Chapter 17: Digging a Thief’s Tunnel

“To dig a bypass tunnel around this reinforced steelstone gate isn’t difficult, but it will take time—and time, unfortunately, is something we don’t have much of,” I said quietly.

Seeing the troubled look on my face, Hong Zhaohai spoke with resolute determination: “Boss Jiang, you just mark the spot. Leave the rest to me!”

I nodded to Hong Zhaohai without another word. From my treasure pouch, I produced the ancestral compass I always carried, balancing it in my palm as I paced back and forth along the stone gate, carefully marking my steps.

From my initial assessment, the space behind this steelstone gate should be a vestibule, and beyond that, the main chamber of the underground palace. The owner’s coffin would typically be placed in the rear hall, behind the main hall.

After a meticulous study, I finally marked a spot in the corner beside the diamond-hard stone gate.

Once I’d set the location, Hong Zhaohai wasted no time. Hoisting his small pickaxe and army shovel, he strode over.

I had to admit, Hong Zhaohai’s skills in tunneling and excavation were not just idle boasting. The pickaxe in his hand moved as if powered by a motor, striking swiftly and surely. In no time, he’d dug a standard, nearly one-meter-wide circular shaft in the ground.

Minute by minute, the tunnel grew deeper. I assembled two sections of my Luoyang shovel and lowered it into the hole. With a single concerted effort, Hong Zhaohai dug down more than two meters.

“That’s deep enough, Zhaohai. No need to go any further down—change direction and dig horizontally,” I advised as I disassembled the Luoyang shovel.

Seeing beads of sweat gathering on Hong Zhaohai’s brow, Wang Yueban called out, “Zhao, take a break, have a smoke, catch your breath. I’ll go down and dig for a bit!”

Standing in the shaft, Hong Zhaohai straightened and looked up at Wang Yueban, retorting with mock irritation, “Yue, after all these years, this is the first time I’ve heard you say something sensible! Well, what are you waiting for? Get down here!”

At this critical moment, Wang Yueban didn’t hesitate. He sprang off the ground and leapt into the tunnel.

“The steelstone gate is about one and a half to two meters thick,” I reminded them. “So, when you dig sideways, there’s no need to go too deep—two or three meters will be plenty.”

With two people working together, progress was clearly swifter. Before long, both Hong Zhaohai and Wang Yueban had vanished into the tunnel.

Xueya spread out a moisture-proof mat beside the tunnel and invited me over to sit and rest.

We sat together in silence. In moments of extreme tension and fatigue, the body simply cannot muster any thoughts of passion or desire—we were no different from ordinary beasts.

I leaned my back against the steelstone gate, letting my tense nerves and muscles relax as much as possible. When the body is at its most relaxed, sleep comes easily. Unwittingly, I drifted off.

I had no idea how long I’d slept when a chill, damp wind began to brush my face. Shivering involuntarily, I jerked awake.

But when I woke, I was shocked to find myself curled atop a cold stone slab, surrounded by utter darkness and a deathly silence.

“Xueya? Xueya?” I called softly into the void.

There was only silence; my calls were met with no response.

“Yueban! Wang Yueban! Yueban…Zhaohai?” No matter whose name I called, there was only the echo of my own voice.

Struggling to my feet, I realized I must have slept too long in the cold, damp air. My mind was foggy and my body felt heavy and unsteady.

Reaching into my waist pouch, I fished out a pocket-sized high-beam flashlight. In its white light, I carefully surveyed my surroundings.

What I saw made me gasp. To my astonishment, I was standing in the great hall of the underground palace.

Suspended in the center of the hall by several bronze chains as thick as my arm, hung a massive bronze coffin.

Beneath it, rows of warrior figurines stood at rigid attention. I swept my flashlight over them, noticing that every detail—the proportions of their bodies, the expressions on their faces—was astonishingly lifelike.

There was no doubt: these warrior statues were the legendary Tomb Guards. The ancients believed that the dead should be treated as the living, enjoying in death what they had in life, complete with honor and ceremony.

The primary duty of these Tomb Guards was to protect their master’s coffin and ensure his safety.

I raised my flashlight again, studying the bronze coffin suspended above.

Its shape was bizarre, utterly unlike any bronze coffin I’d seen before. From a distance, it resembled an enormous silkworm cocoon.

Looking closer, I discovered it was engraved with several writhing, ferocious dragons—so vivid and lifelike, they seemed ready to spring to life at any moment.

In antiquity, where hierarchy was strict, dragons represented the Son of Heaven—the emperor himself. My ancestor once said that if a dragon motif appeared in a tomb, it could only be a royal mausoleum, or at the very least, the tomb of a prince or noble.

Judging by the scale of the underground palace and the motifs on the bronze coffin, this was clearly a royal burial ground.

I moved slowly beneath the bronze coffin, flashlight in hand.

Getting close to this suspended coffin would be no easy feat—it was at least five meters above the ground.

I reached into my treasure pouch and pulled out a grappling hook.

The chains suspending the coffin were thicker than my arm. Breaking them to bring the coffin down was almost impossible. If I wanted to reach it, I’d have to climb up, inch by inch, using the grappling hook.

Like the Diamond Umbrella and the Luoyang shovel, the grappling hook was an essential tool in my kit. It consisted of two parts: a high-quality steel hook, and a rope.

The rope wasn’t ordinary, either—it was typically made of Kevlar, sometimes reinforced with steel wire during its weaving. This made it exceptionally tough and reliable, with a high degree of safety during use.