The Chuàng Nǔ (bed crossbow) was a formidable weapon in ancient warfare, its frame shaped like a wooden bed, equipped with three powerful strings placed at the front, middle, and rear. At the back of the bed, two winches drew the strings taut, granting it immense force, specialized for firing upon those armored enemies concealed behind stockades, shield formations, or earthen walls. The Jin troops, mortal enemies of the Northern Song, held a particular dread for these hard-hitting siege crossbows, calling them the "Divine Nǔ," under which countless soldiers met their end. However, the winding mechanism of the Shénbì Chuàng Nǔ (Divine Arm Bed Crossbow) operated slowly, making it slightly slower than common crossbows. But at this moment, over a dozen Shénbì Chuàng Nǔ hidden along the surrounding ramparts were being individually primed and released; several bolts imbued with divine force whistled down, immediately shattering the barely sustained formation of the Xǐelǐng Bandits.

Chen Xiazi saw one divine bolt shoot directly toward Old Man Luo. Luo Laowai’s face was covered in blood, and he could not clearly discern the situation before him; if struck, he would instantly be pierced through the heart. Old Man Luo was a warlord whom Chen Xiazi had personally elevated, so he could not be allowed to perish there. In desperation, he lashed out with his foot, kicking Old Man Luo so he stumbled on the bamboo tower.

Though this kick saved Old Man Luo’s life at the last possible second, the divine bolt was moving with terrifying speed. The rushing wind grazed past Old Man Luo's shoulder, the tip of the bolt tearing a gash in the flesh, causing skin and blood to fly outward.

Startled and in agony, Old Man Luo tumbled off the bamboo ladder, crashing onto a sapper below. Fortunately, he did not roll directly into the roaring inferno. However, arrows rained down incessantly from the city walls. One arrow struck his left eye, causing him to shriek in pain. Yet, this Old Man Luo truly deserved his reputation as a regional overlord of the Xiang and Yangtze rivers; he instinctively grabbed the shaft of the arrow, yanking it—along with his bloody eyeball—from his face. Covered in blood, he rolled into the pile of dead bodies, and in the ensuing chaos, no one noticed if he was still alive.

By this time, the Xǐelǐng Bandits had descended into complete disarray, everyone scrambling merely for self-preservation, struggling desperately amidst the arrow shower and flames. Those who guarded the front could not protect the rear, and in an instant, dozens were pinned in the fire by the indiscriminate arrows. Those who luckily survived the barrage, though wounded, frantically dragged up corpses to shield themselves from the hail of arrows resembling locusts. Chen Xiazi exerted himself to rally the remnants, retrieving fallen rattan shields and hanging them on the bamboo tower to block the arrows coming from all directions. Just as he managed to stabilize his shattered force, he heard the incessant sounds of mechanisms moving atop the city structure. Wooden puppets were turning the winches; the strings of the Shénbì Chuàng Nǔ were about to be drawn again. One more volley of powerful arrows, and the bamboo tower constructed from the Centipede Hanging Mountain Ladders would surely collapse.

Chen Xiazi raised a rattan shield to guard himself, inwardly cursing. In his past tomb raiding expeditions, relying on superior numbers and mastery of equipment and formations, he had never suffered such setbacks. He never expected that in the ancient tomb of Pingshan, every step would be fraught with difficulty—truly, it was like a fat pig walking willingly into the butcher’s door, having driven himself onto a path of death. Now trapped within the mechanisms of the city, his entire company would perish here in moments. Although Chen Xiazi was the hard-hearted and resolute leader of the Changsheng Mountain faction, facing such a situation chilled him to the bone.

He had originally intended to have the Mute risk his life to climb the ramparts and destroy the arrow mechanisms. But in the recent confusion, the Mute’s leg had also been struck by several arrows. Even though he was eight feet tall with broad shoulders, a Kunlun Mole with extraordinary bone structure capable of scaling walls barehanded, now injured by arrows, even heavenly abilities would be useless.

Seeing that hope was exhausted, Chen Xiazi knew that he, the leader, had to take the risk and launch a desperate, surging strike. If their ancestral spirits blessed the enduring fate of Xǐelǐng, perhaps they could escape. Any further hesitation would mean losing even this slim chance. He immediately grabbed the head section of a Centipede Hanging Mountain Ladder, slapped the Mute’s shoulder. The Kunlun Mole understood instantly, ignoring the excruciating, bone-deep pain in his leg. He crossed his hands, cupped them under Chen Xiazi’s feet, channeled his divine strength, and abruptly thrust Chen Xiazi upward from the bamboo tower into the air. Chen Xiazi, fighting for his life, was propelled by the Mute’s mighty shove, leaping into the void. He stabbed the Centipede Hanging Mountain Ladder he held into the fire below, using the resilience of the bamboo ladder to arc his body through the air, much like the vaulting technique invented by the ancient Romans, aiming for the city wall beneath the enemy tower. In this single leap and arc, the arrows flying through the air peppered his body. Beneath Chen Xiazi’s outer robes, he wore hidden steel mesh armor. He grasped a rattan shield to protect his head and face, allowing the barrage of arrows to strike him, all deflected by the steel mesh armor.

