Chapter 50: Flower on the Forehead Part 2

She vaguely recalled injecting massive Demonic Power into the creature, dismantling it and devouring the Corpse Dan it had nurtured for centuries or even millennia in this Earth Yin Vein Acupoint?

Wang Ya climbed out of the pit and looked back at the ground, seeing the solidly tamped earth cracked into a downward depression, deepest part several inches deep. The coffins in the Myriad Coffins Array were mostly destroyed, scattered dry corpses lying haphazardly like lifeless husks, as if wind-dried for centuries and tossed aside. Wang Ya felt a coolness at her forehead between her brows. Touching it, she felt only icy skin.

The Corpse Ghosts and ferocious creature in the Myriad Coffins Array were dead, most coffins ruined, and the formation broken.

Wang Ya noticed her vision had improved greatly; she could now see clearly in the pitch-black darkness. Old Tang and the others had cleaved through countless Corpse Ghosts in their escape, leaving remnants along the path. Wang Ya followed the trail of dry corpse fragments forward until she reached a long flight of steps. The steps led straight upward, littered with Corpse Ghost remains. After climbing about a hundred meters atop them, she entered a natural cavern. The cavern showed signs of a recent collapse—scattered rubble everywhere, small stones occasionally falling from the ceiling. She found only a few Corpse Ghost remnants near the passage entrance; none inside. She keenly sensed wind blowing into the cavern and headed toward it, clambering over debris. Soon, she reached a collapsed opening blocked by rubble, leaving a gap about half a meter high and a meter wide. Crawling out, she entered a larger cave. Walking onward briefly, she heard the rumble of a waterfall. With no other paths, Wang Ya followed the wind toward the sound.

As the waterfall grew louder, the wind into the cave intensified. Wang Ya even faintly heard Wang Cheng’an’s voice. She quickened her pace and soon reached the cave mouth. Peering out, she saw a dark river outside, seven or eight meters wide.

Wang Cheng’an’s joyful voice rang from below: “Yaya!”

Wang Ya looked down and realized her cave mouth was on a rock wall over two meters above the dark river’s bank. Old Tang, Zhang Qingshui, Huang Qi, and Wang Cheng’an were all below, resting.

Unfazed by the height, Wang Ya bent her knees and leaped down, landing steadily. Raising her eyes, she found all four staring at her strangely.

Wang Cheng’an grinned and called, “Yaya, Flower Flower on your forehead is so pretty!”

Wang Ya glanced at Wang Cheng’an, silently touched her forehead—feeling no flower—and shot him a glare. She scanned him twice, noting he was just dirty, no injuries. She looked at Old Tang, Zhang Qingshui, and Huang Qi. Huang Qi and Wang Cheng’an were filthy but unharmed, while Zhang Qingshui and Old Tang were dirtied, their clothes torn, bodies wounded. Old Tang was worst off, with several gashes on his arm and shoulder, his face pale from blood loss. She shifted her gaze to the underground dark river ahead, observing the flow, then said to Wang Cheng’an, “Let’s go!” She extended her hand to Huang Qi.

Huang Qi handed over the Ghost Collecting Bell wrapped around her wrist with ancient bronze coins, saying, “Wang Ya, thank you.”

Wang Ya gave her a faint look, pocketed her Ghost Collecting Bell and ancient bronze coin, and turned upstream. They had ascended from deeper underground; the waterfall roared from not far downstream, undoubtedly leading to the pig granny dragon river segment. Upstream toward deeper earth was too far for an exit, but the wind blew from there—worth a try.

Old Tang called to Huang Qi and Zhang Qingshui, and they followed Wang Ya and her father upstream. Old Tang, Zhang Qingshui, and Huang Qi occasionally glanced at Wang Ya with sidelong looks, but none spoke.

Wang Ya and the others followed the wind along the dark river, soon turning into a waterlogged cavern, wading through varying depths. They spotted man-made traces like stone steps and plank road remnants—likely from building the Myriad Coffins Array and mausoleum. Farther on, ancient living traces appeared: lighting fixtures, defensive walls, rusted spearheads and arrow tips, and swarms of bats with guano everywhere.

After another thirty or forty minutes, they saw light ahead. Energized, they hurried forward, exiting the cave into a sinkhole at least thirty or forty meters deep. Waist-high wild grass filled it, with slanted saplings and ancient plank road holes on the sheer cliffs. The plank road was long gone, leaving only the holes.

Old Tang eyed the straight cliffs irritably: “Even a monkey couldn’t climb that!” He reached into his pocket, felt his thigh—pocket torn wide, hand emerging from the ripped leg. He turned: “Anyone have a mobile phone? Check for signal.”

Wang Ya’s mobile phone had long died; she didn’t know when it was lost.

Zhang Qingshui and Huang Qi silently watched Old Tang. Clearly, they had no phones.

Old Tang sighed deeply, rolled up his tattered sleeve, grabbed his Tang Dao, and approached an arm-thick sapling at the pit bottom. He chopped it down, cut two over-one-meter sticks. At the ancient plank road site, he jammed the arm-thick sticks into bowl-sized stone holes, leaving less than a foot protruding. He bounced lightly on one—sturdy enough for his weight. He pulled it out, inserted into a higher hole, and climbed, using waist-level holes for his Tang Dao as handholds. His Paper Effigies floated mid-air, pushing his shoulder to prevent falls.

Wang Ya watched Old Tang’s Paper Effigies and daring climbs, sweating for him. The effigies weighed nothing, could turn sharp but couldn’t support over a hundred jin of Old Tang. A fall would be fatal.

Luckily, Old Tang was skilled and cautious, reaching the top safely. He shouted down, “Wait here, I’ll get help!” and left.

Old Tang was gone over three hours. By his return at dusk, Wang Cheng’an, starved, had tried catching bats to roast but found no dry fuel in the damp pit.

Old Tang brought no people but a thick bundle of hemp rope, lowering it to haul them up one by one.

By the time Zhang Qingshui, Huang Qi, Wang Ya, and Wang Cheng’an reached the rim, night had fallen, revealing only pitch-black mountains and forests.

Huang Qi asked, “Martial Uncle, where are we?”

Old Tang replied, “Guangxi.”

Wang Ya was stunned. Guangxi! They had crossed a province from underground!

Wang Cheng’an whined about hunger, wanting food.

Old Tang said the nearest village was an hour’s trek away, its people unfriendly; he “borrowed” the rope at swordpoint.

Mosquitoes and venomous bugs abounded at night; no one wanted to camp. Wang Ya, sated on “wild” fare underground, firmly opposed hunting game. Exhausted and starving, the five stumbled through dark woods till midnight, reaching a rural road. No people or cars at night; villages slammed doors at their filthy sight.

Wang Cheng’an, drained, went from crying “Yaya, I’m so hungry” to feeble silence. They turned onto the highway, walking till they reached a service station!

Wang Ya reeked of corpse stench, silencing village dogs in terror.

Old Tang, Huang Qi, Zhang Qingshui, and Wang Cheng’an stank similarly of Corpse Ghost filth and blood. Entering the station at dead of night, they scared the staff into fleeing.