Chapter 112: Longevity Eye

Ye Chan listened in stunned silence. Though archaeology and feng shui were related, archaeology was ultimately a modern discipline grounded in science, focused on the historical value of ancient artifacts. Feng shui, on the other hand, fell squarely into the realm of metaphysics. Techniques for warding off evil and averting disaster came from distinct lineages in Daoism and Buddhism—they couldn’t be conflated or discussed carelessly.

She asked, “If the concept of Yin-Yang Acupoints died out thousands of years ago, Master, where did you learn about it?”

Xiao Sanxiao could easily guess what was on her mind, but he had no intention of hiding anything. “When y’all first heard folks talkin’ about the Long Family’s Human Skin Map, didn’tcha think it was just like some treasure map?”

Ye Chan hesitated. “Well… yeah, a bit.”

“Hmph.” Xiao Sanxiao snorted. “That’s ’cause the Long Family’s Human Skin Map was split into Yin and Yang halves from the start, each with its own purpose. Outsiders don’t know the real deal—they just hear the Xieling bunch blowin’ hot air and pass the rumors along, right up to today. How many folks do you reckon still know the truth?”

“I know about that incident at the Rat-Walkers’ Flower Fair the other day. Someone deliberately lured in those greedy types. The real point-hunters weren’t after treasure at all—they were after the true Yin half of the Long Family’s Human Skin Map.”

Gu Xianwang jolted at these words. No wonder she’d never understood why Master had risked coming out of seclusion for a mere treasure map. Their goal from the beginning wasn’t the treasure site marked by the Long Family. They had known this place was a deadly peril and entered anyway—to rediscover clues to the Long Family’s Ancient Stockade?

Undying Medicine… How great an allure was the Undying Medicine, that it could drive people to throw themselves into certain death, one after another?

“Does the Long Family’s Ancient Stockade truly hold the Undying Medicine?”

This time, Xiao Sanxiao couldn’t laugh. “…What if I said it does?”

Gu Xianwang frowned deeply, unsure how to respond. “Undying… For a thousand years, emperors schemed for nothing more than to extend their reign. If the Undying Medicine truly existed, the Long Family would’ve been trampled flat a million times over by armies and iron hooves.”

“You’re not wrong,” Xiao Sanxiao said. “That’s why I’m tellin’ ya, don’t go lookin’. That’s no thing for mortals to touch. Even Qin Shi Huang couldn’t get it—what makes you think you can?”

Ye Chan shivered suddenly. “Master, I don’t know if I’m right about this, but… by what you’re saying, have you… have you been to the Long Family’s Ancient Stockade?”

She deliberately used the word “been,” though what she really meant was: This old man—could he have actually entered the Long Family’s Ancient Stockade back in the day? That’s why he dared claim to know the real Long Family, spouting details not even found in ancient books, all laid out so clearly. The only explanation was that he’d seen more complete, more detailed secret texts firsthand—texts compiled by someone who’d braved the dangers themselves. Looking across the entire jianghu, who else but the legendary Long Family, who prospected treasures for the Qin Emperor?

A sharp glint flashed across Xiao Sanxiao’s weathered face. He shot Ye Chan a cold glare, then turned to the unusually dense thicket ahead and said, “We’re here.”

Unbeknownst to them, they had pressed on for another half hour or so. The sky had fully brightened now, sunlight filtering through the leaves in shimmering waves. From this vantage, Longevity Eye Lake appeared hazy and indistinct—not a vast body of water, more like an ordinary mountain pond.

Xiao Sanxiao claimed this was the thunder-drawing spot of Qilin Land, but it was hard to wrap one’s head around. The lake’s location was utterly mundane, like one of those little ponds you spot right at the entrance of a tourist scenic area. Amid the Five Great Mountains, it wouldn’t even qualify as a proper attraction. The path here had been rugged all the way, but it gradually leveled out. Towering trees formed a dense canopy, wild grass reached waist-high, and there were no visible trails—clearly not a place frequented by people. The surroundings were eerily quiet, as if even birds and beasts steered clear. Aside from a low hill by the lake’s edge, there was nothing else.

This so-called land of great peril showed no ominous signs at all. Instead, it felt… serene.