The tomb robbers of the Fāqiū, Mōjīn, Bānshān, and Xǐelǐng lineages, passed down for millennia, were far superior to common street thugs. Within these historic titles, generations had produced masters possessing arcane arts. If Chen Xiazi lacked true skill, how could he lead tens of thousands of Xǐelǐng bandits? This desperate gamble utilized every ounce of his prowess, executing the ancient rogue’s ultimate technique, the "Soaring High Jump." Propelled by the Centipede Hanging Mountain Ladder, he soared over the raging fire engulfing the city, directly toward the wall. However, the bamboo ladder had limited length; he was about to fall into the fierce flames burning at the base of the wall.

Just as Chen Xiazi was about to plunge into the fiery abyss, the Mute on the bamboo tower side hurled another Centipede Hanging Mountain Ladder. The Mute Kunlun Mole, possessing superhuman strength, threw his ladder so it arrived after Chen Xiazi’s initial jump but reached its target before him. The empty bamboo rod whistled through the air as it shot past Chen Xiazi’s head, landing perfectly against the high wall just below him, leaning against the fire.

Chen Xiazi, still airborne, saw the rescue ladder descend before him and muttered, "What luck!" Without the aid of an anomaly like the Kunlun Mole, even if he had crossed the sea of fire using the light-body skills of a master thief, he would have inevitably fallen at the base of the wall and been burned alive. He casually tossed aside his rattan shield and landed on the Centipede Hanging Mountain Ladder amidst the scorching updraft. Yet, the spot where he landed was still dangerously close to the flames burning on the oil-soaked bricks below; his clothes immediately caught fire. He scrambled a few steps up, spun around on the ladder, and ripped off his burning outer robe. When he looked back, his vision swam violently, and his teeth chattered uncontrollably.

It turned out that in order to throw the ladder down to the base of the wall, the Mute Kunlun Mole had been forced to step into the fire, leaving the safety of the bamboo tower where the bandits sheltered. He was now riddled with arrows like a hedgehog, his massive body crashing down into the flames, instantly turning into a ball of fire.

Seeing the Kunlun Mole who had followed him for years die so horribly, Chen Xiazi nearly fell off the ladder. But he was a commander, accustomed to life and death. Knowing that the lives of everyone else depended on him, he hardened his resolve, shook off his despair, and quickly ascended to the highest point of the ladder.

The urn-city walls within the ancient tomb were slightly concave inward, like the walls of a jar, with surfaces exceptionally slippery—deliberately designed to thwart nimble thieves attempting to scale them. The bamboo ladder thrown by the Mute just before his death leaned against the wall, its top reaching only about two-thirds of the way up. No matter how skilled Chen Xiazi was, he could not leap over the top from there.

Fortunately, he had not let go of the ladder he used to vault across the fire. He quickly hooked this Centipede Hanging Mountain Ladder onto the crenellations of the parapet, held the one he was standing on upside down, and sprang onto the city top.

The firelight from below illuminated the city top sporadically. Between the flickering shadows, armored and robed wooden puppets—their bodies pieced together from round logs—made grating, creaking sounds as they stood behind the walls, squinting and firing their mechanical crossbows. While the clockwork mechanisms of the West were not unfamiliar now, in the Qin and Han dynasties, alchemists could already control puppets via mechanisms to perform entire dramatic shows. However, under mechanical control, even the simplest actions must follow a strict rhythm; one misplaced step and the entire system would fail. Though Chen Xiazi was widely learned, seeing these ghostly wooden figures operating up close still made his skin crawl. It seemed the ancient legends about ghost armies guarding tombs were true; anyone unaware of the machinery would naturally mistake the animated wooden figures for spectral guardians in their terror.

The wooden men continued their motions, the arrow barrage ceaseless. Chen Xiazi saw that aside from these countless wooden men and effigies, the ramparts were crowded with dense crossbows and quivers, interspersed with several Chuàng Nǔ whose winches were turning. The quivers stored on the wall seemed inexhaustible; he had no idea how long it would take before they ran dry. Although shadows moved and mechanisms whirred on the battlements, in reality, Chen Xiazi was the only living person present. Being in such an utterly bizarre situation was truly bone-chilling.

Chen Xiazi risked scaling the wall because he was fighting for survival. Though a chill ran down his spine, he forced himself to gather his courage to save his surviving men. Gritting his teeth, he pushed through the ranks of the wide-eyed wooden figures. A sweep of his gaze confirmed his earlier deduction: inside the enemy tower on the wall was a pool of mercury—in the art of mechanisms, the core of the device was habitually called the "well," though it wasn't structured like a real water well. To break this mechanical city, the mercury in the well had to be drained. Once the circulating mercury was disrupted, it would be like a waterwheel losing its water or a windmill losing its wind. Once the mechanism well was broken, all the surrounding crossbows would become useless decorations.

