Love on the Turquoise Land

Nie Jiuluo had long guessed it: Yan Tuo had come with an agenda from the start. He wanted to uncover certain secrets. When questioning didn’t work and force proved ineffective, he resorted to this roundabout approach.

It was indeed a grand gesture, a significant favor. If their positions were reversed and Yan Tuo had fallen into her hands this time, what would she have done? She would have handed him over to Jiang Baichuan, instructing him to shackle and lock him up—ensuring he didn’t escape. She wouldn’t say he’d rot in a cell for life, but at least three to five years without seeing daylight.

As an enemy, he could have inflicted any harm on her. Yet now, he hadn’t laid a finger on her. Could she honestly say she wasn’t the least bit swayed? Compared to her life, what were a few questions?

Besides, the questions Yan Tuo asked—like “What is Gou Ya?” and “What does ‘taking root and sprouting’ mean?”—she had carefully considered her answers, ensuring they were precise enough not to reveal anything crucial.

She returned to an earlier point: “You’ve been with him all this time, yet you don’t even know what he is?”

Yan Tuo replied, “One day, they just appeared around me. If they don’t say anything, how would I know?”

Nie Jiuluo’s heart skipped a beat, a chill running down her spine.

She had used the singular pronoun “he,” but his answer was “they.”

She had thought it was just one, but it turned out to be a whole swarm.

“They don’t know you came to me, do they?”

Yan Tuo: “No. And they don’t know about you either.”

Nie Jiuluo was taken aback. “Then they never asked how you got into trouble?”

“They did. I told them my car passed by Banya and I was drugged. Since Gou Ya is unconscious now and there are no other witnesses, the truth is whatever I say it is.”

Nie Jiuluo’s pulse quickened. No wonder she had worried endlessly about exposure, yet the repercussions never came—Yan Tuo had deliberately kept her out of it for his own reasons.

In other words, he wanted to pry information from her but didn’t want his allies to know about his little side mission.

“Are you at odds with them?”

“Miss Nie, that’s off-topic and none of your concern. I just want some answers, and then we’re even.”

Nie Jiuluo studied him for a moment before finally picking up a pair of chopsticks from the holder and pouring hot water to sterilize them.

Yan Tuo exhaled inwardly in relief. If she was willing to eat, the meal—and the negotiation—was on.

He leaned over, grabbed a bottle of beer, and knocked off the cap against the table edge. “Beer or tea?”

Nie Jiuluo pushed her teacup toward him. “Pour me some beer.”

They drank separately, without clinking glasses, and ate in silence, neither pressing the other. Nie Jiuluo wasn’t in a hurry, and Yan Tuo didn’t rush her—after all, the shop was open all night, and even the longest secrets had time to settle.

After a while, Nie Jiuluo asked him, “Do you know Da Yu?”

“Yes, Da Yu who tamed the floods.”

“What else did Da Yu do?”

What else? Wasn’t flood control his main achievement? Cutting through mountains, digging channels, managing the waters…

Seeing his expression, Nie Jiuluo moved on. “Do you know about ding?”

Yan Tuo took a few seconds to shift from the common meaning of “ding” (top) to the ancient vessel. “The ding from ‘contending for supremacy over the Central Plains’? Yes.”

“Do you know what ding were used for?”

He knew this too—it had been covered in history class. “For cooking meat.”Nie Jiuluo said, "Alright, I know your level now. I'll start from the beginning and explain in as much detail as possible. I'll cover all four questions you asked. No recording allowed—just listen while I talk. Try to restrain yourself and don’t speak unless necessary, unless I ask you something. After I finish, I’ll give you time and answer some questions as appropriate. There’s a lot to cover, so my throat might get dry. Remember to pour me tea."

With that, she drained the remaining wine in her cup.

Yan Tuo cooperated readily, picking up the teapot to pour her first cup of tea.

In ancient times, people generally didn’t travel much. For one, there weren’t many means of transportation, and secondly, the roads were full of tigers and wolves, making travel risky. Most spent their entire lives near where they lived, so they knew nothing about other places. It was like someone from a southern tribe who had never seen "snow," or someone who lived in arid regions, surviving on streams and dew, unable to imagine vast rivers and oceans or the existence of man-eating fish in the water.

But being a king was different. A ruler couldn’t afford to be ignorant of their territory or the customs and conditions of various regions. The abdication of Yao, Shun, and Yu wasn’t just about handing over the throne to a successor—once chosen, the successor had to be trained, tested, and evaluated in every way. The Records of the Grand Historian notes, "Emperor Shun recommended Yu to Heaven as his heir. Seventeen years later, Emperor Shun passed away." This means that after Shun designated Yu as his successor, he spent at least seventeen years assessing him, assigning him various tasks. Only if Yu performed well could he remain the heir; if he failed repeatedly, he could be replaced at any time.

So flood control was just one of the major tasks Emperor Shun assigned to Yu.

