As the waiting grew desperate, a signal flare suddenly shot through the clouds, piercing the sky with a sharp whistle—it was the signal from the two scouts deep within the tomb: the poisonous miasma in the valley below had cleared. The bandits cheered as one, rolling up their sleeves, eager to volunteer for the tomb raiding. Chen Xiazi, having led the Xie Ling for several years, deeply understood that this era was not like the days of Song Jiang; mere rhetoric was insufficient to command loyalty. Besides dispensing generosity, one had to lead from the front, share in the hardship, and personally take risks during the raid. Only by demonstrating true, exceptional capabilities before his underlings could he secure his position as the head of the operation.

He immediately selected twenty or thirty nimble hands, personally leading them down with the Centipede Climbing Ladder. The venomous creatures in the deep valley might only fear daylight, or perhaps they had merely retreated somewhere inside the tomb, driven off temporarily by the lime powder. It was still too early for the entire force to descend and clear out the treasures; for now, only an elite squad of daredevils should go down to thoroughly sweep away any lingering hazards. Using rope grappling hooks and the Centipede Climbing Ladder in tandem, these several dozen men scaled the sheer cliff, pushing through the clouds and mist. Crushed stone and dirt, scraped loose by the bamboo ladder, rained down constantly.

The narrow span between the cliffs amplified every sound, so that even a small pebble dropping echoed loudly. The rock faces were slick with moss, crisscrossed with vines; a single misstep, a slip from the ladder, or a poorly secured rung meant a fatal plunge into the chasm. It was a double test of both nerve and stamina, yet these men were desperate outlaws, following their leader, silent and breathless, down toward the valley floor. Passing through several layers of mist, the light grew dimmer, water beaded on the rock face, and a chilling cold permeated the air. The raiding party surmised that the closer they got to the subterranean palace, the heavier the yin energy would become, which, ironically, invigorated them as the great ancient tomb drew near.

In those days, illumination in the mountains primarily relied on burning bamboo slips or pine-resin torches; oil lamps fueled by kerosene were a luxury few could afford. However, besides possessing kerosene lamps and pressure lanterns, the tomb robbers had also acquired mining lamps from Japanese mine owners—their equipment was motley and entirely unstandardized. At that moment, they activated the mining and pressure lamps strapped to their bodies, instantly transforming the damp, dark cliff face into a scene resembling dozens of flickering fireflies, their scattered lights rising and falling erratically. Only Chen Xiazi possessed his double night vision and required no lamp or torch to guide him. He descended first, having already reached the bottom of the deep ravine.

This fissure in Mount Bingshan narrowed the further it went; at its tightest point, two men couldn't turn around side-by-side. Although they were ostensibly at the bottom, the rift cut through the mountain’s core and continued its downward extension. The mountain core exposed within the fissure was a vast cavern. It was incredibly deep and wide; all that could be heard was the howling of a fierce wind, and though the distance was obscured, one could sense an intensely profound, shadowy energy within. Beneath the fissure sat a grand hall with a double-eaved hip-and-gable roof, towering and imposing, covered in fish-scale glazed tiles.

A large hole had collapsed in the roof structure under the mountain cleft, exposing the wooden rafters, which were spattered with the lime powder they had just thrown down. A layer of quicksilver frost hung from the cavern ceiling, suggesting the tomb had once stored a great deal of mercury, which had since evaporated due to the mountain’s splitting, leaving behind only dark, mercurial stains. Chen Xiazi landed softly on a wooden rafter, took firm footing, and immediately let out a sharp whistle, attempting to contact Sai Huohou and Dili Beng, who had gone down earlier. But the great hall roof of the subterranean palace was shrouded in a thick fog, and there was no sign of the other two. At this point, Hua Makwai and the rest of the men followed suit.

Hua Makwai surveyed the surroundings and asked, "Boss, what's the situation?" Chen Xiazi replied, "It's a side hall. The two brothers who scouted ahead are missing. You all must be extremely careful. Search the roof first." Hua Makwai knew the tomb was fraught with danger, so he urgently signaled. The bandits promptly readied their tools, lit their pressure lamps, and leaned over the glazed tiles, feeling around for their missing companions.

The bandits spread out, searching from one collapsed section of the roof to the other, yet they found no trace of a person. Two living men had vanished without a corpse. However, they had only recently fired the signal flare from the valley floor. If something had happened in the time it took the main force to descend, Chen Xiazi, with his keen hearing in this echoing chasm, could not possibly have missed any commotion. He cursed inwardly, realizing Mount Bingshan was a medicinal mountain and could not be taken lightly.

