Chapter 335: Striking the Sword Like Plucking a Zither

The dragon wall flipped, revealing an entirely different world.

Yet it was not a glittering treasure trove of jewels and splendor, but a boundless darkness. Accepting his fate, Xu Fengnian stumbled forward. As his eyes adjusted, he discerned a corridor about a meter wide. Imperial tombs naturally bore the grandeur of royal architecture. They had yet to approach the ceremonial gate of the burial chamber, and this journey ahead promised countless perils. Xu Fengnian had no intention of leading the way. Without the guidance of a yin-yang master or a master of mechanisms, recklessly charging ahead would be tantamount to suicide. As he pondered discussing with the White-Clothed Fiend whether to send the four-armed, two-faced demon ahead to scout, he was caught off guard—this woman, who sorely lacked proper male discipline, unceremoniously kicked the crimson-robed specter into the corridor. With one hand, she grabbed Xu Fengnian and hurled him in as well. This way, she could witness a duel between two tigers and test the hidden dangers—an efficient two birds with one stone.

Xu Fengnian had barely muttered a curse in his heart when the abomination lunged at him. In a corridor barely a meter wide, there was no room for nimble maneuvering. Xu Fengnian had to both watch for hidden traps and engage the creature in close combat. They always say two fists can’t match four hands, but Xu Fengnian had actually encountered a monster with four arms—there was no one to complain to. It seemed the creature had abandoned all pretense of restraint, its attacks far fiercer and more ruthless than when they had fought beneath the river. Its strikes landed like pounding rain on Xu Fengnian’s body. It raised its knee straight for his crotch. Xu Fengnian, never one to act like an unscathed clay idol, fought back with all his might. He pressed down on the creature’s knee, allowing its two hands to slap at his ears while the other two pushed against his chest. In response, Xu Fengnian twisted his body and threw a punch straight into the creature’s heart.

Both crashed violently into the walls, each delivering a kick before rebounding with even greater ferocity. Xu Fengnian struck the creature’s forehead with a finger, sending it crashing into the wall again. In this confined space, the two clashed like bouncing balls, the crimson-robed specter swirling like a red bat, relentlessly aiming for Xu Fengnian’s crotch. Xu Fengnian’s soaked green robe had long since dried from his aura. He retaliated with several finger snaps, each one striking the creature’s forehead.

Back and forth they went. If not for the pitch-black darkness, such a brutal brawl might have drawn cheers from onlookers.

One moment, Xu Fengnian was seized by the neck, only to retaliate with an elbow to the creature’s jaw. The next, their foreheads smashed together with a dull thud. At times, Xu Fengnian, disregarding precision, struck the creature’s chest with fists or palms. It felt soft, like a woman’s bosom. Perhaps due to his preconceptions, he found the creature’s face so repulsive that it felt like a mass of wriggling maggots—utterly revolting.

Despite his mastery of the Great Huang Ting technique, Xu Fengnian emerged bruised and bloodied. This undead abomination, cultivated through some unknown secret art, was impervious to blades and fire, seemingly unfazed by the beating. Xu Fengnian, however, felt the toll—it was a losing proposition, and not his style at all. Fortunately, aside from the bruises, the corridor leading to the Qin Emperor’s tomb held no hidden traps. Xu Fengnian and the specter fought their way for half a li without triggering any mechanisms. If he were to die here alongside this grotesque undead creature, he feared he would never rest in peace.

Luo Yang, the White-Clothed, followed leisurely behind but suddenly frowned and said, “Mountain Closure.”

Xu Fengnian had some knowledge of geomancy and immediately paled. “Mountain Closure” meant exactly what it sounded like—two mountains closing in, crushing anything caught between. No sooner had Luo Yang spoken than the corridor behind them, which Xu Fengnian had expected to remain still, began to close in an instant. He and the specter had no choice but to act as allies, arms outstretched to block the walls. The tomb’s architect, with meticulous foresight, had likely triggered the mechanism the moment they entered, but to prevent any chance of retreat, the closure only began once they reached the middle of the corridor. Trapped between the closing walls, Xu Fengnian and the specter, bitter enemies though they were, dared not sabotage each other at this moment. They pushed with all their might.

