A chill wind rose up behind, who instantly steeled his focus, gathered his inner energy, and spun around to see the headless zombie suddenly rearing up. Its torso was slick with dripping viscera, splattering black blood everywhere, the trunk where the head had been wrenched off resembling a section of dry wood.

As felt surprise and alarm, a cold wind churned within the purple robe of the corpse, and wisps of yellow smoke began to seep out from its cavity, pus oozing from the body with a gurgling sound. It was known that during the late Song and early Yuan dynasties, tomb robbing was rampant, and with the moral decay of the age, grave robbers, seeking valuable artifacts, showed no regard for desecrating the remains of the tomb occupants—their methods were utterly appalling. For this reason, the Yuan people most dreaded tomb raiding, fearing they would find no peace even after a hundred years. This Yuan general, after his death, not only set up decoy tombs and buried lethal mechanisms as traps but also had his corpse preserved using a secret method from the Western Regions.

Before being placed in the coffin and interred, the body was steeped in a mixture of the Five Poisons and You Rong grass juice. If a grave robber managed to bypass the mechanisms and pry open the outer coffin, it would be fine if the body remained undisturbed; however, if the corpse were to be ripped open, its bowels explored, or its body dismembered, the secret medicine within the zombie’s flesh and skin would immediately leak out, turning the entire body into a toxic source, spreading a dense poisonous fog in all directions.

Within a radius of a hundred feet, all living things—humans, beasts, insects, and vermin—would have their corpses melt into the same intensely poisonous mirage substance, known as “Ling Zhang” (Tomb Haze). Any living person who inhaled too much would die instantly, and upon death, they too would become part of the “Ling Zhang.” This contagion would spread tenfold, then a hundredfold, until no living thing remained within a hundred feet of the haze's perimeter—it was the most vicious defense imaginable. In that era before the advent of gas masks, it was a mysterious anti-theft measure that filled tomb robbers with dread, serving as a profound deterrent to those who destroyed remains.

had long heard of this technique, but because the method originated from the Great Food Kingdom and few people throughout the dynasties had mastered the preparation of the secret “Ling Zhang” medicine, he had never actually encountered it. He knew its poison was lethally potent; death in the capital city meant no cure, and the techniques of the Banshan Jia division held no countermeasure for it—the only recourse was swift retreat and escape.

In a flash of thought, suddenly recalled that when the Banshan Xieling (Mountain Shifting, Tomb Dismantling) practitioners plundered the ancient tomb at Pingshan, they suffered countless casualties. While the Banshan Daoists were not mere outlaws and could manage the fallout, Chen Shazi was the chieftain of the Xieling band. If they opened the coffin and the corpse yielded no significant artifact as proof of their deed, how could the head of the Changsheng Mountain, Chen Zongba Tou, hold his esteemed position among the Green Forest outlaws?

But the inner elixir within the ancient Yuan Dynasty corpse, along with the purple-gold outer coffin and the Seven Star Board, were already destroyed. The zombie was currently transforming into Ling Zhang; where could any artifact be taken from it? As this thought crossed his mind, he noticed a glint of gold in the dim light cast by the horse lantern—it was the golden belt fastened around the waist of the ancient purple-robed corpse. This belt, inlaid with jade and studded with pearls, possessed the bearing of royalty; why not take it?

was both highly skilled and extraordinarily daring. Ignoring the rising Ling Zhang, he moved with lightning speed, tearing the golden belt from the waist of the ancient purple-robed corpse. Hanging from the belt was a small, greenish-black object that looked like jade but was actually bronze, cast in the shape of a disheveled, ferocious ghost. The ghost’s head was eyeless, its two sockets empty, identical to what he had seen in the well. The lines of the bronze ghost were ancient and simple, clearly an artifact from the Three Dynasties or older.

Although had seen countless rare and precious treasures, he could not discern the origin of the bronze ghost. In that brief moment, the Ling Zhang in the ancestral cave had thickened so densely it seemed unresolvable, stinging his eyes until tears flowed. There was no time for further thought. He spun around and leaped to Hong Guniang’s side, using the ancient corpse’s golden belt to lash her securely to his back.

The damaged bones in Hong Guniang’s legs immediately caused her to wake up from her stupor in sharp pain, her forehead covered in cold sweat. pulled the black veil from her neck and covered her mouth and nose, gesturing urgently for her to hold her breath. Masters of opening tombs and caves often practice some form of "Breath Holding Skill," allowing them to endure not breathing for a time. Hong Guniang endured the pain and nodded. did not linger, quickly scooping up the guide, Miaozi, under his arm.

