hotmtlnovel Chapter 21 The Door to History
Chapter 21 The Door to History
Cheng Song lay in bed, his phone screen still lit up, displaying Rong Shou's vague reply: "Echoes from the cracks of history... the torrent of collective memory..."
The scent of a loving father? He subtly sniffed his sleeve; only the cheap lavender scent of laundry detergent lingered. There was indeed some kind of mark left on him—perhaps the whispering corrosive influence of the enormous compound eyes, or perhaps a mark imperceptible to ordinary people left from dealing with the decaying matter. This mark might indeed attract the attention of beings comparable to a loving father, not to mention his title, [Bite of Blasphemy], which came with the added benefit of high-profile attention.
"Stability" probably refers to the gene anchor, which can suppress the Blacklight virus and may also, to some extent, combat the distortion of the mind and life form brought about by the "historical echo".
"Yellow Heaven..." Cheng Song murmured, savoring the two words. At the end of the Eastern Han Dynasty, the Yellow Turban Rebellion swept across the land. The Azure Heaven was dead; the Yellow Heaven shall rise. A peasant uprising leader, a book titled *Taiping Yaoshu* (Essential Techniques of Great Peace), and a magnificent rebellion. Why would these things, which should only exist in ancient texts, resonate so strangely within an old researcher? Why would they even evoke such a dangerous description as a "flood of collective memory"?
He needed more information, professional information that could help him understand the historical context. Coincidentally, he was meeting with a new ally tonight.
Li Wan sat at an old elm wood table by the window, several thick county gazetteers and folklore books spread out on it, and a cup of tea beside her. Today she wore a light gray turtleneck sweater, her long hair flowing smoothly over her shoulders, her head bowed as she read, focused and serene. The afternoon sun shone through the dusty glass window, casting a soft, warm glow on her.
"Teacher Li, I'm sorry I'm a little late," Cheng Song said softly as he walked over.
"It's alright, I just arrived recently too." Li Wan looked up and smiled slightly at him, her gaze lingering on his face for a moment, seemingly surprised by his glasses, but quickly composed herself and pointed to the chair opposite her, "Officer Cheng, please sit down. You said you couldn't understand some of the documents?"
"Yes, it's about some follow-up on a police incident that happened earlier today." Cheng Song sat down opposite her, didn't order a drink, and took out his phone from his pocket. He pulled up an old photo he'd secretly taken—only showing the front, not the back annotations—and handed it to her. "This is one of the documents the old gentleman was holding when he had his episode, tucked inside an old book called *Taiping Jing*. I don't know much about history, but I saw the words 'Julu' on the stone tablet in the background. Could you take a look and see if there's anything special about this place?"
He deliberately omitted the "no such person found" annotation and Old Zhou's ramblings, presenting only the "safest" part.
Li Wan took the phone, leaned forward slightly, and carefully examined the photo. Her fingers slid across the screen, zooming in on the details, her gaze lingering on the texture of the stone tablet, the clothing of the figures, and the composition of the image. At this moment, she was no longer the elementary school teacher on the podium, but a scholar immersed in her professional field.
"Julu..." she repeated softly, tapping the words on the screen with her fingertip. "This place name carries significant weight in the historical context of the late Eastern Han Dynasty. It was the hometown of Zhang Jiao, the leader of the Way of Peace and the Heavenly General, and one of the core areas where he initially spread his teachings and accumulated power. The slogan, 'The Azure Heaven is dead, the Yellow Heaven shall rise; in the year of Jiazi, great fortune will come to the world,' originated from here and ultimately ignited the Yellow Turban Rebellion that swept across the land."
Her voice wasn't loud, but it sounded exceptionally clear in the quiet bookstore, carrying a kind of magic that brought distant history to life.
"Therefore, the appearance of the words 'Julu' on the stone tablet in this photo, whether it's a historical relic or erected by later generations, almost directly points to Zhang Jiao and the Way of Peace. This is a period of history filled with religious fanaticism, social upheaval, and immense suffering." She handed the phone back to Cheng Song, her tone earnest. "If that old gentleman were to immerse himself in this kind of historical material for a long time, especially if he were exposed to some unverified anecdotal accounts, the mental pressure and impact he would experience could be enormous. Many historical researchers, especially scholars who focus on specific tragic periods or extreme ideologies, need strong psychological adjustment abilities."
