“Holy shit, where the hell did this come from?” Sara stumbled back two steps, craning her neck in disbelief as she peered to either side.
Just moments earlier, she and Long Li had been walking side by side behind Yuzi, their eyes fixed on a clear, unobstructed dirt path ahead. The flashlight had flickered out for less than two seconds—how could a solid stone wall have materialized right in front of them?
What was more, the wall meshed seamlessly with the cave walls flanking it, as if carved from the same rock. It sure as hell didn’t look like some fake wooden panel raised by a hidden mechanism.
Had a ghost gotten into her eyes?
Sara whipped her head around to Long Li. “Did you see this wall standing here before?”
Long Li shook her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Impressive tricks, Miss Yuzi. Trying to dazzle us outsiders, are you?”
Yuzi responded with an enigmatic smile of her own. “I know you city folk live in towering metropolises, steeped in modern education—worlds apart from us. But let me tell you, the world is full of mysteries yet to be uncovered, especially the ancient legacies of the Old Ancestors, the very things you dismiss as superstition.”
“Those gu techniques you’ve witnessed? Mere basics. You might see us villagers, generation after generation guarding this altar, as backward fools. But from here on, I’ll show you true miracles.”
Sara let out a scoffing laugh. “Come on, sister, we couldn’t care less if your miracles pack a punch. What’s got me scratching my head is—you hate this village, right? So why do your words make it sound like you revere this altar?”
She kept her tone casual, but her eyes darted a quick, meaningful glance toward Old Dog and Long Li.
Is this woman pulling a fast one on us?
Yuzi’s expression turned grave. “The altar is the altar. The village is the village. They’re separate matters. This place wasn’t built by mortals like you or me. I revere it—not ghosts like the Grand Matriarch and her ilk. Understand?”
Sara opened her mouth for more, but Long Li cut in smoothly. “We get it. If the altar’s no human handiwork, then by all means, lead the way.”
Yao Cuo hung back silently, bending low to murmur in Gu Xianwang’s ear. “Did you catch what sleight of hand she pulled?”
Gu Xianwang shook her head. It had happened too fast, and with two rows of people blocking the view ahead—Chak’s burly frame alone obscuring half of it—no trick could summon a wall from thin air in seconds. Yet the stone’s weathered texture and veined patterns matched the cavern perfectly.
No way it was man-made.
Yao Cuo pressed on. “She’s building up the mystery on purpose, planting suggestions in our heads. When that door opens, if things look wrong, you bolt first. Got it?”
Gu Xianwang nodded absently, drifting a couple steps to the side before rising on tiptoe for a better look. Yuzi wasn’t shoving the door open in haste. Instead, she first bowed twice to the left and right cave walls, her hands forming an unfamiliar ritual gesture that carried an unsettling aura.
How to put it? It just felt wrong. Eerie. Unholy.
After honoring the walls, she knelt before the center—this part was even more elaborate. She stepped right up to the stone door, pressing close as if face-to-face, and rapped her forehead lightly against it. Then she retreated in a pattern reminiscent of plum blossom steps: nine sets of five arrow steps, followed by nine sets of three squat steps, before finally settling into place.
Anyone who’d seen Tibetans circumambulating sacred mountains would recognize the full-body prostration kowtow. Yuzi’s version varied slightly: once down, she didn’t flatten completely to the ground. Her abdomen hovered, plank-like, supported solely by her elbows. Palms turned upward as if cupping water, she then knocked the ground three times with the backs of her hands.
The ritual reached its theatrical peak. Sara, arms folded, was content to watch the show a bit longer—until that final soft thud echoed. The massive stone door groaned open of its own accord, rumbling deeply.
No mistaking that for fakery. Fully ajar, it hid nothing inside. The flashlight beam pierced the void ahead, then dropped to reveal the steep stone stairs beyond.
In all honesty, stairs plunging downward in a place like this felt as absurd as ones climbing to the heavens from a mountaintop—stirring an instinctive dread.
It was that primal unease wired deep into human instincts: scaling the skies or delving into the earth wasn’t for ordinary folk.
The stone stairs were both steep and narrow, with no railings whatsoever on either side. A mere glance outward revealed an abyss-like cliff right at the edge, as if someone had built a staircase inside a volcano’s crater—the shadowy outline of the stone wall only faintly visible some ten meters away.
An abyss within a volcano. That was what Sara thought, and she even caught a faint whiff of sulfur. But how could there be such a deep cavity underground? It plunged lower and deeper than the sinkhole, like a path straight to hell. She glanced at Long Li, whose expression remained perfectly calm, and steadied her own nerves.
She turned to Old Dog. “Why don’t you two take the lead? These stairs are steep enough as it is, and Chak’s built like a bear—if he tumbles down, we’re all finished.”
Old Dog nodded without objection, and Yuzi smiled as she stepped aside to let him pass.
That smile sent a shiver through Gu Xianwang—not because of Yuzi’s face, but pure gut instinct, like spotting a harmless spider in your own home and still feeling your hair stand on end.
This time, they proceeded single file, one person per step, stretching the line even longer. By the time Gu Xianwang set foot on the stone stairs, she finally got a clear view of what lay beyond the door. Yuzi brought up the rear, still shining that old-fashioned flashlight. The stairs slanted at about sixty degrees and ran roughly ten meters before giving way to another horizontal ladder below. From above, she could see stairs branching off in all directions, staggered at varying heights like the tower of a construction crane.
