Beneath the Imperial City lay a massive Imperial Mausoleum, a near-perfect replica of the city above—solemn and majestic, with vermilion roofs that remained vividly bright, untouched by wind and frost.
Being underground made it resemble a gaping maw of blood. Though slightly smaller than the Imperial City overhead, the two women stood at the passage entrance and could not see its end; they felt like insignificant grains of sand.
They were still a hundred meters from the true entrance to the mausoleum, separated by a dark river that appeared calm on the surface but hid unknown dangers beneath.
The river was not deep but spanned ten zhang in width. The fluorescent plants along its banks and the river’s eerie colors were proof enough.
Such a vast space had hollowed out beneath the Forbidden City’s most core palaces. Oil lamps on the stone walls burned brightly, unextinguished for a millennium.
The mausoleum existed here in eerie fashion, like a shadow of the world above—dimly gazing upward in silence.
Amid her shock, Jiang Chenbi joked, “Minister Cui, you might miss tomorrow’s morning court.”
Cui Wangshu said nothing. The reality spoke for itself.
After tumbling so long through that passage to reach the surface, they were now who knew how many hundreds of meters underground. The passage walls were smooth, the slope steep; returning the way they came was nearly impossible.
If she failed to appear at court tomorrow, Cui Daoyuan would cover for her with the Emperor, but once doubt took root in him, her future movements would be even more restricted.
Jiang Chenbi somehow produced a roll of gauze and bandaged her wounds. Limping toward the river, by the time Cui Wangshu reacted, she was already bending down to scoop water.
Cui Wangshu hurriedly shouted, “Don’t!”
But it was too late. Jiang Chenbi had dipped her hand into the water. Cui Wangshu rushed over despite her own pain, but nothing happened. Jiang Chenbi cupped some water, drank, and Cui Wangshu’s brows furrowed tight enough to crush an ant.
Finally reaching her side, Cui Wangshu snapped in frustration, forgetting decorum as she lightly smacked Jiang Chenbi’s head. “Are you tired of living?”
Jiang Chenbi laughed instead of getting angry, her giggles sounding especially eerie.
Cui Wangshu stepped back, adopting a fighting stance, but Jiang Chenbi stood calmly and met her gaze. “Do you think I’ve gone mad?”
Cui Wangshu stared intently into Jiang Chenbi’s eyes, searching for signs of manipulation, but after a long look, they appeared normal.
Jiang Chenbi squatted again, drank another mouthful, and explained, “Legend has it a dark river flows underground, called the Yellow Springs for its deep burial. Royals or princes of utmost power build tombs above or beside it for feng shui to nurture their descendants. But the Yellow Springs shifts course unpredictably, so no one has seen it—it’s just hearsay.”
“The water of the Yellow Springs is said to heal wounds and grant eternal youth. True or not, we’re trapped here now—what difference does it make from death? Why not try?”
With that, Jiang Chenbi stood and beckoned Cui Wangshu over.
Cui Wangshu eyed the legendary Yellow Springs, then curved her lips in a mix of relief and self-mockery. “You’re right. Life is short—why not?”
She walked over, cupped some water, drank deeply, wiped her mouth, and fixed her gaze on the mausoleum opposite, ambition flickering in her eyes. “Dare to explore this place with me?”
Jiang Chenbi glanced at the mausoleum; its eerie gates resembled demons from hell, luring the greedy to their doom.
Turning back, she saw Cui Wangshu filling a water flask. Jiang Chenbi chuckled lightly. “You even brought a flask. Dying alongside Minister Cui is my gain, though.”
Cui Wangshu shook the flask and shot her a sidelong glance. “It’s my habit for nighttime outings. Didn’t you say a Cui family girl isn’t worthy to die before you?”
Jiang Chenbi pulled out more gauze and began bandaging Cui Wangshu as they walked. “A Cui family girl isn’t, but Minister Cui is dashing. Dying together? That’s romantic martyrdom.”
Cui Wangshu didn’t resist, asking curiously, “Where do you keep pulling these things from—powders, potions, now gauze?”
Jiang Chenbi looked up. “Is Minister Cui taking an interest in me?”
Cui Wangshu had grown accustomed to Jiang Chenbi’s flippant banter and ignored it. Jiang Chenbi, seeing her so aloof, dropped it.
With wounds bandaged, they waded across the Yellow Springs toward the deathly silent mausoleum.
As they neared, the chill intensified. Cui Wangshu grabbed Jiang Chenbi. “Our only way out is through this mausoleum, but what awaits might be…”
She trailed off, but both understood. Jiang Chenbi’s lips still curved in that irreverent smile. “Is Minister Cui reluctant to abandon her high position?”
Cui Wangshu gave her a deep look, emotions complex and profound; Jiang Chenbi nearly faltered in her grin.
