43: Chapter 43 Undercurrents

The night was as thick as ink.

Three dark shadows sped along the base of the mountain, their feet treading on withered leaves without a sound.

He Shan walked in the lead, clutching a longbow with a quiver at his waist. Every step landed on rock or root, never touching a single fallen leaf—that was the hunter's skill; walking at night meant not letting the prey hear a sound.

A-Fei followed behind him, crouching low like a nimble wildcat.

He was the youngest, but had the best stamina, traversing mountains as if walking on flat ground; even He Shan praised him as a natural for running the mountains.

Lu Zhao walked at the rear, his pace steady and his breath long and even.

The three traveled in the darkness for nearly half an hour, crossing two mountain ridges, until the terrain ahead gradually opened up.

He Shan suddenly stopped, crouched down, and signaled to the back—lower your posture, slow your pace.

Lu Zhao lowered his body and moved closer.

He Shan parted the bushes and gestured with his chin.

A hundred paces ahead lay a mountain col.

The entrance was jagged with rocks and overgrown with wild grass; in the center was a pitch-black clearing—that was the entrance to the long-abandoned mine.

At the entrance, firelight danced.

Seven or eight torches were stuck in the crevices of the rocks, their flames flickering in the night wind, barely illuminating the surrounding few yards.

Seven or eight figures moved in the firelight; some swung pickaxes to dig, some carried baskets out, and others crouched to the side to rest, their cursing drifting over with the wind.

"Damn it, we've dug three feet deep and it's all rotten stone!"

"Boss, is what that old geezer said accurate? Don't tell me he's swindling us!"

"Shut up! Just dig if I tell you to, why so much nonsense!"

Lu Zhao narrowed his eyes and watched closely.

The firelight was too dim to see their faces clearly, but he could make out their shapes and movements.

There were four carrying baskets, three swinging pickaxes, and one standing on high, gesturing—a burly figure with a bulging waist, as if concealing a weapon.

He Shan leaned to his ear and whispered extremely low: "Seven people. Five working, two keeping watch. The lookouts are hiding behind those rocks over there; I just saw a flash of a blade."

Lu Zhao nodded, his gaze sweeping over the surroundings of the mine.

Rocks, tall grass, abandoned mining cart tracks, collapsed sheds... the terrain was complex, easy to defend and hard to attack.

If they were discovered, those seven could scatter and hide inside, and in this dark night, they would be impossible to chase.

"Get closer," he whispered.

The three continued to creep forward.

This time they moved even slower, every step cautious; before placing their feet, they probed with their toes to avoid loose rocks and dead branches.

A-Fei walked in front, eyes darting everywhere, when he suddenly tugged gently on Lu Zhao's sleeve and pointed to the front left.

Lu Zhao looked over.

In a crevice between rocks, two people were crouching. One held a blade, the other a crossbow, both staring toward the mine.

Both wore mismatched clothes and headscarves, the standard look of a Loose Cultivator—the kind who sold their lives for money.

He Shan recognized them.

"They are Loose Cultivators from Maple Leaf Town," he whispered extremely low. "The one with the crossbow is surnamed Cao, often takes jobs in the black market. Last year, the Funiu Gang hired him to shoot our people, but I shot through his ear with an arrow, and now he runs whenever he sees me."

Lu Zhao didn't speak, just stared at the two for a moment, then continued to creep forward.

After creeping another thirty-odd paces, they were less than fifty paces from the mine entrance. The three hid behind a giant boulder and peeked out to look closely.

Now they could see clearly.

Among the seven people digging, five looked like laborers, with tattered clothes and exhausted faces, their movements with the pickaxes listless.

Of the remaining two, one stood on high, gesturing—the leader; the other crouched by the fire, his face illuminated by the flickering flames.

Lu Zhao stared at the one warming himself, his gaze suddenly sharpening.

The man had a cloth bag hanging at his waist, dirty and covered in mud, its original color indistinguishable. But the pattern embroidered on the bag, caught in the firelight, was faintly visible—

It was a mountain. Or rather, a snowflake.

Lu Zhao remembered what Wang Heng said: that person from the Xuanshuang Sect had produced a black token and waved it before them; the token was carved with a mountain and also a snowflake.

He signaled to He Shan.

He Shan understood, narrowed his eyes to look closely, and after a while, whispered: "People from the Xuanshuang Sect? Doesn't look like it. The style of that waist token... it's a contractor from the periphery of the Qinglan Sect, surnamed Wu, nicknamed Wu the Skinflinger. He specializes in taking on labor jobs for the Sect, digging mines, building roads, constructing houses—he takes any job."

Lu Zhao frowned slightly.

People from the Qinglan Sect? But that pattern on the bag...

Just as he was thinking, the one warming himself suddenly stood up, walked to the leader's side, and cursed.

"Dug for three days and only dug up a few pieces of broken bone! Is the Treasure Trove that old geezer talked about even there?"

His voice was rough and hoarse, carrying a hint of impatience.

The leader turned back and glared at him: "You ask me? Who do I ask? That old geezer took the money and ran; I want to settle scores with him too!"