A tomb built on land might have made mountain closure simple, but for the Qin Emperor’s tomb—carved into the riverbed—the engineering involved was beyond comprehension. Fortunately, the mountains did not fully close. Xu Fengnian and the specter managed to keep a narrow gap open with their combined strength before the walls receded slightly.

Xu Fengnian exhaled in relief, but Luo Yang, strolling calmly behind, coldly ordered, “If you don’t want to die, move forward now!”

Easy for her to say!

The mountain closure came again.

Xu Fengnian gritted his teeth and braced his arms. After the crisis passed, the specter stepped onto the floor. The stone beneath was of an unknown composition—when it stepped down, it only left a shallow depression a few inches deep. Seeing the specter’s failed attempt, Xu Fengnian twisted his stiff neck, unsure whether in frustration or confusion. He wanted to laugh but couldn’t. This undead creature’s mind was surprisingly sharp—it had thought to dig a hole to hide. If the stone had been ordinary, the three of them could have tunneled forward. Even Luo Yang, the fourth strongest cultivator in the world who had long entered the Tian Xiang realm, could have led the way. Even Xu Fengnian and the specter could have slowly pushed forward. In such a deadly situation, a clumsy method was better than no method at all. But the mastermind behind the Qin Emperor’s tomb had clearly anticipated this, prompting Xu Fengnian to curse the bastard’s ancestors for eight hundred generations.

The intervals between closures grew shorter, giving Xu Fengnian less and less time to breathe, yet there was still no sign of an end. His arms grew numb, and the tomb’s air was already thick with decay and yin energy. He had no idea how many times he had blocked the crushing walls, but his vision began to blur—a sign he hadn’t experienced since mastering the art of the blade. It was not a good omen.

Finally, the cold-hearted Luo Yang, who had seemed indifferent until now, spoke a rare word of conscience: “Focus on charging ahead. I’ll take over.”

Xu Fengnian gritted his teeth and sprinted forward, his sword “Morning Dew,” the only one with a fully matured sword embryo, darting from his sleeve.

The journey felt like an eternity. When Xu Fengnian finally reached an open space, the sight was breathtaking—blinding white light poured in. He raised his arm to shield his eyes, squinting until he saw an ancient bronze door covered in dense inscriptions. He was still staring in awe when the specter emerged behind him. Then he remembered that Luo Yang was still trapped inside, undoubtedly struggling. Glancing at the specter, which watched him hungrily, he cursed and ordered it away before rushing back into the corridor. He braced the closing walls as the crushing weight struck his arms like a bell tolling. He felt as though his arms would snap at any moment.

Just as Xu Fengnian’s vision turned red and he could no longer hold on, a white figure appeared before him. With a single kick, Luo Yang sent him flying out of the corridor. Collapsing to the ground, exhausted, he saw Luo Yang standing calmly, a trickle of blood at the corner of her lips. She wiped it away gently, gazing at the glowing bronze door. Behind her, the corridor sealed shut completely. Xu Fengnian rose and tried to insert a flying sword into the door, but it wouldn’t budge even a hair’s breadth. One leaf reveals the autumn—eight hundred years ago, the Qin Empire was truly capable of unifying the world. Li Yishan once said that the famed Northern Liang saber, forged to perfection, was modeled after a Qin-era sword design, and even the deadly Northern Liang crossbows were no exception. Yet the Qin Empire rose like a comet and fell like one as well. Historians seemed to ignore it deliberately, leaving behind scarce records—only knowing that after the Emperor’s sudden death, the entire empire perished alongside him, and the world shattered like a cage releasing its deer.

Leaning against the stone wall, Xu Fengnian sighed deeply. If he survived, perhaps he would uncover some earth-shattering secrets that had puzzled generations for a thousand years.

The specter stood at the boundary between light and shadow. After a moment’s hesitation, it stepped forward. The light touched its foot, and it began to burn violently, emitting a foul stench. It seemed to feel no pain, ignoring its charred foot as it fell into thought.

Was the next trial a pool of thunder?

Xu Fengnian chuckled bitterly, crouching at the boundary line between yin and yang, gazing upward. The ceiling was inlaid with pearls stretching like a glittering starry sky, shimmering with brilliance. The left and right stone walls and the floor were covered with polished glass mirrors, creating a dazzling glow. Upon closer inspection, the pearls seemed to flow like the shifting constellations of the four seasons. Xu Fengnian was deeply moved. How could these pearls have remained for centuries? Pearls usually yellowed and deteriorated with time. Xu Fengnian, who had always scoffed at people who blindly revered the past, now realized there was some truth to it after all.

