Upon Diao Shu’s instruction, everyone let out a unified yell, grabbed their ice axes, and began to slowly rappel down the cliff face. The more critical equipment was sent down first using rope-and-pulley systems.

After everyone had secured their gear, strapping on their full harnesses, the scholarly pair, Wang Zhicai and Lin Simiao, proved inept at handling the equipment. Fan Debiao offered to carry Lin Simiao, but she refused. In the end, Wang Feifei shouldered Lin Simiao’s load, while Fan Debiao carried Wang Zhicai—a situation that left Fan Debiao sulking dramatically for quite some time.

The descent was unexpectedly smooth, and after battling so many hazards just before, the ease of this success left them feeling strangely unsettled.

Once at the bottom, the Golden Ancient City finally came into clear view. From above, they had only caught a fleeting glimpse; now, they stood directly before the city walls.

What greeted them was a structure of timber framing overlaid with packed earth. Their current position was the retaining slope of the ancient city, constructed from a mixture of Huyang trees, reeds, and silt.

Everyone unclipped their climbing gear, retrieved their respective portions from the pile of slack equipment, and began making their way toward the city.

Entering the walls, Liu Dashao’s immediate impression was one of chaos. The city floor was littered with countless animal bones, predominantly those of sheep and camels, followed by horses, cattle, donkeys, and dogs. There were also scant remains of pigs, rabbits, fish, and birds, interspersed with scattered pieces of ceramic household goods. It was clear the city’s inhabitants had fled in desperate haste when it fell.

As soon as they entered the Golden Ancient City, the group immediately set about organizing for the night. The scene became one of bustling activity; an outsider might have mistaken them for vacationers.

Their objective differed from Diao Shu and his crew’s; they were here to explore. Therefore, they did what was necessary, and the group began collecting data everywhere. Wang Zhicai was beside himself with excitement; finally in the long-desired Golden Ancient City, he couldn't bear to part with anything he found.

While they were crouched together examining a ceramic bowl on the ground, Wang Feifei pulled Fan Debiao aside. It seemed this was the moment to utilize his expertise as a Feng Shui consultant; Wang Feifei wanted him to locate the tomb of the Golden Queen.

Fan Debiao was naturally keen to find the Golden Queen’s tomb, but admitting he could find it alone seemed an overwhelming task. He muttered away to Wang Feifei for a long time, causing her brow to furrow deeply. It appeared Fan Debiao was spinning a yarn.

Liu Dashao couldn’t allow Fan Debiao to mislead her and quickly intervened, interrupting their conversation: “Finding the Golden Queen’s tomb doesn’t require deep Feng Shui knowledge. But don’t worry too much about it; Diao Shu and the others certainly have a plan.”

“Yes! Exactly! Dashao is absolutely right. The Golden Queen wasn’t from the Central Plains; she wouldn't rely on Feng Shui.” Fan Debiao secretly wiped sweat from his brow, grateful for the save.

Wang Feifei surveyed their surroundings. In her eyes, Liu Dashao could see a flicker of confusion mixed with eager anticipation. Composing herself, she announced, “Let’s call it a day here. We’ll see what Professor You has planned for tomorrow.” With that, she signaled Wang Zhicai and the others to wrap up what they were doing.

Wang Zhicai sifted through the dirt one last time, a look of non-discovery on his face. As the group stood up, a wave of rich aroma washed over them—Diao Shu’s party must have started cooking.

Fan Debiao, his mouth watering instantly at the smell, bolted straight toward Diao Shu’s camp. In truth, everyone felt the urge, but Fan Debiao was simply more transparently realistic; his every joy and sorrow was written plainly on his actions. Having eaten nothing all day, their stomachs were staging a protest. With excitement mounting, they all headed toward the source of the scent.

Arriving at Diao Shu’s makeshift kitchen, the scene was one of total disarray, akin to smashing pots and selling the scrap metal. The already chaotic ancient city looked even more ravaged by their activities. Had those abstract artists seen it, they would surely have declared, “Now that is art!”

Sweat drop…

However, judging by Diao Shu’s determined posture, it seemed they were preparing for a fight to the last man.

The meal consisted of long-frozen meat and some dehydrated rations—understandable given their desert location. But the taste was incomparable. Upon inquiry, Liu Dashao was astonished to learn that the chef wielding the ladle was the same burly man who had blown up the snake with dynamite earlier.

Satiated and content, it was time to rest. Everyone pulled out their sleeping bags, exchanged no words, and burrowed down to sleep. They were all keenly aware that if they couldn't achieve a swift resolution to their mission, rest time would be scarce—this was the grim reality of the tomb raiding trade.

Lying in his sleeping bag, Liu Dashao tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He picked up his phone to call someone but couldn't get a connection; checking the screen confirmed it: no signal.

Bored, Liu Dashao stared up at the sky, which was an inky black with nothing to see.

