32: Chapter 32 Three Keys

When the group returned to the Mohist workshop, the night was already deep.

Mr. Xiangli stood in the center of the workshop, with seven sandalwood boxes placed at his feet, their lids wide open. Inside were stacked crossbow components, and the refined steel arrowheads glimmered with a ghostly blue light under the oil lamp.

Over a dozen Mohists gathered around the boxes, silently sorting the weapons. Click, click—the sound of mechanisms interlocking echoed throughout the space.

Wu Xi pulled a blade from a box. The blade was long and narrow, with a cold edge. He flicked it with his finger, and a buzzing sound rippled through the workshop. He weighed it in his hand, then casually tucked it into the back of his waistband.

"And that one," Wu Xi said.

He was pointing to the item hanging from Mr. Xiangli's waist—the human-skin pouch from before.

Mr. Xiangli's fingers, which were holding a gear, paused.

"What do you want with it?" he asked, his voice low.

"I feel," he said, "I feel it has some reaction with my Cultivation Technique."

Mr. Xiangli was silent for a moment. The origin of this human-skin pouch was unknown, but it truly could calm the mind and spirit, and it was exceptionally tough; even the Mohist-made steel wire saws couldn't cut it.

The surface of the pouch was densely covered in drawn talismans, with strokes as fine as hair; looking at them for too long made one dizzy.

"The origin of this thing is mysterious," Mr. Xiangli said, his fingers already resting on the pouch's drawstring. "I discovered it has a calming effect, and the leather is tough; it might help block something for you in a critical moment."

As he finished speaking, he untied it and tossed it over.

Wu Xi reached out and caught it. His palm felt a chill, smooth and soft, like touching fish skin just pulled from the water.

Wu Xi tucked the human-skin pouch inside his waistband, against his lower back. The chill remained, pulsing, as if something were drumming inside the leather pouch.

Just then—

"There's a fire in the city!"

A shout came from the observation port on the top floor of the workshop, the voice cracking, the trailing note trembling like a sieve.

The clicking sounds that filled the room ceased abruptly.

Wu Xi followed closely behind. The stairs groaned under his feet; he took the stairs two at a time and shouldered open the wooden door of the observation port.

The observation port was only half a foot square, embedded with a bronze mirror. The mirror reflected the view from the top-floor watchtower.

Niu Fei leaned his face toward the bronze mirror, his nose almost touching the surface. He went still. He finally stopped chewing the flatbread in his mouth.

Wu Xi squeezed over and looked through the bronze mirror.

The entire view of Luoquan City was laid out before them. Three streaks of black Qi, thick as palace pillars, shot into the sky from three different locations in the city, like three dirty fingers poking into the night sky. The tops of the black Qi spread out, each covering a block, their edges pulsing and contracting, writhing like living things.

Mr. Xiangli's voice came from the stairwell, devoid of any inflection, as if reading a list: "The armory. Chunxiang Pavilion. The west city granary. Three points, cutting the inner city into three pieces."

He had arrived at some point, holding that brass gear in his hand, its edge pressing into his fingertips.

Wu Xi stared at the three streaks of black Qi. Within the districts shrouded by the black Qi, occasional screams floated up, but the three streaks of black Qi did not encroach upon each other; each occupied its own side, guarding its own territory.

"Grave Ghosts with territorial awareness," Wu Xi said. His voice was dry, and his Adam's apple bobbed. "They aren't killing indiscriminately. They are guarding something."

Once these words were spoken, the atmosphere at the stairwell grew heavy.

"Report—"

A Mohist suddenly appeared at the stairwell, his face drained of color, his lips trembling. He seemed to have run in a hurry, gripping the doorframe with white-knuckled fingers.

"Mr. Xiangli," he panted heavily, his eyes bulging almost out of their sockets, "The Cave Master's lakeside manor... has been surrounded by fog! It's so thick it won't disperse; people can't see the path after taking three steps inside. Those who came out are all crazy, spouting gibberish!"

"Lead the way," Mr. Xiangli said. The gear was clenched in his palm, pressing until his knuckles turned white.

