Chapter Sixty: Setting Out

The three of them were coughing uncontrollably, choked by the dust that had been flung into the air. Chen Mo was still shaken, his heart pounding from the shock. Behind them, the great door at the entrance had already slammed shut with a resounding “bang,” and the massive axe blade, pulled by its iron chain, had returned to its place above.

It was a strange thing—the door, which looked so heavy and imposing, had felt almost like a wooden panel when Ye Pei kicked it earlier, as if it could be forced open without much effort.

Now, with the door closed, darkness swallowed the tomb, so thick that one could not see a hand in front of one’s face. The three hastily struck flints to light their torches, and only then did they begin to examine their surroundings.

A thick layer of dust blanketed the ground, nearly covering the tops of their shoes. The footprints left behind suggested that a group of at least seven people had passed through here before. The place they had entered was merely a small vestibule; directly opposite the entrance, some dozens of paces away, stood a low wall—though “low” was relative, for it was a full ten feet high, only dwarfed by the thirty-foot ceiling of the tomb. The wall divided what seemed to be a circular chamber, and there were two small doors, one to either side.

Chen Mo, after a brief consideration, suggested they spread out to see if any information was hidden on the walls.

To keep Chen Mo safe, Ye Pei searched alone to the left of the main door, while Huang Jifeng and Chen Mo examined the right.

Ye Pei had expected to find murals, carvings, or perhaps the casual graffiti of the tomb’s master—some remnant to offer clues.

In reality, the wall was astonishingly clean. The jet-black stone was smooth and bore not a single mark. Ye Pei searched all the way to the small door at the left end of the low wall, already convinced there would be nothing to find.

But just as he was about to rise and move on, something caught his eye—two lines of characters inscribed on the stone near the door.

“Hmph, so in the end, I’m the one to spot the clue…” he thought with a trace of pride. Crouching back down, Ye Pei examined the writing. As he read, his hand lifted reflexively, then fell again, and he drew a deep breath, a thousand complaints flashing through his mind.

Carved into the wall, in bold, vigorous strokes, were the words: “Must have been exhausting to find this spot in such darkness, wasn’t it? Even if you searched here first, reading this must tire the eyes. I’ll save you the trouble: I have left no information here.”

The others found nothing of note on their side, though Chen Mo, to be sure, went back for a second look.

When Chen Mo and Huang Jifeng read the inscription, their expressions grew complicated.

Chen Mo’s folding fan brushed thoughtfully against his chin—the other hand still occupied with his torch. “I’m genuinely curious now: who is the master of this tomb?”

Ye Pei spoke next. “Judging by the footprints, the previous group went through the door on the right.”

Chen Mo replied, “Yes. So which way should we go?”

Ye Pei said, “We’re groping in darkness here. Why not try the left? At least there’s something—if only writing—here.”

Chen Mo considered this, then smiled. “As you say, Brother Ye. There’s nothing else to be learned from this chamber.”

Thus Ye Pei approached the small, imposing door to the left. To avoid the embarrassment of his earlier kick, he first reached out and pushed gently. The door did not budge.

“That’s more like it,” he muttered.

Sheathing his sword, Ye Pei then kicked the door—only using half his strength. There was a dull sound, not particularly loud, and the door still did not move.

Unsurprised, Ye Pei stepped back and delivered a full-strength spinning kick. This time, the door shuddered, dust falling from the lintel, yet it remained firmly closed.

Huang Jifeng offered, “Let me try, Young Master Ye?”

He meant well; their abilities were not far apart, but Huang Jifeng excelled in raw strength. Still, the very suggestion pricked Ye Pei’s stubborn pride.

“No need.”

Ye Pei replied coldly, drew a deep breath, and took two paces back. Gathering his internal energy, he summoned the power taught in the “Manual”—force surging within him like a torrent. The air around his right leg began to tremble, and soon a faint shimmer flickered there.

“Open!”

With a thunderous shout, Ye Pei unleashed a textbook spinning kick, all his power focused upon the door.

The instant his foot struck, the entire chamber seemed to fall silent, time itself slowing. Chen Mo, for a moment, lost all sense of breath and heartbeat.

Huang Jifeng, sensing danger, reached for Chen Mo—too late. A deafening explosion erupted, a shockwave pulsing outward like ripples across water.

Time snapped back to normal. Chen Mo, utterly unprepared, crossed his arms before his face as the force flung him backward, sending him crashing against the stone wall with a heavy thud.

