Seeing the words “Boundary of Life and Death,” Meng Qi quickly took out the black fur. The strange symbols and patterns on it had formed an incomplete map under the annotations of the Master of the Six Gates of Reincarnation. Many places and routes were missing, with only two paths relatively intact, both leading to the core of the tomb.
At the very beginning of the map, written in ancient script, was:
“Boundary of Life and Death.”
Neither Jiang Zhiwei nor Ruan Yushu had recognized the strange symbols and patterns before. However, after the annotations by the Master of the Six Gates of Reincarnation transformed them into ancient script, the two could barely make out parts of it. As for Meng Qi and Qi Zhengyan, they were completely at a loss, experiencing the frustration of illiteracy—they had never had the chance to learn ancient script before joining the Six Gates, and afterward, there simply hadn’t been time.
Beside the four seal script characters “Boundary of Life and Death,” a small line of text read: “Those who cross shall die; those who exit shall live.”
“Does crossing the bridge really mean death?” After Jiang Zhiwei explained, Meng Qi looked slightly puzzled. If they didn’t cross the bridge, how could they enter the tomb? How could they uncover the secret of Zhenwu’s false mausoleum and proceed to the next stage of the mission?
Moreover, all the routes marked on the map lay beyond the “Boundary of Life and Death.”
“It must mean something else,” Ruan Yushu said calmly, hugging her qin.
Jiang Zhiwei smiled. “Since we’ve come this far, we can’t stop at the gate. Anyway, you’re always ready to use ‘Buddha’s Lamp,’ and if things go wrong again, we’ll just abort and return. I’d like to see what ‘those who cross shall die’ really means.”
This was so typical of Jiang Zhiwei’s personality… Meng Qi muttered inwardly, thinking there was no other way.
Qi Zhengyan had remained silent, scanning the area before and after the iron chain bridge. There, the atmosphere was dark and hazy. Despite all of them having opened their eye acupoints, they could not see clearly, as if a mist blocked their vision, or the place itself was eternally divided between yin and yang.
Half of Meng Qi’s attention was focused on the lamp hanging at his chest. Gripping “Tianzhi Shang,” he stepped across the boundary stone and onto the iron chain bridge first.
Lightning danced around his long saber like electric eels, giving him a truly thunderous aura.
Jiang Zhiwei walked beside him, Ruan Yushu half a step behind, and Qi Zhengyan guarded the rear. Though the four did not speak, they moved in perfect unison, each knowing their role.
Creaking and swaying, the iron chain bridge made noise, but nothing else happened—no ghosts emerged, nor did it collapse.
Meng Qi felt puzzled. Could it be that “those who cross shall die, those who exit shall live” was false?
Suddenly, he noticed his body temperature slowly but steadily dropping. His heartbeat slowed involuntarily, and his blood seemed to thicken, his yang energy and vitality retreating inward, as if condensing into a “seed.”
Despite this strange transformation, Meng Qi’s qi circulation, physical strength, and agility remained unchanged. His mind was still clear, his yuan-shen lucid, and his spiritual senses detected no danger. The “Buddha’s Lamp” burned steadily, showing no abnormalities.
Extending his senses, Meng Qi immediately noticed that Jiang Zhiwei, Ruan Yushu, and Qi Zhengyan all had slowed heartbeats, their bodies exuding a chilling aura, more like the dead than the living.
“Have you noticed it?” Meng Qi asked. As soon as he spoke, he was startled—his voice was filled with yin energy, as if drifting from the Ninth Hell.
Jiang Zhiwei instinctively nodded and after glancing at Ruan Yushu and Qi Zhengyan, said, “Same here, but I don’t feel any physical harm. Could the ‘death’ in ‘those who cross shall die’ mean a temporary death of the physical body?”
“Some great figures have sought ways to remain intact after death,” Ruan Yushu suddenly spoke. Her voice was already cold, now even more chilling.
“Perhaps through this transformation of life and death, they conceal their fate from heaven?” Jiang Zhiwei had also seen similar records.
