Chapter Thirty-Four: A Second Journey to Zhuolu

Zhou Yi smiled, crouched down, and patted Beqiao’s head. “Beqiao’s barking just now brought me back, but what could be down there that actually confused even the two of us, practitioners of the Dao?”

At this moment, Zhou Yi was at the Demon-Subduing stage; his spiritual energy had begun to shift from pale blue to a deeper blue hue. Ordinary illusions could hardly deceive his eyes.

“Should we go down again?” Baozi asked.

“It looks like today will be overcast, and soon there’ll be heavy rain. Let’s go back and rest for a bit, and return tomorrow morning.” Zhou Yi glanced up at the sky. It was dawn, clouds covering the entire expanse above Zhuolu. He calculated the time—it should be just past six in the morning. Neither of them had slept all night, struggling beneath the crevice. Now, utterly exhausted, further exploration could bring unknown dangers.

Baozi frowned. “Tomorrow? Old Master Tuogu Tower said tomorrow the Yin spirits would render the area within a hundred miles deserted. Isn’t that too risky?”

“There’s no time. The child into whom my mother’s soul has been reborn will be born in a month. The sooner I help her restore her memories, the better. We can’t delay. Let’s go.” Zhou Yi said.

He desperately wanted to investigate now, but their physical strength was waning, and rain was imminent. If it poured while they were in the depths, the consequences would be disastrous.

Zhou Yi didn’t return to Tuogu Tower’s home—it was too far, a half-day’s journey just to get there and back. Moreover, he’d always sensed something strange about Tuogu Tower, though he couldn’t pinpoint what felt off.

A man who’d been dead for over two centuries, sitting with you, eating and chatting like any ordinary person—if one could treat that as normal, it would be a miracle. With this realization, Zhou Yi felt at ease.

Back in Zhushan Village, most villagers were recuperating at home, having been swept over by Yin spirits the previous day.

The two, accompanied by Beqiao, arrived at the house of a widowed middle-aged man who lived with his two sons. With no women and two boys, the household brimmed with yang energy, so their recovery was quicker than most.

The previous day, Zhou Yi had called down thunder to drive away the spirits; the man had witnessed it himself. Upon seeing Zhou Yi and Baozi, he thanked them profusely.

After breakfast, the two began gathering ropes, provisions, and supplies. Knowing Zhou Yi and Baozi had saved their lives, the villagers readily complied with every request.

The man, aware they planned to explore Zhuolu, fetched a bundle of homemade gunpowder from his cabinet. “This is gunpowder I made for firecrackers during New Year. Not sure if it’s useful.”

“Gunpowder? What’s that good for?” Baozi scoffed.

Zhou Yi saw the gunpowder and quickly asked, “Brother, do you have more?”

Gunpowder was common during the Republic era; every family made firecrackers for the New Year. The wealthy bought theirs, the poor made their own—an uncomplicated process, easy to refine, so almost every household in Zhushan Village had leftovers.

“There’s plenty. Sitting here, it’s useless—by next New Year, it’ll be too damp to go off. If you need it, I’ll fetch more from other homes.”

Zhou Yi was delighted; gunpowder belonged to the fire element, yang in nature. It was invaluable against Yin spirits and unknown underground creatures.

The man soon returned, accompanied by four young men about Zhou Yi’s age.

“Can you make the firecrackers bigger, with more gunpowder? The more powerful, the better,” Zhou Yi said, eyeing the bucketful.

The man shook his head. “If you pack too much in, it won’t ignite.”

Zhou Yi pondered. “Let’s make them as big as possible, maximize the power. Wait.” He brought some glutinous rice grains. “Mix these in.”

The group set to work at the man’s house. By dusk, they’d crafted over twenty oversized firecrackers, each as thick as a wine bottle, wrapped in cowhide paper. Zhou Yi chuckled inwardly at the sight—these would frighten not only Yin spirits, but could be used on the battlefield.

Baozi, seeing the finished firecrackers, insisted on testing one. Zhou Yi tried to stop him but failed; Baozi’s playful spirit prevailed.

With a dry tobacco roll clamped in his mouth, Baozi grabbed the smallest firecracker and ran outside to the street. Lighting it with the roll, he threw it far away.

A plume of black smoke rose, then silence. Zhou Yi, curious about its power, stared for a long time, but nothing happened. “Baozi, go check it out.”

Baozi nodded, approached cautiously, poked the firecracker with a stick—nothing. He was about to pick it up when suddenly it exploded with a bang, belching acrid black smoke.

Zhou Yi’s heart skipped a beat, fearing Baozi might be hurt, but seeing his face, he burst into laughter.

The explosion had left Baozi’s face blackened by smoke, a glutinous rice grain stuck to his lips. The tobacco roll had burned down to the stub, still clenched in his mouth. Coughing from the smoke, he even spat out a puff of black haze.

The man laughed sheepishly. “Pure accident, honestly.” Without waiting for Baozi’s reaction, he hurried back inside.

The overcast sky threatened rain yet held back. After a night’s rest, the two woke at dawn, refreshed, their spiritual energy at its peak.

The firecracker’s mishap led to Baozi refusing to carry them anymore. Each man shouldered a week’s worth of food, water, ropes, firecrackers, and other supplies, and ventured once more into the depths of Zhuolu.

“Yi, what’s really going on with you and the woman who never became my sister-in-law?” With nothing else to talk about, Baozi sought a topic, yet he chose the very subject that pierced Zhou Yi’s heart.

Zhou Yi’s chest tightened, recalling the last meeting—her tear-stained face. He shook his head, trying to banish her image, but failed. “She’s no longer your sister-in-law. Don’t mention her again.”

“You two fought? Why? I always thought Wu Qian was pretty good—she’s beautiful, knows how to handle people…” Baozi began, but Zhou Yi cut him off with a shout.

“Enough. Don’t bring her up again. If you do, go back to Baishan Village yourself; I’ll search for the eight keys alone.” His tone was harsh, and he regretted it instantly.

He’d never spoken to Baozi this way—their conversations had always been frank and unrestrained. Remorseful, he glanced apologetically at Baozi.

Baozi smiled, unconcerned. “Yi, I’m an only child; we grew up together. No need for sentimentality.”

Zhou Yi smiled, pointed ahead. “We’re here—this is where we descended two nights ago. Shall we go down again?”

“You decide,” Baozi replied.