He cringed, but recalled what Pau had said.
No one was in sight. So who’d switched on the lights? Pau Wen?
He risked another look and determined they were inside the short wall of the rectangle, at the opposite end of what appeared to be the main entrance. All four walls were polished stone alive with carved animal heads and otherworldly images bursting from the lustrous surface. He spotted a tiger, a prone horse, a toad, a frog, a fish, and an ox. Color abounded. Yellow-glazed pillars and arches, vermillion walls, a purple-black ceiling.
At the center stood an elaborate plinth, wider at the bottom than the top, fashioned of what appeared to be jade. Two lights illuminated exquisite carvings that dotted its sides. Nothing lay atop. Bare, like the rest of the chamber. Stone pedestals adorned the four walls, spaced every twenty feet or so, about ten feet off the floor. He realized what they had once held.
But not a single lamp could be seen.
Another of Pau Wen’s lies.
He’d read enough about Chinese imperial tombs to know that they were designed as symbolic representations of an emperor’s world. Not a monument, but an analogue of life through which the emperor eternally perpetuated his authority. Which meant the hall should be loaded with stuff.
He glanced over at Cassiopeia. Her eyes agreed on their next move.
He stepped from the darkened recess into the lit space. The floor represented the extreme southwestern fringes of Qin Shi’s empire, showing what he knew to be mountain ranges carved of jade. A flat expanse to the north delineated desert, which stretched east toward the heart of the empire. Many meters away were more open plains, plateaus, blankets of trees, mountains, and valleys. Palaces, temples, villages, and towns, all fashioned of gemstone and bronze, sprouted everywhere, connected by what appeared to be a system of roads.
He noticed that the stone panel, which blocked the portal once closed, would have dissolved cleanly into the ornamented wall. An entrance capable of being seen and opened only from the outside. Coiled dragons, humanoid faces, and crested, long-tailed birds sprang from the adjacent walls.
He motioned toward the center with his gun and they threaded their way across the floor, careful to find smooth areas on which to step. He was still worried about the mercury, concerned about vapors, so he bent down close to one of the rivers and saw that the carved channel, maybe a foot wide and a few inches deep, flowed with mercury.
But there was something else, on top. Clear. Oily. He tapped the glistening surface with the tip of the gun and ripples spread. He examined the gun’s end and risked a smell, catching a hint of petroleum.
Then he knew.
“Mineral oil,” he whispered. “Pau coated the mercury with it to hold in the vapors.”
He’d done the same once himself, in a basement floor drain trap, floating the oil on top of the water to slow evaporation, keeping sewer gases at bay. He was relieved to know that the air was not riddled with toxins, but still concerned about not only where Pau Wen had gone, but who else may be around.
They headed for the center plinth, which dominated a prominent platform. He’d been correct. The whole thing had been carved of jade and depicted a multitude of human, botanical, and animal images. The craftsmen had made excellent use of the stone’s varying shades, and he couldn’t resist caressing the translucent surface.
“It’s incredible,” Cassiopeia said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
He knew the Chinese considered jade a gift from the gods, the key to everlasting life. It symbolized eternity, and was supposedly imbued with wondrous powers that could protect from evil and bring good luck. That was why Chinese emperors were buried inside funerary suits of jade, sewn together with gold threads and adorned with pearls.
“This was where the emperor lay,” Cassiopeia whispered.
There was no other conclusion. For a culture that prized symbolism, this seemed the ultimate expression.
But the plinth was bare.
He noticed that the top was not smooth. Instead, images had been engraved from end to end, framed by a border of Chinese symbols.
“It’s like the map in Pau Wen’s house,” Cassiopeia said.
He thought the same thing.
