The book contained extensive records on the Ming moths, describing them as creatures capable of bewitching the human mind; wherever they appeared, fathers turned against sons, brothers slaughtered one another—they were agents of utter depravity. Furthermore, those ensorcelled by the Ming would lose all memory of their actions and even their own identities after committing acts of violence. Later, I consulted numerous other ancient volumes, and in a text detailing the Gu arts of Miaojiang, I discovered that these very Ming were sometimes domesticated by the Miao people and widely bred as a form of potent Gu poison during the late Tang Dynasty.

Although these Ming were formidable, they were, after all, insects with predictable habits. Like most nocturnal creatures, they were intensely attracted to flames and any source of light, rushing toward any glimmer regardless of danger. The Yu clearly understood this, which explained their fear of us igniting torches.

And indeed, as the flare ignited, countless Ming frenetically surged toward its brilliance. However, due to the flare's extreme temperature, the wings of the leading moths immediately burst into flame, transforming them into colossal fireballs that plummeted from the sky, their scales raining down like a deluge of liquid fire.

It was in the stark glare of the flare that I noticed the side of *'s right arm, right where it connected to his shoulder: a gaping, fist-sized hole, horrifically piercing nearly through his entire chest. His face was ashen, and he was down on one knee, clutching his shoulder and gasping for breath. Seeing the severity of his wound, I frantically reached for my pack, intending to find bandages, but * waved me off, gritting his teeth, "Go, quickly—before those Yu awaken!"

I glanced back. The Yu were momentarily blinded by the flare, squealing and scrambling erratically. But I knew this blindness was temporary, caused only by the intense light; they would recover soon enough to launch their next assault. I quickly helped * up and rushed toward the tree wall opposite us.

But injured, * couldn't move quickly. Simultaneously, I looked up at the flare; it had reached the upper dome, embedded itself in the tree wall, its light significantly dimmed and issuing thick plumes of black smoke—it wouldn't last much longer. Innumerable Ming were already charging toward the flare through the dense smoke, and fragments of burning wings, moth limbs, and vast quantities of detritus and scales rained down like shrapnel, obscuring our path and making the way ahead bewilderingly unclear.

We moved forward, dodging the fiery rain, neither of us speaking much. Then, suddenly, a metallic object fell just ahead of us, bouncing high before slamming heavily onto the ground. * and I both started. * ignored his pain and urged me, "Go, see what that is."

So, supporting * as we walked, I approached the metal object. Peering down, I saw it was a bronze ring, thick as a man's arm. The ring was ancient; though heavily covered in green verdigris, I could make out faint etchings on its outer edge. I bent to pick it up, wiped the corrosion away with my sleeve, and revealed the pattern carved upon it.

The carving was five ancient characters rendered in Lesser Seal script. I have some knowledge of archaic writing, though I am no expert, yet I recognized the script on the ring: Daqin Lingyu Si Si (Great Qin Spiritual Edict Temple, Bred). My God, the Great Qin Lingyu Temple—what was happening? Didn't the Lingyu Temple only originate during the Tang Dynasty? Did it truly exist since the Qin Dynasty?

In our shock, * and I searched the ground nearby for a moment longer and discovered a severed hind leg of a Ming moth near where the ring had fallen. The leg, pitch black and slick with oil, bore a distinct circular imprint of bronze corrosion—the very ring must have broken off this creature's limb. The characters inscribed on the ring aligned perfectly with this severed leg, indicating these Ming had been bred by the Lingyu Temple of the Qin era and had somehow survived to the present day.

We hadn't stood there long before the chilling, high-pitched squeals of the Yu sounded behind us once more. Turning, five or six of the Yu, having recovered from the flare's flash, were scuttling toward us on all fours. With their natural predator temporarily neutralized, these fiends felt free to attack us without restraint.

* muttered, "Hurry!" and pulled me stumbling forward. But his injury was too severe; he collapsed after just a few steps, clutching his chest and panting desperately, leaving a trail of his own blood on the ground. I rushed to support him, asking how he was. * clenched his jaw, looked at me, and said, "Forget me, you need to go... or we both die."

Hearing this, a surge of heat rushed through me. I said sternly, "'s name, if you hadn't saved me, I’d be dead already. This life belongs to you; if we die, we die together."

The moment I finished speaking, a flash of green light erupted behind us, and a Yu lunged directly at my face. Its black, serrated claws looked capable of piercing steel plating. I staggered back a few steps, realizing there was no way to evade the attack. Seeing this, * flipped over, summoning the last of his strength, and kicked the Yu away. But the creature's spines raked his leg, leaving countless tiny, bloody punctures.

* bared his teeth, cold sweat pouring down him, his face now completely drained of color. Yet, still clutching his chest with one hand, he managed to stand up with difficulty, grabbing the military knife from the ground and facing the approaching Yu. He spoke to me, "You have much more to do. I’m just a grave robber; I’ve long been prepared to die underground. The only thing I regret on this journey is not telling you the truth about your grandfather and Boss Wu’s relationship. But I didn't want to deceive you. If you make it out alive, remember this: you must trust Boss Wu. Only he can help you, and only you can help him."

"*! Don't say such things; let's go, there’s still time!" I took two steps forward, but suddenly a blazing Ming moth, engulfed in flames, fell between * and me.

"Go! Don't let me die for nothing!" * roared from the other side of the flames, his voice ragged.

Tears welled up in my eyes. I tried to circle the flames to reach him, but more insect corpses began raining down from above, and the flare's light dimmed, finally vanishing altogether. Watching *'s silhouette growing fainter in the encroaching darkness, the heat of the flames forced me backward until a dozen dark shapes overwhelmed him on the ground. Even then, I heard him softly call out, "Go quickly..."

I suddenly recalled what I had once told *: "The dead cannot be resurrected; those who live must carry on their wishes. That is a responsibility." With that thought, I wiped my tears with my sleeve and turned, running back toward the tree wall.

Not far into my retreat, I could make out countless thick vines hanging down from the crevices in the wall, illuminated by residual firelight. I quickened my pace toward them. Reaching the base of the wall, I didn't immediately scramble up. Instead, I took my scarf and wrapped my palms thoroughly, then retrieved a glow stick from my pack for backup. Finally, I located a vine that led directly to the walkway above and began my ascent.

After so much hardship, my physical condition was vastly improved. Climbing the vines was no longer an immense struggle. I pushed off the wall with my feet, alternating my hands, and within moments, I had climbed more than ten meters.

At this point, several loud thuds echoed from not far behind me. The fireballs formed by the burning Ming moths had suddenly extinguished. I knew this meant the other Ming, having lost the flare as a target, had redirected their attack onto those burning piles instead.

As the flames winked out, a profound sorrow washed over me, for I had wanted one last look at *, but now I couldn't see anything. That Tomb Raider who had saved my life countless times was now gone forever. Thinking of his agile prowess, I was consumed by self-reproach; if I hadn't been such a dead weight, * would never have died.