Dragon Vein Storyteller

"Junior brother," he looked at me, his voice calm, as if he were talking about something very ordinary, "protect the chicks."

Before I could even react to what he was going to do, he had already rushed out.

It wasn't aimed at the kettle, nor at Zhao Ming, but at Yan Kuan. Yan Kuan had just forced Yuan back with a single sword strike and was about to press his advantage when he was suddenly attacked from behind. He whirled around, his longsword thrusting diagonally, but Zhang Linghe's palm lightning had already arrived.

"boom!"

A thunderclap boomed in the lobby. It wasn't real thunder, but the sound of lightning exploding from Zhang Linghe's palm. Golden lightning shot out from Zhang Linghe's palm like a small golden dragon, heading straight for Yan Kuan's face. Yan Kuan's expression changed drastically, and he dodged to the side, but he was still half a step too slow... The lightning grazed his left shoulder and exploded, blasting his entire left arm into a bloody mess. The sleeve was burned to ashes, the skin was torn open, and charred blood flowed down his arm.

Yan Kuan grunted and staggered back three steps, almost dropping the sword from his hand.

But at the very instant the lightning exploded, I saw the Ding Qin Sword above my head move.

It's not shaking, it's resonance.

The First Emperor's sword, hanging in the center of the dome, trembled violently the moment the thunder exploded in Zhang Linghe's palm, emitting a clear, resonant sword cry… The sound wasn't the crisp clang of metal clashing; it was like the cry of a dragon that had slumbered for a thousand years finally awakening. The azure light on the sword surged, as if something had burst forth from it, colliding with the golden light in Zhang Linghe's palm.

Two beams of light, one blue and one gold, converged in mid-air, like two dragons intertwining, tearing at each other, or embracing each other.

Zhao Ming was stunned. Liao Yuan was stunned. Everyone who was still fighting stopped what they were doing and looked up at the two intersecting beams of light. They couldn't understand it; they only knew that something was wrong here, that something was about to emerge. But I understood. Zhang Linghe understood it too.

He wasn't killing Yan Kuan. He was offering a sacrifice.

He used his own life, and the Five Thunder Orthodox Method passed down through generations of the Celestial Master's Mansion, to awaken the Ding Qin Sword that suppressed the Human Emperor's lineage. He knew he couldn't hold on any longer, and Chen Dong was about to collapse as well. Rather than fighting to the death with this pack of hungry wolves, he would rather gamble his life on something bigger... gamble that the dragon vein would still recognize the Celestial Master's Mansion's thunder magic, gamble that the Ding Qin Sword would still be willing to recognize its master once more.

The moment the lightning and sword light clashed, Zhang Linghe smiled.

He smiled softly, as if he had finally accomplished something that had weighed on his mind for many years. His Taoist robe fluttered in the lightning, his hair was disheveled by the strong wind, and the bloodstains on his face were illuminated by the light, but his eyes shone with a frightening brightness, like two stars burning in the darkness. He glanced back at me, his lips moved, and I recognized those two words:

Junior brother.

Then, his body began to disintegrate.

It wasn't a cut from a knife, nor a stab from a sword; it started from his fingertips, gradually turning into golden specks of light, like fireflies scattered by a gust of wind. Those specks of light floated upwards, drifting towards the trembling Ding Qin sword, merging with the azure light emanating from its blade. His hand disappeared first, then his arm, then his shoulder, then his chest… Chen Dong, whom he held in his arms, also turned into specks of light, their light mingling, indistinguishable, rising together, merging into the sword.

Zhang Linghe's smile remained on his face until the last ray of light drifted away.

He didn't die at the hands of the bandits. He died in a myth.

"Senior brother..." My throat tightened, my mouth tasted bitter, and I couldn't say a word.

The sword's cry grew louder and louder, shaking the entire hall. The blood grooves on the bluestone slabs shone brightly in the light, and the flowing blood seemed to be drawn in by something, rapidly converging towards the center and filling the entire totem. I finally saw the pattern clearly... it was a dragon, a coiled dragon with its head and tail joined together, exactly the same as the Nine-Nine Human Emperor's Vein I had seen in the Illusionary Stele.

Blood filled the dragon patterns.

Then, the circular stone slab began to sink.

It wasn't shattering, it wasn't cracking, it was sinking. It was as if some mechanism was supporting it from below, slowly, inch by inch, lowering it. The sound of the stone slabs grinding against each other rolled through the deathly silent hall, like a millstone grinding bones, making one's chest feel tight. After the stone slabs sank, a dark, square entrance was revealed. The entrance was about three feet square, with stone steps embedded in the stone walls leading downwards. At the end of the steps was pitch black; nothing could be seen.

"There's a road!" someone shouted.

The chaotic crowd paused for a moment, then surged towards the entrance like madmen. Forget the kettles, forget the vendetta; all eyes were fixed on that dark, gaping exit. Zhao Ming dragged Yan Kuan, Liao Yuan pulled Hui Jue along, the one-eyed giant carried the ghost-headed broadsword, and several surviving desperados tumbled and crawled… The crowd surged towards the stone steps like a tidal wave. Blood splattered underfoot, splashing onto the bluestone slabs, into the gullies, and onto the eyes of the stone dragon, which, soaked in blood, gleamed with a dark red light.

Zhao Ming was the first to rush to the entrance. He reached out as if to jump down, but as soon as he lifted his foot, he pulled it back.

He turned his head and looked at me.

The murderous intent and greed from before were gone from his eyes, replaced by a wild, animalistic caution and suspicion. He stared at me for a long time, as if trying to determine whether my throwing the water bottle was a genuine attempt to give up the water or a way to lure everyone over to become stepping stones.

"You," he pointed the knife at me, his voice as cold as ice, "go first."

I didn't move.

"Don't fucking play dumb with me," Zhao Ming took a step forward, the tip of his knife only half a foot from my throat. "You did a pretty good job throwing the water bottle earlier. What, trying to trick us all into becoming cannon fodder so you can stay behind and reap the benefits?"

Yan Kuan, who was behind him, also surrounded him, his left hand covering his blown-out right shoulder, his right hand holding a sword to the little chick's neck... Liao the Bald had been entangled with two desperados and hadn't been watching the little chick, letting him fall into Yan Kuan's hands. The little chick's face was deathly pale, but he didn't cry or scream; he just bit his lip, his eyes fixed on me.

"Either you go first," Yan Kuan's voice was thin and cold, like the sword in his hand, "or this child dies first."

The group of tomb raiders also gathered around. The old man with the flat shovel stood behind Zhao Ming, the shovel resting on the ground, its tip stained with blood—who knows whose unfortunate soul it belonged to. He didn't speak, but just looked at me, his eyes filled with a calculation even deeper than Zhao Ming's.

I glanced at the chicks, then at the dark entrance.

Zhao Ming didn't believe me. He didn't believe I would throw water out for no reason, nor did he believe I would kindly show them a way to survive. He thought it was a trap, that there was something below the entrance, and that I wanted them to go down and die first. He wanted me to go first, to be a human scout. If there was nothing down there, he would follow; if there were traps or mechanisms, I would be the first to die.

That's a clever plan.

"Okay," I nodded, "I'll go first."

Feng the Cripple grabbed my arm, his brows furrowed: "A fortune teller!"

"It's alright," I patted his hand to reassure him, "If anything happens, I'll be the first to spot it and warn you." I glanced at Zhao Ming again, "But I have one condition."