Chapter 29: Entering the Nine-Bend Corridor Ruins

But even with Lu A’yao’s reassurance, my unease didn’t completely fade. Or rather, I’d found the layout of this place strange from the very beginning.

By conventional standards, the passageways in a tomb are meant only to connect various tomb chambers. Once you enter a passage, it should lead directly to a chamber—whether it’s a burial chamber or the main tomb. In other words, the passage exists to serve the chambers.

So, I’ve never seen a passageway as winding and convoluted as this one, let alone one with six or seven intersecting crossroads. The whole setup was riddled with oddities, and the more I thought about it, the more desperate I felt to get out of here.

Even if we could find just one tomb chamber, it would at least give me something solid to hold onto.

“What, were ancient craftsmen into copy-pasting too? These murals weren’t slapped on at the last minute, were they? Maybe they ran out of money building the tomb and just phoned it in?” He Yu shone his flashlight around as he spoke.

I shook my head. “Unlikely. The murals aren’t crudely done. The colors are still vibrant after all these years, and there’s barely any damage. That suggests the craftsmen took deliberate steps to protect them from oxidation. Doesn’t seem like a rush job or a budget cut.”

“So, what now, officers?” He Yu asked. “Any brilliant ideas? Do we keep moving forward?”

Lu A’yao took a few steps back and shone his flashlight down the passage behind us. “We can’t keep going. Who knows how long this corridor stretches. Gan Ji, we need to check the other passageways.”

I immediately understood what he meant. We’d been walking in this corridor for over an hour and still hadn’t reached the end. If the murals here were identical to the ones in the previous corridor, then it was likely the murals in the other branches were the same too.

If every corridor had the same murals, then we needed to reconsider the purpose of these passageways. Only by understanding their function could we figure out our next move.

“Looks like we’re all on the same page,” He Yu said, patting my shoulder. “I’ll take the lead, Lu A’yao will bring up the rear.”

I protested, “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m not up to it? Sure, I’m a little jumpy, but I’m not that bad, okay?”

He Yu nudged me forward. “With your reflexes? You didn’t even flinch when that trap went off in the Terracotta Figure Array. These corridors are narrow—if there’s a hidden dart trap or something, at least the two of us can handle it. You leading the way? You’d freak out. You taking the rear? You’d probably vanish on us. Middle it is.”

There was no way I was taking point. And honestly, I couldn’t argue with his logic. I’ve been afraid of the dark since I was a kid. When it gets bad, my legs go weak. This place was creepy as hell, and yeah, walking in the middle did feel safer.

After a short rest, we headed back the way we came. Soon enough, we reached the seven-way intersection again. I let out a quiet sigh of relief. Thank god the tomb’s designer wasn’t completely deranged—if those paths had vanished on us, I might’ve had a full-blown breakdown.

He Yu pulled the iron spade strapped to his backpack. “I’ve got decision paralysis. Old buddy, we’ve had terrible luck today—why don’t you divine which path might actually bring us some good fortune?”

I turned to Lu A’yao. He was staring into the darkness ahead, silent. His right hand moved through a series of unfamiliar hand signs. I noticed it and blinked in surprise. Was this guy actually doing a real ritual?

“Third path,” Lu A’yao said quickly.

That thing actually works?

I was still skeptical when He Yu shouted, “Alright! We’ll go with the master’s pick—third path it is! Let’s move!”

He Yu strode forward with confidence. I followed, half-convinced. But with seven paths to choose from, any of them could be the right one—or the wrong one. I told myself it didn’t really matter and kept pace behind him.

This corridor was much narrower than the last, but the ceiling was higher. The path sloped downward with unremarkable steps. At the bottom, on the right side, was a row of murals, even better preserved than the ones before. I glanced at them—and my heart sank.

“Same content again,” He Yu said, stroking his chin. “Are these murals really that important? Why paint them over and over?”

