Chapter Thirty-Five: An Ancient Locust Tree

Zhou Yi thought for a moment, then took a large homemade firecracker from his backpack. He lit it and tossed it into the crevice. The firecracker exploded almost instantly, barely a second after leaving his hand, with a thunderous bang. Because it detonated before hitting the ground, the force was even greater; several sections of the strange underground vines were blasted off, landing on the ground. As soon as these vines touched the air, they withered rapidly, turning into black threads like strands of hair.

After waiting for the black smoke from the firecracker to dissipate below, Zhou Yi took out an iron stake, drove it into the ground, and secured a rope to it. “I’ll go down first. You keep watch from above. When I call for you from below, then you come down,” Zhou Yi instructed. Seeing Baozi nod, he grabbed hold of the rope and descended.

The acrid scent of gunpowder after the explosion was overpowering, yet it could not mask the faint fragrance that lingered in the air. The scent came from the strange grass, released when it was shattered by the blast. It was subtle, but even the harsh smell of gunpowder could not cover it.

After descending about ten meters, Zhou Yi found a platform below the crevice, just big enough to rest. He let out a silent sigh of relief. The previous day, when he and Baozi had come, they’d also paused on this platform. Not far ahead, another crevice yawned. If they hadn’t seen through the illusion before, they surely would have ended up climbing down into that crevice, with disastrous consequences.

“Come down. Be careful,” Zhou Yi called up to Baozi.

A moment later, Baozi slid down the rope to the platform. “Hey, this weird grass grows fast,” he remarked, catching sight of the plant before Zhou Yi could. Even as he watched, the strange grass was growing at an unnerving rate, already reaching nearly a foot in length. The fresh vines wrapped tightly around the blasted remnants, greedily absorbing nutrients.

“Let’s walk along this platform. The center of the crevice should be just ahead. We’ll check there first—if there’s no tomb, we’ll search further down,” Zhou Yi said.

Tuo Gu Ta had told them that Shuotuo was buried at the heart of Zhuolu, with the Xun Wind and Departure Fire keys entombed with him. But those two keys had gone missing days before.

Though Zhou Yi had his doubts, he was determined not to overlook any valuable clues. To be buried at the very heart of Zhuolu, to have one's spirit tormented day and night by the restless dead—who would choose such a fate for themselves after death?

The two of them made their way along the crevice, the platform narrowing until only one person could pass at a time, with nothing unusual visible ahead.

“Let’s head back up. There’s no way forward,” Zhou Yi said, turning back.

By the time they returned to the surface above the crevice, it was already noon. The sun briefly peeked out before retreating once more behind thick clouds.

During the Qing Dynasty, burial mounds were usually domed, with houses built atop them to shelter the tomb from wind and rain—much like ordinary homes. The size of the dome depended on the rank of the deceased.

Historical records state: “After the death of the Taizong, Shuotuo and Adali conspired to enthrone Prince Rui, Dorgon. The plot failed—they were executed and expelled from the imperial clan.” Meaning that after being sentenced to death, Shuotuo was stripped of his status, and his burial mound should have been no different from that of a commoner.

The two Red Banner contingents were under Dai Shan’s command, so it made sense for Shuotuo to be buried here in Zhuolu. Still, those who buried him were extraordinarily cruel. Zhuolu was a place of great misfortune; to bury someone here was to ensure they found no peace in life or death—a cruelty beyond measure.

Furthermore, burying Shuotuo at the center of Zhuolu, with the Xun Wind and Departure Fire keys as the anchors holding back the restless dead, seemed to imitate the practices of Buddhist masters. But Zhou Yi could never believe that Shuotuo’s virtue matched those of such venerable figures.

Zhuolu was a vast, empty plain. If they were searching for a mere burial mound, where would they even begin? Zhou Yi’s brow furrowed deeply at the thought. His mind was tangled, yet one thread remained clear: find Shuotuo’s tomb, then track down the clues of the stolen Xun Wind and Departure Fire keys.

Following those clues to the two keys was Zhou Yi’s top priority. Zhou Dajiang’s reincarnation was due in less than a month, and it would be nearly impossible to find all eight keys in that time. But he had to hurry; that child would be born carrying two souls, and what might happen next was anyone’s guess.

A wolf’s howl jerked Zhou Yi from his thoughts. Beijio never howled without reason, except for the full moon, when he would bay at the sky. It was afternoon now—such a long howl was anything but normal.

“Why is Beijio trembling all over?” Baozi asked, stroking the animal’s fur.

Zhou Yi crouched and patted Beijio’s head. “What’s wrong, Beijio? Is something ahead?” Of course, Beijio couldn’t understand his words; Zhou Yi spoke mostly to ease his own nerves.

Beijio merely whimpered, as if responding.

All animals have an instinct to seek fortune and avoid disaster—humans too, though when standing at great heights, people’s legs tremble unconsciously from the same instinct. But human senses have dulled, far less acute than those of wild creatures like Beijio.

“Be careful. Let’s go,” Zhou Yi said after calming Beijio. But after a few steps, Beijio bit Zhou Yi’s pant leg from behind, trying to pull him back, clearly unwilling for Zhou Yi to go further.

Zhou Yi glanced back at Beijio. “Go on, go!” he urged. Reluctantly, Beijio let go and followed warily at Zhou Yi’s heels.

In the past, Beijio would have refused to go on. But after their separation in the mountain and months apart, the wolf had grown inseparable from Zhou Yi. Though still afraid, his reliance on Zhou Yi overrode his instincts, and he chose to stay by the man’s side.

“Brother Yi, what’s that?” Baozi pointed ahead.

Zhou Yi looked up. In the distance stood an ancient tree, too far away to make out its kind. Zhuolu was barren, nothing grew here—how could there be a tree? Judging by its form, it was likely a locust or a willow. Willows needed harsher conditions, so it was likely a locust tree.

“Let’s go take a look,” Zhou Yi said, heading straight for the old tree.

It was, indeed, an old locust tree. Its presence in Zhuolu was inexplicable and eerie. Zhou Yi and Baozi approached, but did not investigate immediately. Instead, they opened their “Heavenly Eyes.”

As soon as they did, they were struck with awe. The old locust tree was surrounded by countless spirits. Most were weak, their soul energy faded and nearly insubstantial—without the Heavenly Eyes, they would have been invisible.

“Let’s go. These spirits can’t touch us now,” Zhou Yi said. As practitioners of the Way, both he and Baozi radiated strong yang energy. The weaker spirits would only avoid them, never dare approach.

When they reached the tree, they saw that its roots had been dug up. The break was fresh, still oozing sap as the tree tried to heal itself.

Seeing this, Zhou Yi understood at last. The truth was...

[Author’s note: This novel is officially serialized on 17K. All other sites are pirated. I checked elsewhere today—their views and favorites far surpass 17K’s, which pains me. The official version is free. Please read on 17K—your support is deeply appreciated.]