Chapter 286: The Main Cave Sealed, Outer Caves Not Cleared

Lu Yuan did not immediately step into that chest cavity.

Inside the black shadow’s opened chest, one layer of stone wall followed another, like an inverted long corridor.

White lamps hung on both sides, their flames steady, yet they illuminated each stele with crystal clarity.

“Father.”

“Voice.”

“Wish.”

Three more steles were shrouded by black mist, only the corners visible, with black water continuously seeping from their edges.

At the deepest point was an inverted well.

The well mouth faced downward, its rim carved densely with countless eyes.

“Don’t come in.”

Lu Yuan glanced at the well.

“You just said don’t let it swallow the character ‘sheng’.”

“But now you tell us not to come in.”

There was a brief silence in the well.

“I don’t know which line is the true one.”

“The voices here are not entirely yours anymore.”

Lu Yuan said,

“Just tell me how to pass the remaining steles.”

“They’re in the main cave.”

“What about the stele guardians?”

“The stele guardians are not things.”

“What are they?”

Asheng’s voice grew lower and lower.

“They are every thought you left behind when you came in.”

Lu Yuan’s brow moved slightly.

Behind him, Wang Cheng’an listened with his scalp prickling.

“Thoughts can guard steles?”

“This place doesn’t feed an ordinary malevolent deity,” Lu Yuan said, “It takes people’s names and it takes people’s thoughts.”

“When a person is afraid, it gains a Fear Stele.”

“When a person hesitates, it gains a Doubt Stele.”

“When a person begs to live, it gains a Wish Stele.”

“These three steles have already manifested.”

“The remaining three are hidden inside people’s hearts.”

Zhou Heng clenched his short blade.

“How do we still get in then?”

“Guard your heart.”

Lu Yuan picked up three copper coins from the ground and handed them to Xu Erxiao, Wang Cheng’an, and Zhou Heng respectively.

“Hold them under your tongue.”

The three froze.

“What for?”

“To suppress the voice.”

Lu Yuan explained, “When villagers travel at night and pass a random grave mound, elders make children hold copper coins in their mouths. It’s not to quell ghosts, it’s to press the mouth.”

“Evil cults enter people by voice, starting from a person’s response. A copper coin that’s touched by sun-warmed hands and earth qi can press the root of the tongue.”

“How long to hold them?”

“Until we’re out.”

Xu Erxiao put the copper coin in his mouth, mumbling, “Then how do we speak?”

“Use gestures.”

Lu Yuan finished, raising his right hand, thumb pressing the ring finger, little finger tucked in, index and middle finger together and straight, pointing toward the stone corridor within the chest cavity.

“Erxiao takes left, Cheng’an takes right, Zhou Heng covers the rear.”

“Zhaoxuan watches the lamps.”

“Qinghe watches the steles.”

“I’ll go middle.”

Lin Zhaoxuan nodded and wrapped the ink-line around his wrist.

Song Qinghe lifted the only remaining oil lamp. The wick had shortened, yet the flame burned clearer than before.

They stepped into the black shadow’s chest cavity.

The stone underfoot was warm, as if they were stepping on the ribs of some living thing.

No sooner had they taken the first step than the black shadow closed its chest.

The birch forest, the stone grotto, and the inverted cliff outside all vanished.

Ahead and behind there remained only a narrow stone corridor.

White lamps hung on both sides.

Beneath the first lamp stood a stele.

Only one character was carved on it:

“Voice.”

The character looked freshly written, ink still dripping downward.

As the lamp shone, a sigh suddenly echoed from behind the stele.

That sigh sounded exactly like Lu Yuan.

Then it sounded like Wang Cheng’an.

“Brother Lu, let’s go back.”

Xu Erxiao’s fingers twitched.

Lu Yuan raised his left hand and made a stop gesture.

The voices continued:

“There is no end to this mountain.”

“If we go further, we will all die.”

“Those people aren’t ones we can save.”

“Whether the Malevolent Deity wakes or not, what concern is it of ours?”

“There’s grain outside, kang beds, wine.”

“Let’s go back.”

The voices multiplied, filling the corridor like people pressed against both sides.

They no longer spoke, but made soft cries and quarrels.

Someone shouted for help.

Someone cursed.

Someone said they had been tricked into the mountain.

Someone said they were merely passing through.

Song Qinghe whispered,

“The Voice Stele plays the last things the dead heard.”

Lu Yuan nodded.

“It doesn’t scare people with sound. It uses sounds to make people speak for it.”

He took a strip of red cloth from his waist, cut off a small piece, and stuffed it into his ear.

“It’s not to block the ear fully, it leaves a slit.”

Wang Cheng’an looked at him puzzled.

Lu Yuan pointed at the root of his tongue, then made a ‘listen’ gesture.

“You cannot fully close the ear.”

“If you close it, you cannot hear companions.”

“Leave a slit to discern true voices.”

Lin Zhaoxuan understood.

He took a thin thread from the ink-line and looped it behind his left ear, the thread’s end tucked into his collar.

“Use the line to record true voices,” he said. “If someone calls me, I first see if the line moves.”

“Right,” Lu Yuan said, “A living voice carries qi that moves the line. The voices from the stele have only sound, no qi.”

They pressed on.

When they neared the Voice Stele, the white lamp suddenly dimmed.

Mouths surfaced on the stele’s face.

These mouths grew from stone, various sizes—some like babies, some like old men; some lips rotten, yet still opening and closing.

“Lu Yuan.”

One of the mouths called.

“Come over.”

Lu Yuan did not reply.

That mouth called again:

“Lu Yuan, your master is here.”

Xu Erxiao shot a look at Lu Yuan.