Meng Qi thought for a moment and said, “It seems this was once prepared by Zhenwu Deity for himself…”
The iron chain bridge was not long, and soon the four crossed it. As soon as Meng Qi stepped onto the opposite shore, he felt his last faint heartbeat stop completely. His blood ceased flowing, his body temperature vanished, and he was no different from the dead. Yet his qi continued to flow normally, somehow connected to the external energy in a way Meng Qi could not understand, sustaining his body in place of blood.
Carefully sensing, Meng Qi realized that his yang energy and vitality had not truly disappeared but had completely withdrawn into his forehead, condensing into a tiny “seed” the size of a mustard seed, rhythmically expanding and contracting, keeping his body from decaying.
A thought struck Meng Qi, and he tried to comprehend the mystery of this transformation. It was surely filled with profound uses.
“If others saw us now, they might think we were resurrected corpses,” he mused, using the Eighty-Nine Profound Art to memorize the details of his bodily changes, then moving his limbs, feeling no loss of strength.
As he spoke, he turned to look at Jiang Zhiwei, Ruan Yushu, and Qi Zhengyan, and couldn’t help but smile.
“What are you laughing at?” Jiang Zhiwei asked, puzzled.
Looking at her pale, yin-charged face, and then at Ruan Yushu’s long flowing hair and cold white robes, Meng Qi suppressed his laughter. “Nothing, nothing.”
It was like watching a scene from “A Chinese Ghost Story!”
To prevent further questions, Meng Qi took out the black fur again, carefully choosing which path to take. One was farthest to the left, the other farthest to the right, both winding through various burial chambers.
“Let’s go left. The right path has more marked ‘dangerous areas’ requiring detours,” Meng Qi decided with simple logic.
Jiang Zhiwei and the others had no objections. After all, if something went wrong, they could always abort and return.
Stepping into the misty area, cold winds arose, as if piercing into their bodies and extinguishing vitality. Meng Qi circulated his qi to block them, heading leftward.
After walking a while, he saw a grand gate ahead, painted with various tomb-guarding beasts. But it was not closed—it was ajar.
“Could someone have entered before us?” Meng Qi frowned in confusion.
Qi Zhengyan pointed to a hidden spot by the door. “Footprints.”
Looking closely, at the mist-covered edge were several faint footprints, seemingly from more than one person.
Meng Qi tightened his grip on “Tianzhi Shang” with his right hand. “Perhaps the dangers inside are greater than we imagined. We must be cautious.”
As Jiang Zhiwei and Ruan Yushu nodded, Meng Qi pushed the door open first. Before them lay a long corridor, paved with green bricks, its walls covered in vivid murals depicting a powerful figure subduing various evil forces.
Sometimes the figure wore a black imperial robe, a crown flattening the sky, holding a sword with a turtle and snake. Other times, he wore a simple robe, a silk sash, straw sandals, his face gaunt, appearing middle-aged, exuding immense majesty.
“Zhenwu Deity,” Ruan Yushu succinctly stated.
In the present world, Zhenwu Deity’s image was enriched with various myths and legends, differing greatly from this depiction.
Gazing at the murals, Meng Qi sighed, “No wonder he is the Patriarch of Demonic Subjugation across the Nine Heavens.”
The four slowed their pace, trying to find clues in the murals. They found most depicted the subjugation of evil spirits and ghosts from the Ninth Hell, with the rest showing the elimination of demons and malevolent beings.
“In ancient times, the Ninth Hell was truly a scourge upon the human world,” Jiang Zhiwei sighed.
At the end of the corridor was a spacious tomb chamber, as large as a courtyard, but it was completely empty except for a black coffin placed in the center.
The coffin lid was overturned to the side, as if the corpse inside had already crawled out.
Meng Qi’s scalp tingled slightly. The silver-white electric eels around “Tianzhi Shang” danced even more violently.
“There’s a lingzhi mushroom,” Qi Zhengyan was the first to notice a fist-sized lingzhi mushroom stubbornly growing in the gap between the coffin and the ground. It was different from others, its surface emitting a grayish-white hue, exuding threads of yin energy, shrouded in mist.
