41: Chapter 41 The Direction of the Underground River

The moment the eyes on the stone pillar closed, the golden light dissipated.

The stone chamber returned to dimness, with only the fire stick in Zhang Tu's hand still burning. The flickering flame cast swaying shadows against the four walls.

Wang Heng and the other two curled up in the corner, groaning while covering their faces. Their eyes were stinging from the golden light just now, and they couldn't open them for a while.

Lu Zhao ignored them.

He squatted down and stared at the crack that had opened at the base of the stone pillar.

The crack was about two fingers wide, pitch black, and nothing could be seen when looking inside.

However, a breeze seeped out from the crack. It was cold and chilly, carrying a musty, stale smell mixed with an indescribable, strange odor—like rust, and also like the fishy stench of rotting bones.

"There is a space below." Shen Qingqiu walked over, holding two talismans in her sleeve, her expression vigilant. "And it is very deep."

Lu Zhao nodded and reached out to touch the edge of the crack.

The stone was warm and smooth, not like it had just cracked open; rather, it seemed to have always been there, only revealing itself because it was triggered by something just now.

He traced his fingertips for a moment and suddenly touched a depression.

He was startled and lowered his head to look closely.

The depression was regularly shaped, about the size of a baby's palm, with signs of wear on the edges—it was clearly carved by human hands.

"Something was originally embedded here." Lu Zhao said.

Shen Qingqiu leaned in to look, frowning: "It looks like… a token?"

Lu Zhao didn't respond, just stood up and looked at Wang Heng.

"Did those people from the Xuanshuang Sect ever give you anything?"

Wang Heng covered his eyes and shook his head tremblingly: "No… nothing! They only gave us a deposit, twenty Low-Grade Spirit Stones, and told us to… to keep watch here…"

Lu Zhao interrupted him: "What about a token? Did they make you bring any token?"

Wang Heng was stunned for a moment, as if remembering something, and hurriedly said: "Yes! Yes! When that person was leaving, he took out a black tablet, waved it in front of our eyes, and said… said this was the command token of the Xuanshuang Sect. If we succeeded, we could use this token to claim the reward at the 'Old Friends' pharmacy in Maple Leaf Town. But he didn't give us the tablet, he only let us take a look…"

Lu Zhao and Shen Qingqiu exchanged a glance.

A black token.

Xuanshuang Sect.

"What did the tablet look like?" Shen Qingqiu asked.

Wang Heng tried hard to recall: "It was palm-sized, pitch black, and it seemed to have… a mountain carved on it? Or maybe a snowflake? I… I didn't see it clearly, he waved it very quickly."

Shen Qingqiu's expression changed slightly.

She took the token fragment she had obtained from Uncle Ya out of her bosom and squatted down, bringing it in front of Wang Heng.

"Is it the pattern on this?"

Wang Heng narrowed his eyes, looked hard, and suddenly nodded: "Yes! That's it! That pattern, winding and twisting, I remember it!"

Shen Qingqiu didn't speak, just stared at the fragment in her hand.

The fragment was only one-third of the whole, with jagged edges, as if it had been snapped by immense force.

The front was carved with several cloud patterns, vaguely resembling the shape of a mountain peak, while the back had a character, only half of which remained—

"Cang."

Lu Zhao walked to her side and said in a low voice: "You recognize it?"

Shen Qingqiu traced the half-character with her fingertips, remained silent for a long time, and then said: "This is the token of the Disciplinary Hall of the Canglan Sword Sect."

Her voice was calm, but Lu Zhao could hear that there was something heavy suppressed beneath that calmness.

"My father, back then…" She paused, "was taken away by people from the Disciplinary Hall and never came back."

Lu Zhao didn't speak, just watched her quietly.

Shen Qingqiu took a deep breath, put the fragment into her bosom, and turned to look at Wang Heng and the other two.

"You are lucky." She said, "I don't want to kill anyone today."

After speaking, she took out a few thin cords from her sleeve—these were tough tendons soaked in special herbs, getting tighter the more one struggled—and threw them to Han Meng.

Han Meng understood, stepped forward to tie the three of them up tightly, and then tore off their collars to stuff into their mouths.

Wang Heng struggled with muffled sounds, and Han Meng kicked him over: "Stay still! If you are still alive when we come back, we will let you go."

