Chapter Twenty-Three

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At the Hour of the Ox (1:00 AM to 3:00 AM), a carriage was racing through the forest toward Man City. Suddenly, the coachman yanked the reins, causing the horses to let out a long neigh that instantly startled the passenger inside. The coachman glared at an old man and a girl standing ahead and shouted angrily, "Are you tired of living?"

The old man merely chuckled and said, "I have something to discuss with the noble guest inside!" Just as the coachman prepared to lash out again, a voice from within the carriage stopped him.

San Qingfeng smoothed his hair with a simple gesture, opened the door, and hopped down. He bowed slightly and respectfully toward the elder. "Senior Deng, why are you not resting at this hour? What business brings you to seek me out?"

"Where is the son of my female disciple?"

San Qingfeng narrowed his eyes. "There is a saying from the Taoist school of the Lu State: 'It is precisely because it does not contend that the world cannot contend with it.' Senior Deng, you are a man of Lu yourself; why concern yourself with the affairs of another nation?"

Deng Yangfeng shook his head. "As a man of Lu, I naturally would not interfere in the political affairs of Man. But my disciple has only that one son. If I stand by and do nothing, how would the world view me hereafter?"

San Qingfeng nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Senior Deng is indeed profound. As for the person you seek, he is currently in the tomb of Wu Qianjun on White Cloud Peak, searching for that cultivation technique on behalf of my father!"

Upon hearing this, Deng Yangfeng’s expression changed drastically. He looked at the moon, performed a quick calculation with his fingers, and immediately hitched up his robes. "Xiao'er! Follow me!" With that, he leaped away and vanished into the woods.

Watching the two figures disappear, San Qingfeng wore a wicked, sinister smile. He had not expected the "Five Ethical Codes of the Jianghu," Deng Yangfeng, to intervene halfway—an elder of great virtue who cared for the common people, and who held an inextricable bond with Lin He. This turn of events instantly lifted the gloom that had been weighing on his heart.

He climbed back into the carriage. "Return to Fortune and Longevity Mountain Stronghold!" The coachman looked back at him. "Young Master, the Master said to take you to Man City!" San Qingfeng retorted, "I said back to the stronghold! We return to the stronghold!"

Inside the tomb, following the map, the two left the White Tiger chamber and walked through the burial passage for a considerable amount of time. Unlike the previous routes, this passage was filled with endless forks, always appearing in pairs. Taking the wrong turn meant entering a new cycle of yin and yang. The greatest value of this map was likely in identifying the correct path among the forks, while once inside a chamber, navigation relied on Mu Xiangming’s memory of the Eight Trigrams formation.

If everything went smoothly, Mu Xiangming guessed the next chamber would be the "Phoenix Chamber." In the eyes of the ancients, the phoenix was the divine beast of love. People believed that love was steadfast and should be capable of being nurtured under the sun, not hidden in the night; thus, it was considered yang, and the phoenix represented that yang.

At the beginning of the Hour of the Tiger (3:00 AM);

Half an hour passed. With only two hours left until the cock crowed, the pair finally arrived at the next chamber. The scene that met their eyes was horrifying!

Dozens of skeletons were neatly laid out on the floor of the chamber!

Seeing this, Mu Xiangming stepped back in fear. Lin He, too, felt a sense of dread. Perhaps these people had come with the same goal as them; without Mu Xiangming, he might well have become one of these bleached bones himself.

"Let’s go, they are just bones!" Mu Xiangming was terrified. She feared that if her judgment was flawed, even once, both she and Lin He would die here.

Lin He understood her concerns. He stepped toward the skeletons. They were dressed in commoner clothing, clearly martial artists. Several had swords; Lin He picked one up and unsheathed it—it was an ordinary blade, further confirming that they had come for the cultivation technique. Lin He knelt down and gently lifted the clothing of one, revealing the white bone beneath. As expected, purple spots covered the bone, the telltale sign of death by poison.

Lin He stood up slowly. "My teacher once said that the Poisonous Hag’s toxins share a common trait: those who die by her hand have purple spots on their bones. Don't worry, Xiangming; these people died from poisonous gas."

Lin He looked at the remains with a touch of reverence. "They must have been here for a long time, with no one to save them. To pursue the heights of martial arts, they were willing to risk their lives. That is truly admirable." He bowed deeply to the bones, which helped dispel the fear in Mu Xiangming’s heart.

The tomb was vast, and the two began to search separately for useful information.

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Although the tomb was significantly larger than the previous two, it had only three openings. The chamber featured a massive boulder engraved with an image of the Vermilion Bird, and through the opening at the top, only the dim sky was visible.

The chamber held numerous candles, but unlike the previous one, these were held in bronze candlesticks. The craftsmanship was peculiar, resembling copper trees, with the candles looking like ripe, crimson fruits.

Lin He walked to a stone wall and found four lines of poetry inscribed there. They were in the script of the Lu State, which Lin He could not read.

"Xiangming, come look at this poem!"

Mu Xiangming approached and gazed at the inscription.

"I found this type of script beneath Nine Ridge Peak as well, but unfortunately, I cannot read it."

"It is the script of the Lu State. I learned a little of it in my teacher's study."

"Can you translate it? It might be useful!"

Mu Xiangming nodded. "No problem."

