157: Chapter 156: The Cave Dwelling, the Skeleton, and the Stone Platform

The Light Gate opened.

It didn't burst open suddenly; it unfolded slowly, like a flower blooming before one's eyes.

Pale gold light surged from the doorframe like water, like mist, like countless fireflies dancing in the air.

The runes pulsed within the light, floating off the doorframe one by one, spinning a few times in the air before dissipating.

The darkness behind the door was dispelled by the light, revealing a passage.

The passage wasn't long—only about a dozen meters—ending at another door made of wood. It was very old, with a copper handle covered in rust.

Lin Feng stood before the Light Gate, looking down the passage.

Xiao Jin crouched on his shoulder, its six golden legs gripping his clothes tightly, while its purple antennae swayed gently in the breeze.

It stared at the wooden door, an excited light gleaming in its compound eyes.

"Let's go." Lin Feng stepped into the passage.

Beneath his feet were stone slabs, ancient and heavily cracked, with moss growing in the fissures.

The moss was a dark, ink-green color and very thick; stepping on it felt soft, like walking on cotton.

The walls on both sides were also made of stone, rough and marked with streaks of water that looked like dried tear stains.

The air was damp, carrying the smell of mold, the scent of earth, and an indescribable, ancient aura.

That aura was like a long-sealed Ancient Tomb, like ruins where no one had set foot, like a shipwreck submerged at the bottom of the sea for a thousand years.

He took a breath and felt a tightness in his chest and throat.

After a dozen steps, he reached the wooden door.

The door wasn't tall—only a head taller than him—and it was narrow, only wide enough for one person to pass through.

The copper handle was covered in green rust and felt rough to the touch.

He gripped the handle and gave it a gentle push.

The door hinges let out a piercing friction sound—creeeak—like an old man sighing.

Behind the door was a room.

It wasn't large, only a few dozen square meters.

But it was very high; the ceiling was at least five meters up, and the roof beams were visible.

The beams were made of wood, thicker than his waist, but they had rotted and turned pitch black, looking like charred bones.

The floor was paved with stone slabs, many of which were broken, with grass growing in the cracks.

The grass was withered and yellow, crumbling into paper-like ash at a single touch.

There was nothing on the walls—no murals, no carvings—just bare stone with water stains and cracks.

There were things in the room.

Against the wall was a stone bed, which was low, only reaching knee height.

A mattress was spread on the bed, but it had already rotted away, leaving only a few blackened strips of cloth whose original color was unrecognizable.

Lying upon the mattress was a skeleton.

It was grayish-white, its surface covered in fine cracks like weathered stone.

The skeleton wore a Daoist robe, which had mostly rotted away, leaving only a few strips of cloth hanging from the bones that fluttered with the wind.

Beside the skeleton lay a sword. The scabbard was black, the hilt was white, and there was rust on the blade, but it was in much better condition than the previous rusted swords; at least it still retained the shape of a sword.

Lin Feng walked over and stood by the stone bed, looking at the skeleton.

He thought of the person in the mural—the one sitting under the tree reading, the one waiting for death.

That person's Disciples had left, the tree had withered, the cranes had flown away, and only he remained.

He sat here, waiting for death.

He died, his bones decayed, his clothes rotted, and his sword rusted.

But the dojo remained, the books remained, and those insights and diaries remained.

He lowered his head and bowed.

Then he straightened up and looked at the sword.

The scabbard was black, made of some unknown material that felt smooth like jade.

The hilt was white and very clean, free of rust and dust.

He gripped the hilt and gently pulled it out.

The blade was silvery-white and very bright, like moonlight.

Two characters were engraved on the blade in seal script, all curvy and winding.

He didn't recognize them, but he could feel a certain power within those two characters.

It was faint but very warm, like a hearth fire in winter.

He sheathed the sword and stored it in the wanxiang ring.

He wasn't trying to steal the man's things; he was helping him look after them.

His Disciples had left; no one had collected his body, no one had built him a tomb, and no one had burned paper offerings for him.

If this sword stayed here, it would only rust, rot, and turn into a pile of scrap metal.

It was better to take it out and let it shine in the world again.

He bowed once more and turned to look elsewhere.

Beside the stone bed was a stone table, which was low, only reaching waist height.

A lamp sat on the table; it had long since gone out, its oil dried up.

Next to the lamp lay a book with a blue cover. It was very old, its corners worn round, but the original color was still visible.

He picked up the book and flipped to the first page.

The paper was pale yellow, thin, and resilient.

The text was handwritten in brush calligraphy, each stroke very neat.

"Taixu Calendar, Year 3800, Spring, March, 5th. Today I accepted three Disciples, one male and two females, all of whom are exceptionally gifted and promising..."

It was a diary.

It was just like the diaries he had seen in the Library Pavilion, but older and thicker.

He flipped through a few pages; they were all about daily trifles.