During those seventeen years, Yu didn’t just manage floods—he also toured the nine provinces, observing the people’s conditions. After becoming king, he ordered the provinces to contribute bronze to cast nine great cauldrons. These cauldrons weren’t for cooking meat but served as ceremonial vessels. Each cauldron symbolized a province, functioning as a local chronicle. Yu commanded artisans to engrave the strange phenomena and creatures he encountered during his travels onto them. The Zuo Zhuan also suggests that the cauldrons bore maps of the regions and depictions of monstrous beasts unique to each area. You could think of them as travel guides—even if you’d never been there, flipping through them would tell you about local landmarks, specialties, and dangerous beasts.

No recording allowed—he’d have to take notes by hand.

Yan Tuo’s phone memo app had been open the whole time. Hearing this, he typed two words: "Cauldron Records."

In an era when people’s minds were so closed off, such "Cauldron Records" were quite necessary.

He thought of the small bronze cauldron Hua Saozi had bowed to while calling it "Lord Yu." Could "Lord Yu" actually refer to "Great Yu"—Da Yu?

Nie Jiuluo took a sip of tea and ate a few pieces of braised food before continuing, "Let me ask you another question: Is the soil the same everywhere?"

Yan Tuo thought for a moment. "No, right? The minerals differ, and so does the fertility."

"What about color?"

"Color varies too. I remember the northeast has black soil, northern Shaanxi is called the Loess Plateau, and the south has... red soil?"The nine provinces demarcated by Da Yu were, of course, different from today's administrative divisions. There is a book called Yu Gong , allegedly written by Da Yu, which records the terrain, soil, and produce of various regions. Of course, some scholars now argue that it wasn’t written by him—regardless, Da Yu established standards for tribute based on the unique conditions of each region.

Simply put, it couldn’t be a one-size-fits-all approach. If a place had fertile land and favorable weather, it naturally produced more grain and thus had to pay higher taxes. Conversely, if a region had poor soil where crops couldn’t even grow three inches tall, taxes on grain should naturally be reduced.

This was how Da Yu meticulously examined the soil color, fertility, and produce of the nine provinces.

One of these provinces was called Liangzhou. Its exact boundaries are uncertain, but it roughly referred to the area south of Mount Hua and between the Black River. Today, many places we’ve visited, like the Shi River region and much of the Qinba mountainous area, would have belonged to Liangzhou. Records of the Grand Historian describes this place as having "land of lower-upper grade, taxes of lower-middle grade with three variations," meaning the soil was of lower-upper quality—moderately fertile—so taxes couldn’t be levied harshly; a lower-middle rate would suffice. It also mentions "the soil is green-black," referred to as "green soil," distinct from the yellow soil, white soil, black loam, and others found elsewhere.

Yan Tuo’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly as he started a new line in his memo and typed the words "green soil."

This was the second time he’d heard the term "green soil." Hua Saozi had mentioned it too, during the bronze cauldron ritual, saying, "Green soil bears ears, flowers bear fruit."

Nie Jiuluo glanced at his phone and waited for him to finish typing before continuing. "The thing called 'Gou Ya' was anciently known as 'Earth Owl,' and it’s carved on this Liangzhou cauldron—I’ll revise this statement later, but for now, just take it as is."

Yan Tuo stiffened. Nie Jiuluo had started from ancient history, and he’d assumed it would take a long time before getting to the main point. He hadn’t expected it to come up so soon.

He couldn’t help asking, "Earth as in… the ground? And which 'xiao'?"

"The one with the bird radical and the wood base."

So it was that "owl." He stopped questioning and picked up a slice of tripe with his chopsticks, chewing it tastelessly.

Earth Owl. So it was called Earth Owl.

"The word 'earth' in 'Earth Owl' is quite literal because this thing emerges from underground—and only from green soil. Think of it like a plant: it can’t grow in other soils, only in green soil. Or you could say other soils—yellow, white, whatever—are toxic to it. It can only break through green soil."

At this point, Nie Jiuluo looked up at Yan Tuo. "Do you know where the Nine Cauldrons went?"

Yan Tuo: "Still buried underground, or… in a museum?"

He genuinely didn’t know where the Nine Cauldrons were. But bronze is durable—it’s unlikely to rot or vanish. They were probably either awaiting excavation or already excavated.

Judging by Nie Jiuluo’s expression, both of his guesses were completely off the mark.

Back in their time, the Nine Cauldrons were probably like the Imperial Seal—when the Xia fell, they passed to the Shang; when the Shang fell, they passed to the Zhou. By the Eastern Zhou, the cauldrons still existed, because the King of Chu once sent someone to inquire about their size and weight, only to be rebuffed. That’s why later generations coined the phrase "to inquire about the cauldrons" to describe attempts to seize power.After the Eastern Zhou Dynasty, it is generally believed that the Nine Tripod Cauldrons came into the possession of the Qin state. The Records of the Grand Historian also notes, "In the fifty-second year... the nine cauldrons entered Qin." There is even a folk legend that a Qin king died from severe injuries after attempting to lift one of the cauldrons to test its weight. In any case, the last historical record of the Nine Tripod Cauldrons places them in Qin. After the Qin Dynasty, they disappear from historical texts.

