The scene before them was nothing short of breathtaking. Wan San stumbled out of the car, almost falling in his haste, and found himself standing at the entrance of a stunning cave adorned with stalactites. The entrance exuded a mysterious, ethereal beauty, and the depths of the cave glowed faintly with flickering firelight.
A meandering underground river flowed gently beneath their feet, its soft murmurs leading further into the tomb’s passageway.
Wang Cang Hai stepped down from the rail car, pulled a small, intricately crafted bamboo tube from his sleeve, and removed its lid, fixing it onto the base. Inside the tube was a luminous pearl the size of a fist, which now served as a small lantern. With a gentle flick of his wrist, he tossed the bamboo lantern onto the river’s surface. It floated effortlessly, casting a soft light as it drifted forward.
Wan San silently cursed Wang Cang Hai’s extravagant ways. What a wasteful prodigal son! he thought. A night-luminescent pearl like that is worth a fortune, and here he is tossing it into a stream like it’s nothing. Truly the behavior of someone raised in luxury.
Following the light of the bamboo lantern, Wang Cang Hai walked ahead at an unhurried pace, guiding Wan San through the winding, labyrinthine stalactite caves. The space gradually opened into a vast chamber. Every few steps, there was a lampstand that illuminated the tomb as if it were daylight.
Wan San noticed vibrant murals adorning the walls, with a long corridor stretching endlessly into the distance.
The first mural was particularly vivid and occupied an entire section of the tomb wall and ceiling. It depicted a golden desert stretching endlessly, with a young general clad in gleaming gold armor and a golden helmet, his face obscured by a mask. He rode a chestnut warhorse of exceptional stature. Behind him were eight black-armored commanders, each riding a horse of a different color. Further in the background, amidst swirling sands, stood an endless army of black-armored cavalry and infantry, arrayed in perfect formation as if confronting an opposing force.
“This is the Eight Steeds of King Mu,” Wang Cang Hai said.
“King Mu?” Wan San asked in surprise. “Do you mean the legendary Mu Tianzi of the Zhou dynasty, from over three thousand years ago?”
Wang Cang Hai nodded. “Precisely.”
He reached out and gently traced his fingers over the resplendent mural. “The pigments used here were made from gold, cinnabar, and turquoise, giving them their vibrant and enduring colors. Even after a millennium, they haven’t faded.”
Wang Cang Hai then began reciting from the ancient text Mu Tianzi Zhuan:
“‘The eight steeds of King Mu: The first, Juedi, never treads the earth. The second, Fanyu, moves faster than birds in flight. The third, Ben Xiao, travels ten thousand miles at night. The fourth, Chao Ying, races with the sun. The fifth, Yu Hui, has a coat that shines brilliantly. The sixth, Chao Guang, leaves ten shadows behind when it runs. The seventh, Teng Wu, gallops through clouds. The eighth, Xiewu, is winged and has fleshy wings on its sides.’”
As he passed each of the eight black-armored commanders depicted in the mural, Wang Cang Hai recited the names of their steeds.
Wan San, awestruck, remarked, “The legends speak of King Mu’s eight steeds, but I always thought they were mythical horses. It turns out they were eight mighty generals! Yet I’ve never heard of any historical record mentioning King Mu’s own mount.”
“If we keep going, you’ll see,” Wang Cang Hai replied. “It wasn’t recorded in history because King Mu’s mount died in battle when he was just eighteen, back when he was still Crown Prince Ji Mu.”
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