The three of them didn't dare to move anymore.

Leaving the cave, the sky was already near dusk.

The setting sun slanted west, stretching the shadow of Dragon Mountain long. The mountain wind began to rise, blowing the grass and trees to rustle.

The five of them walked down the mountain along the original path, silent all the way. Shen Qingqiu walked at the back, head lowered, not knowing what she was thinking.

Lu Zhao slowed his pace, waiting for her to catch up.

"That fragment," he said, "did your father also have one?"

Shen Qingqiu nodded.

"The Disciplinary Hall's token, everyone has one, unique." She said, "The cloud patterns on it are carved according to the holder's birth date and cultivation level. In the entire Canglan Sword Sect, you can't find a second one that is identical."

Lu Zhao looked at her.

"Are you sure it is your father's one?"

Shen Qingqiu was silent for a moment, took the fragment from her bosom, and pointed to the half-character on the back: "This 'Cang' character has a tiny crack in the lower-left corner. I remember very clearly; when I was a child, my father would hold me, and I would lie on his chest playing with this token and accidentally dropped it on the ground, causing this crack. Father didn't want to replace it with a new one, so he used his Sword Intent to fuse the crack, preventing it from expanding further."

She raised her head, her eyes slightly red.

"I cannot be mistaken."

Lu Zhao didn't ask again.

The group continued down the mountain. By the time they reached the foot of the mountain, the sky had completely darkened.

He Shan lit a torch to illuminate the path ahead.

Uncle Ya walked in the very front, his pace fast, looking back at Shen Qingqiu from time to time. There was concern in his eyes, but also guilt—after all, it was he who picked up that fragment, and he didn't know it would stir up such past events.

After walking for about an hour, a dilapidated mountain temple appeared ahead.

Half of the temple gate had collapsed, and the courtyard was overgrown with weeds, but the roof of the main hall was still intact, barely able to shelter them from the wind and rain.

"We will rest here tonight." Lu Zhao said.

Everyone entered the temple, cleared a clean spot, and started a fire. Han Meng went outside to fetch mountain spring water, and He Shan took out dry rations to distribute to everyone.

Uncle Ya squatted by the fire, silent for a long time, then suddenly picked up a charred branch and began to draw on the ground.

Everyone looked over.

He drew very slowly, stroke by stroke, as serious as a schoolboy.

First, he drew a mountain—the mountain was not high, but steep, with cliffs on all four sides.

Then he drew a line, winding and twisting, extending from the foot of the mountain to the mountainside, with a few dots on the line, looking like trees.

Then he drew a circle on the mountainside.

Finally, next to the circle, he drew a fallen stone tablet.

After drawing, he looked up at Lu Zhao, pointed at the token fragment in Shen Qingqiu's bosom, and then made a series of gestures: squatting down, falling to the ground, closing his eyes, and covering his face with his hands.

Shen Qingqiu stared at the drawing on the ground, her expression gradually changing.

"Are you saying…" her voice was tight, "this token was picked up from a corpse? And that corpse is in the mountain?"

Uncle Ya nodded and then shook his head.

He pointed to that mountain, then pointed in the direction of Black Mountain, and then drew three horizontal lines, with a few stick figures on them—meaning to cross three mountain ridges.

Then he drew a pit, with a few curves in it, and at the end of the curves was a cave.

Lu Zhao stared at the drawing for a long time and slowly said: "East of the Black Mountain range, after crossing three mountain ridges, there is an abandoned mine pit. Deep in the mine pit, there is an underground dark river, and along the river, one can reach that mountain belly?"

Uncle Ya's eyes lit up, he nodded repeatedly, and wrote four words on the ground: shrouded in mist.

"Is that mine pit foggy all year round?" He Shan asked.

Uncle Ya nodded and made a gesture of covering his nose and mouth—poisonous.

Han Meng scratched his head: "This place… I seem to have heard of it. Years ago, some Loose Cultivators wanted to go there to mine. Seven or eight went in, and only two came out alive. Less than half a month after they came out, they all died, their bodies rotting away."

Shen Qingqiu gripped the fragment in her hand tightly, her knuckles turning white.

"That corpse," she said, "what did it look like?"

Uncle Ya looked at her, remained silent for a moment, then picked up the branch and started drawing again.

