“So, it was in that wasteland where Chu Zihang encountered Odin, the leader of the Aesir from Norse mythology, but he mistakenly thought he was on an elevated road.” The Watchman chewed on a piece of ice slowly. “A hallucination?”
“Chu Zihang was still very young at that time, but his father’s Yanling is the same as mine—‘Time Zero,’ which requires a very high bloodline purity. If even he couldn’t realize he was experiencing an illusion… then it must have been created by a Dragon King.”
“In mythology, Odin is the archenemy of the Black Dragon, the symbol of righteousness. He should appear with the beautiful Valkyries, not Death Servitors.”
“Yes, but the shadows Chu Zihang described sounded too much like Death Servitors.”
“This is confusing. Could it be that Chu Zihang was just having a nervous breakdown?” The Watchman scratched his head furiously.
Anjou stared into the Watchman’s eyes. “There’s another possibility. You’ve already guessed it, but you’re hesitating to say it, right?”
“Then he saw ghosts…” The Watchman’s expression was strange, his facial muscles twitching—uncertain if he was afraid or joking.
“Correct,” Anjou said softly. “He might have actually seen ghosts.”
“Stop with the nonsense!” The Watchman jumped up from his swivel chair. “The Land of the Dead, Nibelungen? That’s supposed to be a sacred place! Alchemists have been racking their brains for thousands of years trying to find it, and a kid just stumbled in?”
“It’s rare to see you uneasy. All these years, no matter what I tell you, you always curl up on that couch like a lazy snake—with a beer belly too.” Anjou pointed to the Watchman’s gut, which was no longer hidden by his checkered shirt.
The Watchman looked down. The once-proud abs he used to flaunt after a few drinks, showing them off to bar girls, had become a bulging paunch. The rough-and-tumble cowboy of the past had long become history; now he was just a sleazy old man with a taste for cowboy attire. It had been decades since he felt this excited, because nothing was worth getting excited about. Days numbed by whiskey, westerns, and sexy posters were pretty comfortable. But if the gateway to that sanctuary really reopened… those comfortable days might just be over.
“Tell me more about Nibelungen. You know far more about alchemy and the secrets of the Dragon Raja than I do,” Anjou said.
The Watchman pondered for a long time. “The Land of the Dead, Nibelungen, might just be a myth—it might not exist at all. Even if it does exist, it’s been sealed off for many years. The last person claiming to have been there was a witch who was burned at the stake in the Middle Ages. Alchemists see it as the holy grail—a sacred place of pilgrimage. Despite its name, it’s not the ‘Underworld’ or ‘Hell’; it is full of treasures.”
“Treasures?” Anjou frowned.
“In a nutshell, alchemy can be described as ‘killing’ a substance, then allowing it to be ‘reborn.’ During the process of rebirth, impurities are eliminated, and the substance acquires new properties. Killing a substance isn’t as simple as killing a person. To kill metals, generations of alchemists have sought ever-higher flame temperatures and mystical formulas.”
“Death is the precondition for life.” Anjou nodded.
“Exactly. Only dead matter is the best material. To refine gold, you must first kill silver; to forge a fine sword, you must first kill steel. The Land of the Dead, Nibelungen, is full of dead substances. An alchemist once described that place… there is no day or night; the sky is always dimly lit. The ground and mountains are bronze, made from dead earth and metals. The sky is gray, made from dead air. The flames are a cold blue, composed of dead fire elements. The water can’t float anything because even the water is dead. There are cities, built from the bones of dead life. The fifth element, ‘spirit,’ is abundant there, capable of refining the legendary Philosopher’s Stone. That’s why alchemists yearn for it—every bit of dust in Nibelungen is priceless to them. In Wagner’s opera The Ring of the Nibelung, the dwarves stole the gold of Nibelungen, forging a ring that had the power to rule the world, much like what alchemists say.”
“All of this is derived from Norse mythology, right?” Anjou mused for a moment. “The Black Dragon Nidhogg guards the branch of Yggdrasil that leads to the Land of the Dead; he is the gatekeeper of that entrance. During Ragnarok, the sea was split, and a ship made from the nails of the dead rose from the ocean, full of the undead. That was the army of the Land of the Dead waging war against the living.”
“I spent half my life chasing the legend of the Land of the Dead, traveling as far as Antarctica, but I couldn’t find that mysterious place,” the Watchman said. “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
“Did you find any evidence of its existence?”
The Watchman shook his head. “Not evidence, just speculation. Anjou, have you noticed that in our research on the Dragon Raja, we’re missing an important piece—we’ve found very few remains of Dragon Raja settlements, especially none of the sites where the Black Emperor Nidhogg ruled the world as a god. Even the Egyptian pharaohs left behind a bunch of pyramids.”
Anjou nodded. “Yes, none of the relics from the time before the Black Emperor Nidhogg’s death have ever been unearthed.”
“Isn’t it strange? What an extraordinary civilization it was! They once enslaved humans and built magnificent cities. Records say that the Bronze and Fire King forged towering bronze palaces in the northern ice fields, as well as the famous Celestial Bronze Pillar, where the Black Emperor nailed the White King. That massive pillar recorded the Black Emperor’s long battle history. He also ordered the construction of the Divine Road across the ocean—estimated to be 400 meters wide, larger than any modern highway. But with the death of the Black Emperor, these great relics vanished, like Atlantis disappearing into the ocean overnight.”
“Many cultures around the world have myths of ‘suddenly vanished ancient civilizations,’” Anjou said. “Does that refer to the sudden fall of the Dragon Raja’s civilization?”
“Possibly. If our ancestors spoke of ancient civilizations suddenly disappearing, it might mean they were indeed awed by its grandeur. Even today, there are still people using Google Maps to search the world for the lost Atlantis, but all they find are old human settlements submerged by the sea. The real ancient civilization might be hidden in another dimension, and reaching it requires passing through a mysterious gateway.”
Anjou slowly tilted his head back, looking at the dark ceiling as he exhaled a breath rich with alcohol, savoring the mystical feeling that seemed to rise magically from the Watchman’s words. “A parallel space?”
The Watchman spread his hands. “I deal with alchemy; I don’t share much academic language with you science types. We can talk about alcohol and women, and that’s about it. The Land of the Dead falls within the realm of mysticism—don’t try to explain it using relativity. The myth of it isn’t exclusive to Norse mythology. In Tibet, some people believe that after death, souls wander for forty-nine days in a mysterious domain. During this time, a soul is called ‘bardo,’ translated phonetically as ‘Antrabhava.’ No high lama has ever said where that mysterious domain is—it might be a real space, or it might just be the lingering consciousness of a person after death.”
k5uyxy