If trouble arose in an ancient tomb here, it would certainly be severe. These thoughts sent a chilling dread through him, making the subterranean palace feel utterly sinister. At the edge of the roof, they could see that the cavern behind the hall was sealed off with stone slabs. Around the hall were cloisters resembling well curbs, and artificial rockeries fashioned from lake stones, like a garden. Depressions held pools of foul, stagnant water mixed with piles of decaying wood.

Stone troughs were rigged along the ceiling, but their purpose was unknown. Seeing that the entrance to the side hall was blocked, the bandits returned to the collapsed area on the roof. Hua Makwai tossed down a phosphorus strip, momentarily illuminating the pitch-black hall to a dazzling brightness. They saw vermillion-lacquered pillars and glittering gold ornamentation—a splendor perhaps unmatched even by imperial palaces. But the phosphorus flare died as quickly as it lit, allowing no time for a proper look.

Chen Xiazi gestured, and two of his men dragged over a bamboo ladder, lowering it through the gap in the rafters beneath the tiles. A few of the bolder ones, holding their German-made twenty-shot revolvers with the hammers cocked wide open, descended the ladder into the hall below. Although they knew the air circulated, the bandits had brought cages of white pigeons as a precaution against the toxic miasma. As soon as they reached the hall floor, the pigeons inside the cages began fluttering frantically, as if terrified by something. The men exchanged nervous glances, their hearts leaping into their throats.

Shining their pressure lamps around the hall, they immediately sensed something was deeply wrong and urgently signaled for their leader to come down and assess the situation. Chen Xiazi gripped his small divine blade and descended the ladder with his men. He saw that those who had gone down first were all deathly pale. It turned out there were no coffins in this side hall. Instead, the floor paved with purple slate squares was covered in weapons—armor, swords, spears, bows, shields, and axes—along with dozens of sets of horse saddles, resembling a storehouse.

These were likely burial items for fallen Yuan Dynasty soldiers and officers. But as Chen Xiazi looked further into the hall, even he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Lying flat on the ground were the clothes and shoes of Sai Huohou and Dili Beng. Their buttons hadn't even been undone. Their pigeon cages lay discarded nearby, the doors firmly shut and showing no signs of damage, yet the birds inside were gone.

Seeing this, Chen Xiazi, Hua Makwai, and the others immediately recalled the legends of Mount Bingshan’s 'corpse-shifting ground,' where bodies allegedly dissolved into yin energy upon entering the mountain. Could such an evil event have actually occurred? A thought flashed through Chen Xiazi's mind, and he hastily ordered his men to light the lamps higher. He nudged the pile of clothing with his foot, then suddenly saw the glint of his small divine blade. Sensing ill omen, he knew something bizarre lurked in the hall.

He quickly surveyed the area and listened intently. Though he detected no sound, his skin erupted in goosebumps, seeming to urge him silently: "Flee! Flee now!" Chen Xiazi had faced countless terrifying incidents. His intuition about danger had been honed through repeated brushes with death, making it at least seventy or eighty percent reliable. He no longer dared linger over the clothes.

He let out a sharp whistle and led his men in a swift retreat. He had been at the center of the hall examining the missing scouts' belongings. As he turned to pull back, he suddenly felt someone grab his shoulder. Though Chen Xiazi was not easily spooked, the suddenness of the act, and the sheer audacity of someone grabbing his shoulder, caused him to flinch violently. When he turned back, his shock was boundless.

It was Hua Makwai, who was right behind him, his face now covered in pus, looking as if his entire body were melting wax. Hua Makwai was terrified and in pain, pus oozing from his mouth and nose, rendering him speechless. He could only clutch Chen Xiazi’s shoulder. In that brief moment, the flesh and blood of the arm he extended completely dissolved. Even Hua Makwai couldn't believe it as he held his hand before his eyes, watching his own arm liquefy into a pool of pus, inch by inch, like a candle melting under heat.

The bandits were paralyzed with horror, frozen in place. In that instant, Hua Makwai’s head melted away. Before the headless torso could even fall, it too dissolved and vanished. An empty set of clothes fell to the ground beside a large puddle of viscous fluid. A living person had "melted" away in the blink of an eye?

No one saw what struck him. Hua Makwai was a trusted lieutenant of the Xie Ling chief, holding considerable status among the bandits. His sudden, horrific death struck a cold dread into Chen Xiazi’s heart. "Did this Makwai encounter the yin energy of the corpse-shifting ground? It's truly wicked..." Even with his quick wits, he struggled to react to this unprecedented, sudden catastrophe.

He could only plan to retreat first and figure out the next step later. Just then, a series of faint rustling sounds—shua shua shua—echoed through the sinister hall, a sound utterly unnatural. Over a hundred brightly patterned centipedes, each four to five inches long, drooled clear fluid from their mandibles as they crawled busily into Hua Makwai’s discarded clothing, greedily sucking at the pus. Immediately following them, numerous centipedes, spiders, and geckos crawled out from the cracks in the ceiling beams and pillars. These venomous insects were all marked with bright red stripes and possessed unparalleled toxicity.

