Chapter Ten: Not a Coward

The two of them crawled forward a while longer. The temperature in the tunnel shifted from cold to hot. After some time, it grew as sweltering as the height of summer. The two realized the tunnel was finally reaching its end.

But before they could rejoice, voices drifted from ahead. The accents were southern, but since neither had ever encountered outsiders, they couldn’t discern the precise region.

As they drew closer, Zhou Yi could hear the conversation clearly.

“Are you sure this will work?”

“Who knows? If it does, we’ll be founding heroes—” The man was cut off by another.

“Hurry up and get to work. Mind your words, or you’ll bring disaster.” After that, all fell silent.

Though just scraps of dialogue, the implications were clear. What could be so grave as to make these men so cautious, even whispering deep within a mountain tunnel? If their hearts were clear, why be so furtive? Even in a midnight graveyard, the innocent speak boldly.

It was unclear how many men were inside, but such a long tunnel could not be dug in a day or two—it was a massive undertaking. When Zhou Yi had come to this cave three months prior, everything was normal; the tunnel must have been excavated since then, in the depth of winter, with all the hardship that entailed.

Was there something in these mountains, aside from the temple, that outsiders coveted?

Zhou Yi exchanged a glance with Baozi, then they crawled forward a few more meters. Suddenly, the space opened up into a vast chamber, as if they had entered the very belly of Changbai Mountain. The passage they’d crawled was like an esophagus, leading to a cavern riddled with natural caves of all sizes, where several people were searching for something.

Suddenly, one man shouted in triumph, “Master Zuo, I’ve found it! Over here!”

A middle-aged man in a Zhongshan suit hurried over, a faint smile flickering across his face. “You’ve done well. When we return, you will be handsomely rewarded—all of you.” He burst out laughing. This Master Zuo was Zuo Zhi, a master of geomancy who fancied himself a Taoist priest.

Zhou Yi and Baozi slipped out of the tunnel and quickly hid in one of the caves. When they looked toward Zuo the Taoist and his group, they saw what they had been seeking: a stone egg. It was oval, about the size of a large water vat, its surface veined with cracks—like a chicken egg about to hatch.

“What do they want with that stone egg?” Baozi whispered.

“I don’t know, but it can’t be anything good. Let’s wait and watch,” Zhou Yi replied, suppressing his impatience as he kept a wary eye on the proceedings.

Zuo Zhi raised an axe high and brought it down on the stone egg. The blow rang out like metal striking metal, but the egg bore not a single mark—the cracked, weathered stone was impossibly hard.

Zuo Zhi’s eyes widened with fury. He swung the axe again, with the same result.

“Truly a wonder of Heaven and Earth,” he muttered. “The dragon vein here is nearly spent, and now a new one is forming. This dragon vein has protected the Great Qing. If we don’t destroy it, the dynasty will endure. This dragon egg must be destroyed!” With that, he began to trace incantations with his fingers, chanting spells.

Crouched nearby, Zhou Yi heard every word and understood the situation. He could not allow Zuo Zhi to succeed. He wondered if the dragon egg, nurtured by the vein, could endure what was to come—if not, the hope of the Qing’s revival was lost.

Zhou Yi’s Manchu blood ran strong; his feelings for the Qing were as deep as any patriot’s for their homeland. Though the dynasty was gone, the thought of its possible restoration filled him with joy.

By now, Zuo Zhi’s axe was poised to fall again. Without a moment’s hesitation, Zhou Yi leapt behind him and struck with a powerful punch. Zuo Zhi, intent on smashing the egg, barely dodged in time. Zhou Yi’s fist landed squarely on his shoulder, channeling spiritual energy directly into Zuo Zhi’s back. Blood spurted from the Taoist’s mouth.

The others, seeing their master wounded, realized an intruder had come to disrupt them. Without a word, five men surrounded Zhou Yi and Baozi.

“Who are you? Why do you seek to destroy the Qing’s dragon vein?” Zhou Yi demanded, pointing at Zuo Zhi. Truth be told, he was afraid—he had some mastery of Taoist arts, but outnumbered and with Baozi as a burden, the odds were grim.

“All Manchu dogs deserve death,” Zuo Zhi sneered. Wasting no more words, he lunged at Zhou Yi, his right hand clawing for Zhou Yi’s throat. Zhou Yi had never seen such speed; he hesitated a split second, and Zuo Zhi’s grip closed around his neck.

Choking for breath, Zhou Yi summoned his spiritual energy to his fists and punched Zuo Zhi in the chest. Zuo Zhi released him, a hint of surprise glinting in his eyes. “So you’re a cultivator as well. Such a young age, and you’ve reached the golden aura stage—what a pity,” he said.

With that, Zuo Zhi attacked again. Zhou Yi was still gasping for air, unable to dodge. Baozi stepped between them, taking the blow meant for Zhou Yi. Baozi staggered back several paces before steadying himself, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. With one strike, both Zhou Yi and Baozi were wounded.

Baozi spat out a mouthful of blood and turned to Zhou Yi. The two had grown up together; a single glance, a mere gesture, sufficed for all their communication. No words were needed.

At that moment, a strange sound arose in the cavern—a soft rustling, growing louder, accompanied by a wave of rank, fishy stench.

Paint and ink can barely describe how swiftly these events unfolded; from Zhou Yi’s intervention to this point had been but an instant.

Everyone turned toward the noise. A massive, mottled python slithered toward them at astonishing speed. Its head was as large as an ox’s, its body as thick as an elephant’s. Its scales shimmered in red, yellow, blue, and white—the very colors of the Eight Banners of the Qing. There was no doubt: this was the dragon vein’s guardian spirit beast.

The great serpent bore horns upon its head, already showing signs of transforming into a dragon. For a moment, everyone in the cavern was frozen in awe. Zhou Yi and Baozi swallowed hard—the sound echoed in the silence.

The python darted to the stone egg, coiling around it protectively, wary eyes fixed on the intruders. Then it spoke in a human voice: “Leave now, or you’ll have only yourselves to blame for what comes next.”

Only now could they see the serpent clearly—its tail still sheathed in old skin, halfway through shedding. Clearly, it had sensed the threat to the dragon vein and hurried here in the midst of its transformation.

Zuo Zhi sneered coldly. “Just a legless beast. Today I’ll end your arrogance.” With those words, he charged at the python, axe raised.

The serpent, enraged by his insolence, let out a shriek as wild as a galloping steed. Its tail lashed out, sweeping towards Zuo Zhi, who was ready—he swung his axe at the oncoming tail.

While Zuo Zhi and the python clashed, let us turn to the five men he had brought. They now encircled Zhou Yi and Baozi. Though they knew no Taoist arts, they were skilled martial artists.

Zhou Yi and Baozi stood back to back. Zhou Yi asked, “Baozi, are you afraid?”

Baozi managed a laugh. “Whoever’s scared is a damn coward.”