“Even among hunters, it’s rare to see someone as generous as you,” the shopkeeper squinted and smiled.
“Spending money for some fun, that’s all.” Caesar adopted the demeanor of a nobleman from the Qing dynasty. He had watched a few palace dramas in the past two days, and had picked up some phrases.
The shopkeeper leisurely sipped his tea: “Not far from here, near the Minzu Palace, there’s an alley called Guangcai. During the Ming dynasty, it was a place for making firearms and explosives. Back then, it had another name…” He suddenly stopped and looked up at Caesar, his eyes flashing slightly, “Wanggongchang.”
Caesar took a deep breath, feeling as if the specks of dust in the beam of sunlight had suddenly shivered—as if that ancient name had awakened those dormant spirits.
“Heard of it?” The shopkeeper smiled.
“The Wanggongchang Explosion occurred on May 30, 1626, at nine in the morning, covering an area of over two square kilometers and killing twenty thousand people. It forced Emperor Zhu Youxiao to issue a ‘Self-Accusation Edict,’ believing that his actions had angered the heavens. It was a disaster that couldn’t be explained by normal logic, one of the three most mysterious explosions in history, along with the Mohenjo-Daro event in India and the Tunguska Explosion in Russia,” Caesar said.
The shopkeeper nodded: “In 1908, there was a massive explosion in the Tunguska forest. It was like the sun rose early, the forest fell in swathes, and a massive mushroom cloud rose up. The explosion’s light could be seen as far as the banks of the Rhine. To this day, the only weapon that humanity has which can produce that effect is a nuclear bomb. But in 1908, ‘the father of the atomic bomb,’ Oppenheimer, was only four years old, still a little kid. It would be thirty-seven years before those Americans could build an atomic bomb. Yet a nuclear explosion happened ahead of its time.” The shopkeeper glanced at Caesar. “Even though we didn’t know each other before, we both know quite a lot about dragons, so there’s no need to hide anything. The Tunguska Explosion was caused by the Yanling ‘Rhine,’ a high-risk Yanling with the serial number 113.”
“In 1626, the Chinese couldn’t have had a nuclear bomb either. So the Wanggongchang Explosion must also have been caused by some kind of destructive Yanling,” Caesar said softly.
“Indeed. The key technology of nuclear weapons is radioactive material. The Americans built massive equipment in Oak Ridge, melting down tens of thousands of tons of pure silver for wiring to produce effective separation equipment. That equipment alone was worth a nation, and even today, such technology is monopolized by only a few countries. But for the ancient dragons, they didn’t need any equipment at all; with sheer mental force, they could create temperatures and shockwaves akin to a nuclear explosion. It’s the pinnacle of dragon technology—another unbelievable technological realm. The difference between it and human technology is like that between real numbers and imaginary numbers, or between Euclidean and non-Euclidean geometry. The Indian epic Mahabharata recorded the destruction of Mohenjo-Daro, which had once been a magnificent city that vanished in a massive explosion. The epic described, ’A roar in the sky, followed by a flash of lightning. In the southern sky, a pillar of fire rose to the heavens, the bright sunlight split the sky in two… Houses, streets, and all living things were destroyed by the sudden fire… It was a small projectile, yet it held the power of the entire universe. A searing red smoke and flame, as bright as a thousand suns, rose slowly, its brilliance dazzling… The scorching heat caused animals to fall, rivers to boil, and all the fish to die; the dead burned like charred tree trunks… Hair and nails fell off, and…”
“Sounds exactly like a nuclear explosion,” Caesar remarked.
“But the epic was written in the 4th century BCE,” the shopkeeper raised an eyebrow, “so we have reason to believe that these three disasters were caused by the awakening of Dragon Kings. In 1626, there was also a Dragon King awakening in this city—perhaps the one you’re looking for.”
Caesar was silent for a moment: “Since Wanggongchang was a place for making and storing gunpowder, couldn’t it have been a gunpowder explosion? I’ve read some history on firearms—Ming Dynasty was the peak of firearm use in Chinese history. Toyotomi Hideyoshi learned how to use firearms in warfare from Oda Nobunaga. In his army, one in every ten soldiers carried firearms, and he believed his army was invincible, so he attacked Korea to challenge China. But when he encountered the Ming army on the Korean peninsula, he found that the Ming’s ‘Divine Machine Battalion’ was a unit entirely armed with firearms—everyone had a gun. There must have been a lot of gunpowder at the Divine Machine Battalion’s station.”
“True, the Chinese were experts in black powder. But the Wanggongchang Explosion had the equivalent of tens of thousands of tons of TNT. Black powder’s power is just a fraction of TNT’s, meaning it would have taken a hundred thousand tons of black powder to cause that explosion. That would be like giving every soldier in the Divine Machine Battalion a ton of black powder—impossible. They weren’t human bombs, after all…”
“I know some people have tried to explain it as an earthquake, a fire tornado, or atmospheric ionization,” Caesar said.
“No explanation fits all the strange phenomena of that explosion. The massive shockwave even threw a five-thousand-pound stone lion a kilometer away to Xuanwu Gate. Many people’s clothes were torn off, leaving them naked; small iron pellets fell from the black cloud like rain; large trees were thrown all the way to Miyun. That was an unprecedentedly massive domain—two square kilometers in size, and everything within was destroyed,” the shopkeeper placed his teacup on the table.
“The deadlier the Yanling, the smaller its domain. A destructive Yanling domain spanning two square kilometers sounds almost mythical.”
“Only a few dragons can achieve that—like the Dragon Kings,” the shopkeeper turned and reached into the crevice between green bricks, pulling out a brick with effort. He reached into the wall hole and retrieved a blue wax-dyed cloth bundle. He glanced at Caesar and slowly opened the bundle, revealing a book of rough-edged paper, a handwritten copy that looked very old. The pages were yellowed and brittle, and the cover bore the inked title ‘Tianbian Dicha.’”
Caesar took the book carefully and flipped through it.
“A previous find of mine—an ancient Ming book. The paper is made of mulberry bark and dragon’s beard grass, impossible for anyone today to replicate. It’s a Ming dynasty manuscript by an unknown author, detailing the Wanggongchang Explosion. It’s the most detailed record among civilian documents. Though some of what it describes is too strange—for example, omens of the explosion appeared a month in advance, and flocks of ‘Guiche Birds’ gathered at the observation tower, their cries like wails. The ‘Guiche Bird’ isn’t a real species—it’s also called ‘Cangluo’ or ‘Nine-headed Bird.’ It once had ten heads, but the Duke of Zhou shot one off, leaving nine. Blood always drips from the unhealed necks; the largest Guiche Birds have a wingspan of ten feet. They’re bona fide bird monsters. If such creatures really existed, they’d rewrite biological history.”
“Is this the only copy?” Caesar raised the book, “You’re selling a Ming dynasty manuscript for two hundred thousand dollars?”
“No, they’re everywhere. But…” The shopkeeper paused, “This one has a long section not found in other versions of ‘Tianbian Dicha’—it’s about Feng Shui.”
“‘Feng Shui’?” Caesar was taken aback.
“Geomancy. The Chinese believe it to be a science—finding dragon veins and the like. The original author of this book was a Feng Shui master whose job was to find dragon veins in Beijing for people to choose auspicious burial spots. He meticulously documented the cause of the disaster, believing that it severed a dragon vein.”
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