137: Liupanshan

Two days later, Guyuan City, Ningxia.

As soon as he stepped off the plane, the dry and crisp air filled his lungs. Unlike the humid warmth of Hainan, the wind of the Northwest carried a sense of vastness and desolation.

The two didn't stay long in the city, renting a powerful off-road vehicle and driving straight toward the Liupan Mountains.

The closer they got to the mountains, the higher the terrain became, and the scenery on both sides of the road grew more magnificent. The ravines of the Loess Plateau, eroded by time, crisscrossed like deep wrinkles on the earth. The distant mountains rolled continuously, outlining silent silhouettes against an impossibly blue sky.

"Holy crap, this scenery is way more shocking than what we saw on the computer," Wang Dalong couldn't help but exclaim while driving. "'The sky is high, the clouds are pale, I watch the wild geese flying south until they vanish.' The ancients truly did not deceive me."

Lin Feng didn't speak; he leaned back in the passenger seat, his gaze fixed out the window. His eyes swept over the mountains, the Loess Plateaus, and the scattered villages, as if he were reading a heavy history book.

However, when they arrived at the so-called "Genghis Khan's Traveling Palace Ruins" tourist area according to the navigation, that sense of historical weight instantly vanished.

A huge faux-antique archway stood at the entrance, with the four characters for "The Proud Son of Heaven" written in flamboyant calligraphy. The parking lot was full of various tour buses and private cars, and vendors shouted at the top of their lungs, selling skewers, cold skin noodles, and various "Mongolian-style souvenirs" wholesale from Yiwu Small Commodity City.

Loudspeakers played "The Horse-Lassoing Man, You Are Mighty and Grand" on loop, mixed with the voices of tour guides explaining through mini-megaphone amplifiers, creating a noisy and chaotic atmosphere.

Wang Dalong's face fell instantly.

"No way, Brother Feng... this is the Sari-keer you mentioned? How is this any different from a People's Park?" He pointed at a fake "Genghis Khan" nearby, dressed in a Mongolian robe and charging tourists for photos, feeling his intelligence had been insulted.

"Commercial development, it's normal." Lin Feng's expression didn't change. He pushed open the car door and walked straight toward the scenic area's ticket office.

"Since we're already here, let's go in and take a look."

Wang Dalong followed reluctantly.

The next two hours were a torture for Wang Dalong. They followed the bustling crowds, visited the newly built "Great Khan's Camp," looked at the so-called "Western Expedition Murals," and listened to a guide with a thick accent spit as he described how Genghis Khan "devised strategies within a command tent to win battles a thousand miles away" here.

The entire scenic area, except for the mountain itself, was brand new and shiny, full of a plastic feel.

Wang Dalong completely lost his patience: "Brother Feng, if there's a clue in this place, I'll eat this car! It's all newly built, and the stories the guide tells are more fantastical than your novels. We might as well go back and sleep."

Lin Feng, however, stopped in front of a stall selling local specialties. He didn't look at the beautifully packaged goji berries and licorice, but instead at the stall owner—an old man with dark skin and a face etched with weathered wrinkles.

"Old man, I'd like to ask you something," Lin Feng spoke.

The old man was dozing off out of boredom. Hearing this, he lifted his eyelids: "Young man, buying something?"

"Not buying anything." Lin Feng pulled out a pack of newly bought local cigarettes from his pocket, handed one over, and helped him light it. "I just wanted to ask, what do you locals call this place?"

The old man took a puff, narrowed his eyes, and blew out a smoke ring. "What else could it be called? Just Liupan Mountains. They set up tourism up there and call it some Genghis Khan Traveling Palace."

"I mean, before the tourism, what did your older generation call the mountain ravines around here?" Lin Feng pressed.

The old man was stunned for a moment. A trace of memory flashed in his cloudy eyes as he seemed to be thinking hard.

"There are too many ravines, seven ravines and eight ridges, who can remember them all clearly. But... if you're asking for the old names," he pointed with his hand holding the cigarette toward an inconspicuous mountain hollow southwest of the scenic area, "that stretch, we used to call it 'Dead Mans Ravine'."

"Dead Mans Ravine?" Wang Dalong leaned in, keenly catching this unusual name.

"Right." The old man nodded and took another puff, becoming more talkative. "I heard from my grandfather, passed down from his grandfather's grandfather, that there's a heavy yin energy in that ravine. A ton of people died there in battles long ago, and even in the middle of summer, it's chilly inside. The government later thought the name was unlucky and forbade using it, so slowly, no one remembered it."

Lin Feng's eyes lit up.

He asked again, "Then do you know of a place called 'Sari-keer' or 'Qaratu'?"

"Sari-keer?" The old man muttered the name and shook his head. "Never heard of it. And as for Qaratu, definitely never heard of it. Our local place names aren't that weird."

It was normal not to have heard of them. Sari-keer was a transliteration of the Mongolian "Sāri-ke'er," meaning "cool plain" or "yellow field." Qaratu was likely a transliteration of "Qaratu," meaning "place with sentries." These were temporary names given by the Mongolian army back then; it was impossible for them to be passed down to the locals seven hundred years later.

However, the name "Dead Mans Ravine," along with the description of "heavy yin energy" and "cold even in summer," had a strange, eerie coincidence with the original meaning of "cool plain."

"Old man, can we go into that ravine now?" Lin Feng pointed in the direction the old man had indicated.

"Sure, nothing's stopping you. But it's all dirt roads; you can't drive in, you have to walk. There's nothing inside, just a barren mountain ravine. What are you city kids going there for?" The old man looked puzzled.

"We're hiking enthusiasts; we just love these kinds of off-the-beaten-path trails," Wang Dalong immediately chimed in, making up an excuse.

After thanking the old man, the two quickly left the noisy scenic area.

Back in the car, Wang Dalong's excitement surged again.

"Brother Feng, we're on to something! Dead Mans Ravine! That name sounds like it has a story!"

Lin Feng wasn't as optimistic as him. He opened his tablet, brought up a high-precision satellite map, and zoomed in on the area the old man had pointed to.

It was a long, narrow river valley sandwiched between two towering mountain ridges. A seasonal small river flowed through it, with relatively flat open ground on both banks. From the topography, it was indeed much cooler and more hidden than the open plains outside.

"The 'History of Yuan' records, 'The Emperor stayed at Xijiang in Qingshui County.' Qingshui County is today's Guyuan, and Xijiang is the Qingshui River. Genghis Khan's traveling palace was on the west bank of the Qingshui River." Lin Feng's finger slid across the map. "Our current position is on the west bank of the Qingshui River. This 'Dead Mans Ravine' fits perfectly."

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's just get to it!"

"No rush." Lin Feng shook his head. "Prepare the equipment. We'll enter the mountains before dark and use a drone to scout the way first."

His expression was serious, without the slightest hint of negligence.

That tourist area, submerged in commercialism, might just be a cover-up.

True history is often hidden in those forgotten, desolate places whose very names reek of misfortune.