What I’m about to tell you next, take it as unofficial history—believe it or not as you wish.

After the Nine Tripod Cauldrons entered Qin, they were stored away in some location. After all, they weren’t small trinkets suitable for casual display or play. Moreover, kings were busy men and couldn’t spend their days circling around cauldrons. Later, Qin Shi Huang unified the six states.

In his later years, Qin Shi Huang became obsessed with seeking immortality and elixirs of life—a well-documented historical fact. Many of his subjects pandered to this interest, offering remedies and schemes, though most were fraudulent. However, two proposals did catch the emperor’s attention.

One was Xu Fu’s plan to sail to the eastern seas in search of the mythical Penglai Mountain and its immortals. There are many legends about Xu Fu—feel free to look them up if you’re interested.

The other proposal came from the official in charge of guarding the Nine Tripod Cauldrons.

Guarding the cauldrons was, as you might imagine, a leisurely job, leaving the keeper ample time to study them. He reported to the emperor that the Liangzhou Cauldron bore inscriptions about the "Earth Owls" ( Dixiao ). These creatures, he claimed, emerged from the "green soil" and possessed two key traits. The first was "attraction to treasure" ( jiu bao ), where jiu is a classical term meaning "to approach" or "draw near." Earth Owls were said to gravitate toward veins of treasure—precious stones, jade, and the like. Their ability to locate riches earned them the nickname "Gold-Sniffing Beasts."

The conversation was gradually reaching its core. Yan Tuo lost interest in his food and drink. He recalled once asking Que Cha what the thing in his car was called. She had replied, "Lucky Cat." At the time, he thought she was teasing him. Now, it struck him that "Lucky Cat" and "Gold-Sniffing Beast" were essentially the same—both alluding to immense wealth.

Noticing Nie Jiuluo’s teacup was nearly empty, he picked up the pot and refilled it.

Nie Jiuluo continued, "Qin Shi Huang already possessed all the treasures under heaven, so the 'attraction to treasure' aspect wouldn’t have impressed him. But the second trait was different—you can probably guess. Earth Owls retain youthful appearances and live extraordinarily long lives, showing no signs of aging. Their skin doesn’t sag, and their fur doesn’t fade."

Yan Tuo’s mind flashed to Lin Xirou’s face.

Aunt Lin—Lin Xirou. Over all these years, she truly hadn’t changed. Since childhood, his family had relocated several times. Perhaps it was precisely because Lin Xirou never aged that they had to move, lest their neighbors notice something amiss.

He couldn’t hold back: "Then what... what exactly are Earth Owls?"

Nie Jiuluo sidestepped the question. "Ancient times were also called the Age of Myths—an era of supernatural beings and bizarre monsters. The Xia and Shang dynasties were transitional periods; such things likely existed, but historical records are scarce. By the late Western Zhou, everything suddenly became clear—documented in histories, verified by artifacts, codified in rites, with specific figures and conflicts not unlike today’s. But where did all those strange creatures recorded on the cauldrons go? No one knows. Some speculate that something might have happened, a purge that wiped them out. And this purge likely occurred during the undocumented Xia and Shang eras—before the Zhou Dynasty.""Those who can become emperors never pin their hopes on just one method or put all their eggs in one basket. They always have multiple backup plans. So while he was overseeing the construction of treasure ships bound for the Eastern Seas, he was also assembling elite troops to hunt down the Dixiao."

Hunt down the Dixiao?

Yan Tuo's heart stirred: "The Dixiao... by the time of Qin Shi Huang, were they already just legends?"

"Exactly. Didn't I just say that? It was as if there had been a great purge. Those monstrous creatures recorded in the ancient Ding texts had basically disappeared by the Qin dynasty. Of course, it's also possible that the continuous expansion of human territory forced these creatures into increasingly remote hiding places or even drove them to extinction—don't underestimate humans just because we're not as powerful as beasts. We may lack size and killing power, but we have numbers. If one or ten of us can't win, what about a hundred against one? We'd wipe them out. Anyway, by Qin Shi Huang's time, the Dixiao were already legends."

The reason Xu Fu's story became widely known while tales of the Dixiao remained obscure is that the Ding texts described the Dixiao as "monstrous beasts" or "evil creatures." They were bloodthirsty carnivores, and even more terrifying, anyone bitten or seriously scratched by a Dixiao was basically beyond saving. Once the wound took root and sprouted beastly fur, the person was as good as ruined—no different from an animal. Seeking immortality and divine elixirs, drawing closer to the immortals—that sounded more sophisticated and romantic. Hunting the Dixiao? That wasn't exactly presentable, so naturally, it was kept secret.

Around 210 BCE, on a late night over 2,200 years ago, Xu Fu's treasure ships set sail for the Eastern Seas in search of immortals. At the same time, the elite troops tasked with finding the Dixiao—all wearing black head wraps, hence called the Turbaned Army—secretly entered the dense Nanba forests of Qingrang.