Clutching the guide Miaozi, felt he was skin and bones, his body like dry kindling, so he dared not use much force, fearing he might crush the boy’s breath out of him. Hong Guniang, being a woman, was light. Even carrying and embracing two living people, did not feel strained. He glanced at the surrounding terrain and saw that the countless graves in the ancestral cave burial site were all engulfed by the Ling Zhang.

The Ling Zhang, like a rapidly spreading plague, was dissolving the bones and remains of the cave dwellers into poisonous mirage; patches of intensely toxic fog writhed and surged, growing denser and thicker, leaving no space for the living.

dared not delay. Holding his breath, he employed his leaping and scaling technique, climbing rock faces and clinging to walls to escape upward. As he fled, he thought that even if he managed to escape the cave entrance and avoid disaster there, the forest outside was teeming with life, beasts and insects, all doomed to be wiped out by the Ling Zhang—an unprecedented, vast catastrophe.

Anxious, he leaped and bounded a few times, returning to the burial chamber within the giant Pingshan rock. The chamber shuddered as the weight of three people landed upon it. A sudden inspiration struck . He planted his foot on a central pillar, used a Qian Jin Zhui (Thousand Catty Drop) to stomp down heavily, then immediately used that momentum to catch a crevice in the ceiling, pulling his body up.

A loud crack echoed from the chamber; the pillar snapped, the beams collapsed, and shattered stones and tiles thundered down. Dust and smoke obscured everything, completely sealing the pit below. The Ling Zhang in the ancestral cave was trapped within and could spread no further.

, carrying Hong Guniang on his back and holding Miaozi, climbed back to the surface, passing through earth and rock. The moon was setting now, the east on the verge of brightening, and the surroundings were eerily quiet.

let out a long breath. The air in the forest was damp and exceptionally fresh. Recalling the entire ordeal, it truly felt like living two lifetimes. At that moment, he saw the bobbing of torches in the woods. When they drew near, they exchanged signals in the darkness. It turned out to be Chen Shazi leading dozens of his men to meet them.

Chen Shazi and his group hurried over, rushing the severely wounded Hong Guniang and Miaozi away for treatment. Seeing that most of Chen Shazi’s men were covered in blood, as if they had just gone through a fierce battle, quickly asked what had happened.

Each side recounted their experience. It turned out Chen Shazi had intended to gather the remnants of his forces, stabilize the situation, and then come to support . However, after the mountain collapsed, the large contingent in the shady side of the mountain was either killed or wounded, and the army’s morale collapsed. The tomb-raiding units of those warlords were mostly composed of opium addicts, gamblers, and seasoned veterans. Those who miraculously survived, witnessing the scene before them, believed the Mountain God was enraged.

Some old soldiers claimed it was the wrath of Heaven; even Marshal Luo had been smashed into a pulp, so what could they possibly do? Instantly, they scattered like startled birds. Before fleeing, they looted all the treasures taken from the Dan Palace. Although the supervising team was ruthless and cruel, the rout was overwhelming. They shot dozens, but when they saw they could no longer stop the deserters, they too fled in a great rush.

What remained was the Xieling mob led by Chen Shazi, numbering over two hundred men. Chen Shazi first ordered several trusted confidants to rush back to their stronghold in Xiangyin overnight to make arrangements, then began cleaning up the mess with his remaining men, pulling his injured brothers out of the piles of dead bodies. Those in the band knowledgeable in acupuncture and medicine were tasked with treating them, while the dead were properly interred. Just as they were extremely busy, a black python suddenly slithered out of the rift in the mountain.

The python was as thick as a mouth of a jar, its scales bristling fiercely, seen only head and not tail. It had originally been coiled in a hidden cave, and the collapse of Pingshan had startled it out. It immediately swallowed two men with a single gulp...

The outlaws immediately shouted and screamed, brandishing torches to drive it away, forcing the monstrous serpent back into the depths of the mountain fissure. Chen Shazi, with his sharp eyes, saw a black cloud, resembling an aura of treasure eclipsing the sky, emanating from the fissure where the python hid, confirming that there were rare treasures within that cave. The wealth from the Dan Palace had been looted by the unruly soldiers, leaving little behind. Chen Shazi was already distressed that the Pingshan raid had yielded nothing, feeling he had lost his troops and gained nothing, when he stumbled upon something hidden in the python’s lair. His heart moved with the desire to seize it. However, the cave was winding and tortuous, filled with gusts of foul, putrid wind. Although the outlaws had fast guns, rushing in blindly to hunt the python for treasure would surely result in being swallowed. Using explosives, they feared they might trigger another landslide.

