Chapter Sixty-One: The Hall

As Ye Pei and his two companions slid down the steep slope, the two small doors in the upper hall closed once again. The sword energy that had been surging through the burial chamber quickly dissipated as the three disappeared into the darkness.

For most people, judging the passage of time without a timepiece or any fixed reference point is a difficult task. Ye Pei herself had no idea how long she had been sliding down that slope. It was indeed steep at first, but gradually became gentler until, eventually, it was nearly level with the ground.

Accompanied by Chen Mo’s frequent, anxious shouts, Ye Pei suddenly noticed a faint glimmer of light ahead.

“Stop shouting, we’ve arrived,” Ye Pei called to Chen Mo.

But when they reached the massive exit, Ye Pei realized that it was still about thirty feet above the ground. This height was nothing to Ye Pei or Huang Jifeng, but for Chen Mo, it posed quite the challenge.

By now, their descent had slowed. As soon as she emerged from the tunnel, Ye Pei gathered her internal energy and struck the air with her palm, using the recoil to land on the stone wall below the exit. With a few nimble steps she dropped down at a speed greater than free fall, catching the shrieking Chen Mo as he fell.

Once the three had steadied themselves, they turned their attention to their surroundings.

This was another round hall, but this one truly deserved the name “great”: roughly estimated, its length and width were at least a hundred yards each. Along the walls, almost every foot, a glowing pearl cast soft light, illuminating the entire chamber.

High above, on the domed ceiling, was a bas-relief: two enormous swords crossed with a zither. No matter how many years had passed, the killing intent on those twin swords could still be felt.

Below, a crystal-clear river wound in a ring around the chamber. To find such pure running water in a tomb was nothing short of miraculous.

Beyond the river lay a broad circular platform, dozens of yards across—the heart of the hall. At its center, an ancient zither stood faintly visible.

“I have a feeling…” Chen Mo stared at the bas-relief, “that these swords and the zither don’t get along very well.”

Ye Pei said quizzically, “Why do I sense that the swords and the zither are inseparable?”

Chen Mo frowned, “Those swords radiate overwhelming bloodlust—even as a mere relief! Who knows how many lives their master took while alive? But the zither feels pure and ethereal, like a mountain spring, filled with benevolence. How could they possibly be close?”

Ye Pei replied, “I see what you mean, but look closer—the zither seems to support the swords, yet drifts further away. The swords, meanwhile, shield the zither behind them, but seem to hold a faint grudge.”

Chen Mo closed his eyes in concentration for a long moment, then opened them. “I can’t sense what you’re describing, Ye. Perhaps my heart is not cultivated enough.”

At last, Huang Jifeng found his chance to speak. “That can’t be it—I’m no novice, but I can’t sense anything either.”

Noticing the sympathetic looks from Ye Pei and Chen Mo, Huang Jifeng blinked and instinctively raised his head. “What… what is it?”

Chen Mo flicked his fan and grinned, “Boss, you’re best suited for fighting—I’m talking about spiritual cultivation.”

What Chen Mo meant was simple enough. Of the three, Huang Jifeng had faced more life-or-death moments, but he lacked Ye Pei’s breadth of experience. Ye Pei’s keen mind and composure had surpassed even some elders. Though she often appeared to rage and complain in the face of hardship, it was little more than letting off steam; deep down, Ye Pei remained unflappably calm.

“Enough about that,” Ye Pei cut through the awkwardness. “Strategist, what’s our next move?”

Chen Mo looked around and said, “We have no idea what traps this burial chamber holds. And there’s no bridge over this little river—without a way across, we’re stuck on this side…”

At this, Chen Mo suddenly noticed Ye Pei and Huang Jifeng giving him the same pitying look he’d just given to Huang Jifeng.

“What?” he asked.

Ye Pei said nothing. Huang Jifeng laughed, “Mo, you’re the only one stuck here by this river.”

Chen Mo blinked, suddenly realizing that the two-yard-wide river, which seemed an impassable chasm to him, was nothing to the other two.

“Hey!” Chen Mo shouted, “That’s going too far! Are you just going to leave me here alone?”

Ye Pei considered it. “Why not? The puzzles here aren’t beyond my skills yet, and it’s not easy to protect you while solving them.”

Chen Mo was about to protest when the sloped passage above them stirred once more.