Accepting Disciples, giving lectures, Alchemy, gathering herbs, planting trees, and raising cranes.

The handwriting was neat but slightly hurried, as if the writer were very busy.

He flipped toward the end.

"Taixu Calendar, Year 3900, Autumn, September, 18th. My eldest Disciple went down the mountain and never returned. My second and third Disciples have also left. The dojo is empty; only I remain..."

He closed the book and stored it in the wanxiang ring.

On the stone table, there was also an inkstone, a brush, and an inkstick.

The inkstone was made of stone, very old, with rounded corners.

The brush had a bamboo handle, and its tip had dried hard.

The ink was pine soot ink, shining with a dark luster.

He stored the inkstone, brush, and ink into the ring as well.

Not because he intended to use them, but as a memento.

The things that person used to write his diary had accompanied him for hundreds of years; they shouldn't be discarded here.

Beside the stone table was a stone chair, which was low, only reaching the knees.

A prayer mat sat on the chair, but it had already rotted, leaving only a few straw ropes scattered on the seat.

He glanced at it and then turned to look elsewhere.

In a corner of the room, there was a token.

It was palm-sized, made of copper, and covered in green rust.

He walked over, picked it up, and blew off the dust.

A character was engraved on the front of the token in seal script, all curvy and winding.

He didn't recognize it, but he could feel a certain power within that character.

It was faint but very firm, like a root anchored in stone.

He flipped it over to look at the back, but there was nothing—it was smooth, covered only in copper rust.

He stored the token in the wanxiang ring.

He had finished searching the room.

The stone bed, the skeleton, the sword, the stone table, the lamp, the book, the inkstone, the brush, the ink, the stone chair, the prayer mat, and the token.

That was all.

No Medicinal Pills, no Magic Treasures, no Cultivation Technique Secret Manuals, and no Spiritual Plants or Spirit Medicines.

Only a pile of junk and a set of withered bones.

Lin Feng stood in the center of the room, looking around, a strange feeling rising in his heart.

It was too quiet here, unnaturally quiet.

It wasn't the silence of emptiness, but the kind of... silence that felt weighed down by something.

As if something were hidden beneath the silence, beneath the darkness, beneath time itself.

He couldn't put it into words, but he could feel it.

Xiao Jin crouched on his shoulder, shifting uneasily.

Its six golden legs gripped tighter, and its purple antennae twitched rapidly in the air as if detecting something.

A vigilant light gleamed in its small eyes.

Lin Feng stroked its head. "What's wrong?"

Xiao Jin let out two soft squeaks, its voice very quiet as if afraid of disturbing something.

It pointed its golden front leg toward the depths of the room—where there was nothing but a wall covered in water stains and cracks.

Lin Feng stared at that wall for a long time but could see nothing special.

The wall was made of stone, rough and marked with streaks of water that looked like dried tear stains.

The cracks were deep, like spiderwebs, like tortoise shell patterns, or like the patterns on a dried-up riverbed.

He walked over and reached out to touch it.

The wall was very cold and damp, like touching a block of ice.

He tapped it, and it produced a dull thud, like tapping on something solid.

He tapped it again, but the sound remained dull.

He stepped back a few paces and looked at the wall.

He couldn't see anything.

But he knew Xiao Jin wouldn't point at a wall for no reason.

It must have sensed something.

"Is there something there?" he asked.

Xiao Jin nodded and squeaked.

It jumped down from his shoulder and crawled to the wall.

It tapped the wall with its golden front legs and then probed the cracks with its antennae.

Then it stepped back a few paces, tilting its head as it studied the wall, as if researching something.

Lin Feng walked over and crouched down, looking at the wall alongside it.

The wall was still just a wall—gray stone, black water stains, and white cracks.

He couldn't see anything.

But as he continued to watch, he felt that something was off.

Those cracks were too regular.

They weren't naturally formed cracks; they were man-made.

They looked like a Formation, like runes, or like some kind of ancient script.

He stood up and stepped back a few paces to look from a distance.

Those cracks connected to form a pattern.

It wasn't large, only about the size of a washbasin, located in the center of the wall and mostly obscured by water stains.

He walked over and wiped away the water stains with his hand.

Beneath the water stains were the cracks.

The cracks were deep, carved into the stone as if with a knife.

The pattern was complex, consisting of circles, squares, triangles, and curves.

Circles within squares, squares within triangles, and triangles within curves.

It looked like a maze, like a star map, or like some kind of ancient Formation.

As he stared at the pattern, the yin-yang fish jade pendant on his chest began to spin.

The black fish and the white fish traced circles on his chest.

The pattern became clear in his eyes; it wasn't just cracks, but script, rules, and the traces of power.

This was a Restriction.

A Restriction carved onto the wall.

There was something behind the wall.

Lin Feng took a deep breath and pressed his hand against the wall.

mana surged from his palm and flowed into the cracks.