The one warming himself spat: "Damn it, if I'd known, I wouldn't have taken this shitty job. Those sons of bitches from the Xuanshuang Sect, they won't come dig themselves, but let us come here to die."

The leader's expression changed, and he lowered his voice: "Keep your voice down, damn you! If someone hears, do you still want to live?"

The one warming himself shrank his neck and shut his mouth sullenly.

Lu Zhao and He Shan exchanged a look.

The Xuanshuang Sect. It was the Xuanshuang Sect again.

The three lurked for another half hour.

Over at the mine, the laborers were tired from digging and sat to the side to rest. The leader grumbled and scolded a few words, but couldn't be bothered to manage them anymore, and went to sit by the fire to warm himself.

The wind gradually picked up, making the torches roar. From the mountains in the distance came the howl of wolves, long and shrill.

Lu Zhao tapped He Shan lightly, and the three slowly retreated.

Retreating over a hundred paces and crossing a mountain ridge, He Shan finally breathed a sigh of relief once he was sure the other side couldn't hear them.

"I recognize that Wu fellow," he said. "Ten years ago he was already hanging around the periphery of the Qinglan Sect, specializing in recruiting Loose Cultivators to do dirty work for the Sect. Eight or nine out of ten mines in the Black Mountain area are handled by him."

Lu Zhao asked: "He's working for the Xuanshuang Sect?"

He Shan shook his head: "Hard to say. People from the Xuanshuang Sect shouldn't look down on a small character like him. It's likely the Xuanshuang Sect gave someone a clue, and that person resold it to Wu the Skinflinger, letting him bring people to dig."

A-Fei interjected: "So what did they dig up?"

Lu Zhao said: "Listening to them, they've dug for three days and only found a few bones."

A-Fei scratched his head: "Bones? What kind of bones?"

Lu Zhao didn't answer, just looked at He Shan.

He Shan pondered for a moment and said: "That mine has been abandoned for over twenty years. When the incident happened back then, it was said many people died. Later, some people said there were unclean things in the pit, and no one dared to enter again. If they dug up bones, they are likely the remains of those who died inside back then."

Lu Zhao nodded. Over twenty years. Another twenty-something years. Shen Qingqiu's father also went missing over twenty years ago.

The three rushed back to Yangjiao Ravine through the night.

When they reached the village entrance, the sky was already turning white. Under the old locust tree, Yan Meng was leading the War Martial Hall members in morning exercises; seeing them return, he walked up quickly.

"Sir, how did it go?"

Lu Zhao said: "Let's talk in the meeting hall."

In the meeting hall, Shen Qingqiu was already there. She hadn't slept all night, guarding that pile of talismans and Spirit Stones; seeing Lu Zhao enter, she looked up at him.

"Any discoveries?"

Lu Zhao nodded and recounted everything he saw at the mine.

After listening, Shen Qingqiu was silent for a moment, then said: "I know that contractor surnamed Wu. People in Maple Leaf Town call him Wu the Skinflinger; he specializes in recruiting laborers for the Qinglan Sect. This person has no real skill, just wide connections and knows many people. If someone gave him a clue, he would indeed be capable of unauthorized digging."

Han Meng said from the side: "So what do we do? Let them keep digging?"

Lu Zhao shook his head: "We can't let them continue."

He walked to the window, watching the sky gradually brightening outside, and said slowly: "The mine has been abandoned for twenty-something years and its structure is inherently unstable. If they dig recklessly like this and trigger a collapse, blocking the entrance to the underground river, we won't be able to get in."

Han Meng said: "Then... drive them away?"

Yan Meng frowned: "Can we drive them away? They have seven or eight people, and that Wu fellow is from the Qinglan Sect; if we start a fight and alert the Qinglan Sect, it will be more trouble."

He Shan said: "We don't necessarily have to fight. They've dug for three days and haven't found anything, so they are already irritable. If some other accident happens..."

He looked at Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Qingqiu understood, thought for a moment, and said: "There are still three Phantom Sound Talismans. If we detonate them near them at night, we can imitate the roars of beasts and the shouts of people to scare them away."

Han Meng grinned: "That's a good idea! Those Loose Cultivators are most afraid of monsters in the mountains. If they hear strange noises at night, they'll run faster than rabbits, for sure."

Lu Zhao pondered for a moment and said: "Not appropriate."

Everyone looked at him.

Lu Zhao said: "If we scare them away, they will come back in a few days. They have clues in their hands and won't give up until they dig up something. What we need to do is get in before them."

Shen Qingqiu was stunned: "You mean... go in now?"

Lu Zhao nodded.

"According to the map Uncle Ya drew, deep in that mine is an underground river, and at the end of the river is a relic in the belly of the mountain. If we let that Wu fellow open the entrance first and disturb the things inside the relic, even if we get in, we will have lost the initiative."

He paused and looked at everyone.

"Tomorrow at nightfall, we set off."

The news was passed down, and the entire Yangjiao Ravine stirred into action.

Zhong Tiegu and his apprentices worked through the night to make equipment, distributing the newly forged steel-laminated blades to those who were going to enter the relic.

Qin Wan and several women sewed leather armor, lined with bamboo strips and covered with animal hide; while it couldn't stop a Cultivator's Flying Sword, it was more than enough to protect against bumps and scratches.