Cheng Song then revealed a thoughtful expression: "So that's how it is... No wonder. When he had an attack, he kept muttering things like 'Heaven,' 'Wrong,' and 'Not a furnace,' which sounded pretty creepy."
"Huang Tian?" Li Wan's eyes sharpened instantly, and her body tensed slightly involuntarily. "He explicitly mentioned 'Huang Tian'?"
"Hmm, although his pronunciation is unclear, he repeated those two words many times, so he should be right."
Li Wan paused for a moment, her fingers unconsciously tracing the rim of her teacup, as if organizing her thoughts. "The Yellow Heaven is the core of the Taiping Dao's faith, a symbol of the new order they envisioned replacing the corrupt 'Azure Heaven.' And the 'furnace'..." She paused, lowering her voice even further, as if afraid of disturbing the tranquility of the bookstore, or rather, afraid of disturbing something slumbering beneath the dust of history.
"There are scattered records in some very obscure local chronicles and anecdotal novels, even those considered absurd by orthodox historians. They mention that Zhang Jiao or his disciples, besides using talismanic water to cure diseases, also secretly conducted some... well, very cruel experiments related to the refining of 'elixirs,' but these were not ordinary elixirs of metal and stone, but involved... people. Of course, these are all absurd folk tales and should not be taken seriously. If that old gentleman believed even these scraps of information, and might even have tried to 'verify' them, then his mental world might indeed have fallen into serious confusion and a predicament of self-suggestion."
A pill involving a person? Cheng Song felt a chill run down his spine. Old Zhou's scream, "It's not a pill! It's not a furnace!" and Rong Shou's "echoes from the cracks of history" seemed to be connected at this moment by a faint thread.
"Well... Professor Li," Cheng Song leaned forward slightly, his tone carrying just the right amount of confusion and a hint of professional inquiry, "if, I mean if, someone really does have problems because of contact with these ancient things, especially things related to this... well, not-so-good history. From the perspective of folklore or... what the older generation says, are there any possible reasons? Or, are there any places that are particularly easy to 'connect' to this period of history? I mainly think that if we can understand more about the environment or the roots, it might be helpful in dealing with similar situations later, or in counseling his family."
He tried to make his question sound like it stemmed from curiosity and a simple, inclusive understanding of folk superstitions.
Li Wan glanced at him, her gaze lingering on his face for a few seconds, seemingly trying to gauge his motives for asking the question. But Cheng Song's expression was sincere, carrying the curiosity of a young person towards the unknown, and a hint of sympathy for the old man's plight. She seemed to accept this explanation and sighed softly.
"From the perspectives of folklore and religious psychology, prolonged immersion in specific historical contexts, especially those imbued with strong tragic elements and collective unconscious imprints, can indeed impact the mental world of sensitive individuals. This is known as 'historical empathy overload' or 'cultural situational stress.' As for the specific locations…"
She tapped the table lightly with her fingertips: "Our city is located in the Central Plains, historically a place where various forces converged. The Yellow Turban Rebellion had a wide impact, and there are related legends in many places. However, the more specific, yet more secretive, one is... in the northern suburbs, at the foot of the barren mountains near the old mine, there used to be a very small Huang Gong Temple. It wasn't an official temple; it was probably a private shrine used by local people during the Ming and Qing dynasties or even later, for a shaman who claimed to have received the Yellow Heaven's inheritance. It was later destroyed, and now only the foundation and broken stele remain. No one has paid attention to it for a long time, and it's not even marked on the map. I overheard a local elder mention it by chance a few years ago when I was doing fieldwork."
She took out her phone, scrolled through it, and handed Cheng Song a photo. The photo was taken at dusk, in dim light, showing several moss-covered, broken stone components and a half-buried stone incense burner in a patch of overgrown weeds. The background was a desolate hillside and an abandoned mine.
"It's roughly around this location. It's very remote, and nobody usually goes there." Li Wan put away her phone. "If you really want to do something from a folk custom perspective... well, strictly speaking, I shouldn't suggest this, but some local traditions say that when faced with this kind of problem, sometimes a method of appeasement and guidance is used. For example, at the relevant location, a symbolic appeasement ritual can be performed using relatively orthodox and peaceful talismans or prayers. Of course, there's no scientific basis for this; it's more of a psychological comfort and cultural ritual."
As she spoke, she tore a blank page from her notebook, picked up a pen, and after a moment's thought, smoothly drew a complex talisman pattern. The lines were simple and ancient, the structure intricate, and it possessed a unique sense of rhythm.