First, he drew a human figure, then drew the clothes on the figure—wide robes and large sleeves, with a belt tied around the waist. He pointed at the belt position, then pointed at the token in Shen Qingqiu's hand, meaning the token was hanging there.

Then he drew the figure's face—no facial features, just a deep crack drawn on the forehead.

A fatal wound.

Shen Qingqiu closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"How long ago?" she asked.

Uncle Ya held up three fingers, thought for a moment, and then bent one down—more than twenty years.

Shen Qingqiu's body swayed.

Lu Zhao supported her.

"Can you take us there?" he asked Uncle Ya.

Uncle Ya looked at him, then at Shen Qingqiu, and slowly nodded.

He pointed to his legs, then pointed to the distant mountain, and made a walking gesture—the road is long, but it can be walked.

The night deepened.

Everyone found a place to rest. He Shan volunteered to keep watch, sitting at the temple entrance holding his longbow.

Han Meng leaned against the wall and snored, the snoring sounds coming in waves.

Shen Qingqiu sat by the fire, staring at the token fragment in her hand, motionless.

Lu Zhao walked over and sat down beside her.

"Have you decided?" he asked.

Shen Qingqiu didn't look up, just said: "When I was a child, I often asked Mother where Father had gone. Mother always said Father went to a very far place and would come back after finishing his business. Later, when I grew up a bit, I learned from the clansmen that Father was taken away by the Disciplinary Hall."

Her voice was very soft, as if she were talking about someone else's affairs.

"The Disciplinary Hall is in charge of traitors, runaway slaves, and rule-breaking Disciples in the Sword Sect. Of those taken away, not one in ten returns. My mother waited for him for three years and eventually died of illness. Before she died, she held my hand and said, 'Don't hate your father; he is a good man.'"

Lu Zhao listened quietly.

"I don't hate him." Shen Qingqiu raised her head and looked at the night sky outside the temple, "I just want to know what he actually did, why he had to leave, and in the end… where he died."

She lowered her head and looked at the fragment in her hand.

"Now, I know."

Lu Zhao was silent for a moment and said: "That place is dangerous and unknown. Uncle Ya said the mist is poisonous, and Han Meng said those who went in couldn't survive. If you go, you must be prepared not to come back."

Shen Qingqiu looked up at him.

"What about you?" she asked, "Are you going or not?"

Lu Zhao said: "There is an ancient martial Legacy in that cave. I cannot not go."

Shen Qingqiu smiled, her smile tinged with bitterness, but also with relief.

"Then that's it." she said, "You go your way, I go mine. If we really die inside, we'll have company on the road to the Yellow Springs."

Lu Zhao shook his head: "I won't let you die."

Shen Qingqiu was startled.

Lu Zhao stood up, looked at the night outside the temple, and slowly said: "I don't know about your father's affairs. But I know that if he has a spirit in heaven, he would never want to see you throw your life away just to find him."

He looked back at her.

"You can go, but you must come back alive."

Shen Qingqiu's eyes grew hot, and she turned her head away.

After a while, she said softly: "Some things, no matter how far you run, you still have to look back."

Lu Zhao didn't speak again.

In the second half of the night, the wind picked up.

The mountain wind howled, pouring in from the collapsed temple gate, making the fire flicker. He Shan added a few pieces of wood to the fire and stood up to stretch his muscles.

Lu Zhao leaned against the wall, pretending to sleep, but his mind was calculating the pattern he had seen on the stone pillar during the day.

The first layer of the "Hun Yuan Stance," the Standing Stance.

The key to that stance has similarities with the circulation path of the "Nine Yang Divine Skill," but it focuses more on rooting one's feet and sinking one's Qi and blood.

If the two could be fused, perhaps it could make his Foundation even more solid.

Just as he was thinking, his Dantian moved slightly.

In his spiritual platform, a sense emerged—not words, not sound, just a vague intuition, as if an invisible thread was gently tugging at him.

He opened his eyes.

Shen Qingqiu was still sitting by the fire, her back to him, her shoulders trembling slightly.

He didn't disturb her.

He just closed his eyes and continued to deduce the stance.

At dawn, the wind stopped.

Everyone packed up, ready to set off back to the village. Uncle Ya walked in the very front, still moving fast. Shen Qingqiu followed behind him, her eyes somewhat dark, but her expression had calmed down.

