Chapter 65: The Spirit Boat

“Stay away from me.”

Ye Pei gripped his long spear, standing on the first step of the staircase. He took a deep breath and stepped up to the second step. The moment the sole of Ye Pei’s shoe touched the second step, a sharp cracking sound rang out beneath his foot. Instinctively, he pulled his foot back, lifting his spear defensively and watching the surroundings, but—nothing happened.

“Ye, look at the step,” Chen Mo said.

Ye Pei glanced down and saw that the second step had sunk, now level with the first, triggered by his step and accompanied by that crisp sound. Slowly, the step rose again.

And as it did, the tiles behind them began to shift as well. Excluding the tile marked “Rain,” which triggered the arrow trap, the remaining three—marked “Jue,” “Ling,” and “Jade”—began to cycle in an endless loop of activation and deactivation...

For a moment, the harsh notes of a zither mingled with the clatter of shifting tiles and the rhythmic “thud thud thud thud” of rising spikes, as if some bizarre performance was underway.

“Uh...” The commotion startled the three of them, but upon turning back, they realized it was only the mechanisms being repeatedly triggered—annoying, but ultimately harmless.

“Why isn’t the ‘Rain’ tile doing anything?” Huang Jifeng asked.

Ye Pei clicked his tongue. “I doubt he has that many arrows in reserve.”

“True enough.”

“But,” Chen Mo interrupted, “don’t you want to figure out what’s going on here and break through this trap so we can move forward?”

Ye Pei spun his spear. “To be honest, I’m thoroughly done trying to guess what the tomb master was thinking.”

“Perhaps, but still...” Chen Mo replied.

Ye Pei said, “Watch closely as I climb. Try to draw some useful conclusions.”

With that, Ye Pei tucked his spear at his waist and started up again. When the second step sank to meet the first, Ye Pei continued upward, and it did not rise; the third step dropped to the same lowest level as the previous two. By the time he reached the fifth step, Ye Pei—stubborn as ever—was stretching into a full split just to reach the next.

When he came back down, Ye Pei reported, “There are two possibilities for how these steps sink. Either they drop to the same height as the first step, or to the same height as the previous one. And...” As he watched the steps slowly rise again, he continued, “It seems that as long as someone is on the steps, they won’t rise back up. I’ll try using my lightness skill.”

He gathered his strength and leapt upward, using his exceptional technique to glide lightly over the steps. His plan was to step so gently on the stairs that he might make it to the top. But even though he barely touched each step, they still sank the instant he made contact. Unable to gain much force from them, his next leap fell short, and with no more strength, he tried to hop back down to the first step.

This time, though, the step did not move at all, and Ye Pei was suddenly propelled upward five or six zhang. After two more jumps, he was forced to land back on the first step.

“Mo, did you figure anything out?” he asked after landing.

Chen Mo, fanning his chin with his good hand, mused, “I think I have a theory. If I’m right, those tiles should keep making noise. Ye, I’ll have to trouble you to try once more.”

Without complaint, Ye Pei agreed. After a short rest, he gathered his energy and leapt up again.

This time, one of the tiles did not sink, though Ye Pei was sure he’d stepped on it before and it had dropped then.

“Ye,” Chen Mo said, looking confident, “I’m certain this is it!”

“The sinking of the steps is connected to the activity of the tiles over there. The tiles make only three kinds of sound, each accompanied by the zither: first the blade, then the spikes; or first the spikes, then the blade; or both at once. From what I’ve seen, if the spikes are triggered before the blade, the steps won’t sink for about twenty seconds between each reset.”

Ye Pei’s face lit up, and he clapped Chen Mo on the shoulder. “Excellent!”

Chen Mo grimaced from the slap, then continued, “But that means anyone climbing must be able to stay airborne for twenty seconds. Only you, Ye, have a chance at that—neither I nor the boss could manage it.”

Ye Pei thought for a moment. “All right. I’ll go up and see if there’s a way to disable the mechanism from above.”

After another brief rest, Ye Pei prepared to tackle the stairs under Chen Mo’s direction.

“Go!” Chen Mo called. Ye Pei immediately stepped onto the second step and raced upward. Soon, Chen Mo’s next command came: “Leap!”

At the signal, Ye Pei held his breath, pushed off, and hovered as long as he could—nearly twenty seconds—before Chen Mo shouted, “Land!”

He fell, running onward.

Repeating this eight times, Ye Pei finally reached the top of the platform.

