The contraption wall halted precisely in the middle of their path. The swirling black mist in the main chamber instantly found its target, pressing toward the three men like a monstrous visage carved into a dark sheet. The black fog lurking in the narrow passage swallowed the candlelight and followed suit. With all avenues of escape blocked, the two massive clouds of darkness formed a vice, trapping them between front and rear assaults. A faint, rustling sound reached their ears from both directions. Elder Liao Chen urgently called out, “Quickly, use the candles to lure the evil spirits of the Black Buddha away!” “Partridge Whistle” patted his Hundred Treasures Pouch and cursed under his breath; every last candle they possessed was gone.

By this time, the heavy black mists on either side were closing in, threatening to turn them into the very skeletons huddled in the corner with the slightest contact. “Partridge Whistle’s” eyes suddenly flashed with deadly intent, a homicidal urge rising: he considered kicking the American priest Thomas out and leaping over the Western Gate tunnel by stepping on the foreign monk’s body.

Elder Liao Chen saw the veins throbbing on “Partridge Whistle’s” forehead and knew he intended to use Thomas as a stepping stone. He quickly grasped “Partridge Whistle’s” arm: “Absolutely not! Have you forgotten my repeated warnings? Desecrating tombs damages one’s virtue; one must always show mercy…”

“Partridge Whistle’s” resolve had been ironclad, but these past days spent following Elder Liao Chen, absorbing his Zen teachings, had brought him a degree of enlightenment regarding his past deeds. Hearing the Elder’s counsel now immediately softened his heart; he could no longer bring himself to murder. He sighed, “Forget it. We are truly cornered this time.”

Yet, “Partridge Whistle” was practically the only capable person left in their lineage, and he could not accept dying here in the tomb chamber, becoming bleached bone. But the situation was utterly desperate: enclosed on all sides by ghostly black fog. If they ignited a flame to lure one cloud away, they would inevitably be consumed by the other. The tomb chamber ceiling was high, and the black mist only extended about three feet from the floor, leaving a vast expanse above. However, crossing it would require sprouting a pair of wings.

Some people, when facing danger, instinctively retreat into self-protection—closing their eyes, covering their heads—which is as useless as an ostrich burying its head in the sand when threatened. But others find their minds racing several times faster than usual at the moment of life or death. Such were “Partridge Whistle” and Elder Liao Chen; they had not yet abandoned hope of survival.

“Partridge Whistle” recalled the tall Coral Treasure Tree standing in the center of the chamber. He could use his Flying Tiger Claws to snag the crown of the tree and swing over the black mist. The chain for the Flying Tiger Claws was certainly strong enough; it could hold not just three men, but perhaps ten or eight fully grown adults without snapping. His only concern was whether the Coral Tree itself was sturdy enough to bear the weight of three people. If he were alone, with his agility, even a dead branch would suffice to swing across holding the claw chain. But taking Elder Liao Chen and Father Thomas with him offered no guarantee; if the tree broke halfway, it would spell utter ruin for them all.

There was no time for further contemplation. “Partridge Whistle” hurled the Flying Tiger Claws toward the Coral Treasure Tree. The head looped several turns around the highest branch, and a quick tug confirmed the grip was solid. “Partridge Whistle” knew Elder Liao Chen had long since seen through the veil of life and death; if they did not take Father Thomas along, the Elder would die before fleeing. Moreover, the situation was critical; there was no time to swing across one by one. They had to stake their lives on crossing together.

“Partridge Whistle” tightened his grip on the Flying Tiger Claws, motioning for Elder Liao Chen and Father Thomas to each grab the chain with one hand and hold onto “Partridge Whistle’s” waist with the other. “Partridge Whistle” urged them to keep their legs high to avoid touching the mist below. Without waiting for their response, he shouted, “Here we go!” He put his strength into the Flying Tiger Claws rope attached to the Coral Tree and leaped away from the jammed mechanism door.

The moment their feet left the ground, the two clouds of black mist behind them converged beneath. Father Thomas squeezed his eyes shut, intending to whisper a prayer for God’s protection, but his teeth chattered so violently he could utter not a single syllable. He strained with all his might to raise his legs, avoiding the black ghostly fog below, thinking only that if this rope did not break mid-swing, it would surely be a miracle from God.

Mid-air, “Partridge Whistle” had initially worried that the Coral Tree wasn’t strong enough, but the tension transmitted through the Flying Tiger Claws suggested it could handle their combined weight. However, this felt like the absolute limit; any more weight and the branch would certainly snap.

Once they cleared the expanse of black mist below, the tunnel beneath the Western Gate lay ahead. Suspended in the air, seeing that they were about to escape the encirclement of the ghostly fog, all three felt a surge of exhilaration. Just as they swung halfway across, all three suddenly felt a sharp tug behind them, as if something cold, clammy, and very hard had latched onto their thighs. Father Thomas dared not open his eyes, but Elder Liao Chen and “Partridge Whistle” knew something was below. They glanced back mid-air and saw that the skeleton near the corner of the wall had somehow grabbed hold of Elder Liao Chen’s thigh. This shock was profound. Even a master like Elder Liao Chen gasped, inhaling sharply at the sudden intrusion of the bone.

