Volume One: At the Foot of Mount Zhongnan Chapter Five: A Hidden Paradise at the Mountain’s Base

Li Ming crawled to the mouth of the cave and witnessed the entire scene. When he saw the tigress, mortally wounded, still showing concern for them even in her final moments, he was deeply moved; his heart ached, and tears blurred his vision.

Li Sanlang approached and examined the child closely. Though Li Ming was naked and filthy, his features were delicate and charming, his skin plump and fair, and his large, jet-black eyes sparkled with intelligence—hardly the look of an ordinary infant. The creature beside him was not a black cat, but a newly-weaned black tiger cub.

Li Sanlang had first assumed Li Ming was the child of villagers from the foot of the mountain, captured by the tigress to feed her own cub. But after entering the cave and surveying the surroundings, he found only animal remains and dry grass—no scraps of clothing. Moreover, Li Ming seemed calm, unlike a typical baby who would wail in fear; instead, he pointed with his fingers and babbled as if he wanted to speak. This astonished Li Sanlang.

Li Ming himself could not understand how he had ended up, inexplicably, in a tiger’s den. Hearing Li Sanlang’s refined speech and seeing his ancient attire, he quickly realized he had traveled back to a distant era. Unfortunately, he had landed right in a tiger’s lair and, for reasons unknown, had been mistaken for a cub by the tigress and raised as her own. He had crossed over naked, so there was no trace of clothing to be found.

People in ancient times were deeply superstitious and believed strongly in omens, convinced that those born under extraordinary circumstances were destined for greatness.

The first Emperor of Qin, it was said, stayed in his mother’s womb for twelve months before birth, later uniting the six kingdoms and ruling the world. In the thirty-sixth year of his reign, Mars appeared near the heart of the sky; that same year, a meteor fell inscribed with “The First Emperor dies and the land will be divided,” and indeed, he died the next year at Shachiu.

According to the “Records of the Historian,” the sage Laozi was born after his mother dreamed of the sun turning into a pearl and entering her mouth, conceiving him. She was pregnant for eighty-one years before giving birth to him under a plum tree. Since his conception was miraculous and he had no father, she gave him the surname “Li,” after the plum tree, and named him “Er.” In time, Li Er founded a school of thought so profound that even Confucius came to seek his wisdom. Afterward, he journeyed west through Hangu Pass, leaving behind the five-thousand-word Tao Te Ching, securing his place among the immortals.

Han Gaozu, Liu Bang, was also said to have been conceived when his mother dreamt of a deity. At his birth, thunder and rain raged, and a dragon broke in from the heavens. He was born with seventy-two black moles on his left leg. As a youth, Liu Bang was idle and boastful, yet achieved nothing. His father-in-law, Lü Gong, skilled in physiognomy, was astonished by his appearance and married his daughter to him, despite family objections. Indeed, Liu Bang would later slay the white serpent, lead a rebellion, and found the Han dynasty, which endured for four centuries.

Emperor Wu of Han, Liu Che, was born after his father, Emperor Jing, dreamed of a red pig wreathed in clouds flying into his mother’s chamber. He was first named Liu Zhi, later changed to Liu Che upon ascending the throne. He defeated the Xiongnu in the north, conquered distant lands, subdued the Western Regions, and reclaimed Nanyue, forging the mighty might of Han. His famous declaration, “Whoever offends mighty Han, however distant, shall be punished!” established the term “Han people,” which has endured for millennia.

Among the Five Hegemons of the Spring and Autumn period, Duke Wen of Jin was born with double ribs; the Hegemon of Western Chu, Xiang Yu, had double pupils; Emperor Liu Bei of Shu had ears that hung down to his shoulders and arms that reached below his knees—such extraordinary signs were countless.

Noting the black tiger cub, sleek and glossy, nestled respectfully beside Li Ming, Li Sanlang, born of a noble family and widely read, recalled a description from an ancient text about this very creature.

Ordinarily, tigers give birth in spring, when life flourishes and food abounds. Only the black tiger is an exception—a creature of omen, born in autumn and raised in the cold of winter. As soon as it is weaned, the mother drives it away to fend for itself. Though the tiger is king of beasts, its black cub, cast out, faces endless bullying and oppression, forced to struggle for survival.