After walking for more than ten miles, rapid footsteps suddenly came from the mountain road ahead.

A-Fei ran up, panting, covered in sweat.

"Sir!" he shouted, "I finally found you!"

Lu Zhao frowned: "What's the matter?"

A-Fei caught his breath and said: "Old Mo told me to deliver a message! He said after you left, he dug out a few old blueprints and discovered that the mine pit… that mine pit is not simple!"

He took a wooden tablet from his bosom and handed it over with both hands.

"He said, if you encounter a Formation, you can… you can try dripping blood on it!"

Lu Zhao took the wooden tablet.

The wooden tablet was palm-sized, made of an unknown wood, feeling heavy in his hand, its surface glowing with a dark red luster. It was covered with dense patterns, winding and twisting, like runes, and also like a meridian map.

He recognized it.

This was the result of Old Mo studying for a long time after watching him attempt the "Martial Dao Imprint" that day.

In the center of the wooden tablet, there was a shallow depression.

Just enough to drip a drop of blood.

Lu Zhao looked at it for a moment and put the wooden tablet into his bosom.

"Let's go." he said, "Back to the village first."

When they returned to Yangjiao Ravine, it was already afternoon.

Under the old locust tree at the entrance of the village, Yan Meng was leading the people of the War Martial Hall in training. Seeing Lu Zhao and the others return, he ordered the team to dismiss and walked up quickly.

"Sir, are you alright?"

Lu Zhao shook his head: "How is the village?"

Yan Meng said: "Everything is as usual. A few groups of Loose Cultivators were wandering nearby the day before yesterday, but they were scared away by He Shan's Disciples."

Lu Zhao nodded and walked toward the council hall.

Shen Qingqiu followed behind him, suddenly stopping.

She turned back and looked at the distant, rolling mountains.

Uncle Ya stood at the entrance of the village, also looking in that direction.

He slowly raised his hand and pointed to the east.

Cross three mountain ridges.

There is an abandoned mine pit.

Deep in the mine pit, there is an underground dark river.

At the end of the dark river is the place where her father sleeps.

Shen Qingqiu gripped the token fragment in her hand, turned around, and walked into the village with big strides.

That night, Lu Zhao sat alone in his room, looking at the token fragment for a long time.

The cloud patterns on the fragment shone with a dim light under the lamp.

He tried to input a trace of True Qi, but the fragment remained motionless, only a faint layer of white frost appearing at the edges.

Canglan Sword Sect.

Disciplinary Hall.

More than twenty years ago.

Countless thoughts flashed through his mind, but he couldn't piece together a complete answer.

Just as he was thinking, his spiritual platform suddenly cleared.

A sense emerged, as clear as an imprint:

[Deep in the ancient ruins, there is an aura of a lost civilization. It is an Opportunity, and also a calamity. Whether to go or not, it all depends on your own heart.]

Lu Zhao stared at that line of text for a moment and suddenly smiled.

"You thing," he said in a low voice, "you are getting better at talking."

Outside the window, the night wind began to rise.

In the distant mountains, the sound of wolves howling came faintly.

Lu Zhao was about to put away the token when he suddenly felt a chill on his fingertips.

Looking down, the layer of white frost on the edge of the fragment was actually spreading up his fingers, freezing his finger bones in pain.

He frowned and circulated his Nine Yang True Qi to resist, but the white frost suddenly dissipated, turning into a wisp of cold air, rushing straight to his brow!

In his spiritual platform, the line of text suddenly distorted and reorganized:

[Detected remnant of Canglan Sword Intent, triggering side quest: Exploring the Ancient Ruins.]

[Quest Objective: Find the mountain belly ruins at the end of the underground dark river.]

[Quest Reward: Unknown.]

[Do you accept?]

Lu Zhao stared at that line of text, silent for a long time.

He remembered what Shen Qingqiu had said: Some things, no matter how far you run, you still have to look back.

He remembered the corpse Uncle Ya drew, with a deep crack on its forehead.

He remembered the eyes on the stone pillar in the cave, and the ancient voice saying: Sixty years, finally someone has come.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

When he opened them again, only calmness remained in his eyes.

"Accept."

As the words fell, the line of text in his spiritual platform slowly dissipated.

But the wisp of cold air on his fingertips remained in his bones.

It was icy cold, like a brand.