*Red dust stirs longing for an old friend, the road to Jin City is fraught with ten thousand hardships;*
*Autumn winds rise again to scatter the lonely leaf, the withered leaf rises again to turn into frost;*
*Hard to find sleep after wine on an autumn night, how can the concubine not grieve for the autumn?*

As Mu Xiangming finished reading, her tone shifted from light to heavy. She was touched by the poem, which carried a sense of deep helplessness and regret. Each line avoided naming the person missed, yet every word radiated longing.

She felt the poem described herself during that period, as if she were reliving that pain once more. Her eyes grew vacant, as if covered by an invisible black cloth; she could shed no tears, nor could she see the sorrow.

"This poem was written by a woman... unfortunately, there is no name..."

With that, Mu Xiangming turned her gaze to Lin He. Yet, Lin He lacked his usual sharpness; he did not notice her distress, nor did he know that since their first encounter, a sentence had been hidden in her heart...

He was staring blankly at the characters on the rock wall, neither asking nor saying anything. Lin He vaguely sensed who the author might be. As for the person being missed, perhaps he knew, but in this world, that name was not well-regarded, so it was best kept inside one's own heart.

Lin He turned, and seeing Mu Xiangming looking at him, he sensed something was wrong. He brushed a lock of her hair. "Are you not feeling well?"

To his warmth, Mu Xiangming remained silent, only watching him. Her eyes were like a broken string echoing in the silent tomb. This face now felt incredibly unfamiliar to Lin He—to such a degree that the familiarity of the past seemed to have vanished.

Lin He asked gently, "Is something wrong?"

Mu Xiangming finally looked away, suppressing the words in her heart once more. At the moment Lin He touched her hair, she understood: once some things are spoken, people change, and they can never return to how they were.

"Perhaps it is because I have stayed in the cave too long. My 'Yin Tone Nine Heavens' cannot withstand the toxins for so long."

Lin He frowned. "I will help you purge the poison, and then we will continue!" Mu Xiangming shook her head. "It’s fine, it will pass soon. Let us hurry to find that technique!"

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Lin He watched her. "If you cannot hold on, you must tell me immediately!"

Mu Xiangming smiled faintly. "I know, let us hurry..." At that moment, her every word and action felt slightly alien to Lin He; he told himself it must be an illusion caused by the cave's toxins.

Lin He placed the candles on the boulder and spread the map out.

This tomb belonged to the yang-fire element, the southern seven mansions of the twenty-eight constellations of the Vermilion Bird. Since leaving the Qilin, they had passed seven intersections. Although the Vermilion Bird represented the south, there was no moon here, making it impossible to determine directions. Thinking of this, Mu Xiangming shook her head; such a simple deduction was likely wrong. If the map’s indications were correct, the three openings connected to small palaces within the tomb, meaning that a wrong turn would likely force them to start over.

One opening was the yang end, two were the yin ends, meaning they only needed to choose between two. Mu Xiangming whispered, "Nine at the top, one at the bottom, left three, right seven; seven is on the right, six and eight are the feet; six and eight are located at the bottom of the formation."

Mu Xiangming looked up and pointed to the left opening. "Let's take this one!"

Lin He nodded and packed the map. "Let's go, it is getting late!"

At the Hour of the Tiger (3:00 AM);

The Poisonous Hag was driven into a corner. Surrounded by mountains on all sides, no one knew this terrain better than Sanqiudao. She had clearly given up on escaping. She let out a shrill, desolate laugh that echoed through the mountains, piercing the heavens and startling countless night birds into flight.

"Enough, you Poisonous Hag! Still hoping to let more people know before you die? Rest assured! I will crush you until not a bone remains! You won't feel a shred of pain!" Sanqiudao laughed heartily.

The Poisonous Hag stopped her laughter. She looked at the deep, dark sky, her brows knit, her jaw tight, and her tone filled with utter desolation. "Zhiming... can you forgive me now? I have lived in your shadow my entire life. I spent thirty years in that dark tomb! But you never felt remorse! Did you truly never intend to lead me out of that grave..."

She glared at Sanqiudao, her eyes wide with hatred. "You, Sanqiudao, I truly regret giving Zhiming the antidote and saving your life!" Mentioning the antidote, her lips curled.

"My poison recipes are all over the Jianghu, but I am the only one who holds the formula for the antidote! If I die, those poisons become incurable, and many more will die because of me!"

The Poisonous Hag laughed, and black blood sprayed from her mouth.

As her laughter died, she saw a figure. She cried out, "Zhiming! Zhiming! Forgive me, Zhiming! Wait for me, Zhiming!" Black blood continued to pour from her mouth. She scrambled forward, but stumbled and fell. She reached out to grab his hand, but he vanished... and she moved no more.

Sanqiudao approached. The Poisonous Hag’s body had turned entirely black, blood flowed from her seven orifices, and her eyes had melted into pus. He tore open her clothes and found three black pills the size of thumbs. These were the "Spirit Yang Dragon-Phoenix Pills," capable of curing any poison except the Five-Finger Black Venom.

Sanqiudao lifted the Poisonous Hag’s body, threw it into the air, and struck it with a palm blast! Instantly, blood splattered like a lightless firework exploding in the sky.

Sanqiudao laughed and vanished into the night.