Chapter 19: The Cave Burial

Li Miao, Yin Minjun, and Yong Jie were the last to leap into the cave. Using the stone walls on either side for support, they slid down eighty zhang before reaching a pool of water below.

Those lacking sufficient lightness skill couldn’t react in time and fell into the water. Even with their true energy shielding them, they couldn’t help but shiver.

“This water! How is it so cold!”

Li Miao struck out midair, his palm landing on Yin Minjun and Yong Jie, lightly propelling them to the shore. He then used the momentum to fly to the edge himself.

Lao Qifeng was already standing on the shore, gazing into the distance, steam rising from his body. The Beggars’ Sect’s “Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms” channeled pure Yang energy, which he used to dry his clothes.

“Hero Li, we’ve gotten ourselves into big trouble,” he said without turning.

After everything that had happened, the group had tacitly acknowledged him and Li Miao as their leaders, so he spoke to Li Miao without regard for others.

Li Miao walked to his side, scanning the scene and unable to suppress a sigh.

“Wow, this is quite the sight.”

They stood at the edge of a stone platform, from which stalactites hung overhead, dripping water that had slowly accumulated into a pool over many years. Beneath this stone platform stretched a vast cavern, dark and seemingly endless.

Within the cave were countless coffins densely arranged.

The Miao people called this “cave burial.”

It referred to the custom where the dead were not buried in soil but placed in coffins carried into caves by strong young men for burial. Judging by the number and style of the coffins, this was likely the ancestral tomb of the Miao’s twelve clans.

Once a cave burial was made, no living person was permitted to enter—not to mention outsiders like themselves.

If the Miao discovered them, they would become mortal enemies with all the Miao people. Then, the threat would not merely be swords and knives, but the strange, sinister, and pervasive arts of witchcraft and poison.

Yet Li Miao smiled softly.

“Chief Lao, if the Miao don’t trouble us, we should trouble them, shouldn’t we?”

Lao Qifeng sighed lightly; as an experienced veteran, he already had some suspicions.

“That’s true.”

“Witchcraft and poison arts are passed down through the Miao generations; outsiders can’t learn them.”

“The news of the Miao king’s tomb, the Bridal Robe Divine Skill, and the mole within who kills and breeds poison… greed blinded us, and we walked into their trap. If we survive, we must repay the favor.”

At this, Lao Qifeng turned to Li Miao.

“Let’s scout ahead first. If coffins can be brought in here, there must be an exit.”

“Agreed,” Li Miao replied.

Once those who had fallen into the pool reached the shore and dried their clothes, the group descended from the stone platform and moved forward along the cavern wall.

Naturally, they passed by those countless coffins.

Having witnessed the dangers of witchcraft and poison, and the “cocoon woman”—a corpse infested with poisonous insects—the group remained wary. They carefully skirted the coffins, fearful that something might suddenly emerge.

Fortunately, these coffins appeared ordinary; halfway through, nothing occurred.

In the vast cave, only the sound of their footsteps and water droplets from stalactites echoed.

Lao Qifeng, walking at the front, faintly heard the sound of flowing water ahead.

Where there’s flowing water, there’s a way out.

Just as their worries began to ease—

Snap.

A light sound.

Lao Qifeng turned sharply and saw Yuan Yu’ang, the lone swordsman who had been surrounded earlier, pale-faced and gripping his sword hilt.

Having just faced death, Yuan Yu’ang knew the path ahead was clear for now, so he allowed himself to set aside his worries temporarily. Yet if anything happened later, the group would surely blame him again.

Distracted and uneasy, as he passed by a coffin, the sheath at his waist brushed against it. The coffin, long decayed within the cave, was fragile. A mere touch made a hole appear instantly.

He reflexively tried to dodge, but Lao Qifeng suddenly raised a hand, signaling him to stop.

Having led the way by jumping into the cave first, Lao Qifeng had earned some authority.

Seeing the gesture, Yuan Yu’ang forced himself to halt, standing still, cold sweat streaming down his face.

At that moment, faint noises came from the broken coffin.

Crack, crack.

The coffin lid was pushed aside, and a black hand stretched out.

“Damn it!”

“Is this still the Great Shuo?”

“Yuan Yu’ang! Damn you!”

The group cursed silently but dared not make a sound. They slowly stepped back, distancing themselves from the coffin.

These martial men were seasoned and unflinching even when blades struck them. But who the hell had ever seen a ghost?

The coffin was rotten; its corpse should have long since turned to dust, yet it could still stretch out a hand!

And there were hundreds of coffins here. If they all sprang up like this, they might as well end it all then and there!

As cold sweat dripped and their hearts pounded, ready to flee at the slightest sign of danger—

Li Miao strode forward boldly.

“Hero Li!” Lao Qifeng called out sharply.

Li Miao waved him off without a word.

He approached the black hand and examined it, then boldly grasped it.

“Holy—!” The others were shocked.

Li Miao didn’t exert force; he simply held the hand lightly, and it immediately broke off, leaving only a palm and half a forearm in his grasp.

The palm continued to slowly grasp and stretch, the wrist even moving.

Some felt nauseous, but Li Miao remained unfazed. After a thorough look, he casually tossed the arm aside.

With a bang, he reached into the coffin, felt around, then suddenly pulled out a desiccated, skin-and-bone corpse struggling in his hands!

“!!!”

Even Lao Qifeng cursed inwardly.

Li Miao paid no mind to their reactions. He carefully examined the seemingly living corpse, then brought his palm down like a blade, slicing open its chest and abdomen.

Whoosh—

From the cavity poured a flood of insects, writhing briefly before going still.

Li Miao crouched, picked up one, studied it for a moment, then dropped it.

He said nothing, twirling his fingers thoughtfully.

“The insects inside this corpse… are they the same kind as the poison soldiers of the Ming Cult?”

“The level of decay on these coffins suggests they’ve been here for a century or so. The Ming Cult’s poison soldiers only appeared about fifteen years ago, after their devastating defeat, right?”

“Ji Tianrui, according to Yin Zelin, is probably still alive… What is his relationship with the Miao’s twelve clans?”

“Ji… such a rare surname. Where did he come from?”

(End of chapter)