Hearing a girl’s startled cry and a boy’s soothing murmur, Ye Pei said, “You must have heard the rumble of the gate as we came down. Whoever’s coming this time has found the right path.”

Ye Pei didn’t dwell on it, though the voice of the boy in the passage sounded oddly familiar to him.

So, the three simply stood and watched the exit above.

Soon, the sliding sound grew louder at the opening—yet this time, things unfolded differently than when Ye Pei’s group arrived.

All at once, with a thunderous clang, a large square box plummeted from the ceiling and halted precisely at the opening. The two newcomers, unable to react in time, tumbled out of the tunnel and fell straight into the box. Then, with seamless precision, the box retracted back into the ceiling.

The three could only stare in speechless silence. Huang Jifeng and Chen Mo were thoroughly exasperated by the tomb’s mechanisms, while Ye Pei felt a twinge of surprise atop his frustration.

“It’s him?” Ye Pei muttered.

Neither Chen Mo nor Huang Jifeng missed this, and Chen Mo asked, “Ye, did you recognize those two?”

Ye Pei replied, after a moment’s thought, “It all happened so fast, and the box was too close to the opening—I didn’t see them clearly. I’m sure I don’t know the girl, but the boy seemed familiar. Still, he shouldn’t be here… Perhaps I was mistaken.”

They didn’t dwell on it. Chen Mo asked, “Can you two think of any way to get me across the river? It seems our only way forward is over there.”

“None,” Ye Pei replied firmly.

Huang Jifeng agreed, “I’m not good at lightfoot skills. Crossing a river this wide is hard enough for me.”

Chen Mo eyed them both. “Wait a minute, Ye—back in Honor City, you carried Zi Qingrong across a gap thirty yards wide with ease.”

Ye Pei shot him a look. “That was downhill—it’s easier that way.”

“Don’t give me that nonsense!” Chen Mo roared. “You flew from this side of the street to the other, and now you say it was downhill? Do you take me for a fool?”

Eventually, Ye Pei lost interest in bantering, grabbed Chen Mo, tucked him under his arm, and leapt nimbly across the river. She made no effort to land gently, squeezing Chen Mo’s midsection until his eyes nearly popped.

“Hey…” Chen Mo groaned, rubbing his stomach. “Why did you carry her so gently back then? And you landed so softly…”

Ye Pei shot him another glare. “You’re a grown man—don’t expect to be treated like a delicate girl.”

It is said that the never-ending rivalry between Ye Pei and Chen Mo began right here, in the Jade Sword Tomb.

Standing at the base of the circular platform, while Chen Mo recovered, Ye Pei took the opportunity to survey the ground. Aside from the riverside where they now stood, the path to the platform consisted of blue bricks, each inscribed with something, while the other side of the river was made of massive, uncarved bluestone.

“There must be a trap here.”

Just as Ye Pei spoke, Huang Jifeng nudged him. “Ye, look at that stone stele.”

Following his gaze, Ye Pei saw a square stone stele not far off, though at this distance it was hard to make out the details.

Not willing to overlook any clue, Ye Pei quietly gathered her energy, focusing her vision until her eyes gleamed with a faint light. She fixed her gaze on the inscription.

The bold, familiar script…

The familiar, mocking tone…

“Yes, you guessed right. There’s a trap here.”

Ye Pei’s deep breathing echoed in the hall.

“If I could go back in time, I’d hunt down this tomb’s owner and skewer him with one thrust.”

With no one else around, Ye Pei, finding her sword cumbersome, handed it to Huang Jifeng. Instead, she drew her demon-iron spear, the cold glint of its tip aimed at the blue bricks.

The inscriptions were simple enough: “Jue,” “Ling,” “Jade,” and “Rain.” The bricks varied in size, and for now, no pattern was apparent. What each word represented, or how they should be arranged, was also a mystery.

“Strategist, come see if you can find the right path,” Ye Pei said.

Chen Mo crouched and studied the ground for a long time before standing up, utterly defeated. “I can’t make anything out of it.”

He felt stifled—since entering the tomb, nothing had made sense. His much-vaunted wit had been useless here.

He had tried to match the pattern with every possibility he could imagine: the lands and mountains of Yandi, the stars in the sky, feng shui and geomancy, but none fit.

Ye Pei too felt frustrated. “This tomb owner… Well, there’s no helping it. You two follow behind me. I’ll use my spear to test each brick as I go. Anywhere I step should be safe.”