had never seen a rat so large before. Even though he now cultivated in the Demon-Subduing Realm, the sight of such a beast sent chills through his body. He despised rodents, so he extended his spiritual energy, intending to slay it from afar. But as soon as he acted, the giant rat sensed danger and darted away.

He found it amusing; no matter how big, a rat was still a rat—its nature would never change. Finding nothing useful in the main hall, he turned toward the rear chamber. As expected, the rear chamber was the main burial chamber. If this was truly the tomb of Nurhaci, then the task his father entrusted to him before his death would finally be concluded.

He made straight for the main tomb, but when he reached the entrance, the doors would not budge no matter how hard he pushed. He considered forcing them open, so he rained dozens of blows upon the stone, but the doors did not move in the slightest—not even a dent was left behind.

Examining the material closely, he realized the stone was unlike anything he had seen before. The entire chamber was constructed from four massive stone blocks, perfectly joined together. After several more attempts, he accepted that brute force would not work and began searching the floor for a mechanism. A tomb such as this would certainly be built with hidden devices to allow the deceased to be interred within after passing away. Such mechanisms were of several types: one-use triggers, sealed forever after the tomb was used; or, more rarely, key-operated locks, which could be opened and closed repeatedly by those with the key. Yet such reusable mechanisms were seldom employed in tombs—for who would wish for their body to be disturbed after death?

After searching for some time, he found the walls were polished smooth—there was not even a dimple the size of a bean. As he was about to leave, his foot sank into a spot that gave way under his weight. He immediately crouched down to inspect it.

There, hidden beneath years of accumulated dust, was a sword-shaped groove in the floor. Brushing the dust away, he saw the words “Mountain Gen” inscribed within. The Eight Trigrams again. He quickly searched the area around the tomb. There were eight such grooves in total, all sword-shaped, each inscribed with one of the trigrams: “Heaven Qian,” “Earth Kun,” “Thunder Zhen,” “Wind Xun,” “Water Kan,” “Fire Li,” “Mountain Gen,” and “Lake Dui.”

Only now did he understand: this was indeed the main tomb chamber, but to open it, one must gather eight keys—sword-shaped weapons corresponding to the eight grooves. Without these keys, entry was impossible, and he could not retrieve the Beihai Profound Ice buried with Nurhaci.

Turning away, he continued deeper into the rear chambers. On either side were side rooms, and behind them, a rear garden—though the flowers and plants there were all carved from stone.

He had no heart for admiring the scenery. He opened the door to one side room, but upon glimpsing inside, he immediately shut it again. The chamber was filled with a pile of white bones, likely those buried with Nurhaci. Though it was only a glimpse, he could tell these were the remains of a woman.

After a moment’s hesitation, he chided himself—what reason had he to be squeamish about the dead? He entered again and examined the bones more carefully. The woman had clearly been entombed alive. On the table lay a bronze mirror, and beside it, a peach wood comb with a few strands of hair still intact.

She must have survived for several days after being sealed in the tomb, still tending to her appearance, as women are wont to do. But time is merciless; now nothing remained but bones—beauty or ugliness no longer mattered. He revered his ancestor Nurhaci, but could not agree with the royal custom of burying people alive.

He counted the rooms—over thirty of them, each containing a single skeleton. More than thirty people interred alive, all likely young and beautiful women.

History records Nurhaci as a frugal and valiant leader, with only four imperial consorts. Seeing this, Zhou Yi scoffed at the official accounts. After all, those records were written at the command of the reigning emperor to glorify their ancestors—who would ever lay bare their family’s shame?

With no way to open the main burial chamber, he was forced to look for another way out. The passage by which he had entered was now impassable. The tomb was vast; it would take days to search.

He had been cultivating in this stone chamber for over a month, surviving without food or water thanks to his training. Yet, as a cultivator in the Demon-Subduing Realm, though he could now fast, twenty years of habit could not be broken overnight. His stomach rumbled—yet where in this tomb could he find food?

Suddenly he remembered the giant rat. Though he disliked rodents, a solution to his immediate predicament was worth any discomfort. He returned to the front hall in search of the creature.

But the rat, having escaped, was not so easily found. He searched for a whole day without success, but stumbled upon a trove of burial treasure. Calling it burial gold was not quite accurate, for it was stored in a side chamber in the eastern wing—twenty large chests in all, ten filled with jewels and jade, and ten with gold ingots. He picked up one ingot; it weighed around five jin. Just one chest would be worth a thousand pieces of gold.

Yet, seeing so much treasure, he felt no joy—only sighed. “So much gold and silver, and yet all for nothing. My cultivation is powerful, but it’s useless here. Trapped in this tomb, who knows when I’ll ever leave?” With that, he resumed his search for an exit.

Turning back, he found the giant rat watching him in the same spot. He couldn’t help but laugh—he’d searched for the rat in vain, yet now, having given up, it appeared before him of its own accord. With a thought, he gathered spiritual energy in his legs and set off in pursuit.

The rat, seeing itself chased, fled at once. Instinct drove it to seek the safety of its nest, and it dashed straight to its burrow at the base of the wall—a hole as wide as a jar’s mouth. Zhou Yi marveled; he had never seen a rat hole so large, but recalling the rat’s size, he understood.

Without hesitation, he bent down and crawled inside. The tunnel was not long, but as he crawled, the temperature rose sharply, and a stench filled the air. He held his breath—he could go without air for a long time, but he could not close his eyes. The foul odor stung his eyes, making them water uncontrollably; he could only wipe them again and again.

After a while, he reached the end of the tunnel. The giant rat stood before him, guarding a litter of a dozen young. Calling them young was relative—they were the size of piglets.

The giant rat did not flee, but instead shielded its offspring, watching Zhou Yi warily. Seeing this, Zhou Yi’s compassion stirred; he decided to spare the creature and turned to crawl back.

The rat, seeing it was unharmed, squeaked at him. Zhou Yi turned and smiled, thinking, “Even this giant rat knows gratitude.”

He was about to leave when the rat bit his pant leg, refusing to let him go.

He looked back at the rat, reading a question in its eyes. “Do you know the way out?”