Water gleamed at the bottom—not deep, with no sound of flow, just a subtle shimmer of reflection. The walls enclosed it like a barrel; she could make them out clearly. It didn’t have the texture of a karst cave—more like compacted soil and rock. Faintly, she even spotted traces of ancient creatures embedded in the layers.
Gu Xianwang didn’t notice at first. Yao Cuo was right behind her, and since he was a veteran mountaineer, she hadn’t given him a second thought. But when she happened to glance back, she discovered her Senior Brother descending sideways in a stance like down-climbing a shattered rocky slope.
The surroundings were deathly quiet—no one spoke. Gu Xianwang didn’t want to draw attention from those ahead, so she simply shot him a questioning look with her eyes.
She couldn’t tell if Yao Cuo had seen it; he merely blinked and kept his focus locked on the stairs.
Well, Gu Xianwang had never climbed with him before—maybe this was just his personal quirk.
After Old Dog swapped positions, only Sara stood between Gu Xianwang and Long Li. The high steps put all of Long Li’s movements in plain view. When Long Li peered downward, Gu Xianwang did the same; when Long Li examined the rock wall, Gu Xianwang followed suit. She told herself she was tapping into Long Li’s keen senses—definitely not just blindly imitating an expert.
Imitating an expert wasn’t without its surprises, though. On the third time she scrutinized the rock wall, Gu Xianwang realized the faint, protruding vein-like patterns in the soil were sharpening into focus as they descended. They formed a connected network, like a twisting, coiling root system splaying outward with countless branches. But what tree bore roots this thick?
The longer she stared, the less it resembled any plant—and a nagging sense of familiarity crept in. A few more steps revealed the section previously hidden by another slanted ladder. Chunks of the rock shell had flaked away, and amid the rubble and dirt, one of those “root” branches poked out: white, curved inward in an arc. It looked… it looked like a segment of bone.
Gu Xianwang jolted in alarm. She quickly swept her gaze up and down the length of the bone-like veins. The barrel-shaped rock walls surrounding her were etched with skeletal traces everywhere—the thickest central ridge consisted of vertebrae, while rib-like structures fanned out to either side like leaf veins. It matched snake bones perfectly. But what snake could grow large enough to encircle the entire rock cavity?
Even a cursory glance pegged this “Snake Bone” at dozens of meters long, ribs included. How enormous must it have been in life? This was no snake—it was unmistakably a dragon.
The realization hit Gu Xianwang like a thunderbolt; she itched to call out to Long Li. The weirdness here defied all reason, yet no one else had noticed. Silence still gripped the group. She hadn’t yet realized that the oppressive heat from the Rammed Earth Cave had vanished.
Just as she pulled her eyes away, her foot slipped out from under her. Her reflexes kicked in fast, and she caught her balance in time.
Strange. It felt like something protruding from the stone had twisted her foot. Ever since they had started down the stone stairs, the path had been steep, but they had grown accustomed to it after walking for a while. There was no need to watch every step—the footing ahead had clearly been flat enough. So why was this one step so uneven?
Gu Xianwang was about to warn Yao Cuo behind her when she sensed something off about the next step as well. She finally looked down, and the sight sent chills racing across her skin. What she had taken for an uneven stone underfoot was clearly a face protruding from the rock itself.
She froze in place. The stair tread was only a little longer than her forearm, yet four or five faces bulged out from it in a dense cluster. They weren’t proper faces with features; they resembled masks—some weeping, some furious, some slyly grinning, others laughing madly.
Gu Xianwang fought down the faint tremor rising from deep in her bones and peered further down. Sara’s feet, Long Li’s feet, every step of the stone stairs ahead—they were all covered in a dense profusion of those faces.
Yet everyone appeared perfectly calm, none of them noticing that their feet were trampling countless masks twisted in mirth, rage, and scorn.
“Senior Brother…” Gu Xianwang called softly, her neck rigid.
No one answered from behind, only labored breathing—like someone utterly spent. It was unmistakably a man’s voice. Only now did Gu Xianwang realize she herself wasn’t winded enough to gasp like that. Why was Senior Brother so exhausted?
Something was wrong. Everything was wrong.
“Long Li!” Gu Xianwang snapped in a low voice.
Her words seemed to pierce an invisible barrier. A shout of fury erupted from the front of the group—it sounded like Chak.
Gu Xianwang forced herself upright and looked down. That shock of blond hair suddenly vaulted off Old Dog’s back. Whether from delirium or fury at being bound, he looked enraged. As he thrashed wildly, the stone stairs beneath Gu Xianwang swayed like a chain bridge dangling over a cliff.
The shaking grew more violent, the lateral swings exceeding half a meter. Only then did Sara seem to realize they were about to plummet, shouting, “Chak, have you lost your mind? Let go of Old Dog!”
Chak bellowed back, “Who’s lost their mind? You’re the crazy ones! Are you blind? These eyeballs—so many eyeballs!”
His voice trailed off into the distance. With a whoosh, accompanied by Sara’s startled curse, two burly figures tumbled into the darkness side by side.
At the same moment, the stone stairs under their feet dropped sharply. They crumbled from both ends in a rush, fissures forking like lightning. In mere seconds, they shattered Gu Xianwang’s only foothold.