Huang Jifeng, true to his reputation, stood his ground, channeling his energy to withstand the blast.

And Ye Pei, who was at the epicenter of the force, tumbled through the air but managed to land upright, not the least bit disheveled.

Dust swirled. Without waiting to check the door, Ye Pei and Huang Jifeng hurried to Chen Mo’s side.

Ye Pei had expected Chen Mo to be gravely injured—after all, the force of that blast was greater than the one Ye Pei had unleashed when they first met. But to their amazement, Chen Mo was already staggering to his feet, albeit trembling.

“Brother Ye…” Chen Mo grimaced in pain, his whole body aching. “Are you sure we’re not fated to clash?”

Ye Pei, slightly embarrassed, rubbed his nose. “You… You’re alright?”

Chen Mo relit his torch, closed his eyes, and quietly assessed himself. “It seems I am, surprisingly.”

Satisfied that Chen Mo was truly unharmed—and not merely addled by the blow—the three returned to the small door.

This time, the door had indeed been forced open, but beyond it was only a five-meter-square chamber, empty save for a stone table in the center.

Ye Pei approached with his torch and, without hesitation, struck the table with his sword, sending a shower of sparks dancing in the dimness. The stone was unscathed.

Turning to leave, Ye Pei waved his hand. “See for yourselves.”

Upon the tabletop, in that familiar, vigorous script, were the words:

“Kicked open the main door, now the side door? You really did it? But it’s pointless—there’s only this table behind the left door. Besides, the last group who took the right door are all dead.”

Huang Jifeng and Chen Mo looked at each other in speechless exasperation.

“Let’s go,” Huang Jifeng sighed.

“One moment,” Chen Mo interjected. “Let me check for hidden mechanisms. I suspect this table is a ruse.”

They searched for the time it would take two cups of tea to cool. In the end, Chen Mo found only another inscription at the table’s base:

“Told you there’s nothing here, you fool.”

Huang Jifeng mused, “Is it possible these words weren’t left by the tomb’s master, but by someone else? How else could they know the group who went right had perished?”

Ye Pei, meanwhile, was scrutinizing the right-side door. Chen Mo replied, “No—the carving style and script are clearly ancient. The flippant tone is merely the writer’s way. Even if not the owner, this person must be intimately connected to him.”

At this, Ye Pei called the others over. “This door seems easy to push open. Still, be wary—there may be traps behind us.”

With that, Ye Pei braced himself and pushed open the right door.

Immediately, the coppery tang of blood reached his nose. Beyond was a passageway sloping downward into impenetrable blackness.

Ye Pei frowned. “Perhaps the warning on the stone table was true. There may indeed be deadly traps ahead.”

Chen Mo, too, smelled the blood. His tone was grave. “Indeed. Even the places previously trodden may not be safe. This tomb cannot be approached with common sense. Moreover…”

He flicked his fan in the air several times and shook his head. “The fate of this place is shrouded. I cannot divine the path forward. Even probing the entrance tells me nothing but darkness—no doubt the great door is sealed fast.”

At this, Ye Pei frowned and returned to the main door. It opened inward and should have had a handle, but now the surface was perfectly smooth.

This tomb was truly sinister; even Ye Pei began to waver.

“Can’t open it?” Ye Pei muttered, preparing to wedge his sword into the seam to pry it open. Yet the door that had yielded so easily before was now immovable, the tip of his sword sparking harmlessly off its surface.

“It seems we have no choice but to go on.”

They stood before the low wall, at a loss.

“The left is a dead end, the right seems a deadlier end. What now…” Chen Mo muttered.

Just then, Ye Pei looked up and saw that there was a two-story gap between the top of the low wall and the ceiling.

Without a word, Ye Pei drew a breath and leapt, landing lightly atop the wall. Behind it, to the left, was the little square chamber—like a toy house. To the right, a passage descended into darkness. And in the center, a vast open space, there was a steep slope plunging straight down into blackness.

Ye Pei called, “Come up here. This must be the right path.”

Though Chen Mo was not skilled in martial arts, with Huang Jifeng’s help he managed to clamber up the wall.

Once all three had gathered, Ye Pei said, “We have no way back now. We must follow this slope downward.”

The others nodded, and Ye Pei smiled, then jumped down.

Sliding down the incline, his heart settled, for by torchlight he saw once more that bold, familiar script:

“This time, you’ve found the right way.”

As the three watched the far side of the circular chamber recede from view, a thunderous crash erupted from the great door, and a wave of sword energy surged through the tomb.