Dragon Vein Storyteller

Chapter 30 The Palace of King Cheng

"Uncle Cripple!" the little chick cried, struggling to get out of his arms, but the cripple's grip was too tight, and he couldn't break free. The cripple turned his head, looking at the little chick, his face ashen, his lips cracked, but his eyes still shining. That light in his eyes, I've only seen it twice in all these years I've been with him underground... once was when he held his cane horizontally and cursed at people by the armory, and once was now.

"You little brat," his voice was terribly hoarse, as if it were being ground from deep in his throat, "did...did I scratch you?"

The little chick shook its head, crying, its face streaked with snot and tears. It tried to stop the bleeding by touching its wound with its hands, but to no avail. The lame man looked down at the tear in his clothes, where the blade had ripped open. The broken tooth, tied with a red string, had fallen out—a small, polished milk tooth, the little chick's first tooth to fall out. He had strung it on a red string and worn it around his neck. He untied the red string from the little chick's tooth, placed it in the chick's hand, and cupped the little fist in his own, enveloping it in his own hand.

"When my new teeth grow in... will you give them to me again...?"

He coughed, spitting out a mouthful of blood that splattered onto the chick's shoulder. He lowered his head, resting his chin on the chick's head, the light in his eyes dimming little by little. When he died, his posture remained unchanged... kneeling on the ground, holding the chick tightly in his arms. Those people slashed his back so many times, while the chick only suffered a thin layer of skin on its left hand.

Sanjin squatted down and slowly untied the cripple from the chick... prying apart each finger one by one and placing them on his knees. Then he took the chick out of the cripple's arms. The chick clung to the cripple's neck, crying and trembling all over. Sanjin didn't pull him away, but waited for him to finish crying and let go on his own. Then Sanjin carried the cripple on his back without saying a word, simply picking up the cane with a notch cut by a knife and holding it in his hand, carrying it on his shoulder along with his shovel.

He lifted the lame man up, letting his chin rest in the crook of his shoulder. "Lame man," he said, his voice muffled, "go to sleep. When we get to the ground, I'll find you the best coffin board, made of nanmu wood, with three coats of lacquer."

Just then, I heard a very faint sound behind me… It wasn’t the clash of weapons, nor was there any blood flowing; it was just a foot grinding halfway around on the bluestone slab. I whirled around. Zhao Ming sprang to his feet. He wasn’t dead at all. Liao Yuan’s claw had only injured the back of his neck, not broken his cervical vertebrae. He had been feigning death when he fell, using the exact same trick he had in the main hall… his eyes rolled back, his breathing suppressed to a minimum, waiting until everyone thought he was dead, waiting until everyone’s attention had shifted away from Tai Sui.

His left hand gripped the short knife, the blade stained with blood… his blood, Yuan's blood, the one-eyed giant's blood, and the cripple's blood. His pupils had turned completely silver-gray; the poison from the Tai Sui had seeped into his bloodstream through his throat, yet he could still move. He pointed the blade at my back, took a step forward, and transformed into a black shadow, lunging straight at me. This strike was faster and more ruthless than the one he had used to stab Zhang Linghe in the main hall. He didn't shout, didn't curse, he simply thrust the knife forward, the tip aimed at my heart.

"Junior brother!"

A golden light exploded behind me.

It wasn't a palm strike... it was brighter and more intense than a palm strike. I whirled around and saw Zhang Linghe had somehow stood up, shielding me behind him. His right arm had long since been blasted away by the lightning; the wound was charred and twisted, with broken bone protruding from the charred flesh. He was using his left hand, which was forming a hand seal I'd never seen before... all five fingers were dripping blood simultaneously, the blood from the fingertips forming a continuous line, flowing from the fingertips to the palm, and then from the palm to the cuff, making him look like a wick about to burn out. The highest level of the Five Thunder Orthodox Technique, the "Blood Thunder Technique." It involves exchanging all the blood of one's body for a single bolt of lightning. A forbidden technique passed down through generations of the Celestial Master's Mansion, never truly used before. He had used it.