Deeper topics were clearly off-limits for Xiao Sanxiao. Since they had already made it this far, tracking down Long Li’s whereabouts took priority. Gu Xianwang steadied her nerves and pushed through the thick underbrush, venturing deeper. The Longevity Eye Lake came into view, living up to its evocative name—a crystal-clear eye cradled by encroaching trees, gazing serenely at the heavens. In the wake of the downpour, the sky gleamed an unblemished blue, and the glassy waters of the lake reflected it perfectly, taking on a pristine hue of pale blue laced with hints of green. The clarity was unearthly, surpassing any glassy sea in the world; a single glance pierced straight to the bottom. Pebbles, water weeds, silt, and darting minnows lay revealed in exquisite detail, as if rendered by a master’s ink brush. Its very purity made it seem almost illusory.

From this vantage, what more was there to see? A few jagged rocks thrust from the flanking low hills, but no paths presented themselves. Had Master and his companions once stood here, puzzling out the Dragon Lair Entrance? What method would they have employed—a compass, perhaps? Or prospecting for qi?

Xiao Sanxiao seemed struck by a sudden thought. He spoke up abruptly. “You little missy, you ain’t really Yang Family folk, are ya?”

Gu Xianwang froze, blurting out an answer before she could think. “Why would you say that?”

“The Yang Family’s Eye Technique has a dead giveaway. Once you’ve got it down, your pupils turn real deep and black—like endless wells. You match that bill.” He cocked his head, peering at the spot behind her ear. “But looks like you just used some kinda potion to skim the surface. That Eye Technique you’ve got? It sure ain’t the beginner’s child version.”

His stare made Gu Xianwang’s throat constrict, as if he’d peeled back her secrets with a glance, his invisible grip like iron hands around her neck. In truth, even she couldn’t clearly recall how she’d cultivated the Eye Technique. Fragments of memory from the cellar lingered, but try as she might, those scenes bore no resemblance to training. All she remembered was terror—nothing more. Master had insisted it was the child technique, blaming her foggy recollection on a raging fever at the time. Her abilities worked, after all, so she’d let the matter drop, unwilling to probe further.

“I…”

“First step of the Yang Family Eye Technique is night vision. You fix your gaze on objects, sketch ’em out—gotta nail eight or nine outta ten to pass. That’s your ticket to the real meat of it.” Xiao Sanxiao smacked his lips, mulling it over. “Word is, the Yangs only have two or three Turtle Pearls left, countin’ the duds. They lost a heap of hands back at the Long Family’s Ancient Stockade—no people, no pearls. Elders didn’t pull back, so the young’uns got no inheritance. At your age? You’d be pushin’ it to have one, and bein’ a girl? Forget it. No Turtle Pearl means you ain’t truly mastered it. Can’t spot treasure qi worth a damn.”

“By treasure spotting rules, no treasure qi means you ain’t in the game.” He paused, brow furrowing at some inconsistency. “But that meridian behind your ear? Looks like it’s packin’ a pearl. How come it ain’t twitched once the whole way here? You pullin’ this old codger’s leg?”

Ye Chan caught his rambling tone, which sounded like a dig at Sister Gu’s skills. She piped up at once. “Turtle Pearl? We’ve got one, sure as shootin’. Sister Gu’s the real deal—a true heir to the treasure spotting arts. How could she not have it?”

“Right?”

Gu Xianwang flushed with embarrassment, her hand flying to her right ear on instinct. Yang Baibai had always claimed Yang Liu swiped the Yang Family’s finest Turtle Pearl. Master had never spelled it out, but by all logic, it ought to be lodged in her meridian. Treasure qi—or spiritual qi, as some called it—she’d never laid eyes on the stuff herself. And if her Eye Technique was truly complete, why hand her the Undying Turtle? That artifact’s whole purpose was to stand in for a Turtle Pearl, pinpointing spiritual qi.

So if Yang Liu’s pearl wasn’t in her… where was it? And what exactly pulsed in her own meridian?

