Old Worm stood shivering in the cold wind, yet sweating profusely. “I… I think I’m ready!” Guo Weixin snapped, “You little rascal, thinking you’re ready to strike out on your own just like that?” Yimao, visibly irritated, chimed in, “You old geezer, watch how you talk to my brother!”
Old Worm backhanded Yimao across the face, sending him stumbling back with blood trickling from his lips. “Know your place,” Old Worm growled. Yimao wiped his mouth and obediently stepped aside. Guo Weixin sighed, “Is this how you manage your men? Tsk. Let’s just go in.”
Guo Weixin approached the unearthed stone door, scrutinizing it left and right before pushing against it—yet it wouldn’t budge. I stifled a laugh. *Serves you right, old man. You conned Old Worm into this, now let’s see you open it.*
“Son-in-law,” Guo Weixin barked, “come open this door.”
I stood frozen until Guo Weixin kicked me. “What’s wrong with you, boy? Didn’t I already tell you how to open it? Or do you expect this old man to do everything?” I nearly spat out my drink in frustration. *No wonder he and Grandpa could’ve been friends—both wise yet equally sly.*
Stretching my arms, I glanced at Guo Qiqi, who showed no sign of displeasure. *Did they actually plan this?* Old Worm glared. “Hurry up, kid.”
I examined the door. The carvings resembled those on the copper jar, yet upon closer inspection, they seemed different. Pushing again yielded nothing—until I spotted a keyhole in the center. The width matched the jade ruler’s, which now emitted an eerie glow. I pulled it out.
Guo Weixin theatrically warned, “Careful now, there are traps inside.” *As if I’m really his son-in-law. As if he actually knows how this works. As if there are traps.* I wanted to strangle him. Old Worm, however, watched the door warily. Years with Guo Weixin had bred deep-seated fear in him. Normally, Old Worm—a master actor—would see through such bluffs, but against Guo Weixin, he was outmatched.
The jade ruler slid into the lock. Gears clanked. *Just like opening those stone coffins before. Could the creators of these mechanisms be descendants of the Ghost Sect?*
The door creaked open.
Guo Weixin halted us at the entrance. It was already 4 PM; nightfall loomed in two hours. Best to finish quickly. Old Worm’s men, Damao and Ermo, surged forward.
Guo Weixin sneered, “If you suffocate in there, don’t blame me!” Old Worm scolded them, “The door just opened—there’s no oxygen inside! Learn from your elders.” Guo Weixin waved dismissively. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare. You’re their leader, after all.”
A fierce gust rushed through the doorway. Guo Weixin snapped his fingers. “Son-in-law, light a match ahead. If it goes out, we retreat.” *How did I get dragged into this?* I struck the lighter and advanced. Moments later, the flame died. The group scrambled back in panic.
“Relax!” I yelled. “It’s just overheated! Let it cool!” Guo Weixin, the first to flee, turned back, chiding, “Kids and their pranks.” Old Worm, equally quick, followed suit.
Soon, wind howled through the tunnel, filling it with air. I pocketed the lighter. The brick-lined passage was spacious, but at the first turn, the stone door slammed shut behind us.
*Click-clack-click-clack.*
Something scurried in the darkness. The dog barked; the cat craned its neck but saw nothing.
Yimao whispered, “Do you hear running?”
Ermo shook his head. “Just echoes. Don’t spook yourself. There’s no ghost.” I rolled my eyes. *Murphy’s Law—the moment you say “no ghost,” one appears. Ermo’s timing is terrible.*
I had no clue what kind of place this was. A tomb? If the occupants hadn’t decomposed—maybe mummified—would we face zombies?
Luckily, after a bend, we found a square chamber. Empty, save for a nanmu table, a chair, and an oil lamp. Lighting it revealed walls adorned with priceless landscape paintings. A polished bronze mirror sat on the table.
Old Worm demanded, “Where’s the Blood Pact?”
Guo Weixin shrugged. “Patience. Search around.” They checked behind paintings for hidden compartments—nothing. *What copper jar secrets could even be here?* This seemed like a refuge, not a tomb. Untouched for years. No clues, no zombies, no maps.
Guo Qiqi eyed the mirror. “Could a woman have lived here?” Men wouldn’t place a mirror center-stage. *A female occupant?*
Old Worm, sweating, hissed, “Find the Blood Pact. Or else.” Damao and Ermo drew guns. Guo Weixin sighed. “Haste makes waste. Do you really think I’d hide it here?”
Old Worm’s face darkened. “Guo Weixin, don’t test me.” As Damao and Ermo aimed, I silently invoked the Three Corpse Worms. Both men collapsed, writhing. Old Worm lashed out—a steel thread worm shot from his sleeve.
Guo Weixin stepped forward, caught it in his teeth, and chewed. The worm crumbled to scraps.
Old Worm slapped talismans on his men’s backs to suppress the worms. I kicked their guns aside.
Old Worm smirked. “I’m not fighting you. But your three sons… Should they live or die? I’ll take them with me if I fall.”
Guo Weixin seized Old Worm’s throat. “Know your place!” Damao and Ermo stirred—until two brain-eating worms landed on their heads from Guo Weixin’s sleeve.
“Don’t move,” Old Worm choked out.
One squeeze, and his men were dead. They froze.
I watched, amused. Old Worm, who’d swindled me and stolen Guo Tianjie’s worms, was nothing before Guo Weixin. His prized steel thread worm? Reduced to scraps.
I asked, “How’d the worm taste?” Guo Weixin grinned. “Try the scraps yourself.” I crushed them underfoot.
Old Worm seethed. “You’ll pay.” I retorted, “Back in Phoenix, I wanted you dead. When repaying debts, you hand money over respectfully—not toss it on the ground.”
Guo Weixin cut in. “Focus. Old Worm, explain how you’ll make me bury my own sons.”
Old Worm, drenched in sweat, gasped as Guo Weixin tightened his grip.
“I planted three of Guo Tianjie’s deadliest worms in them. In seven days, without my antidote, they’ll dissolve—bones and souls gone.”
Guo Weixin faltered. “You took Tianjie’s worms?”
Old Worm pressed his advantage. Guo Weixin’s grip loosened. To an old man, losing his children was the cruelest fate.
Guo Weixin hesitated. Old Worm pressed on. “I’m ready to die. Without the Blood Pact, every Guo will perish with us. The Chong family has suffered enough.”
Guo Qiqi interjected, “Uncle Chong, we’ve treated your family well—shelter, freedom—”
Old Worm’s eye twitched. “You Guos will never understand our hunger for true freedom! We’d rather starve than live on your scraps. For this day, I’ve sacrificed everything.”
Guo Weixin released him.
Deep down, Old Worm wasn’t evil. Giving his suit to the janitor, Old Zhang, was genuine kindness—just so the man could meet his in-laws with dignity.
Old Worm was a victim of fate.
Then I saw the dagger in his hand. “Look out!” I shouted.
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