Granny Xue was busy preparing medicine; hemostatic powder, detox pills, and insect repellent powder were all wrapped up and stuffed into everyone's packs.

She took Shen Qingqiu's hand and nagged persistently: "When you go into that place, be careful of everything. If you encounter unclean things, don't fight them head-on; if you can run, run."

Shen Qingqiu nodded, her eyes warming.

Old Mo locked himself in his room, tinkering for a whole day. At dusk, he came out with a crudely made rope; one end of the rope was tied with a few copper bells, and the bells were engraved with fine, dense patterns.

He found Lu Zhao, handed over the rope, and made a gesture: Tie it to your waist; if there is danger, shake the rope. Once the bells ring, no matter how far away, I will be able to hear it.

Lu Zhao took the rope and thanked him solemnly.

Old Mo waved his hand and turned to leave. After walking a few steps, he turned back and grinned at him, revealing a few missing teeth.

In that smile, there was trust and also expectation.

Night fell.

Lu Zhao sat cross-legged in his room, eyes closed, adjusting his breathing.

Tomorrow he would enter that mine, go deep underground, and follow the underground river to search for that relic in the mountain's belly. What was inside, no one knew. But one thing was certain—a place that could cause his father to go missing for over twenty years would definitely not be peaceful.

He took a deep breath, suppressed the distracting thoughts in his heart, and began to circulate the Nine Yang Divine Skill.

True Qi flowed slowly along the Meridians, one cycle, two cycles, three cycles... When running to the seventh cycle, he suddenly remembered the Hun Yuan Stance diagrams he had seen in the grotto that day.

Standing Stance.

Feet like tree roots, rooting into the earth; Qi and blood like sap, rising from the soles of the feet, surging up along the spine, all the way to the Baihui point on the crown of the head.

His heart stirred, and he tried to integrate the Mind-Cultivation Technique of the Hun Yuan Stance into the operation of the Nine Yang Divine Skill.

Feet planted firmly, imagining roots growing beneath his feet.

True Qi descended from the Dantian, passed through the legs to the soles of the feet, then returned from the soles, traveling all the way up the spine and surging into the crown of the head.

Repeating this three times, he suddenly felt his entire body's Qi and blood come alive, like a hibernating snake awakened by spring thunder, roaming and surging between bones and flesh. His limbs and skeleton felt warm, with an indescribable comfort.

He opened his eyes and looked at his palms.

His palms were flushed red, a sign of abundant Qi and blood.

He clenched his fist and felt that his strength was more than thirty percent greater than usual.

The Hun Yuan Stance was indeed extraordinary.

Footsteps came from outside the window.

He Shan pushed the door and entered.

"Sir, everything is ready."

Lu Zhao stood up, put on his outer coat, and walked out of the house.

In the courtyard, Han Meng and A-Fei were already waiting. Shen Qingqiu stood to the side, the rusty sword hanging at her waist, a thick stack of talismans tucked in her bosom. Uncle Ya was crouching in the corner, holding the rope with the copper bells, tying it around his own waist.

Yan Meng and the War Martial Hall members were guarding the village entrance; seeing Lu Zhao come out, they all cupped their fists together.

"Sir, go early and return early."

Lu Zhao nodded and looked at everyone.

"After I leave, everything in the village remains as usual. If anyone from the Liu Family comes to probe, endure if you can. If you can't endure..." He paused, "Protecting the people is paramount."

Yan Meng said solemnly: "Yes."

Lu Zhao took a deep breath, turned, and strode toward the outside of the village.

Behind him, He Shan, Han Meng, Shen Qingqiu, Uncle Ya, and A-Fei, the five of them followed closely.

In the night, the six figures gradually moved away and disappeared into the vast mountains.

Under the old locust tree, Yan Meng watched them leave, standing still for a long time.

The faint morning light sprinkled on his face, revealing a face full of gravity.

He suddenly spoke, whispering: "Pass the order down: the entire War Martial Hall, from today on, will stand watch day and night, and no soldier shall remove their armor."

The deputy behind him was stunned: "Brother Yan, this is..."

Yan Meng turned his head and looked toward the southeast.

There, the fog-shrouded abandoned mine was flickering in and out of view in the morning light.

"Sir is not here," he said slowly, "We must guard this home well for him."

The six walked for two hours, crossed two mountain ridges, and were just about to take a break when Uncle Ya suddenly stopped.

He crouched down, staring at the footprints on the ground, and after a while, his expression gradually changed.

The footprints were fresh, messy, deep and shallow, extending all the way toward the direction of the mine—there were at least a dozen people, and they had passed just before them.

He Shan leaned over to look, his brows locked tight.

"Something is wrong," he whispered. "When we left last night, these footprints were not here. These were... left around dawn."

Uncle Ya raised his head, looked at the distant mine, then looked down at the rope tied with copper bells at his waist.

The rope was trembling slightly.

But the copper bells did not ring.

He was stunned for a moment, then suddenly yanked off the rope, threw it on the ground, and like an arrow released from a bow, he sprinted wildly toward the direction of the mine!