As I meticulously stripped the white brocade from the corpse, I recounted a recent event to irley Yang, speaking in measured tones. "The 'Soul Extraction' execution was thought to have vanished by the Warring States period. But one time, at the Panjiayuan antique market, a few objects suddenly surfaced. They were brought by an old farmer from Anyang, Henan, who was looking to offload over a hundred strangely shaped bone implements. They looked somewhat like 'bone needles,' but thicker and longer, hollow in the center, and were packed inside an ancient earthenware jar covered entirely in archaic characters."

"The old farmer claimed he dug them up in his fields. Since there was oracle bone script on them, he naturally didn't recognize their significance. However, his area was known for yielding valuable relics, so he figured these 'bone needles' would fetch a high price in Beijing. Several of us saw them at the time, but the market was flooded with fakes, and nobody could be certain. After all, these items were incredibly ancient; no one had ever seen anything like them, nor were we clear on what they actually were."

"Then, two Japanese buyers took a shine to them and were ready to buy the whole lot on the spot. Just then, Lei Zi arrived and confiscated both the man and the artifacts. It turned out someone in the farmer’s hometown had spotted him digging up antiquities, grown envious, and tipped off the authorities, who tracked him all the way to Beijing. The word later got out that the jar of 'bone needles' he unearthed were actually instruments used in the Shang Dynasty for the 'Soul Extraction' torture. Those things are now housed in the local Henan museum."

Fatty chimed in from the side, "I specifically asked about it. One of those Soul Extraction needles today could buy a foreign luxury car. If our eyesight hadn't been so poor back then... well, the ones rotting in prison cells now would have been our crew."

irley Yang asked, "So, Soul Extraction is a form of torture that drains all the blood?"

I had just finished unwrapping all the white brocade covering the skeletal remains in the coffin, revealing a pair of desiccated legs. The shriveled skin was a purplish-brown, covered entirely in speckled, circular black marks. These numerous dark spots must have been where the Soul Extraction needles pierced the veins. I told irley Yang and Fatty, "Draining the blood wasn't the end of it. Legend says they would then force-feed the victim large quantities of mixed animal blood—ox, sheep, chicken—infused with ingredients like que yan and shi shu [extinct substances]. The goal was to transform the living person into a jiangshi. Once we've finished our thorough inspection, to prevent any shibian [corpse transformation], it’s best to burn both these dried legs and the bronze guǒ coffin they were in."

"Shibian can be classified in several ways. Some involve the corpse rising—newly deceased bodies suddenly moving to chase the living, drawn by yang energy. Others are cases where the body refuses to decay, continuing to exhibit slow growth of hair and nails long after death. Some corpses, due to poor Feng Shui buried in areas of stagnant terrestrial energy, sprout fine hairs and transform into malevolent entities within the tomb. Yet another type occurs when the buried body is possessed by highly evolved spiritual entities like old foxes, weasels, or powerful forces like the Plague God, the Drought Fiend (Hanba), or vicious specters, resulting in severe regional havoc."

"The corpse within this bronze guǒ in the King’s tomb exhibits all the signs of shibian. I believe that encountering such a situation warrants destroying any body showing signs of transformation, provided conditions allow. This would benefit both ourselves and the greater balance, perhaps recouping some depleted yinde [karmic merit]. Of course, if we run into a truly fierce jiangshi, the wisest course is to flee as fast as possible."

"We have now verified the three bodies. There are no other objects inside the coffin. If we burn the corpse in the bronze guǒ and confirm there is only an upper torso inside, our deductions will be fully substantiated. Then there will be no need to open the remaining two coffins in the upper chamber."

I turned to irley Yang and said, "Now I can guarantee it: despite the bizarre layout of the Xian King’s tomb, since the lower level contains the Yinggu [Shadow Bone], this structure must be divided into the Heavenly Gate and Earthly Aperture, with the dragon’s energy latent, waiting to rise. This entire setup—tail, crab body, goldfish eye—forms a three-tiered water tomb. The true location of the Xian King’s remains must perfectly overlap the position of the Yinggu in the wooden guǒ. Now that the Yinggu is confirmed, we can follow the trail directly to excavate the Xian King."

Since entering the Gourd Cave, we had been active for nearly twelve hours straight, draining considerable mental and physical stamina. But now, finally seeing progress, our spirits instantly lifted.

I issued brief instructions: irley Yang and Fatty were to remain in the 'wooden guǒ' to incinerate the two corpses. This served two purposes: first, to disrupt the 'Xian King’s Tomb's' layout, and second, to prevent the corpse in the bronze guǒ from undergoing shibian later. They could also conveniently take the bronze mirror; it would surely be useful eventually.

I, meanwhile, would head up to find the 'Goldfish Eye.' Before ascending, I specifically instructed irley Yang to keep a close watch on Fatty and ensure the coffin in the bronze guǒ was set alight before taking the mirror. irley Yang nodded her assent and handed me the 'Flying Tiger Claw,' cautioning me, "You be careful up there too. Don’t always be so reckless."

I then scaled the rotten 'wooden beam' back up to the middle burial chamber. The nine pale blue 'Longevity Candles' had not yet extinguished, and the three candles in the southeast corner were still burning normally. Their faint light brought a strange sense of reassurance.

