Honestly, I hadn't slept so soundly in ages. Even back when I was coming out of the Black Bamboo Valley, every night I either worried about Grandpa or was haunted by eerie visions, constantly waking up from nightmares filled with piles of corpses.

But this time, I slept wonderfully, until a voice cut through the silence by my ear: “Hey! Xiaochuan, wake up! What are you doing sleeping here?”

Drowsily, I half-opened my eyes, feeling like I saw *’s expression tense as he vigorously shook my shoulder.

But I was too tired, so I just turned my head away, mumbling, “Stop fooling around… What time is it? Let me sleep a little longer…”

As I turned back, it hit me—the face I thought I saw was *. Could it be that * hadn’t died, but had instead been injured by Zhi Hao?

With that thought, I immediately snapped my eyes open and sat up from the floor.

And there he was: *’s face, with his crisply cut hair, dark, angular features, that distinctly masculine stubble, and those sharp, penetrating eyes framed by thick eyebrows.

I knew * wasn't joking, but seeing him alive filled me with such immense joy that I couldn't help but tease him, “*! It’s not even the seventh day yet—why have you come back to see me!”

rolled his eyes, released my shoulder, and said, “Stop joking. Your grandfather and the others are missing; we need to find them right now.”

“Wait a minute!” I rubbed my temples, scanning my surroundings. I realized I wasn’t under the daybed; I was sitting on it. The white-clad maiden, the straw effigy, and the colossal Ku Rong were all gone.

I noticed the thick bandage wrapped around ’s right shoulder and asked him, “, who saved you? Where is that person?”

hesitated for a moment, then asked, “The maiden?”

Then he pointed toward a shadowy spot in the darkness and asked, “Do you mean her?”

I looked where he was pointing. Not far away, amidst the gloom, a few glow sticks cast a faint light. At the edge of that light stood a white-clad maiden, her back turned to us.

Without hesitation, I jumped off the bed and walked toward the maiden in white.

called out from behind me, “Wait,” as if he had something more to say.

But I didn't have time to pay attention to him, because the maiden in white was so incredibly strange; I had so many questions demanding answers.

Having no choice, * pulled out a portable mining lamp and followed me.

When I was about five or six meters from the maiden, I finally saw clearly: it was nothing more than a statue carved from white marble.

I approached the statue and looked closely at her features. She was indeed strikingly similar to Nie Qilan, but observing them now, there was a marked difference in their aura. My cousin was youthful and lively, whereas this carved maiden exuded confidence and composure.

“Who is this?” I wondered, utterly astonished. I had clearly seen this white-clad maiden walking over just moments ago, and now it was just a statue—it was utterly baffling.

And why did this statue look almost identical to my cousin? Could this be a likeness of Nie Qilan?

Carrying a flood of questions, I examined the sculpture carefully. Everything, from her clothing to her expression, matched the maiden I had just seen perfectly.

Had the stone itself become sentient?

Just then, * caught up to me. He had narrowly escaped death, but speaking still cost him effort. He told me, “She… she is the master of this place.”

“What?” I looked back at * with a puzzled gaze.

pointed toward the tree wall beside him and said, “You entered before me—did you not see the murals inside this tree wall?”

I followed the direction of *’s hand and examined the tree wall closely with my flashlight beam. Sure enough, etched into the wall was a vast scroll painting, stretching over twenty meters long, like intricate patterns pressed into the wood, appearing both mysterious and ancient.

But I still hadn't processed the fact that the white-clad maiden had turned into stone. I took one last look at the white marble sculpture, confirming there was nothing outwardly strange about it, before walking toward the tree wall.

joined me beside the wall, raising his mining lamp. He said, “I looked at some of it just now, but I didn’t quite understand. This will require an explanation from a scientist like you.”

I didn’t answer, focusing instead on the images carved onto the wall. I realized these images had been etched with sharp tools by someone with remarkable skill. Simple lines sketched vivid scenery and people; even the details of faces and clothing were rendered masterfully.

These murals, carved into the natural layers and color variations of the tree wall, depicted details that conventional wall paintings could never achieve—it was truly breathtaking.

After a brief moment of awe, I became completely absorbed by the content of the images.

The first picture showed a massive fireball descending from the sky, tearing through layers of clouds and mist as it plummeted toward the earth.

On the ground below, a lake was depicted, with many multi-story dwellings along its shore. Numerous common folk were pointing skyward, their expressions filled with horror.

The second image showed the meteorite crashing into the lake, generating colossal waves that swamped the lakeside buildings and city walls. Countless tiny figures struggled in the floodwaters. Beneath the scene, a line of small characters written in Seal Script read: Heavenly Fire fell upon Salt Marsh, tidal waves brought disaster, two nations perished.

I muttered to myself, “This must be describing the Qin Dynasty—an extra-terrestrial fire meteorite struck the Salt Marsh. Judging by the image, this heavenly fire was extraordinarily large, perhaps the size of half a small city-state. When it hit the Salt Marsh, it created enormous waves, drowning the two small nations nearby…”

Looking further down, the next painting showed the lakebed. Due to the waves above, many overturned fish and turtles were struggling beneath, and at the very bottom was a bowl-shaped lake bed where the massive meteorite was impaled deep into the bottom, like a sharp sword.

Below this image were small characters: Heavenly Fire penetrated the lake bottom by three hundred zhang.

I silently recited, “This meteorite plunged over a thousand meters into the Salt Marsh basin, creating a huge deep pit and killing countless fish and turtles. That’s terrifying.”

The subsequent image showed the entire bowl-shaped lake surface completely dried up, the water level having dropped below the deep pit. Countless fish and turtles were rotting slowly in the desiccated lakebed. The sky was covered in dark clouds, raining heavily, while the lake edge was shrouded in noxious fumes. People were struggling painfully in the mist, indicating thick toxic miasma.

The accompanying small text read: Salt Marsh dried for two years; birds and beasts vanished; humans and livestock could not approach.

The next picture depicted the meteorite at the bottom of the deep pit, still enveloped in flames. Rain falling onto it instantly vaporized into smoke, which rose into the sky, causing even flying birds to fall. Furthermore, the toxic mist drifted farther and farther with the wind. People in a distant nation began vomiting; many lay bedridden from inhaling the poison gas.

“In other words,” I deduced, “the meteorite never extinguished at the bottom of the Salt Marsh, burning continuously. This prevented the Salt Marsh from ever refilling with water, meaning fish and turtles could never regenerate. Moreover, if the toxic flames from the meteorite were allowed to burn unchecked, the entire Western Regions would gradually turn into a poisoned swamp, eventually threatening other nations.”

In the following illustration, hundreds of figures clad in straw raincoats wearily arrived at the Salt Marsh, standing on high ground overlooking the lake. What was peculiar here was that the artist heavily emphasized that the entire bodies of these people were encased in transparent, egg-shaped shells. The poison gas drifted past them but could not penetrate these shells.

“What is this…” * turned to look at me, his expression one of total confusion.

I stroked my chin, finding it strange. What was going on? Had the artist played too much Legend of Mir and given these painted figures a Mage’s shield?

However, such surreal depictions were common in ancient murals—the concepts of achieving immortality or riding clouds were often included. This might just be the artist’s imagination, perhaps these people possessed some medicine that could ward off the miasma, which was then exaggerated.