Thus, black tigers seldom survive to adulthood. Hardened by a life akin to purgatory, they scavenge carrion and drink foul water. Year after year, they are covered with new wounds and old scars, honing skills to leap mountains, climb trees, and swim rivers—all for survival, ever treading the edge of life and death. Yet if one should live to maturity, it becomes king of kings: ferocious, unmatched, and feared by all creatures.

Seeing Li Ming’s clear, deep gaze and the black tiger by his side, Li Sanlang was convinced this child was destined for greatness, no ordinary mortal.

Carrying Li Ming and the black tiger from the cave, he first used his sword to dig a grave beside the cave and buried the tigress. Then, wrapping Li Ming and the cub in his outer robe, he set them aside. Next, he went to the bear’s corpse, opened its belly to retrieve the gallbladder and cut off the paws. The bear’s hide was badly damaged, but he found a relatively intact piece, wrapped the bear gall and paws, and slung the bundle over his back.

With these tasks done and dusk approaching, he prepared to descend the mountain. Turning, he saw Li Ming and the tiger cub crawling to the tigress’s grave. Though the cold had turned Li Ming’s little face bluish, he still babbled and gestured by the grave, finally bowing his head repeatedly in gratitude, as if in worship.

Li Sanlang was astonished that an infant could understand gratitude and propriety, deepening his conviction that this child was extraordinary.

He came over and said, “The tigress saved my life. Though she was a beast, her love for her young ran deep. She entrusted you to me, and I must do my utmost for you both. You must live well and not let her down.” Seeing Li Ming gaze up at him with wide, bright eyes, as if understanding, he loosened his robe and tucked Li Ming and the cub against his chest for warmth. Strapping on his sword and slinging the bear-hide bundle, he made his way down the mountain.

Zhongnan Mountain stretched for hundreds of miles, with five great valleys and hundreds of smaller ones. “The Zuo Commentary” called it “the peril of the nine provinces,” and “The Records of the Historian” referred to it as “the world’s great barrier.”

As night fell, Li Sanlang and his charges reached the foot of the mountain. There, nestled in a secluded valley ringed by peaks, lay a village of about a hundred families. The land within was flat and sheltered from winter winds, warmed by several natural hot springs so that it seemed like spring all year round, lush and green.

Children frolicked, dogs barked, and chickens clucked. As evening descended, lanterns glimmered in windows, smoke curled from chimneys, and the voices of women calling their children home for supper filled the air—a true earthly paradise.

Li Sanlang noticed Li Ming peering curiously from his chest, his large, lively eyes taking in the scene. He said, “This village has no name; all here are refugees from troubled times. After I left my family, I wandered with nowhere to go, until I found this tranquil place and settled down.” Seeing Li Ming blink as if half-understanding, he added, “My home is by the village gate—the one without smoke rising from its chimney.” With that, he strode toward his house.

Li Ming saw that the dwelling was crude—just two thatched rooms and a simple fence for a courtyard. Inside, there was only a wooden table, a bamboo cabinet, and a bamboo bed—nothing more. Li Ming felt a bit disdainful. For all Li Sanlang’s refined speech and dignified bearing, and his talk of carefree reclusion, in the end, he was just a poor man!

Li Sanlang placed Li Ming and the tiger cub on the bamboo bed, wrapped them in an old robe, and, seeing himself filthy, opened the cabinet to find clean clothes and changed.

Li Ming and the cub had been hungry in the cave, but grief for the tigress had pushed away their hunger. Now, as sorrow ebbed, hunger returned with a vengeance. Li Ming’s mouth twisted and he burst into loud wails. At his cry, the cub joined in, mewling from hunger.

Li Sanlang, who had been amazed by Li Ming’s quietness on the journey, was flustered by the sudden outburst. Though he had known women before, he had no experience soothing children. He paced anxiously, muttering, “What am I to do? Could he be hungry?” The moment he said it, Li Ming fell silent, turning his large eyes on him. Amused, Li Sanlang said, “So you do understand! But I live alone, with no womenfolk—where can I find milk for you? How about I cook you some rice porridge?”

Li Ming thought, “Porridge? Are you kidding me? I don’t even have teeth!” Unable to speak, he could only roll his eyes in protest.

Li Sanlang realized his mistake—how could an infant without teeth eat porridge? After circling the room twice, an idea struck him. He went outside and brought back a large bamboo basket.

Placing Li Ming and the tiger cub inside, he slung the basket onto his back, grabbed the bear-hide bundle, and headed into the village.