Cui Wangshu pressed forward. “Let’s go.”
The mausoleum’s style differed from Da Yong or Great Zhao. Studying the wall carvings, Cui Wangshu finally said, “It’s… Pre-Shang civilization.”
Jiang Chenbi puzzled, “Pre-Shang? Isn’t that a legendary dynasty? It really existed?”
Cui Wangshu swallowed hard. “Though I doubted Pre-Shang’s existence too, these murals depict their civilization unmistakably.”
Jiang Chenbi marveled, “Built four hundred years ago? I thought tomb raiders chasing Pre-Shang were delusional. It’s real.”
Excited by a thought, she asked, “Does the Xuanji Strategy really exist too?”
Cui Wangshu’s expression grew grave as she pointed to a mural corner. “That’s what they’re holding—the Xuanji Strategy. And if records are accurate, that’s Xuan Shang Emperor.
“To protect the Xuanji Strategy, Pre-Shang built this mausoleum. Xuan Shang Emperor faked martyrdom, actually retreating underground with it.”
Jiang Chenbi sobered. “Then… are there living people inside? Or after four centuries underground, are they still ‘people’?”
Cui Wangshu pointed elsewhere. “They stockpiled vast grain stores… and soldiers. To safeguard the Xuanji Strategy, they abandoned the city.”
The Xuanji Strategy had upper and lower volumes. The upper, authored by Pre-Shang mechanism master Mo Jiuhuan, was a secret hydraulic engineering tome containing the Luo River Diversion Map that could upend empires.
After presentation to the royals, scholars compiled advanced weaponry and secret arts into the lower volume; Celestial Master Liu Xuan added longevity techniques.
Everything in it drew foreign powers’ covetous eyes. Pre-Shang authored it for eternal dominion, but “holding the jade invites disaster.”
Initially mighty, Pre-Shang repelled invasions with the Xuanji Strategy‘s superior weapons, unassailable even by coalitions.
But after Xuan Shang Emperor’s ascension, Pre-Shang turned defensive. Rumors said he madly built tombs; the capital became an empty shell. He leapt from the walls with the Xuanji Strategy, perishing in flames.
Yet some believed it hidden in the tombs, guarded by Mo Jiuhuan and Liu Xuan’s feng shui and mechanisms.
Thus, powers through dynasties sought Pre-Shang’s mausoleums.
Cui Wangshu teased the solemn Jiang Chenbi. “Scared?”
Jiang Chenbi, pondering her supplies, bristled. Pointing ahead, “Treasures dynasties craved lie before us. Scared? Minister Cui underestimates me.”
Cui Wangshu smiled. “Then let’s go. Time is short.”
The chamber’s stone door was profound iron, etched with eerie patterns: a Bagua diagram centering twin infant faces.
Cui Wangshu studied the Bagua, recalled her master’s teachings, pressed wall spots, and the massive door ground open.
Jiang Chenbi raised a brow. “Minister Cui is truly erudite.”
Entering, Cui Wangshu yanked Jiang Chenbi back before she advanced. She gestured to the passage.
Peering closely, Jiang Chenbi saw an empty floor, winding wall niches with ghostly blue flames. Corners and center held abrupt mummies; nine chains suspended a huge copper coffin midair.
Chains bound the coffin tight, anchored to the floor by an ancient heavy sword.
Floor and wall bricks bore face reliefs; closer inspection revealed hidden faces behind, like malevolent spirits gaping to devour souls.
Clanging bells echoed from the dome, where countless corpses were embedded head-down, mouths agape in venomous stares at the coffin. Icy winds howled.
The bricks, from lakebed yin mud, reeked of heavy yin energy—a perfect corpse-nurturing ground.
The copper coffin sealed a corpse that had turned pre-burial.
Pre-Shang nomads were robust; to guard the mausoleum, they’d choose a mighty general for this first gate. Given the coffin’s size, he rivaled the corpse the Corpse-Eating Rats had carried.
After centuries in this yin pit, whatever lurked inside had reached terrifying power.
Cui Wangshu warned, “Look closely—each open mouth shoots a poison arrow. One wrong step, and we’re done. Those mummies are warnings. If the coffin opens, consequences are dire.”
Jiang Chenbi frowned. “A way through?”
Cui Wangshu examined each brick. “Not yet.”
Jiang Chenbi chuckled softly. “Smell that faint bitter almond scent, Minister Cui?”
Cui Wangshu nodded. “And the cloying sweetness of corpse wax. All deadly poisons, but we can’t rush.”
No matter—we were dead anyway… Knowing Cui Wangshu’s mastery of astrology, divination, and Qimen Dunjia, Jiang Chenbi stayed silent.
They observed every relief intently.
Absorbed in cracking the mechanism, neither noticed their pain easing, wounds healing beneath the bandages.