When the group arrived at the lakeside manor, the fog had already spread over the lake shore. It wasn't ordinary fog; it was grayish-white and as thick as rice gruel. Standing on the edge, one could see things moving in the shadows inside, but couldn't see them clearly, and occasionally, a laugh or two drifted out.

Mr. Xiangli pulled a carpenter's square from his robes. The square was pitch black, inlaid with brass at both ends. He crouched down, pressed the tip of the square against the ground, and traced a circle along the perimeter of the manor. Where the tip of the square passed, a dark red light mark appeared on the ground, twisting like a centipede nailed to the floor.

"An illusion array," Mr. Xiangli said, standing up and tapping the square against his palm. "The Three Talents Soul-Locking Array, extremely powerful."

He pointed the tip of the square toward the manor gate, where the fog was thickest, and a vortex could be vaguely seen slowly rotating.

"It requires three keys to enter," he said.

"How do we break it?" Wu Xi asked. His human-skin pouch pressed against his lower back, and the chill suddenly became bone-piercing, as if someone had stuck a block of ice to his waist.

"Keys," Mr. Xiangli said. "Three such keys are needed. They are located in those three nodes respectively." He raised his hand, the square pointing toward the direction of the three streaks of black Qi in the city. "Three Grave Ghosts, three keys. Once gathered and placed on the array core of the manor, the array can be broken."

"We must kill all three monsters," he said.

"Prepare the horses," Wu Xi said.

He turned and walked toward the stables, his steps heavy, the soles of his boots crunching on the gravel.

"The armory." Wu Xi looked at Niu Fei. "Chunxiang Pavilion, you go."

Niu Fei cracked his knuckles, grinning. "A brothel? I like it."

"Inside is a Painted Skin Ghost," Wu Xi interrupted, his voice as cold as quenched ice. "Not a girl. Keep your head clear."

Niu Fei's smile froze on his face. He scratched his head, his bull horns glimmering with a greenish-grey light under the lamp. "I know, I know, it's just a ghost. I'll split it with one axe."

Mr. Xiangli tucked the square back into his waistband and mounted his horse. "I'll go to the armory; the Fox Ghost is cunning, so I'll suppress it. Whoever succeeds first, fire a signal arrow."

Wu Xi mounted his horse. The blade he had just received hung from the saddle, the scabbard clanking against the iron ring of the saddle with a clang.

"Let's go," Wu Xi said.

He spurred his horse, and it bolted into the alleyway. Niu Fei let out a howl and urged his horse to follow, heading toward Chunxiang Pavilion.

Mr. Xiangli took one last look at the fog of the lakeside manor, spun the square in his palm, and urged his horse toward the armory.

Three horses, three directions, disappearing into the night of Luoquan City.

Chunxiang Pavilion.

The door panel was half-rotted. Niu Fei kicked it, and the entire door flew into the main hall, kicking up dust throughout the room.

"Guest..." A voice floated down from the second floor, cloyingly sweet. "So late, all alone?"

The woman upstairs walked down, wrapped in red gauze, her waist as soft as if she had no bones. Her face was beautiful, but the skin was stretched too tight; the corners of her eyes didn't even pull back.

"What kind of service does the guest want?" She leaned in, her hand reaching toward his chest.

Niu Fei grinned, revealing yellow teeth through his thick beard. "Where did you peel this skin from?"

The woman's hand froze, and her beautiful face split open with a crack. There was no blood in the crack, only blackened cotton batting drilling out.

The skin collapsed, revealing an empty white membrane underneath, with no eyes or mouth; the hollows where the eye sockets should be oozed pus.

The Painted Skin Ghost shrieked, its fingernails growing half a foot, clawing toward Niu Fei's throat.

Niu Fei didn't dodge; he swung his cleaver in a wide arc, the wind of the blade slicing the scent of cosmetics in two. "Die for me!"

The skin pouch split open, dropping a brass key stained with black blood.

Niu Fei walked out of Chunxiang Pavilion and stuffed the key into his bosom. A crack appeared in the dark clouds, leaking a sliver of moonlight. He was about to head toward the West Gate, but the moment he lifted his foot, he suddenly stopped.

"Wu... Xi..."