Luo Yang stood silently beside him.

She extended a hand, swiftly tracing patterns in the air as if unraveling a thread.

She frowned, apparently unsatisfied with her findings, and coldly asked, “Do you understand celestial movements?”

Xu Fengnian volunteered, “I’ve studied some of Guolao’s Star Division, Shu Minqing’s Secrets of the Heavens, and Lu Hong’s Twenty-Eight Lunar Mansions. I can try to calculate.”

Luo Yang turned to him, their eyes meeting.

She sneered, “You can only calculate with words?”

Xu Fengnian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He crouched on the ground, using a flying sword—Qing Mei—to carve symbols, occasionally glancing up at the stars. It started simple, easy to grasp, but grew increasingly difficult, like climbing a mountain step by step. When he reached an impasse, he stared blankly at the chaotic lines on the ground. This task would have been better suited for his second sister, Xu Wei Xiong, who was known as the “Master of Calculating Endgames.” Compared to her, Xu Fengnian was like a fool trying to heal a dead horse with a live one.

Luo Yang glanced at him a few times, saw no progress, and gave up. She turned her gaze upward to the white brilliance. After a moment, she said, “The tomb is filled with death qi. You have about two hours left.”

Xu Fengnian sat down cross-legged and shook his head. “That’s nowhere near enough. I’d need two or three days to get even a rough idea.”

Luo Yang sneered, “Only capable of trivial tricks.”

Xu Fengnian snapped, “You’re the one who insisted on coming in!”

Luo Yang gave him a cold glance and said two words: “Borrow swords.”

“How many?”

She countered, “Do you have thirteen?”

Under normal circumstances, if another woman had asked that, Xu Fengnian might have retorted, “Don’t I have one between my legs?” But now, he dared not be so reckless. He summoned twelve flying swords, arranging them in a line before Luo Yang.

She flicked her finger, and the swords flew into the light, vanishing in a flash. One returned while another entered, twelve swords cycling endlessly.

The swords danced in a blur, and Luo Yang murmured to herself, “Not a single pearl can be destroyed. If the formation breaks, the light will explode with no place to hide. The little infant will be the first to die, and you won’t last more than a moment. Even I may not survive, and the door will remain closed. I brought you here because I need your life to open it.”

The little infant?

This specter had such a poetic name?

Xu Fengnian quickly realized and shouted, “Luo Yang, explain yourself! What do you mean by using my life to open the door? Borrow? Can that life be returned?”

Luo Yang replied calmly, “You possess the Purple-Gold Qi. It is both the best nourishment for the infant and the key. If someone like Zhong Shentong had come, a Southern Tang royal heir would have died.”

Xu Fengnian thought for a moment and said solemnly, “Then let’s both die in the Thunder Pool. If the Zhong family doesn’t make it here, future generations might mistake our corpses for lovers who died in a tragic romance.”

Luo Yang ignored him.

She flicked the swords like playing a zither.

Xu Fengnian watched her concentrate, her swords dancing back and forth. Huang Baozhuang? The Fiend Luo Yang?

For a moment, the names blurred.

As a child, Xu Fengnian had dreamed of becoming a legendary martial artist, or at least a wandering swordsman living by his own code. He often visited the Listening Tide Pavilion, pestering the old cultivators there with tales of strange encounters—falling off cliffs and surviving by hanging onto branches, discovering the remains of sages in caves, kowtowing to receive secret manuals, and emerging as a top martial artist, avenging old grudges and living freely. As a child, he had even considered jumping off a few cliffs that looked promising.

Later, his second sister had woken him up with a single sentence: “There are tens of thousands of secret manuals in the Listening Tide Pavilion. Where do you even begin?”

Sighing, Xu Fengnian turned to the specter’s sorrowful face and said helplessly, “We’re about to die. Come on, show me a happier face.”

To his surprise, the specter spun its crimson robe and indeed turned to face him with a joyful expression.

Xu Fengnian chuckled, “Change again.”

From sorrow to joy.

“Change again!”

The crimson robe spun like a butterfly dancing around flowers.

Xu Fengnian played along, seemingly delighted, as if the specter too was enjoying itself.