Such a gigantic wooden ship, the biggest issue is the keel. There are no trees in the world large enough to make a keel of that size, so its keel must have been cut and assembled from timber. This structure is therefore quite intriguing. Was this ship really that enormous, or was it a bit smaller, or perhaps not this shape at all? We would need underwater sonar to investigate.

I asked several ship engineers about it, and they all thought I was exaggerating. However, one of them told me it’s not entirely impossible, because it might only look like a single ship from the outside, but is actually several ships joined together. And since this ship wasn’t meant for actual use, it only needed to reach the sea burial site when the waters were calm. To put it bluntly, it was just a giant pontoon.

Sometimes I can’t help but imagine, just how much effort and ingenuity did the ancients pour into such an ancient aircraft carrier? If this technology hadn’t been reserved exclusively for the royal family or kept secret among a few outstanding craftsmen, if it had spread among the people, then China might have become a maritime empire. Back then, with such warships—tower ships with cannons providing coastal support, soldiers swarming out from within—who could have resisted?

Unfortunately, the great ships of the Ming Dynasty ultimately became the tombs of their builders. I don’t know if this is a kind of irony or a kind of sorrow.

011 Wishing Trees and "The Classic of Mountains and Seas" (with illustration of the bronze sacred tree)

The ancient people's worship of sacred trees can be seen in the "Classic of Mountains and Seas." Several chapters mention sacred trees like "Ruomu" and "Fusang," but as for bronze sacred trees, so far, only Sanxingdui has clear records.

012 Erdaobaihe

I am now on a train heading to Erdaobaihe. Outside the window, fields of sorghum flash by. Everyone else in the carriage has already fallen asleep, but I toss and turn, unable to rest.

Years ago, I visited Changbai Mountain once, when I was very young. At that time, I never imagined I would return with such feelings, in such a way. Nor did I expect that one day, I would have to write something before bed just to calm myself.

Looking at the harvested fields by the roadside, with snow not yet fully melted, I can’t help but recall my last trip to Changbai Mountain.

Thinking back, that trip itself was a bit strange. I vaguely remember there was some turmoil at home; my father and grandfather had a big argument.

My father is a gentle, tolerant man, or you could say he’s good at enduring things. He had never clashed with my grandfather before, so this argument felt very unusual to me. But I was really too young, and I have no memory of what they argued about.

Afterwards, my father suddenly decided to travel to Changbai Mountain. That year, I saw the snowy mountain scenery—the pure white snow and the boundless valleys, just like in the movies.

Now that I think about it, I’m a bit puzzled. Why do I have such a deep impression of the snow scene from back then, so much so that I can still instantly connect it to images in my mind? My memories of that trip have faded to just a vague outline, but why is it that I can remember that one snowy mountain so clearly?

Maybe it’s because that mountain has a special significance locally, or maybe it’s something else?

I really can’t recall, nor do I want to dwell on it.

Earlier this morning, I chatted with Fatty about things other than women and mingqi (funerary objects).

I’ve always thought Fatty is someone who hides his depths, and it turns out I was right. When you discuss certain topics with him, you realize he’s not ignorant—he just thinks more directly.

I know a lot of people, from all walks of life, and I know there are some who live by the simplest and most practical truths. Fatty is undoubtedly one of those people. If you try to challenge him, he can say things you simply can’t refute. Of course, I don’t know if this comes from his wisdom or instinct. Or maybe, the logic of sages and fools is the same—the difference is that sages use it to benefit others, while fools use it for themselves.

The topic I discussed with him was mainly about cultural relics protection. I’ve always wondered why archaeological teams are always chasing after tomb robbers. Most tomb excavations are rescue digs, and even when a tomb hasn’t been robbed, the first discoverers are usually farmers or construction workers who stumble upon ancient tombs by accident.

It sounds a bit mysterious, as if tomb robbers have some skills that archaeologists lack.

There’s no fixed answer to this. Peter White said those are some basic skills you can’t learn in university. After all, universities can’t exactly hire a bunch of grave robbers as professors. What students learn are standard excavation techniques—how to smell the soil, how to locate things—but these are all things you have to practice in the field. Where are you going to find so many ancient tombs to use as teaching tools?

Fatty just shook his head and sighed, saying of course that’s not the reason.

The current situation, where tomb robbers lead and archaeologists follow, is perfectly normal and can’t be reversed. In the archaeology field, a sense of mystery must be maintained. Otherwise, if all the skills for tasting soil, searching for tombs, and finding dragon points were written plainly in textbooks, then these skills would be public knowledge. Within two years, there would be no tombs left to excavate in China.