The summit was sparsely furnished: aside from a small table near the entry point, there was only a large desk at the center, upon which rested an ancient zither, leaving the space feeling vast and empty.

Ye Pei approached the small table and saw, once more, bold, powerful script.

“Ah, how troublesome. Well then, press the button beside you and let your less agile friends join you.”

Ye Pei couldn’t even muster the energy to complain; he simply chuckled and pressed the raised round button atop the table.

With the mechanism deactivated, the shifting of the tiles below abruptly ceased, and the noisy chamber fell into a profound silence that made Chen Mo shudder.

“All right, come on up,” Ye Pei called down.

While Huang Jifeng and Chen Mo ascended, Ye Pei moved to examine the zither.

Though it was impossible to tell how long the instrument had lain here, its craftsmanship and grandeur remained evident. Strangely, neither the zither nor the desk beneath it had accumulated any dust, appearing as pristine as if newly crafted.

On the desk, before the zither, more bold script was carved:

“The zither is named Spirit Vessel. Its master was Ling, known as the world’s greatest zitherist.”

Chen Mo joined Ye Pei and, after reading the inscription, said, “The world’s greatest zitherist? Ling? I’ve never heard of him...”

“Should we...” Huang Jifeng, who had been quiet this whole time, finally spoke, “take the zither with us?”

“Of course we should,” Chen Mo replied. “Otherwise, why go through all this trouble? I’m already badly injured.”

Huang Jifeng nodded and looked at Ye Pei. “Young Master Ye, are you versed in music?”

Ye Pei laughed, “Of the four arts, music and painting are my weakest. Chen Mo should take the zither.”

Chen Mo waved his hand. “It’s a fine instrument, but my master passed one down to me already. Give it to Zi Qingrong instead—she’s a true prodigy.”

“Hmm.” Ye Pei thought for a moment, then agreed. “Then I won’t stand on ceremony.”

As Ye Pei moved the zither, he noticed more writing carved beneath it.

“Press the switch behind the table and you may come meet me.”

“Huh?” Ye Pei stared, puzzled. “Could it be that the real tomb chamber lies ahead?”

It was a reasonable assumption—really, what else could one think? Surely the person who carved these words couldn’t still be alive.

By now, Chen Mo had moved behind the desk. “Ye, there’s definitely a mechanism here.”

Ye Pei, packaging the zither, said, “Let me finish packing it, then you can press the swi—”

Before he finished, a thunderous crash came from above. The ceiling of the tomb chamber split open and a blood-soaked figure tumbled down onto the platform. Twisting in midair, the figure landed squarely in front of them.

Ye Pei took a closer look. The newcomer’s long hair hung loose and his face was smeared with blood, making him unrecognizable. However, his clothes showed no wounds—meaning that, despite being covered in blood, very little of it was likely his own. Of course, it was possible he had internal injuries and had coughed up blood.

Ye Pei didn’t recognize him, but the stranger recognized Ye Pei.

Having regained his footing, the man glared at the trio. Upon seeing Ye Pei, his fury exploded. “Ye Pei!” he roared.

Ye Pei raised an eyebrow and glanced around. “Have we... met?”

At that, the man wiped his face, brushed back his hair, and bellowed, “Look again!”

Ye Pei scrutinized him. There was a faint sense of familiarity, but he still couldn’t remember who it was.

The man, seeing Ye Pei’s confusion, snapped, “You’re really forgetful, aren’t you? I don’t even need a portrait—your face haunts my dreams! Prepare to die!”

With no further warning, he struck.

Ye Pei frowned, set down the zither, summoned his energy, and met the blow head-on.

With a muffled bang, both men staggered back several steps—neither gaining the upper hand.

Yet Ye Pei was deeply surprised. The attack contained no trace of inner force, while he himself had instinctively used his. Only by doing so had he fought to a draw—which meant that the stranger’s physical technique alone could match Ye Pei’s internal power.

Just then, Ye Pei recalled what Ni Manxiu had told him: “Some people, though they never cultivate inner strength, can still defeat you by sheer physical skill!”

“You... still don’t know who I am?!” the man roared.

Ye Pei studied his face, thought for a few seconds, then patted the dust from his clothes and smiled. “Truth be told, I barely knew your brother. I only saw his portrait and caught a glimpse of him once from afar. He didn’t die by my hand.”

“Still trying to deny it at this point?!”

Ye Pei sneered, “He may not have died by my hand, but he fell to my brother’s arrows all the same...”

“Feng Tanyang, if you seek vengeance, come and get it.”