A shiver prickled her arms with gooseflesh, the uncanny sense of some alien presence lurking unknown within her own flesh. “Y-yes, of course I have it. But my mastery is shallow—I only sense it faintly. I’m not hiding anything or trying to fool you. Like you said, this generation’s only standout is Yang Baibai. The Yang Family’s always favored sons over daughters, and I’m not even blood. I did get a pearl, but it’s a flawed one—barely qualifies.”

This explanation made sense, so Xiao Sanxiao didn’t press the matter. He mumbled an ambiguous acknowledgment and said, “Anyway, I’ve brought you two here. Can’t help with anything else.”

Hearing this, Gu Xianwang actually breathed a sigh of relief. The old man had openly admitted he had business with Long Li and wanted to question her, but his words and deeds along the way had been far too suspicious. If she had to name one profound lesson from these past days, it was that the vast martial world held no such thing as kindness without strings attached. Every favor was a transaction, and martial artists especially never made deals that put them at a loss. She still couldn’t fathom what leverage they held to trade for all the intelligence he’d shared, leaving her heart weighed down with unease. She kept suspecting some scheme she hadn’t yet uncovered.

Moreover, she was constantly shadowed by a group of invisible phantoms. They slipped through places no one should be able to access, masters of disguise. Every step she took felt like treading the edge of a blade. Meanwhile, her master Long Li had vanished without a trace, quite possibly trapped in peril and cut off from aid. She could only proceed with the utmost caution.

At that moment, Ye Chan sidled over and whispered, “Sister Gu, do you think those Rat-Walkers took the same route we’re on now? Would they go underground without leaving themselves a way back?”

Gu Xianwang shot her a sidelong glance, grasping her meaning at once. If Longevity Eye Lake was truly the key, why hadn’t they seen any other traces from start to finish? Logically, if someone went underground, there had to be people waiting outside to receive them. Yet up to now, neither Golden Hook Town nor Wild Mountain Ridge had shown any sign of the Rat-Walkers. Where had that group gone? Could living people just vanish into thin air?

“Let’s search around nearby first.”

Xiao Sanxiao had said he was done helping, and he meant it. He scampered up a tree, leaned against a branch, and began to doze. Gu Xianwang circled Longevity Eye Lake, scouring the surroundings while keeping him in her peripheral vision. Once she was sure his eyelids stayed shut and his breathing had slowed to a steady rhythm, she slipped behind a tree, pulled out the Undying Turtle, and tried recalibrating it. But the artifact spun left and right for a good while before returning to its original position—and then it just kept whirling in circles.

What did this mean? Could it be that the Undying Turtle, like the Compass, was disrupted by some kind of magnetic interference?

“Hiss!”

“Hiss hiss!”

Lost in thought, she suddenly heard Ye Chan hissing urgently from a distance away. Peeking out, she saw Ye Chan signaling frantically with her eyes, her chin jerked high toward the short hill beside the lake—the one that rose straight up from the shore.

Something there?

Gu Xianwang hurried over. Before Ye Chan could explain, her sharp eyes had already locked onto the bush sprouting from a crevice in the rock—the very one Ye Chan meant to point out.

It was the same type of shrub they’d used to conceal themselves in front of that earth cave earlier. The leaves were tough, their edges serrated like saw teeth that could easily slice skin. But the problem with this particular cluster wasn’t the leaves. It was on the bare branches themselves. Wedged in the gap between branch and stone was a thin brown streak, like paint splashed upward at a slant. Last night’s downpour had faded it to near invisibility, but its dampness betrayed it—rubbed onto a fingertip, it revealed the pale red of congealed blood.

“Looks like blood,” Ye Chan whispered.

Gu Xianwang frowned and traced the bush’s roots upward with her gaze. The distance between the lakeshore and the hill was only a couple of paces, the two practically abutted. There was no room for a person to stand in between—it was like being wedged right into the underbrush. And calling it a “short hill” was only relative to the towering slopes of the Qinling Mountains. In absolute terms, the rock wall before them loomed at least thirty or fifty meters high. It formed a broad, blunt angle overall, its pointed crest pressing right against Longevity Eye Lake while its sides spread out flat. The face was overrun with stunted trees, their branches and foliage abnormally thick, completely shrouding the underlying stone. Who knew if hidden crevices lurked within?

If there were—then this might just be the true entrance to the Dragon Lair.