Chapter 100: Zhu Youxiao

The rare opportunity vanished in an instant. Liu Dashao hesitated slightly before decisively hoisting Zhang Enpu onto his back and tumbling forward out of the outer burial chamber.

Everyone ran frantically deep into the passage until they were certain the mummies hadn’t followed, finally stopping to catch their breath.

Once the danger had passed, thoughts previously ignored or deliberately suppressed surged into Liu Dashao’s mind one after another.

Liu Dashao didn’t turn on his flashlight. Standing in the darkness, he suppressed his emotions and spoke calmly, “Master, you just…” He rubbed his lips together, but couldn’t continue.

“We cannot go back,” Zhang Enpu said softly from somewhere in the darkness not far from him, his voice like a breeze passing through.

…Yes… We can’t go back yet… For the village, for hundreds of innocent lives, we absolutely cannot turn back…

Liu Dashao forced a bitter smile. No matter what, they had to eliminate this impending disaster—even if it meant sacrificing their own lives… Right?

“Let’s go. Let’s find the main culprit,” Liu Dashao pulled himself together, turned on the flashlight, and walked ahead.

Without a word, Zhang Enpu pulled Liu Dashao behind him. “You walk behind.”

Liu Dashao shrugged without protest and stuck his tongue out at Tian Guoqiang beside him.

They walked silently for a while, not too long, when Zhang Enpu suddenly stopped ahead.

“What’s wrong?” Liu Dashao asked in confusion, walking up beside him.

The passage ahead was no longer a long corridor but a vast chamber—easily more than double the size of the previous side chambers.

In the exact center of the chamber stood a slightly translucent, blood-red stone platform. On top of it was nothing at all. No coffin as expected, no burial goods—nothing but the platform itself.

“This…” Liu Dashao frowned hesitantly, “This must be made of blood jade, right? It looks… why does it resemble an altar so much? Where’s the coffin?”

Not only that, the ground before them was riddled with bullet holes and fresh bloodstains, as though a fierce battle had once taken place here.

Zhang Enpu remained silent, lost in thought.

Liu Dashao and the others were filled with worry and frustration, helpless to make sense of it.

Suddenly, Zhang Enpu stepped forward toward the platform. Liu Dashao hurriedly followed.

Liu Dashao reached out and touched the platform, trying to determine what it was made of.

There were patches of reddish-brown powder scattered across its surface, which stuck to his fingers when he brushed them.

He rubbed his fingers together, but the powder clung stubbornly—only a small portion that hadn’t adhered well came off after prolonged rubbing.

“This is dragon’s blood,” Zhang Enpu explained, noticing Liu Dashao’s confusion.

“Dragon’s blood? What is that?” Liu Dashao, unfamiliar with the term, asked curiously.

Zhang Enpu replied, “Dragon’s blood is a medicinal substance formed from the dried, congealed blood of the dead. It’s remarkably effective for stopping bleeding, resolving blood stasis, and promoting wound healing.”

Nodding repeatedly, Liu Dashao rubbed his fingers furiously, trying to get rid of the powder.

Medicine or not, it was still dried human blood—disgusting, no matter how miraculous its properties.

Wait a second! A sudden realization flashed through his mind—medicine for stopping bleeding and resolving stasis!

“Master, take off your clothes quickly!” Liu Dashao called out, disregarding the disgust as he rubbed both palms all over the platform until they were thoroughly coated with the reddish-brown dragon’s blood before lifting them up.

Seeing that Zhang Enpu still hadn’t moved, Liu Dashao spoke firmly, “Your choice—either I help you, or you lie down and rub it on yourself.”

Zhang Enpu hesitated briefly, then removed his clothes, revealing his wounds. Liu Dashao gestured for him to take off the bandages and pressed his hands directly onto the wounds, chattering all the while, “You’re really getting a bargain today—look at this premium medicine, free and unlimited! Look at you, wow, this wound has torn open again. You don’t even seem to feel pain? Well, I admit, if it were me, I’d never let the wound reopen—it hurts dozens of times worse than the first injury…”

After much effort, Liu Dashao finally smeared dragon’s blood over all of Zhang Enpu’s wounds, nearly rubbing every inch of the platform.

After reapplying the bandages, Liu Dashao comforted him, “It’s a bit dirty, but better than nothing.”

Zhang Enpu dressed silently.

Liu Dashao walked to the upper-left corner of the platform.

Earlier, while rubbing the platform, he had felt a strange protrusion in this spot.

The platform’s sides were all carved with auspicious cloud patterns, but on its surface was a single large fish carving. The protrusion was the fish’s eye.

Though called a carp, the fish didn’t quite resemble one.

Its face was hideous, eyes bulging, its scales partially broken. The entire fish body looked as if it had been torn apart and then reassembled, with several obvious cracks running through it.

These cracks couldn’t possibly be intentional—no artisan would deliberately carve such a broken design. Based on Liu Dashao’s extensive experience with antiques, no dynasty in history had ever been this avant-garde.

But why did such cracks exist?

Curious, Liu Dashao traced the fish’s pattern with his fingers. When he reached the eye, he unexpectedly pressed it in!

With a crisp “click,” the platform split open from the center—not sliding apart like a mechanism, but actually cracking, as though someone had smashed it from underneath.

When everything settled, a hole the size of a cartwheel had appeared in the platform.

Liu Dashao stared in shock at the opening.

“Don’t move,” Zhang Enpu frowned, leaning over to peer inside.

After a while, Zhang Enpu lifted his head and said to Liu Dashao, “There’s a pit of corpses down there.”