The cracks began to glow—first a faint white like moonlight, then brighter and brighter until it was like sunlight.

The wall vibrated, gravel fell from the cracks, and dust billowed from the base of the wall.

The wall split open.

It didn't explode; it split, a fissure opening right down the middle.

The gap was narrow, only wide enough for a hand to reach in.

But it was expanding, bit by bit, like an eye opening.

The gap grew wider—from the width of a finger to two fingers, then to a palm's width, and finally to an arm's width.

Behind the wall, it was hollow.

There was a space.

It wasn't large, only a few cubic meters.

Inside sat a box.

It was made of wood, small—only palm-sized—and very old, with rounded corners and patterns carved on the surface.

The patterns were intricate, depicting clouds, cranes, mountains, and water.

They were identical to the patterns on the Library Pavilion's door.

Lin Feng took the box out and placed it on the ground.

The box was very light, as if it were empty.

He touched the lid; it was smooth, like jade.

He opened the box.

Inside was a bead.

It was the size of a fist, pitch black all over, with red veins on the surface that looked like blood vessels, tree roots, or lightning.

It was identical to the Destruction Bead that Johnson had taken out earlier.

But it was larger, blacker, and the veins were denser.

The bead rotated slowly inside the box, emitting an eerie glow.

[Destruction Bead · Enhanced Version (Red)]

[Quality: Red]

[Effect: Upon detonation, releases destructive energy, dealing 10,000,000 damage to all targets within a 100-meter radius.]

[Description: A single-use item with enough power to destroy a small city. Upon use, the user will also die.]

Lin Feng looked at that description and sucked in a breath of cold air.

Ten million damage, hundred-meter radius.

It was ten times stronger than Johnson's.

He put the bead back in the box, closed the lid, and stored it in the wanxiang ring.

This thing was too dangerous.

He couldn't use it unless it was absolutely necessary.

He stood up and looked at the cracked wall.

The wall was still glowing, but the light in the cracks was slowly fading like a sunset, like dying embers.

He watched for a while and then turned to leave.

After two steps, he stopped.

Xiao Jin hadn't followed him.

He looked back; Xiao Jin was still crouching before the wall, staring into the fissure.

An excited light gleamed in its small eyes.

"Xiao Jin?" Lin Feng called out.

Xiao Jin ignored him.

It stared into the fissure, its purple antennae twitching rapidly, while its six golden legs scurried around the wall as if searching for something.

Lin Feng walked back, crouched down, and looked into the fissure.

It was very dark inside; he couldn't see anything.

But he could feel that there was something else in there.

Not a box, not a bead, but something else entirely.

It was very faint but incredibly pure, like spring water on a snow-capped mountain, or the bright moon reflected in a deep pool.

He reached inside and felt something.

It was round and smooth, like a bead.

He pulled it out; it was a Medicinal Pill.

It was golden and round, like a little golden bean.

The surface had patterns, ring upon ring, like the growth rings of a tree.

The pill rotated slowly in his palm, emitting a warm, gentle light.

[taixu soul-returning pill (Gold)]

[Quality: Gold]

[Effect: Upon consumption, can resurrect a creature that has been dead for no more than 7 days, restoring all of its health points and mana.]

[Description: A life-saving pill refined by the master of the Taixu Dojo, who only ever refined three in his life. This is one of them.]

Lin Feng looked at the description, his hands trembling.

Resurrecting a creature dead for no more than seven days.

This is a god-tier medicine.

He carefully stored the pill in the wanxiang ring, placing it in the safest spot.

Then he stood up and looked at the wall.

The light within the wall had completely faded; the cracks had returned to being ordinary cracks, and the water stains were just water stains.

The wall was still the same wall, but the way Lin Feng looked at it had changed.

This wall hid too many secrets.

He turned, ready to leave.

This time Xiao Jin followed, jumping onto his shoulder and gripping his clothes tightly with its six golden legs.

A satisfied light gleamed in its small eyes.

Lin Feng walked out of the room, through the passage, and back outside the Light Gate.

The wind was still just as strong, and the sand was still just as thick, stinging his face.

He narrowed his eyes, looking into the distance.

The desert was still the same desert—gray and lifeless.

But he knew that in this desert, there were still many things waiting for him.

Xiao Jin knew it too.

It shifted uneasily on his shoulder and pointed its golden front leg toward a certain direction in the room.

Lin Feng looked in the direction it was pointing and saw a stone platform.

The stone platform wasn't large, only reaching waist height. It was very old, with rounded corners.

There was nothing on the stone platform; it was bare, covered only in dust.

He stared at the stone platform for a long time but couldn't see anything.

The platform was made of stone, grayish-white and very ordinary.

But he knew Xiao Jin wouldn't point at a stone platform for no reason.

It must have sensed something.

"Is there a treasure at that stone platform?" he asked.

Xiao Jin nodded.