Suddenly, Liu Dashao noticed the nearby campfire flicker. He turned his head and saw a shadowy figure sitting there, lost in thought—a silhouette against the dim light. Squinting, Liu Dashao recognized him: Clay Man Zhang. His peculiar attire was unmistakable; Liu Dashao was certain he hadn't misidentified him.

Evidently, this fellow was also sleepless. Liu Dashao mused for a moment, planning to wake Fan Debiao so they could go over and chat with Clay Man Zhang.

Liu Dashao nudged Fan Debiao twice. Fan Debiao mumbled vaguely but refused to wake. Seeing him sleep like a log, Liu Dashao decided against waking him and started to move toward Clay Man Zhang himself.

As Liu Dashao approached cautiously, Clay Man Zhang’s body suddenly began to sway. Sensing something was wrong, Liu Dashao immediately dropped low, peering closely. He saw the figure pluck a white string from above his ear—it was an earplug. The man was listening to music? A chill ran down Liu Dashao’s spine. Just as he was about to step forward and reprimand him, Clay Man Zhang abruptly stood up and walked toward the rear of the camp.

Where was he going? To relieve himself? The question popped into Liu Dashao’s head, quickly followed by a mischievous idea: scare him!

Liu Dashao crept stealthily ahead, while Liu Dashao crept stealthily behind. Clay Man Zhang suddenly stopped in an open patch of ground. He had no flashlight, only the weak moonlight illuminating the area. In front of him was a dense, imposing darkness, and Liu Dashao couldn't see what he was doing.

Since he had stopped, Liu Dashao’s plan could commence. The thought of seeing the usually mysterious Clay Man Zhang startled was immensely amusing.

Just as he prepared to act, Liu Dashao looked ahead and felt a sudden jolt in his chest; his whole body froze. Ahead, there was only impenetrable blackness—no silhouette, not even half a figure. Clay Man Zhang had vanished!

Liu Dashao instantly grasped the gravity of the situation. Something had taken Clay Man Zhang. How could someone with his skills disappear so completely? The hairs on his neck stood rigid, followed by a wave of primal dread washing over him.

One word flashed in Liu Dashao’s mind: “Search.” Ignoring the danger of the spot, he forced himself to be brave and sprinted forward.

After only a few steps, his foot found nothing but air. He dropped into a hole and was instantly swallowed by absolute darkness.

No flares, no cold smoke signals, not even a flashlight. The blackness here was absolute, and the suffocating atmosphere pressed down on him. Liu Dashao patted himself down frantically; all he had was his phone. He maximized the screen brightness and swept the beam around.

The meager light from the phone was useless, completely devoured by the dark. A profound sense of unease settled in Liu Dashao’s stomach—a feeling he couldn't articulate, something entirely unprecedented.

Liu Dashao sucked in a sharp breath, holding it. He reasoned he must have fallen into a pit; there should be a way to climb out. But after feeling around the perimeter, his hands grasped nothing. Panic began to rise sharply within him.

He recalled a science fiction novel he once read: Was this an alternate dimension? What was happening? Could anyone find him? Would he die here? A flood of similar questions overwhelmed Liu Dashao, giving him a splitting headache.

Unsure of his location and unwilling to wander blindly, Liu Dashao knew the only immediate recourse was to remain calm. He deliberately forced himself to settle down, straining to hear the faintest sounds around him.

Then, Liu Dashao caught the sound of trickling water not far away, but it vanished almost immediately. Suddenly, something brushed sharply against his back. Liu Dashao’s heart clenched, and he lashed out behind him, but his hand met empty space.

At this point, Liu Dashao lost all composure; his emotions completely unraveled. Finally, he shrieked hysterically, “Help!”

His voice seemed to be instantly consumed by the space, yielding no echo; the sound simply evaporated. He was utterly lost, and his clothes were already soaked through.

Liu Dashao opened his mouth to shout again when he felt a slight breeze in front of him, and then a sudden tightness over his mouth.

“Don’t shout!” a voice whispered from directly behind him.

The moment the hands clamped over his mouth, Liu Dashao instinctively tried to fight them off. He noticed the hands covering his mouth were large, yet surprisingly soft and fine.

It wasn't until the person spoke that Liu Dashao stopped struggling—not out of trust, but because he was overcome by extreme terror. Initially, Liu Dashao suspected it was Clay Man Zhang, but hearing the voice, he realized his judgment was wrong; it was a woman's voice.

A woman? Could it be Wang Feifei? Impossible; Wang Feifei’s hands weren't that large. Who could it be? Perhaps Clay Man Zhang was cross-dressing? A torrent of questions flooded his mind.

The hand remained firmly clamped over Liu Dashao’s mouth, showing no sign of relenting. Liu Dashao struggled fiercely to turn his head, trying to see the woman clearly. Just as he managed to twist his head around, he felt a sharp impact against the back of his skull. His head rang loudly, his bones seemed to dissolve, and his entire body went limp and soft.