"This is a variation of the Antu talisman I saw in some early Taoist texts and folk talisman collections. Its main purpose is to calm the mind and soothe the spirit. Of course, this is an academic reconstruction, not an actual talisman." She handed the paper with the talisman drawn on it to Cheng Song, her tone serious but with a hint of warning, "If, and I mean if, you really want to go to that place to take a look, or if you want to do something to give that old man some psychological support, you can try this. But remember, this is just a picture, a cultural symbol. Don't believe in any supernatural or superstitious things, and be extra careful; it's a very desolate place."
Cheng Song solemnly accepted the paper. The paper still carried the warmth of Li Wan's fingertips, and under the light, the lines of the talismanic pattern seemed to contain a strange power. No, not power, but a kind of directional force. Under the extremely subtle passive perception of the lens, this simple pattern drawn with a ballpoint pen exhibited unusual fluctuations.
"Thank you, Teacher Li. You've really been a great help." Cheng Song thanked her sincerely, carefully folded the paper, and put it in his pocket.
Night had fallen. Cheng Song once again arrived near the old building where the local history research office was located. Only a few lights were on inside the building, and the floor where Zhou Lao's office was located was completely dark.
Like a shadow, he silently circled around to the back of the building, avoiding blind spots in the surveillance cameras. Wearing gloves, and with the aid of a lens to analyze the keyhole structure, he spent a few minutes opening the latch on the old window of the archives room and slipped inside.
Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the mess on the floor. The books and documents remained exactly as they had been when they left during the day, unorganized. Cheng Song, with a clear objective, quickly located the photocopy of "Taiping Yaoshu: Collected Lost Works" among the scattered books, relying on his memory from the day. Without turning on the light, he rapidly turned the pages using the moonlight and the dim light from the lens.
The book's contents were a mixed bag, containing scriptures, talismans, what appeared to be health preservation techniques, and long passages of obscure and ambiguous descriptions. Near the middle, he found the page containing the strange old photograph. He carefully removed the photograph, placed it in a small, prepared evidence bag, closed the book, and stuffed the entire book into his player's inventory. After quickly checking to make sure he hadn't left any trace, he turned the book around, searched the back the way he came, and closed the window.
A cool night breeze blew. Cheng Song, carrying a canvas bag filled with books, rode a shared bicycle towards the northern suburbs of the city. The location in the photo provided by Li Wan was already clearly imprinted in his mind.
The further north he went, the more desolate it became. Streetlights were sparse, people were few and far between, and the air began to smell of dust and weeds. Following the directions in Li Wan's photo, he left the main road and turned onto an abandoned, overgrown mining road. The bicycle was bumping terribly, so he simply got off and walked.
All around was silent, save for the sound of the wind and the occasional chirping of insects. In the distance, the black silhouette of the abandoned mine resembled a lurking beast under the night sky. After walking for about half an hour, with the help of the lens's night vision and contrast enhancement function, he finally spotted the few broken stone components and the half-buried stone incense burner among the weeds.
It is here.
Standing before the ruins, overgrown with knee-high weeds, Cheng Song took a deep breath. Unlike the polluted air of the city, the air here carried the scent of earth and plant roots, but beneath this natural aroma…
The lens's field of vision changed abruptly the moment it stepped into the ruins.
It was no longer just simple low-light vision and data analysis. Countless extremely tiny, grayish-yellow specks of light filled the air, like dying fireflies on a summer night, silently floating and swirling. These specks of light converged into an imperceptible, slowly flowing "stream," hovering above the ruins, eventually faintly flowing towards the center of the ruins—the location of the stone incense burner.
Faint, distant sounds began to appear in my ears. They weren't received through my eardrums, but rather echoed directly in my mind. A mixture of countless voices—devout chanting, painful groans, frenzied shouts, desperate cries… layer upon layer, fine as sand, yet indistinct, as if seen through thick frosted glass.
The historical echoes here are much stronger and clearer than those remaining in Mr. Zhou's office! Moreover, they seem to be more "sad" and "heavy," carrying an indescribable collective sorrow and resentment.
He carefully walked to the center of the ruins, next to the stone incense burner. The burner was filled with mud and withered leaves. He squatted down and took out a photocopy of the "Taiping Yaoshu" from his canvas bag.
The moment the book was removed and exposed to the air of the ruins—
"Buzz!" The book in my hand suddenly became scalding hot!