Niu Fei unfolded his frame and sprinted toward the granary.

The door of the granary was left ajar.

Wu Xi squeezed in sideways, the smell of moldy grain making his throat itch. Grain bags were piled into small hills, and a few beams of moonlight leaked through the gaps, illuminating the floating dust as if maggots were crawling.

A figure crouched in the corner, shoulders shaking, as if crying.

Wu Xi didn't hesitate. He thrust his short blade directly at the heart.

Yuwen Shou, the Yuwen Shou who had left earlier, was now in a state of Fusion with a Grave Ghost.

"Wu Xi." He spoke, his voice layered with two tones. "You've come."

Yuwen Shou stood up, his movements jerky, his joints snapping and popping as they bent at unnatural angles. He tilted his head; a living person's neck could not achieve that angle.

His left hand hung limply, his wrist bent at a grotesque angle; it was clearly broken.

Before the words had faded, the person was already in front of him. A palm struck out, fingernails pitch black. Wu Xi parried with his blade, the web of his hand splitting, blood dripping down the handle.

The strength was wrong; Yuwen Shou didn't have this much strength when he was alive.

Wu Xi rolled behind the grain bags. The Grave Ghost's claws pierced through three layers of burlap, grain pouring out like sand. Wu Xi took the opportunity to slash at the Grave Ghost's wrist, but the blade stopped before it touched the skin.

"Do it." The voice changed, leaving only Yuwen Shou's layer, urgent, as if racing against time. "Kill me, the key is in my heart."

Yuwen Shou's eyelids twitched. His left eye was clear, his right eye turbid; the clear one stared fixedly at him.

"Quick." Yuwen Shou gritted his teeth, squeezing the word through his teeth. "I can't suppress it anymore."

Wu Xi didn't move.

In that instant, the pupil of Yuwen Shou's right eye suddenly dilated, swallowing the entire white of the eye. Two voices exploded at once, and this time, the cold layer drowned out everything else.

"The host is disobedient," the Grave Ghost said, rotating its wrist, the popping sounds forming a chain. "Now, no one is disturbing us."

It moved, three times faster than before.

Wu Xi only had time to raise his blade before he took a kick to the chest. The grain bags were knocked over, burying half his body in moldy grain, and he coughed up a mouthful of blood.

The grain bags exploded with a roar.

Niu Fei crashed in, his cleaver whistling through the air, slashing down at the back of the Grave Ghost's head. Mr. Xiangli leaped down from the top of the grain bags, three bone-piercing nails sealing off the left and right paths of retreat.

The Grave Ghost didn't dodge. It backhanded the spine of the blade with a palm; Niu Fei's arms went numb, and he retreated three steps.

"Yuwen Shou?" Niu Fei stared at that face, his thick beard trembling.

The Grave Ghost rotated its neck, its gaze sweeping across the people's faces before stopping on Wu Xi.

"Two people," it said, its voice flat and waveless. "Just right to take together."

It lunged at Wu Xi, its footwork light and agile, using a move called "Three-Point Plum Blossom" to strike directly at his throat.

The Grave Ghost's foot kicked him in the ribs, and Wu Xi flew sideways, knocking down half a stack of grain bags.

Niu Fei roared and swung his cleaver in a full arc again. The Grave Ghost sidestepped, the blade grazing its nose. Niu Fei changed his move to a horizontal slash at the waist, but the Grave Ghost tapped a finger on the blade. The web of Niu Fei's hand split open, and he nearly dropped his cleaver.

The Grave Ghost tilted its head, and the steel needle flew past its temple, drawing a trail of black blood.

"Wu Xi!" Yuwen Shou's voice suddenly exploded out. "The heart! Stab it in! Now!"

Wu Xi scrambled up, gripping his short blade in a reverse hold. He stared at Yuwen Shou's chest, where the outline of a key showed through from beneath his clothes.

He took a step forward.

Yuwen Shou's left eye was clear, his right eye turbid; the clear one stared fixedly at him, his lips moving.

The Grave Ghost moved, faster than ever before, lunging straight at Wu Xi, its five fingers formed into claws, swiping down at the top of his head.