The fifteenth-century Wanda Mountains were a deep Forest Sea where dark green and deep blue wove together between heaven and earth. The mountains were draped in primeval forest; Korean Pines held up the firmament like giants, with Oak and white birch dappling the spaces between. Moist mist lingered in the valleys all year round, and moss covered fallen, rotting logs like a thick carpet. When horse hooves came down, every step landed on humus that had lain there for a thousand years, so soft that even the sound of the hooves could not be heard.
"Screech!"
"Roar!"
Goshawks flew in the sky, Tigers chased on the ground. The tracks of bears vanished into the depths of the Forest Sea, and a gyrfalcon's wings would occasionally slash across the sky cut apart by the treetops. This natural stairway called Wandahan silently connected the Sanjiang Plain with the dwelling lands of the Eastern Sea Jurchen. In these great northeastern mountains, without a guide, one absolutely could not rashly enter; getting lost meant death without supplies. And even with a guide who knew the way, he would only lead a horse train carefully along the edge of the mountains, searching for that transverse Long River at the end of the range that pointed out their position.
"Gali, are you certain the Zhali River is up ahead?"
"Yes, Lord Shaman. Look, the terrain between the mountains is getting gentler, and there are more traces of beasts. The birds at dusk are flying this way too; they all like water. Smell the air in this forest again, that damp scent of water vapor. We're getting closer and closer!"
Zuwaro sniffed and took several deep breaths. Yet all he smelled was the fresh air of the forest, and he could not detect any change in the