It turned out that after the medicinal furnace of Mount Bingshan fell into disuse, it left behind countless medicinal herbs and minerals. Over time, the medicinal essence seeped into the soil and stone, drawing the convergence of the Five Venoms. When the ancient tomb cracked open, these poisonous creatures took the gloomy dwelling as their nest. They usually consumed each other to spread the poison, enhanced by the residual effects of the medicinal stones, resulting in creatures of unimaginable virulence. A scratch from their venom would cause flesh to instantly rot into pus and blood; nothing—not even bone or marrow—would remain of any flesh-and-blood being.

They often crept into tombs to bite the dead, dissolving corpses into foul liquid to be absorbed. Local people, ignorant of the cause, attributed this rare and strange phenomenon to the 'corpse-shifting ground.' The vermin had just been driven off by the lime powder, hiding deep within the cracks of the hall and the mountain wall. Their sudden attack caught the bandits completely unprepared. Chaos erupted. Bandits began dropping one after another, the poison acting with terrifying speed.

A mere splash was enough to instantly dissolve a body into a puddle of purulent fluid, scattering its remains. Heart-wrenching screams and wails filled the chaotic hall incessantly. In their panic, some pulled their triggers, sending bullets flying through the hall, instantly turning several more men into vengeful ghosts under their comrades' fire. In the blink of an eye, the initial group that descended with the chieftain was nearly wiped out. The mute Kunlun Moller, who stood beside Chen Xiazi, though unable to speak, was quick-witted and shrewd.

Seeing that the subterranean palace was infested with the Five Venoms and could not sustain living men, he immediately yanked his master, Chen Xiazi, toward the corner of the hall. Though massive, his retreat was swift as lightning. If they had tried to climb the bamboo ladder straight out, they would have been devoured by the swarming insects behind them. He gave the Centipede Climbing Ladder a powerful wrench. The bamboo ladder, though sturdy, snapped under the force, and he tore down several rotted wooden rafters overhead.

Bricks, tiles, and lime dust rained down, kicking up clouds of white powder on the floor. Poisonous insects like centipedes fear lime; severe inhalation can cause them to flip over and writhe to death. The scattering lime forced the bugs to disperse, briefly clearing an open space. Chen Xiazi and the others shielded their eyes and mouths, avoiding the flying lime. Seeing the ladder destroyed, they realized their only escape route was through the main hall doors.

However, too many rafters had given way, and a main crossbeam above could no longer be supported. This beam, one of the 'nine longitudinal and eight transverse supports, with one golden ridgepole,' though not the main support, was still massive—the girth of several men. Decayed by years of exposure to wind and rain, it suddenly crashed down with a deafening roar, bringing tiles and wooden debris with it, tilting and sliding off the main structure directly toward the bandits below. If this massive beam fell, it carried the force of thunder. Even if they avoided the direct impact, they would be driven into areas where the lime powder hadn't reached, where they would be surrounded and devoured by the venomous swarm, ensuring no one who entered the hall would leave with their bodies intact.

Kunlun Moller, the mute, who had lived a life of hardship and vagrancy before Chen Xiazi showed him kindness and to whom he had sworn absolute loyalty, was desperate to save his master. He shoved the others aside, locked his stance like a sky-supporting deity, and spread his immense hands, physically catching the falling wooden beam. The sheer inertia made him stagger violently downward; even the mute man’s inherent Kunlun strength felt like a momentary blackout, a metallic taste rising in his throat, nearly forcing him to vomit blood. The pressure of the wind nearly extinguished the pressure lamp hanging from his chest. He held on, willing to be crushed to death, just to carve out a path of escape for his leader, Chen Xiazi.

Chen Xiazi could not bear to watch the loyal man who had followed him for years perish in the subterranean chamber. He wanted to go back and pull him out, but the remaining bandits knew that the mute’s death was secondary; the chief’s life was paramount. If the chieftain died here, the Xie Ling would become a disorganized, leaderless mob. In this desperate moment, they disregarded all hierarchy. Without a word, they threw caution to the wind, grabbed Chen Xiazi, smashed through the hall doors, and dragged him bodily out.

Chen Xiazi's heart was burning, his throat seemingly choked shut. His mouth gaped uselessly, unable to cry out. He watched helplessly as the mute could no longer bear the weight of the beam and was moments from spitting blood and dying. Meanwhile, several vividly patterned centipedes, taking advantage of the settled lime dust, had already crawled up the mute’s legs, meaning he would likely be dissolved into a pool of pus by the potent venom long before the beam crushed him.