Having assessed the situation and hearing the sounds of flowing water powering the mechanisms, he formed a plan. He stealthily approached the enemy tower, which contained many square openings. The mercury inside was heated by the fire in the city, emitting a pungent vapor. Chen Xiazi, his face covered by a black veil, held his breath. Just as he was about to drive the Centipede Hanging Mountain Ladder into the enemy tower to jam the mechanism, he suddenly felt the ground vanish beneath him, sinking sharply, and his entire body began to fall downward.

It turned out that the walls of the urn-city were hollow. Inside, besides the mercury mechanism being pumped through, the parapet held many flipping panels and trap pits. What appeared to be a solid, level surface would instantly give way if an unknowing foot stepped on a flipping panel, causing the person to drop into a pit. These pits were vicious traps, divided into "dirty" and "clean" types. Clean pits contained no fatal elements, designed purely for capture. Dirty pits were intended to kill, secretly equipped with spikes, nails, or poisoned water; fall in, and there was no hope of survival. The cruelty of these pits lay in the fact that once triggered, almost no one could escape. No matter how exceptional a person's skill, their power came from the ground up; if their footing vanished, falling helplessly into the pit rendered any skill useless.

However, the Xǐelǐng Bandits, who had roamed the world for nearly two millennia, relied on their agility and superior equipment. The Centipede Hanging Mountain Ladder, painstakingly crafted over generations, was not only for climbing but also for countering various tomb mechanisms. The more perilous the situation, the greater its utility. As Chen Xiazi fell into the trap pit, he had already hooked the Hundred-Child Hook of the bamboo ladder onto the enemy tower. His downward momentum immediately halted, leaving him mere inches from the sharp tips of iron spears laid vertically at the bottom of the pit. Had he fallen even slightly further, even protected by steel mesh armor, the force of his descent would have impaled him to death within the pit. He broke out in a cold sweat, his limbs trembling.

Having snatched his life back, Chen Xiazi mentally cried out, "Ancestral spirits be praised!" He used all four limbs to climb the Centipede Hanging Mountain Ladder onto the enemy tower. Seeing no door to enter the tower, he dragged the other bamboo ladder and wedged it inside. A deafening crash immediately followed; the long ladder jammed within the mechanism well. The sound of flowing water inside the enemy tower ceased, and streams of mercury began to pour out from the arrow slits.

Chen Xiazi quickly used the bamboo ladder to vault up to the battlements of the city top. The wooden men on the surrounding walls, having lost their mechanical power, had all stopped moving, standing motionless on the ramparts. The second rank of heavy arrows poised to fire from the bed crossbows remained stuck inside the bow beds because the winches had stopped. A sudden silence fell.

The surviving bandits trapped on the tower, though barely a dozen remained alive, were all wounded and bleeding. They clung to life atop the bamboo tower. Though the arrow fire had ceased, the hidden flames in the city raged fiercely; every nearby coffin and skeleton was being consumed. Only the bamboo tower, constructed from fire-resistant Centipede Hanging Mountain Ladders, still stood tall in the sea of fire. The survivors were tormented by the heat wave rising from beneath their feet, like wild game roasting over a fire; their hair and eyebrows were nearly scorched away, and they felt the air around them on the verge of igniting—they could not hold on for another moment.

Seeing their leader destroy the mechanism well in the enemy tower, the bandits realized this was their chance to escape the inferno. They hastily threw away their rattan shields, preparing to link the bamboo ladders together to form a long, sloping bridge to reach the safety of the ramparts. But suddenly, the cavern housing the urn-city boomed, and muffled thunder rolled overhead. In the shifting firelight, they clearly saw thin streams of fine sand raining down from the sky, as if a sandstorm had broken out within the city.

Everyone, including Chen Xiazi, turned pale with horror. The mechanisms in the tomb were interlinked. Pingshan appeared to be a rocky mountain, but it was actually a mountain of sand slabs; the rock layers contained vast amounts of fine sand sandwiched between them. This urn-city trap held a failsafe mechanism: if the mercury well was destroyed by outside force, it would trigger the collapse of the large masses of sand and stone buried within the rock layers, completely burying this entire mechanical city in quicksand.

The bandits, having just escaped the arrow barrage, now saw the ceiling churning with sand, sending a bone-deep chill through them. What did it mean to be unable to escape even with wings? The surrounding gates and barriers were sealed tight, the cavern entrance blocked by huge stones. With every breath, large volumes of quicksand poured down; even if they had wings, there was nowhere to flee. In that brief moment, the bandits had swung from death back to life, and then from life back to death. Before they could even cry out in despair, dozens of yellow, dragon-like torrents of quicksand began to plummet from the ceiling.