Looking up at the fractured bronze beam in the tomb ceiling, the dim light made it hard to discern if there was space above. Near the fracture, I vaguely spotted a large expanse of white material. When my helmet spotlight proved useless, I took out the 'Wolf Eye' flashlight and finally saw clearly: the exposed part of the ceiling was composed of a mottled white quartz, similar to the Inner Palace walls. It was situated almost directly above the Yinggu. If one didn't know there might be another chamber above, this subtle trace would easily be missed.

Using irley Yang’s Flying Tiger Claw again, I climbed onto the remaining segment of the bronze beam overhead and spent considerable effort clearing away the shattered tomb bricks covering the white stone. The area of white rock gradually expanded, revealing a long, narrow, olive-shaped entrance. I removed my glove and reached in; a rush of cold, damp air swept out. Shining the 'Wolf Eye' flashlight upwards, the height of the upper tomb chamber was impossible to ascertain.

A quick survey suggested it was a large, circular cavity, similar in shape to the funnel outside at the pool, but this one was clearly man-made. It wasn't immensely scaled—the diameter of the main void was only about ten meters—and a winding earthen slope spiraled upward. Beyond that, the reach of the 'Wolf Eye' ended, swallowed by pitch blackness.

I cursed internally: "Even in death, the Xian King insists on placing himself at the highest point of the Inner Palace. His obsession with power and the Dao of Immortality has reached a pathological level." Still concerned about my companions in the 'wooden guǒ,' I confirmed the entrance location, secured my ropes and pitons, and returned to the floor of the middle chamber. I saw flickering firelight from below in the 'wooden guǒ' and knew Fatty and the others had succeeded.

Moments later, Fatty and irley Yang climbed up from below. They had secured the bronze mirror—the second most valuable trophy since the jade casket in the Heavenly Palace’s rear hall. Fatty immediately asked upon seeing me, "The corpse in the bronze guǒ really didn't have legs; they were replaced with stone ones. So, Commander Hu, did you find any valuable artifacts up there?"

At that moment, however, I was staring blankly at the firelight from the 'wooden guǒ,' oblivious to Fatty's question. After a long pause, I snapped back to attention. I felt strongly that there was an important memory I couldn't quite grasp—or perhaps I was unwilling to face it. The more I tried to recall, the worse the headache became, so I forced the thought away. I turned to Fatty and irley Yang and said, "The space above the middle chamber is a large void. The Xian King is definitely suspended at the very top, positioned directly above the Yinggu in the wooden guǒ. We shouldn't linger in the Inner Palace where the dead rest."

With that, we split up, using ropes to climb the three-meter-plus height to the ceiling, and squeezed through the entrance I had cleared. The circular cavity was so high I couldn't see the top from below. There were no other brick or wooden elements here—only pure white quartz rock lining the walls encircling the chamber.

The entire circumference of the wall was covered in large, vividly colored murals. They blended Han and Yi aesthetics with strong religious undertones, juxtaposing the bearing of royalty with the ethereal quality of Daoist transcendence. This was a style of painting wholly undocumented in circulation. Up close, the meticulous layout and rigorous intent were breathtaking; I estimated that these exquisite murals alone should place us near the core of the Xian King's tomb.

The figures in the paintings were fierce-looking celestial deities, rendered almost life-sized, all bowing their heads to gaze downward, seemingly fixed on those standing at the bottom of the shaft. Their eyes were inlaid with three layers of crystal and rare stone, shimmering intensely. As we shifted position, the gaze of the painted figures seemed to follow us—the feeling of being watched by so many portraits was deeply unsettling. Fatty was unnerved by the painted figures and started wildly hacking at several crystal eyes with his entrenching shovel. But the scale of the murals was immense, featuring hundreds of figures, and he couldn't manage many in the moment. He finally settled for trying not to look directly at the painted eyes to stave off fear.

My own mind was preoccupied with the scorching heat of the flame scent and the bizarrely shaped bronze figures, so I hadn't paid much attention to the murals in the large void. After ascending the winding slope for a while, the memory finally broke through. It related to something that happened about a decade ago—the saying goes: a decade passes in the blink of an eye, yet I still recall the smoke of battle then, surviving near death as if it were yesterday...

I had seen bronze figures with such peculiar attire and posture before. But they were... they were at Kangba Qingpu, beneath the snow-swept Kunlun Mountains...

A flood of disorganized thoughts rushed in, and without realizing it, I had reached the highest point of the cavity. Giving Fatty and inley Yang a moment to round a bend, I found the end sealed by a solid white stone wall. I looked up: painted on this wall was the figure of a woman—most likely the Xian King’s wife.

I was thinking this, and hadn't even clearly registered the woman's clothing or features in the painting, when my wrist suddenly tightened, as if seized by an iron clamp. I instinctively yanked my arm back, but the grip was impossibly strong, impossible to break free. A sharp, bone-deep pain shot through me. Looking down, I saw a pale, smooth human hand reaching out from within the painting of the woman, gripping my arm.

The hand had long, slender fingers, utterly devoid of color—a woman's hand, yet possessing incredible strength. Could this wall be where the Xian King's wife was interred? In the agony, I didn't pause to look up and see if the mural had changed. I forced down the pain, took a sharp breath, and raised my 'Chicago Typewriter' with my other hand. Before I could even aim the muzzle, another hand shot out from the mural—cold and hard as a steel vise—and clamped tightly around my throat. The sudden suffocation made my vision instantly darken.