Fortunately, this Xieling mob was skilled in mechanics, and many among them were expert snake and python hunters. The chieftain immediately issued an order, sending out twenty stout men to dismantle the Wugong Guashan Ti (Centipede Climbing Mountain Ladder), sharpening the components into bamboo spikes of varying sizes, forming a “Bao Long Zhen” (Dragon Stripping Array).

They worked until the moon was high in the sky, preparing over a thousand sharp bamboo spikes. They began setting them at the cave entrance: extremely fine spikes, thin as steel needles, embedded in the earth with only a hair's breadth exposed. Every other step, they placed another, laying them all the way along the python’s path. The blades of the spikes gradually grew longer and wider, until the final spikes were like bamboo knives, all coated with a paralytic agent.

Those familiar with python behavior knew that a great serpent could travel through mountains and valleys unimpeded; its monstrous body could twist and uproot century-old trees. Ordinary firearms could not kill it instantly; given any opening, it would lash out before dying, and anyone in its path would perish instantly. However, its weakness was its attachment to its lair; it always used the same route for entering and exiting—a habit ingrained in its nature.

The Xieling outlaws finished setting up the bamboo-knife Dragon Stripping Array, then lit bundles of Bamao Hua (a type of grass) and tossed the thick plumes of smoke into the python’s lair. The monstrous python, too large to tolerate smoke and heat, saw the black air in the cave vanish immediately upon the ignition of the fire. In less than the time it takes to brew a small pot of tea, the black python was forced out of its den. Its head was the size of a water bucket, patterned with five colors—truly a rare and exceptional giant among pythons. The outlaws shouted and immediately scattered far apart.

As the black python emerged from the cave entrance, the skin beneath its belly was immediately scraped by the short bamboo spikes buried there. But its hide was thick and tough, and it seemed unaware, continuing to writhe out. The spikes beneath its body became progressively sharper and wider, but by this time, the paralyzing agent on the spikes had taken effect, and it still did not sense anything amiss.

The outlaws watched clearly from a distance. The further the python advanced, the heavier and slower its body became, dragging a long trail of blood behind it. Moreover, snakes retreat only with great difficulty, and by the time it realized the danger, it was too late; it could only writhe forward into the even longer and sharper thicket of bamboo knives. In less than five hundred paces, it was completely ripped open from belly to gut, scales and flesh shattered, blood erupting like a spring, and it died on the spot.

The Xieling outlaws shouted in unison and swarmed in from all directions, hacking it with myriad blades, stripping its skin, peeling its scales, smashing its skull, and removing its eyes and brain marrow—all valuable medicines. Chen Shazi’s somber expression finally eased somewhat. Having felled the dragon-like giant python without firing a single shot, he had somewhat recovered his prestige.

Subsequently, Chen Shazi led dozens of followers, carrying lamps and torches, into the python’s lair. What they saw was a ground covered in the skeletons of humans and animals. Upon closer inspection, they realized most of the human bones belonged to monkeys of various sizes from the mountains. A thick layer of python secretion, foul and brain-numbing, covered the remains. The lower layers consisted mostly of whole boxes of Daoist classics; it turned out to be a hidden scripture cave, containing few gold or jade treasures.

Chen Shazi was immensely disappointed after working half the night with his men only to uncover a scripture repository. One Xieling leader pried open a box; it was filled with small bronze ritual vessels. Next to it was a small sandalwood box, its lid inlaid with gold thread forming the image of a ferocious, four-legged, two-headed serpent. Opening it, they found a small bronze figurine inside. The figurine was an icy, deep green that penetrated to the bone, its facial features and form intensely solemn. Furthermore, its eyes were missing, leaving only empty sockets; it was clearly not an object of recent times.

Such a secret cache must contain an artifact of no small importance. The leader dared not be careless and presented it to the chieftain. The outlaws crowded around to look, all marveling. They had never seen anything like it before; even the Xieling chieftain, Chen Shazi, could not discern its age or origin, his mind blank. This bronze figure seemed like both an amulet and an ornament, utterly strange, surely holding some profound meaning.