Perhaps because they were pressed together while swinging away from the mechanism door, squeezed by the closing black mist, Elder Liao Chen’s foot had struck the skeleton’s ribcage, breaking its ribs, while his own ankle was momentarily snagged. As he held his foot curled up in mid-air, dragging the human bones upward, he realized something was terribly wrong.

“Partridge Whistle’s” mastery of lightness skill began before he could even form memories; his master had placed him in an enormous, oil-slicked vat and forced him to climb out using whatever means necessary, the vat growing larger as he grew. Elder Liao Chen was a veteran Grave Robber, having practiced lightness skills since childhood. Their Qinggong relied entirely on holding a single breath—if that breath failed, all was lost.

Seeing the bone clinging to his leg, a tremor ran through “Partridge Whistle’s” chest and abdomen. That crucial breath could no longer be sustained. Their bodies instantly became heavy. The branch of the Coral Tree could not bear their weight and snapped with a crack.

Losing their anchor, the three men tumbled down along with the skeleton to the ground. Luckily, they had avoided the bulk of the black mist. They rolled in a heap to the very edge of the black ghostly fog. As soon as he landed, “Partridge Whistle” sprang up with a Carp Leaping skill, grabbing Elder Liao Chen and Father Thomas and dragging them swiftly backward.

“Partridge Whistle” felt an intense itching and numbness in his left hand, which had been touched by the black ghost fog. He was unaware of the principle behind the Wú insects in the fog: as soon as a Wú insect contacts anything warmer than ambient temperature, it immediately dies. Upon death, it instantly liquefies into a corrosive agent. This fluid merges with whatever it corrodes, immediately regenerating new Wú insects that continue to erode nearby warm objects, meaning their numbers never diminish.

Thinking he had been poisoned by an evil spirit, “Partridge Whistle” raised his hand to look. His entire left hand was now nothing but stark white finger bones; the muscle tissue on his arm was slowly melting away. The pain was excruciating. He knew if he allowed it to spread further, his entire body would turn to bone, and once it passed the arm, it would be too late to do anything. But the black mist was right upon them; if he didn't move immediately, they would be enveloped again.

Gritting his teeth against the searing pain, “Partridge Whistle” dragged Father Thomas and Elder Liao Chen backward. He saw Elder Liao Chen with his eyes tightly shut, unsure if he was dead or alive, and his anxiety spiked. He saw the black ghostly mists rediscovering them, slowly converging and closing in. It was fortunate the fog moved slowly; otherwise, even a cat with nine lives would have been finished by now.

Father Thomas suddenly shouted and jumped up, frantically patting his own body. Astonishingly, not a single part of him had touched the ghost fog. Seeing “Partridge Whistle’s” left hand already reduced to bone and Elder Liao Chen collapsed and unconscious—likely having hit something during the fall—Father Thomas immediately helped “Partridge Whistle” support the Elder and retreated toward the tunnel beneath the Western Gate.

The injury to “Partridge Whistle’s” arm was severe, causing sweat beads the size of soybeans to form on his brow from the agony. The flesh and skin had rotted down to the elbow joint. At this point, he would have to resort to the method of a warrior severing his own limb. But there wasn't enough time even to amputate his arm. All the jostling had significantly raised their body temperatures, and the black mist was nearly upon them. “Partridge Whistle” could only draw his German Model 1910 pistol from his right hand and unleash a rapid series of shots at the Black Buddha statue in the corner. All five bullets lodged in the statue. He then immediately threw the recently fired pistol toward the corner of the chamber.

The dense black ghost fog, drawn by the heat of the muzzle flash, redirected and surged toward the gun. “Partridge Whistle,” already close to fainting from the pain, managed to tell Father Thomas, “Go, now.”

The two men lifted Elder Liao Chen and jumped down into the tunnel. There was a black stone suspended in the middle of the passage. When they entered, they hadn't known what it was, but now they understood: the ghost fog rising in the tunnel originated from this piece of crude Jadeite. It must have been Father Thomas lighting a candle at the tunnel entrance that alerted it to the presence of burning air, causing it to release the fog.

“Partridge Whistle” and Father Thomas dragged Elder Liao Chen past the corroded jade. Once outside the tunnel, “Partridge Whistle” immediately instructed Father Thomas to seal the entrance to prevent the fog from pursuing them. Then, biting off a piece of his coat lining, he tied it tightly above the wound on his arm to staunch the blood flow. He then spun the fine steel blade of his Whirlwind Shovel and cleanly sliced off the entire half of his arm that the ghost fog had ravaged. Even with the blood vessels tied, blood erupted like a fountain from the severed limb. Before he could stop the bleeding, his vision darkened, and he passed out.

Father Thomas saw how much blood “Partridge Whistle” had lost before collapsing, and Elder Liao Chen had been unconscious since the main chamber. He, the only one completely unharmed, thought, Truly, believing in God is the righteous path. He could not abandon them to die; he had to figure out how to get these two Chinese men outside first. Just as he reached out to drag “Partridge Whistle,” a terrifying sight appeared before his eyes—the flesh and skin above the nearly severed half of “Partridge Whistle’s” arm had entirely liquefied into pus. Only stark white bone remained. From that pus erupted countless dense, tiny black specks that began to swirl and circle within the tomb passage.