It wasn't a physical high temperature, but a scorching heat emanating from deep within the pages, resonating violently with the surrounding grayish-yellow light spots! The pages turned on their own without any wind, finally stopping on a page in the middle.
On that page, a picture was sketched with simple lines: a blurry, tall human figure wearing some kind of crown and holding a nine-section staff, with countless kneeling figures below. Around the picture were twisted, ancient characters that looked like worms crawling.
These words began to glow! Not from the pages, but from the words themselves, radiating a light that shared the same origin as the grayish-yellow specks of light in the air, yet was far more concentrated! The light grew brighter and brighter, gradually detaching from the pages, twisting and combining in the air…
Cheng Song resisted the urge to throw the book away and took out the piece of paper with the "An Tu Fu" drawn on it that Li Wan had given him, holding it in his left hand.
The moment the talisman appeared, another strange change occurred!
The grayish-yellow specks of light flowing in the air seemed to be drawn by an invisible force, suddenly converging towards the talisman! Meanwhile, the light appearing on the pages fluctuated and struggled violently, emanating an even more ancient, savage, and even slightly violent aura!
Two seemingly identical yet distinct auras collided and intertwined above this small ruin!
The scene before Cheng Song's eyes began to flicker and overlap wildly!
The broken stone incense burner sometimes appears as a real scene filled with withered leaves, and sometimes as a huge alchemical furnace cast in bronze, engraved with strange runes, with flames raging below!
The surrounding area was a desolate wasteland, sometimes a silent wilderness, and sometimes a vast expanse of ragged, emaciated people with fanatical or numb eyes, writhing and kneeling on the land that smelled of herbs and blood!
The jumbled sounds around him suddenly became clear and loud! The chanting, shouts, weeping, the crackling of burning flames, the bubbling of some liquid boiling... all merged into a destructive torrent, assaulting his consciousness.
"Certainly!"
He let out a low growl, his left hand gripping the talisman tightly. At the same time, his genetic anchor seemed to be disturbed and triggered, a cool and stabilizing sensation rising from the depths of his body, barely protecting his last shred of clarity.
The special extraction lens spun wildly, countless streams of information flashing across his field of vision, attempting to analyze the chaotic energy field. Amidst the violently flickering scene, he saw that where the stone incense burner had originally been, the spatial structure had become exceptionally fragile, and the grayish-yellow light there had twisted into a constantly rotating, blurry, Han Dynasty-patterned bronze door-like phantom!
Above the door, dark gold text, distinctly different from the style of the hatchery's signage, appeared line by line, like a brand:
[Historical echo detected: The Cry of the Yellow Heaven]
[WARNING: This instance involves a "collective memory flood," with extremely high immersion and significant differences in the flow of time.]
[Mission Type: Solo Exploration]
[Estimated Difficulty: B～A-]
[Enter?]
There was no time to think! The sense of disorientation in the surrounding space and time grew stronger, as if he would be swept into the torrent of sounds and images at any moment and completely lost!
Leave, immediately, right now! Cut off all ties with this place and escape this eerie, echoing land!
Or...should we go in?
Rong Shou's warning echoed in his ears: "The torrent of collective memory." Old Zhou's eyes, filled with both fear and clarity, gripped his wrist: "Beware of the Yellow Heaven."
This thing, this so-called "historical echo," this "weeping of the heavens," is clearly a form of pollution of reality. It affects ordinary people like Mr. Zhou; it's on the edge of the city, like a time bomb, or rather, a wound that keeps oozing pus.
Some things, once you see them, you can't pretend you didn't see them.
Cheng Song slammed the Antu Talisman hard against his chest! At the same time, he gripped the scalding hot "Taiping Yaoshu" in his right hand and pressed it heavily against the rotating bronze door phantom!
"Enter!"
He gritted his teeth and hissed, no longer hesitating, and took a step forward.
A silent explosion erupted in his mind! The book in his hand instantly turned to dust, and a grayish-yellow light completely engulfed him! Countless overlapping cries, filled with endless pain, fervor, despair, and piety, like a monstrous wave, completely submerged him!
"The heavens are dead—"
"May Heaven rise!"
"The year is Jiazi—"
"Good luck to the world——"
"Help me..."
"Ouch—!"
My last shred of consciousness was the feeling of being thrown into an incredibly murky river of time, filled with countless fragments of light and shadow and roars.