Dragon Raja 3; Chapter 252: Divine Hall of Murals (6)

Dragon Raja 3

“Do you remember The Emerald Tablet?”

“Of course, every cultured Hybrid knows about The Emerald Tablet. It’s like how every Christian knows about the Bible,” Caesar shrugged.

“This mural is practically the Japanese equivalent of The Emerald Tablet,” Chu Zihang said in a low voice.

Caesar was shocked.

The Emerald Tablet is a strange text. It’s not really a book, consisting of only thirteen cryptic sayings. It didn’t even have a name originally; it was found inscribed on a slab of emerald, hence the name Emerald Tablet. In 332 BC, the great conqueror Alexander the Great discovered this emerald tablet in the tomb of Hermes Trismegistus while conquering Egypt. The thirteen sentences on the tablet were said to condense the mysteries of alchemy, left by the god-like Pharaoh, his divine father, and his son. Later, European alchemists all tried to decode The Emerald Tablet to unlock the secrets of alchemy. The tablet was once displayed in the library of Alexandria, but after the library’s destruction in 283 BC, the original was lost. From the 16th to the 18th century, alchemy experienced a surge in interest, and hundreds of reproductions of The Emerald Tablet emerged. Its cryptic, poetry-like writing was so vague that no one truly understood it.

In the Secret Party, there has always been a theory suggesting that The Emerald Tablet contains the laws of human evolution toward becoming dragons. The highest achievement in alchemy is to refine oneself, unlocking the path to evolve into a dragon. Chu Zihang saying that this mural is Japan’s version of The Emerald Tablet implies that the skeleton passing the bone to the human symbolizes the… law of evolution!

“The Yellow Springs certainly connote hell, but after passing through the deepest depths of hell, one reaches paradise. The so-called ‘Ancient Path to the Yellow Springs’ refers to an ancient road through a hell filled with demons. It is also called the ‘Path to Deification,’ suggesting that traversing it allows one to evolve into a god. There’s a similar notion in The Emerald Tablet: ‘As above, so below; thus completing the miracle of the One.’ Whether moving upward or downward, breaking through limits leads to reaching the perfect ‘One,’” Chu Zihang said, gazing at the circle symbolizing the ultimate meaning of alchemy.

“The golden skeleton represents the White Emperor, offering its bones and blood to humans, creating the White Emperor’s bloodline, which includes those mermaids. But the god left behind an even greater treasure—how hybrids can evolve into dragons. Although dangerous, it is not entirely impossible.”

“If you knew this method, would you try it?” Caesar stood alongside Chu Zihang, gazing up at the mysterious cycle of life and death.

“No. My father would be very disappointed,” Chu Zihang replied softly.

“I kind of want to try it… but my mother would probably be disappointed too, so I’ll pass,” Caesar sighed lightly.

“There’s something even more valuable here. Come, let’s see the most priceless mural,” Caesar gestured to Chu Zihang with a nod. “Follow me.”

“This is the mural you claim is the most valuable?” Chu Zihang looked up at the towering wall before them.

“Don’t you think so? At least, it’s the most valuable,” Caesar said, standing beside him.

“How do you know?”

“The intruder killed so many Execution Bureau elites but only stole this mural. That means they were not only an art lover with good taste, but this mural must be the best of all.”

They were facing a blank white wall—the mural had already been taken. The other murals were stained with blood, but this wall was spotless. This indicated that the killer removed the mural after swiftly dealing with the Execution Bureau officers, leaving no blood on the wall. If Snake Hachiya had taken the mural down for restoration, there would have been blood on the wall.

“The intruder had only about ten minutes between each shipment of files. To kill the people and remove the mural in such a short time—how fast must they have been? After being removed from the original walls, these murals weren’t directly mounted here but were affixed to traditional canvas coated with alum, which was then glued to the wall. Normally, removing the mural would require dissolving the adhesive with a solvent, but this person managed to do it so quickly,” Chu Zihang remarked, running his fingers along the wall and inspecting it with a flashlight.

“Detective Chu Zihang, do you think the guy left fingerprints on the wall?” Caesar shrugged, showing no interest in this meticulous analysis.

“No, I’m checking the adhesive on the wall. Look, there’s still some residue,” Chu Zihang pointed the flashlight at a patch of yellowish glue. “This shows he tore it off forcefully, which explains the speed. But tearing it off like that risks damaging the canvas. If he wanted this precious mural, why would he treat it so roughly?”

“Good point. For an art collector, damaging a mural would be like desecrating an exquisite beauty.”

“Is that something your father would say?”

“No, you’re overestimating that jerk. He might look like he enjoys art and collecting, but he doesn’t love those things. The only thing he truly cares about is himself. He could spend millions of dollars on a painting, save a picture of it on his phone to show off to everyone, and then the next morning, have the butler take the painting off the living room wall and toss it into the cellar. Just like how he treats women—one night, he’ll recite Shelley’s poetry to a woman in an evening gown, and the next morning, after sleeping with her, he’ll think her naked body is disgusting, take a bath, and tell the butler to get rid of the ugly pile of flesh,” Caesar sneered, speaking of his father with biting sarcasm, almost like a playwright performing avant-garde theater, cutting and bitter.

Chu Zihang glanced at Caesar. It was not his place to comment on this matter, but he began to realize that Caesar’s hatred toward Pompeii wasn’t just about disliking his father’s lifestyle. In some ways, Caesar was quite tolerant—as long as you didn’t mind his arrogance, he would show you a condescending sort of care. He would even buy gifts for the entire Student Union while on business trips. “Appropriate generosity is a noble’s duty,” was one of Caesar’s catchphrases. Even during their fiercest competition, Caesar rarely spoke ill of Chu Zihang, showing mostly disdain. But when it came to Pompeii, Caesar seemed to harbor a deep, almost “resentful” emotion.

“That person wasn’t interested in the mural’s artistic value but in the hidden clues within the painting. It might hold the key to interpreting all the murals,” Chu Zihang said quietly. “Before writing, painting was used to record historical events. There must be a secret hidden in these murals, and the person who stole this one is after that secret.”

“The perfect method of evolution?” Caesar frowned.

“Perhaps. Fortunately, the person who removed the mural was in such a hurry that they left us some clues.” Chu Zihang crouched down and shone the flashlight on a section of the wall. A piece of canvas, about 20 centimeters square, remained stuck to the wall, with jagged edges, clearly torn in haste.

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