Chapter Fifty-Five: A Twist of Fate

Although Zhang He had a sharp eye for things, he was not immune to misjudgment. At this moment, players from all directions surged forward, rushing toward the central divine platform like a tidal wave. No one was willing to simply let the blueprints for the Deer-Slaying Blade fall into the hands of the Phantom Palace.

When Mad Eater of the World looked up, his expression changed as well. No matter how formidable his martial arts skills might be, there was no way he could withstand the onslaught of a hundred players. What’s more, the treasure chest couldn’t yet be stowed in his private inventory—it required all the blueprints and a top-tier swordsmith with enough renown to open it.

The Phantom Palace had originally been interfering with teams on all sides, but now the chest was like a juicy piece of meat, drawing in ravenous wolves from every direction. Even if ownership wasn’t secured, killing Mad Eater could still make the chest drop as loot.

Even Zhang He hadn’t predicted things would play out like this. After all, he was only here as a spectator, to watch the chaos unfold.

In an instant, the crowd closed in. Gritting his teeth, Mad Eater fastened the chest to his belt and leapt from the divine platform. It was a beautiful move, executed with the “Soaring Over Grass” lightness skill, his footholds being the sequence of shoulders among the surging players.

Even Zhang He had to admit, the man’s adaptability was first-rate.

But as the old saying goes, “A good dog can’t withstand a pack of mongrels.” The older the proverb, the more truth it holds. Mad Eater had barely covered twenty meters atop the throng when two axes, three broadswords, and countless hidden weapons surrounded him from all sides. The Phantom Palace had its experts, but the other teams had more than enough backstabbers.

Mad Eater managed to deflect many projectiles, but many more found their mark than those he turned aside.

“Damn it!” he cursed inwardly, forcing his energy to circulate, snatched the chest from his belt, and with a kick sent it flying through the air before crashing to the ground—where, as could be expected, he was trampled flat by the stampede.

Now the chest was like a bundle of dynamite: whoever held it became the target of a hundred players—a literal invitation to disaster.

Mad Eater’s final act was to direct this disaster onto Ermei. She had hoped he would get the chest to the northern gate, but instead, it was sent back her way.

His reasoning was clear: realizing he couldn’t keep it, he threw the chest back to Ermei in hopes she could break through, since she was the closest Phantom Palace member.

But as the mob pressed in from all sides, “break through” wasn’t even a thought in Ermei’s mind. Her eyes swept the room and she quickly devised a plan. The encirclement was tightening fast, but on the outskirts, Zhang He and the others stood comfortably, safe as could be.

Ermei imitated Mad Eater’s tactic, mustering all her inner strength to hurl the chest outward. The crowd’s focus shifted once again.

Zhong Shuman’s eyes went wide. After all the chaos and exhaustion of more than a hundred players fighting the boss, the prize had inexplicably landed in Zhang He’s hands. She could only sigh, “Should I say you’re lucky, or is this your misfortune?”

Zhang He tied the chest to his belt and muttered, “I told you we were in trouble. Now do you believe me?”

With that, he darted like a wild dog into the eastern gate. In an instant, the horde in the main tomb chamber flooded after him, while on the divine platform, Ermei lay fallen, riddled with at least twenty or thirty hidden weapons—she had finally paid her dues.

With Zhang He gone, the crowd in the main chamber paid no more attention to Zhong Shuman and her companions, their eyes bloodshot with the lust for the chest.

Ma Junmei and Hua Feihong stood in a daze in the now-empty chamber, staring at each other in disbelief at what had just happened.

“Should we go too?” Ma Junmei suggested. She wasn’t worried about Zhang He’s safety; she was simply eager to see the Deer-Slaying Blade blueprints.

Hua Feihong, however, was truly concerned for Zhang He. Now was not the time for him to die to a random blade—if he was killed and sent back to the city, all the factions would be after him and the quest for the Sword of Night’s Glimmer would be even further out of reach.

The tomb chamber beyond the eastern gate was much like the previous ones, except now hundreds of chaotic footprints marked the players’ pursuit.

Ma Junmei hesitated as she looked at the sixteen doors in four directions. “Which door do you think he slipped through?”

Hua Feihong pondered, “I think it must be one of these four behind us. One leads back to the main chamber, and at least one of the other three must be Zhang He’s escape route—it’s closest and would make it easier to shake off pursuers.”

Ma Junmei nodded, impressed. “Makes sense, coming from you.”

