Chapter Forty-Seven: Secrets

Dugu Ming looked into Li Yunren’s eyes and asked, “Do you know my father—Dugu Yang?”

Li Yunren smiled. “That question isn’t important. You should ask what you truly want to know.”

“You—” Dugu Ming was infuriated by Li Yunren’s attitude and was about to lash out. Suddenly, he felt Xuanyuan Linwen press down on his arm. Dugu Ming calmed himself. As much as he wanted to beat this guy, he knew he was no match for him.

“I want to know the secret of this school,” Dugu Ming said, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

“That’s a good question. I think that’s been troubling you most these days, hasn’t it?” Li Yunren replied.

He stood up, lit a cigarette, and gazed at the leaves blowing outside the window, speaking softly. “Before I answer, let me tell you a story.” Li Yunren’s voice drifted like an echo from antiquity, as if carrying Dugu Ming back to a mythical past.

Dugu Ming watched Li Yunren in silence, feeling as though he’d fallen into the abyss of history, transported to a legendary era.

“In ancient times, Earth had a beautiful myth. After Pangu split heaven and earth, he created the world. Nuwa fashioned humans from clay. Then came the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, Chiyou and Xingtian, Laozi and his blue ox... The tales in these myths form the legendary past of China. I needn’t recount every detail—you should know them well,” Li Yunren said, his voice faint.

Dugu Ming nodded. Of course he knew these stories: the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, the demon god Chiyou—every Chinese was raised on these legends, and none could be ignorant of them.

Suddenly, Li Yunren shouted, “But have you ever considered that these things are not myths, but actual living truths?” He slammed the table, staring at Dugu Ming with piercing eyes.

What? How could that be? Dugu Ming was shocked, springing to his feet. “Impossible! The tales of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, the demon god Chiyou—they can’t be real! Are you joking?” he cried.

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me, but listen carefully,” Li Yunren turned away, his voice continuing to echo.

“I didn’t believe at first either, but all this was revealed to me by what you call the ‘Royal Righteousness Scripture.’ Actually, that name is just something mortals devised; its true name should be ‘The Celestial Book.’ If that’s unfamiliar, let me use a name you might know—the world calls it ‘The Bible.’” Li Yunren spoke unhurriedly.

Dugu Ming was stunned. If anyone else had said this, he would have slapped them for spouting nonsense—the ‘Royal Righteousness Scripture’ had nothing in common with the Westerners’ ‘Bible’. But since these words came from Li Yunren, Dugu Ming had to ponder deeply. Could there really be some connection?

“I’m sure you studied geography and know the theory of continental drift: that the five continents were once joined together in ancient times,” Li Yunren continued.

Dugu Ming nodded. He knew this much. He was about to speak, but Li Yunren halted him.

“I know you’re eager to refute me, but sit down and let me explain. I said there are five continents now, but once they were one. Have you ever wondered why there are five continents, not seven, eight, or ten?”

“It’s because Pangu was human—he had four limbs and a head, making five. After Pangu split heaven and earth, he became the ancient continent. Legend says Pangu opened his eyes and upheld the sky, growing taller each day until the world took shape. In Western myths, it’s God who creates the world: God says, ‘Let there be light,’ and after Pangu’s death his eyes become the sun and moon; God says, ‘Let there be an expanse to separate the waters,’ and Pangu’s breath becomes drifting clouds; God says all the waters should gather and dry land appear, and Pangu’s blood becomes rivers, his sweat becomes dew; God says there should be lights in the sky to mark seasons, days, and years, and Pangu’s hair becomes the sun, moon, and stars; God says, ‘Let living things abound, let birds fly,’ and Pangu’s flesh becomes myriad beasts and birds; finally, God says, ‘Let us make man in our image to rule over the fish, the birds, the livestock, and all creatures,’ and after Pangu’s death, his spirit becomes humanity. Why are these descriptions so similar? Why, across different cultures, are the stories of Pangu and God so alike? Have you ever thought that Pangu and God were both real beings—that Pangu is God?” Li Yunren’s tone rose.

What? God and Pangu are one and the same? How could that be? Dugu Ming had heard the story of God creating the world in America, and he knew the tale of Pangu splitting heaven and earth. Now, thinking carefully, the similarities were indeed striking. Could Pangu and God have truly existed? Was it possible?

Li Yunren saw his astonishment and nodded before continuing, “Through my research, I found that not only did Pangu and God exist, but they were truly real. My understanding of ancient times is this: After Pangu split heaven and earth, he created our world. Then, his essence transformed into the later Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, while his physical body became the demon god Chiyou.”

“Because Pangu’s body was immortal but lacked consciousness, it became a zombie that knew only slaughter and cannibalism. In ancient Chinese, this is called a ‘jiangshi’—which means Chiyou was the ancestor of all zombies. Over a thousand years, Chiyou cultivated some intelligence and sought to turn all living things into zombies. Do you know why mummies are so prevalent in Egypt? It’s because the pharaohs were Chiyou’s subordinates—highly intelligent zombies. Ancient texts say Chiyou was born in the lands of the southern barbarians. Think carefully: Egypt lies where Africa and Asia meet—doesn’t that place it in southern Asia?”

What? Dugu Ming mulled it over—how could this be? Yet reason told him Li Yunren’s analysis was flawless, which meant everything he said was the truth.

“When Chiyou turned Egypt into his zombie kingdom, he extended his evil influence into Asia, which was ruled by the Emperor. But the Emperor would never allow it. Chiyou and the Emperor clashed on the plains of Zhuolu. The books say Zhuolu is in today’s Hebei Province, but how could that be? Hebei is north of the Central Plains—do you think the Emperor would fight in his own homeland? I believe that Zhuolu was not in Hebei, but at the border of China, on Mount Everest,” Li Yunren said, enunciating each word.

What? Mount Everest? Wait—Zhuolu, Zhumu, Zhuolu, Zhumu, Zhumu, Zhuolu, Zhuolu. The sounds are homophones!