Two hours later, their limbs shaking from exhaustion and hunger, Huang and Fei stepped through a broken stone archway and into a chamber that pulsed with forgotten energy.
The air here was still and strangely warm, as if untouched by time. Moss glowed faintly from crevices in the stone walls, casting pale green light over the chamber. Along the walls, ancient alcoves held scrolls — some wrapped in crystal tubes, others nestled in stone niches with warding runes long faded.
Huang helped Jiang Fei sit against a smoother section of wall. The noble boy's breath was thin, his skin pale beneath the grime. Blood no longer poured, but a slow oozing pulse still trickled from the corner of his mouth — a sure sign of soul damage.
"Don't move," Huang said, then turned to examine the scrolls.
He picked one out of a crystal case, unrolling it with care. The script flared dimly, unfamiliar in structure but elegant in flow. Sword forms. Deep, fluid. Not just combat techniques — philosophies.
Fei tilted his head slightly. "Let me see…"
Huang held it near. Fei's eyes flicked across the strokes.
"This is… Returning Wind Cuts the Still Lake. That technique's supposed to be extinct. It's from before the collapse of the Last Heaven Dynasty. Techniques like this — they weren't just physical. They tuned the spirit. Blades that followed breath."
He coughed again, and winced. "There's more, near the base shelf. Help me—"
"No. You rest. I'll look."
Huang moved across the room and found several slim scrolls tucked beneath a shattered emblem — far plainer than the sword arts, but etched with spirals and circular breathing instructions. Runes for stillness, for cleansing. Healing meditations.
"Fei," he called. "These might slow the damage."
Fei nodded weakly. "Enough… to seal the bleeding, maybe. Give me ten breaths. I'll teach you the flow. If I pass out, help guide it."
So they began. Huang sat beside him, breathing slow and deep, as Fei's fingers traced invisible lines on his chest and brow — channeling his limited spiritual force with immense care.
The pain didn't vanish. But the tremors in Fei's limbs softened. The inner tearing eased. The talisman's corruption, once devouring him like fire on paper, began to smolder instead.
They didn't speak much after that. But the quiet had changed.
No longer strained by pain or uncertainty, it grew into something shared — the closeness of two people learning the shape of survival.
---
Above, in the grander chambers of the tomb, footsteps echoed with authority.
Cousin Jiang Ren stood near an empty stone basin, its surface etched with fresh blood and flickering talismans. A glowing Recording Crystal floated before him, replaying a carefully forged memory again and again.
In the image, the scene was vivid — Huang, Luo Sen, and Mu Xiaoyi crouched behind a pillar. Fear twisted their faces. In their hands: stolen talismans.
Jiang Fei's voice rang out, calling to them in warning. They turned. A flash — blinding, searing — then chaos. The image ended there, frozen on Fei mid-fall.
Jiang Ren sealed it with a flick of his fingers. The glow faded to a dull red.
"Anyone who sees this will think it's the truth," he said, lips curling into satisfaction. "Three slaves driven mad by greed, killing a noble heir before stealing away."
Beside him, Jiang Wei smirked. "They'll be executed. Publicly. We'll be given compensation for Fei's 'loss,' and the blame dies with the servants."
A faint rattling answered them. Just a few feet away, chained and forced to their knees, Luo Sen and Mu Xiaoyi knelt in silence. Their faces were bruised, clothes torn, lips chapped from lack of water. Spirit-sealing rings burned blue at their throats.
Sen's jaw clenched, fury burning in his eyes. Xiaoyi, the quieter of the two, simply stared at the floor — her fingers twitching as if memorizing escape routes even now.
"You should be grateful," Ren said without turning. "We didn't kill you here. The tomb wouldn't take kindly to bloodshed of that kind. But once we leave? There'll be a full tribunal. Imperial watchers love a scandal with a clean end."
"We didn't betray Fei," Luo Sen growled.
Jiang Wei turned, crouching beside him. "You think anyone will believe a word you say?" He tapped the Recording Crystal. "This is truth now. And you're the evidence."
They left them there in silence — two slaves bound by lies, beneath a ceiling of crumbling stone and illusion.
And deep beneath their feet, Jiang Fei took another breath — stronger than before — and looked to Huang with eyes that now held more than pain.
Resolve. Purpose. And an unspoken promise.