Zhong Shuman couldn’t help but sneer. “Some reasoning that is.”

Hua Feihong’s face darkened. “Then what do you think? Which way did he go?”

Zhong Shuman replied coolly, “You want my opinion? Alright—he didn’t run at all. I’ll bet you ten taels of gold he’s hiding in this very chamber.”

Hua Feihong and Ma Junmei spoke in unison, “Why?”

Zhong Shuman sniffed. “He’s a first-stage novice—how much stamina can he possibly have? How long can his inner energy last? Even if his lightness skills are decent, he’d be done for if he ran into anyone with even moderate mastery.”

Ma Junmei nodded. “That’s true.”

“There are over a hundred of these Qimen players, and they know this terrain far better than we do. They have the home advantage, and who can say there aren’t experts among them? If he keeps running, even if he isn’t caught, he’ll be exhausted. If he gets into trouble then, he’ll still be sent back to the city. Instead of running himself ragged, it’s better to risk hiding here and wait for the bulk of the pursuers to leave. That way he might survive—he never does anything without gain.” Zhong Shuman, knowing Zhang He far better than the others, continued, “If I were him, it’d be a gamble either way. I’d take the risk and hide.”

Ma Junmei couldn’t help but ask, “But with so many people passing through, how could he not be found? That’s unrealistic.”

Hua Feihong glanced at the coffins around them. “If he hid inside a coffin and held his breath for a short time, unless someone here has reached the Dreamlike Realm in inner energy, they wouldn’t be able to sense him right away.”

Zhong Shuman nodded. “I doubt he can hold his breath for an hour or two.”

As she finished speaking, the lid of a coffin in the southwest corner lifted, and Zhang He emerged, laughing. “My parents gave me life, but it’s Sister Zhong who truly understands me. Hahaha…”

“Go ahead and laugh,” Zhong Shuman said coldly, “but you’ve earned it—you actually made it through.”

Ma Junmei was now thoroughly impressed by Zhang He—genuinely amazed. Calm in a crisis, quick to adapt—remember, Zhang He was just a wild first-stage player. If he kept this up, he’d be a natural in the world of wandering heroes and tricksters—a youth with limitless potential.

Zhong Shuman eyed the chest at Zhang He’s waist. “So what now? You’re not planning the same move as last time, are you?”

Zhang He shook his head. Of course, he wouldn’t repeat his previous mistake. Last time, on the slope near Huima Town, he and Zhong Shuman had both learned the hard way: when you’re holding a hot potato, you have to handle it yourself—relying on outside help is pointless.

“We’re going back,” Zhang He suddenly announced.

Ma Junmei was bewildered. “Back where? Chuanzhou or Mount Shu?”

Zhang He looked at the eastern gate and replied, “Back to the main chamber.”

Ma Junmei was impressed again—not by his cleverness, but by his courage. Right now, the main tomb was probably the safest place in the entire Iron Duke’s Mausoleum, but, from another perspective, it could soon become the most dangerous—once surrounded, escape would be impossible.

But Zhang He strolled back to the main chamber as if he owned the place, and the other three had no choice but to follow nervously behind.

The main chamber was now eerily empty—not a trace of anyone remained, not even the bodies of Ermei and Mad Eater.

“You don’t seem worried at all,” Zhong Shuman remarked.

“I’m not,” Zhang He replied.

“Don’t you realize the pursuers might come back here at any moment?”

“It’s not just possible—it’s certain.”

Ma Junmei grew anxious. “Then why are you sitting here waiting for death?”

Zhang He glanced at her. “Who says I’m waiting to die?”

Hua Feihong considered. “Do you have a plan?”

Zhang He had no plan—he had simply figured out the situation. Ermei had asked the four of them to help with her act, not because she didn’t trust him, but to make the performance more convincing. Then things changed, and she threw him the chest. Although he wasn’t a member of the Phantom Palace, she had still shown trust in him—trust born from their shared battle at the Tang Family Fortress.

In the world of martial heroes, trust isn’t always about familiarity. It’s about one’s actions.

Zhang He’s deeds at the Tang Family Fortress had earned him respect. So, before long, a snow-white carrier pigeon flew into the chamber. Zhang He caught it, took the note from its leg, and couldn’t help but smile.

Ma Junmei watched him in surprise. “You can still laugh at a time like this?”

Zhang He couldn’t help saying, “Don’t worry—you’ll be laughing soon enough.”