When the bolt of lightning exploded from his palm, it wasn't golden, it was red. The crimson lightning, wrapped in the Five Thunder Talisman patterns passed down through generations of the Celestial Master's Mansion, struck Zhao Ming's blade tip directly. The short sword was cleaved in two by the lightning, the broken blade flying out and embedding itself in the stone wall. Zhao Ming was blasted away, his back slamming against the stone wall, spitting out a mouthful of blood, before sliding down, motionless.

Zhang Linghe swayed. The lightning bolt on his body began to retract from his fingertips, shrinking into his bones segment by segment. With each inch it shrank, his face paled further. By the time the lightning completely subsided, he could no longer stand. I rushed over and caught him, laying him on the ground. His body was frighteningly light, as if he were nothing but a skeleton wrapped in a thin layer of skin. He looked at me, his lips moving, that smile still lingering on his lips.

"This underground area... has long been altered by our Celestial Master's Mansion..." His voice was as soft as a feather falling on the stone slab.

He coughed, spitting out a mouthful of blood. Then he said, "The token...take it..." His hand fell to his side, his eyes still open, the smile still lingering on his lips, like the only calm thing in this great hall. I gripped his token tightly in my hand, my knuckles cracking.

The moment Zhang Linghe closed his eyes, the Tai Sui on the stone table suddenly exploded. Not just a crack like before, but the entire Tai Sui burst open from the inside, scattering grayish-white viscous fluid and fragments of white flesh, splashing onto the stone walls and the corpse. White smoke billowed from the Tai Sui's remains, thicker and more intense than before, filling the trenches in the ground and seeping into the dragon patterns on the bluestone slabs. Wherever the white smoke reached, the stone walls there began to glow… not the cold white light of the luminous pearl, but the blood-red light from when Zhang Linghe used the Blood Thunder Technique to explode it, the light of the entire underground dragon vein shifting from white, red, dark red, to cyan-gold.

After the white smoke dissipated, I could see clearly.

This was no ordinary stone chamber. It was a palace. The dome was ridiculously high, easily over ten zhang (approximately 33 meters) above the ceiling, radiating a faint bluish-gold light, identical to the light emanating from the jade pendant. Carved on the dome was a flying dragon, head down, tail up, its four claws outstretched, its scales layered upon layered. In its mouth lay a huge, transparent pearl, within which a ball of bluish light slowly swirled. Beneath the dome, directly in front of the palace, stood a massive obsidian plaque, inscribed with three large, dark gold characters… Palace of King Cheng.

Below the plaque is an arched stone gate, three zhang high. The gate's surface is covered with bas-reliefs depicting people—civil officials in robes, military generals in armor, and emperors and empresses in crowns—arranged in two rows from bottom to top. In the center of the gate is a line of large Han dynasty characters: "Enter for the King." Below the gate are three stone platforms in a row; the first is inscribed with "Civil Official," the second with "Military General," and the third with "Emperor and Empress." The edges of the platforms are carved with intricate patterns that blend seamlessly with the blood-stained ground, and the surfaces are as smooth as a mirror.

"A demigod..." Liao the Bald's voice was weak, as if he had seen a ghost. He had somehow walked to the stone wall on the left side of the main hall, tilted his head back, his mouth agape, sweat pouring down his bald head. "Take a look at this..."

I walked over quickly and held up the torch to shine on the stone wall.

The stone wall was covered with inscriptions. Countless names were carved from the base to the top of the wall, arranged neatly. They were all in the same script… Han Dynasty clerical script, square, solemn, and austere, each stroke as if carved with a knife, the brush tips so sharp they could cut your hand.

Jiang Ziya. Zhang Liang. Han Xin. Xiao He. Zhuge Liang. Guan Yu. Zhou Yu. Sima Yi. Li Jing. Wei Zheng. Di Renjie. Zhao Kuangyin. Yue Fei. Wen Tianxiang. Liu Bowen. Xu Da. Qi Jiguang.