A corpse pit? How could there be a corpse pit beneath the platform?

Liu Dashao curiously leaned over to look inside.

“Ahh!” Liu Dashao cried out, “Aren’t these the skinned things from the terracotta pile?”

The mummies, previously biting at each other’s bodies, paused at his scream and lifted their heads, glaring at Liu Dashao with blood-red eyes, their mouths smeared with a mixture of flesh and blood.

They were still so disgusting… Liu Dashao wrinkled his nose, suppressing the urge to vomit.

But their appearance seemed somewhat different from before.

Their fleshy bodies were pulsating visibly, and with each contraction, blood oozed from the folds of their skin.

“M-Master…” Liu Dashao stammered nervously, “They’re not… going to explode, are they?”

“They’re giving birth,” Zhang Enpu said calmly.

“G-Giving birth?” Liu Dashao’s eyes widened in horror, “Giving birth to what?”

Zhang Enpu shook his head slightly and said nothing more.

So what were they supposed to do now? Watch the mummies reproduce? Attend a live birthing tutorial? Damn it, if they couldn’t give birth, would he have to go down there and help?

Liu Dashao quickly ran to Zhang Enpu’s side, “Let’s leave before those unknown little monsters are born. Heaven knows what dangerous things they might produce. Besides, I can’t stand watching a childbirth scene.”

“Let’s go!” Zhang Enpu remained alert, glanced around, and stood up, signaling everyone to descend further.

Everyone rose. Tian Guoqiang led with a double-barreled shotgun, Bai Erlai brought up the rear, and Liu Dashao and Zhang Enpu walked in the middle, flashlights illuminating the path ahead and behind.

The path ahead became increasingly level, and gradually, large stone slabs appeared on the ground.

“It seems we’re nearing the bottom. Be careful,” Zhang Enpu warned.

Liu Dashao, still cautious about the ground after the previous incident, lifted his head at Zhang Enpu’s words and scanned the surroundings.

It was an extremely wide corridor.

How to describe it? It was as wide as a major hutong in Beijing, with a considerable distance between the arched ceiling and his head.

This was Liu Dashao’s first tomb expedition, so he didn’t know what other tombs were like, but he couldn’t help feeling a sense of awe.

The walls were made of large slabs of bluish stone, each joint barely a thin line. Vividly colored paintings covered the stone, depicting scenes from the tomb owner’s life.

The first painting showed a grand palace hall. In the center knelt a small figure, much smaller than the other kneeling figures in the painting. Before him stood a tall man placing a ceremonial crown on his head. Many ministers knelt in the hall, yet the small figure’s mouth curved into a clear, mocking sneer.

The second painting depicted a study scene. Again, the small figure knelt, holding a box and presenting it to the emperor.

Following paintings showed the construction of the imperial mausoleums. Liu Dashao quickly scanned through them and confirmed the small figure was none other than Zhu Youjian, the Chongzhen Emperor and younger brother of Emperor Tianqi, while the tall figure was undoubtedly Emperor Zhu Youxiao himself.

Subsequent paintings illustrated Zhu Youxiao’s death and burial, followed by Zhu Youjian’s ascension.

Liu Dashao’s frown deepened as he moved from painting to painting.

When he reached the last one, his astonishment finally erupted.

The final painting was entirely painted in red, immediately striking him with intense impact.

In the painting, Zhu Youxiao once again sat on the imperial throne, sword in hand.

Whether due to his own psychology or the painter’s extraordinary skill, Liu Dashao could almost see the arrogance and cruelty in Zhu Youxiao’s eyes, and the slight upward curve of his lips—so vivid, every detail clear.

He closed his eyes and did not look at the blood-red mural again.

“Hmm?” Zhang Enpu suddenly spoke, “Wait a moment.”

“What is it?” Liu Dashao opened his eyes and asked.

Zhang Enpu approached the last mural and touched it, saying, “There’s something strange about this mural—it seems to have two layers.”

He continued gently scraping at the red pigment with his fingernail.

Underneath the red layer was a black substance.

Without a word, Zhang Enpu kept removing the top layer.

Liu Dashao watched in amazement as the mural peeled away bit by bit, revealing a new image beneath.

The new mural had a black background, sharply contrasting with the one above.

It depicted a mountain of corpses—making the previous mass burial pit seem insignificant.

On top of the corpse pile, Zhu Youxiao looked down arrogantly, one foot on a corpse, right hand gripping a sword.

As everyone focused on the mural, Zhu Youxiao’s eyes in the painting suddenly lifted, glaring at them with murderous intent, his eyes turning a blood-red that seemed ready to drip.

Liu Dashao gasped, instinctively taking two steps back.

It wasn’t just him—everyone, including Zhang Enpu, was shocked.

“There’s no need to be afraid. This is just an ancient painting technique,” Zhang Enpu finally calmed himself, returning to the group and saying indifferently, “It’s not two layers—it’s three. The first layer is the one we saw earlier, showing Emperor Tianqi and Emperor Chongzhen. The second layer shows Emperor Tianqi standing on a mountain of corpses. The third layer is the one we just saw. However, the second layer was painted with a special pigment that gradually volatilizes in the air, creating the illusion that the painted figures are moving.”

Liu Dashao had heard of such moving paintings before. Even today, some conmen disguised as fortune-tellers used similar tricks to swindle money. Still, the sudden occurrence had startled him.

Who would have thought a mural in a tomb could hide so many secrets?

“What was the painter trying to express?” Liu Dashao asked, “Surely not just to scare off grave robbers?”