Before he finished speaking, I noticed something off about the stone tiles beneath our feet. I quickly signaled He Yu to shine his flashlight on the broken floor. Most of the tiles were shattered, their patterns worn away, but the carved seal script was still legible.

He Yu stammered, “It says… ‘From here, enter the Nine-Bend Corridor Ruins.’ Nine-Bend Corridor Ruins? Isn’t this supposed to be a burial site for a minority noble?”

I didn’t know much about this stuff, so He Yu explained that the character “墟” had many meanings in ancient Chinese. Translating it was tricky—it could mean “ruins,” or it could refer to a “marketplace.”

He Yu clearly leaned toward the “marketplace” interpretation, though he didn’t say it outright. I looked around at the eerie surroundings, the cold wind slipping into my jacket. No way in hell did this place feel like any kind of market.

“If that’s the case, then this probably isn’t an imperial tomb after all. So what were these corridors built for?” He Yu asked. “Setting up stalls?”

All three of us fell silent.

My mind was a complete mess. I couldn’t make sense of anything anymore. Before we came down here, both Wu Yili and Tian Yuqing had confidently claimed this was a tomb. But now we’d found stone tiles engraved with “Nine-Bend Corridor Ruins.”

And then there were those massive Burial Pits and Terracotta Figures—so lifelike, so detailed. What exactly were they guarding?

Lu A’yao kept walking, flashlight in hand. I could tell something was off about him, so I followed. He stopped in front of the last mural and shone his light on it.

“The final one,” he said. “It’s different.”

He Yu came running over, and I stepped up beside Lu A’yao to get a closer look. Sure enough, the ninth mural was different. It had been split into two parts. The upper half still showed people worshipping the centipede-like creature, but something had changed.

Instead of hanging upside down from the clouds, the creature was now plunging down to earth along a towering bronze pillar. The pillar was carved with a strange totem—part fish, part turtle. I’d never seen anything like it.

The second image was even stranger. It showed the Grand Preceptor standing inside the split-open belly of the centipede. He was holding a box, and everyone around him was kneeling with heads bowed. I leaned in for a closer look—and saw nine silver rings hanging from the box.

My brain short-circuited. “This has to be fake.”

He Yu let out a low whistle. “Whoa. That box in Gan’s bag might be a big deal. Judging by the mural, it’s some kind of holy artifact. But how did the bug die?”

I looked back at the mural. The people were gathered around the creature’s corpse. Then it hit me.

“It didn’t die on its own. They cut it open.”

Usually, when two murals are connected, there’s a narrative link. And in every one of these worship scenes, the Grand Preceptor was present. So I made a bold guess: the object of worship wasn’t the centipede—it was the Grand Preceptor.

The Grand Preceptor emerging from the creature’s belly seemed to support that theory.

Lu A’yao ran his hand along a brick next to the mural, then suddenly called out, “He Yu, come here. Are these characters?”

He Yu circled around to look. I held the flashlight steady for him. Sure enough, there were several knife-carved marks on the smooth brick. What stood out was how fresh they looked—like they’d been carved just recently.

“Holy shit?! This is Secret Script!” He Yu called me over.

I was curious, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of the strange characters. “What does it say?”

“Tsk. Hold the light steady, will you? You’re waving it around like crazy—I can’t see a damn thing.”

Cocky bastard. He was really getting bold, bossing me around like that. I cursed him silently and adjusted the flashlight. If you can’t read it, I swear I’ll smash your head into the floor.

He Yu squinted at the brick for a long time. “The writing’s vague—sounds like something my grandpa would say. Don’t blame me if I get it wrong.”

I was getting impatient. “Spit it out already. Stop being dramatic.”

“Alright, alright!” He Yu elbowed me and began reading the inscription aloud. “To those who come after: seeing this is as seeing me. Look up and see all beings.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“To those who reach this place,” Lu A’yao said, lowering his flashlight and frowning, “seeing these words is the same as seeing me. Look up, and you will see all beings.”

I understood the first part. But the second line—look up and see all beings—what the hell was that supposed to mean?