Jiang Zhiwei hesitated slightly and said, “It looks like a Di Quan Ling Zhi, though it’s somewhat different. It might be highly toxic, at least a hundred years old.”
“Regardless of whether it’s toxic or not, we can still exchange it for merit. What’s there to fear?” Meng Qi thought optimistically, carefully approaching the coffin. He unsheathed Zi Wu and lightly flicked the Di Quan Ling Zhi into Ruan Yushu’s hands.
At that moment, he noticed six ancient seal script characters carved at the bottom of the coffin.
Jiang Zhiwei, standing beside him, immediately deciphered and read aloud: “Those who obtain this fate shall return here!”
A sudden chill rose in everyone’s hearts. Was it a curse or a prophecy?
Suddenly, a grayish-white hand shot out from the soil beside the coffin, grabbing at Meng Qi’s ankle.
The hand’s five fingers formed a mysterious mudra, its movements unpredictable.
With this grab, the entire tomb chamber suddenly ignited with greenish yin flames, silently spreading and converging around the grayish-white hand, locking Meng Qi’s escape routes.
Meng Qi had just experienced the matter with the School of Impermanence and was highly alert to anything suddenly emerging from underground. Thus, he was not caught off guard. He forcefully stomped his foot, launching himself into the air, flipping downward, and slashing his long saber fiercely.
Ruan Yushu’s right hand glided across her qin, producing a clear, resonant sound echoing in the tomb chamber, like evening drums and morning bells, like Buddhist chants. The yin energy scattered, and a sharp, muffled cry came from underground.
A figure emerged, hand raised, attempting to resist “Tianzhi Shang.”
At that moment, Qi Zhengyan swung his ice-covered dragon-veined crimson-gold sword. A streak of cold light flashed, freezing the figure’s feet to the ground. The ice was crystalline, reflecting colorful light, but under the greenish yin flames, it quickly melted.
Taking this opportunity, Jiang Zhiwei’s “White Rainbow Piercing the Sun” sword technique struck precisely, aiming for the figure’s forehead, sweeping away residual souls. Her sword light was refined, brimming with deadly intent.
The attacker’s feet were momentarily frozen, slowing his movement. Meng Qi finally got a clear look at his face—white-haired, wrinkled, weak in breath, half-dead, half-alive, yet strangely familiar.
Letting out a furious roar, the attacker swung his left fist. Yin flames ignited from his shoulder, burning all the way to his fist, silently devouring, blocking Jiang Zhiwei’s sword.
Jiang Zhiwei’s “Yanluo Tie” relied on speed and momentum, but the opponent, nearly dead, was unaffected by spiritual influence. His moves seemed thoughtless, random yet effective, blocking her strike accurately.
At the same time, Meng Qi’s “Tianzhi Shang” descended. The saber’s momentum surged like tidal waves, unceasing and relentless.
The waves were all composed of lightning, bright and dazzling. The attacker’s right hand changed from a palm to a fist, directly meeting the saber’s edge, unafraid of the thunder!
Crack! Almost simultaneously, two sharp sounds rang out. Both Jiang Zhiwei’s sword and Meng Qi’s “Tianzhi Shang” were blocked.
Suddenly, the electric eels surged, enveloping the attacker, causing black mist to evaporate from his body, and he screamed in agony.
Boom!
The gathered flames exploded, spreading in all directions. Jiang Zhiwei, unwilling to be touched by yin fire, took a step back, adjusting her energy flow and defending with her sword.
Meng Qi used the force of the saber-fist collision to leap again, avoiding the yin fire. Ruan Yushu and Qi Zhengyan, standing farther away, were unharmed.
The yin fire extinguished, and the attacker vanished, leaving only a crater.
Though clearly weakened by heavenly thunder, the attacker had not hesitated in attacking… Meng Qi landed steadily, frowning.
Suddenly, a realization struck him—he knew where that strange familiarity had come from.
The attacker resembled the “Great Hero of Ningzhou” he had encountered before—both were living corpses, seemingly originating from the same source!
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