Lu Yuan remained calm, raising his right hand to form a sealing mudra.

Thumb pinching index, middle finger touching the ring finger, palm facing out.

“The mouth is the gate, voice a passerby.”

“Sound without qi does not enter the living.”

“Words without root do not take a name.”

“Stone mouths, today temporarily seal.”

“Seal!”

At the hand sign, all mouths on the stele snapped shut.

But a tremendous roar came from behind the stele.

A hand reached out from behind the stone, fingers blackened, knuckles strung with copper bells.

The hand had no arm, only a bone stump protruding from the stele.

The bells rang though there was no wind.

With each bell ring, everyone felt a heaviness in their chests.

Lu Yuan sensed danger and ordered immediately,

“Hold your breath for three breaths!”

They obeyed.

The bells rang three times.

Each ring felt like something tugging out from their chests.

When the third fell, the flame in Song Qinghe’s oil lamp suddenly tilted outward, and a thin black smoke drifted from her mouth.

Lu Yuan flicked his blade, slicing the wisp in two.

The black smoke hit the ground and condensed into a tiny human shape.

It had no face but imitated Song Qinghe’s posture, holding a lamp.

“The Voice Stele is not afraid of ears,” Lu Yuan said.

“It fears those who stop replying.”

He stepped toward the bell-hung black hand.

The black hand violently shook the bells; they rang again.

Lu Yuan did not hold his breath.

He formed a different seal, thumb pressing the tip of the middle finger, index and middle finger together at his lips.

This was the Silence Art.

“The sky is silent yet thunder moves, the earth is silent yet mountains shift.”

“People silent yet guard their hearts, ghosts silent yet lose their road.”

“Today we borrow silence as blade, borrow voicelessness as seal.”

“No tongue in the bell, no mouth in the stele.”

“Cut!”

Lu Yuan struck the stele with his palm.

There was no sound.

All the copper bells shattered simultaneously.

The black hand retracted sharply back into the stone.

The character “Voice” on the stele sank inward as if punched through.

A black fissure stretched from the character down to the base.

Lin Zhaoxuan hurried forward and tightened the ink-line, wrapping it across the stele horizontally.

“Brother Lu, the stele is moving!”

“Don’t let it fall.”

Lu Yuan used his blade’s tip to pry open a thin crack at the stele’s base.

Inside lay a pale tongue.

The tongue was knotted with red thread; a yellow paper was attached to the thread.

Three characters were written on the paper:

“Speak for the deity.”

Lu Yuan tore off the yellow paper without touching the tongue.

He plucked each surrounding red thread free, then drew a small square on the ground with cinnabar.

“The tongue returns to the mouth, voice returns to the throat.”

“Let the living not speak for ghosts, let the dead not borrow human words.”

“Where this tongue came from, it shall return.”

He pricked the tongue into the square.

The tongue turned instantly into a wisp of black smoke and slipped into the corridor’s cracks.

The character on the Voice Stele emptied completely.

At the same time, a blood-red lamp lit at the corridor’s end.

Beneath it stood the second stele.

Its carved character read:

“Wish.”

Song Qinghe stared at that stele.

“Is this the hardest one?” she whispered.

“Wish itself isn’t hard,” Lu Yuan said, “The hard part is when people won’t admit they have wishes.”

They reached the Wish Stele and doors suddenly appeared along both sides of the corridor.

Each door had no nameplate, but different lights spilled from under their cracks.

There was white light.

Red light.

Golden light.

One door glowed with the warmth of a hearth.

“Don’t go in,” Lu Yuan warned.

Voices came from behind the doors:

“Open the door and the wish will be granted.”

“What do you want?”

“Money.”

“Power.”

“A long life.”

“Family safety.”

“Your enemies dead.”

“No more suffering.”

Each voice struck precisely at the heart.

Xu Erxiao’s foot had already moved half an inch toward one door.

Lu Yuan used his scabbard to block him.

“The Wish Stele doesn’t make you make wishes.”

“It makes you admit that wishes can rule you.”

Wang Cheng’an stared at a golden-lit door packed with silver coins and sacks of grain.

He swallowed.

“Can it make wishes come true?” he asked.

“It can,” Lu Yuan said.

“But it first takes the most human part of your wish.”

“You beg for wealth, it takes away your shame.”

“You beg for life, it takes away your pity.”

“You beg for vengeance, it takes away your fear.”

“In the end the wish is fulfilled, but the person is no longer human.”

The blood lamp flared.

A voice from behind the doors asked,

“Lu Yuan, do you have wishes?”

Lu Yuan stopped.

“What do you want?”

“It asks you.”

“I can’t ask you, you know yourself.”

The character “Wish” on the stele began to change shape, finally becoming an image of a person standing by the black water well.

The person held a blade, five figures stood at his feet, and a collapsed mountain lay behind them.

The voice continued,

“You want everyone to get out alive.”

“You want to bring the children in the well out.”

“You want the Malevolent Deity never to wake.”

“This is your wish.”

Lu Yuan looked at the stele face.

“Yes.”

No one expected him to admit it.

The blood lamp’s flame leapt high.

From the darkness beyond a huge hand extended, palm cradling a white fruit.

“Then eat it.”

“Your wish will come true.”

Xu Erxiao urged, “Brother Lu!”

Lu Yuan did not step back.

He took one step toward that massive hand.

“If the wish fulfills, then what?” he asked.

“You all live.”

“What about people outside the mountain?”

“That’s not my concern.”

“What about the children in the well?”

“They will become the new gate.”

“That’s not everyone living.”

Lu Yuan raised his blade, pointing at the white fruit.

“You won’t even fulfill the wish properly—what do you expect me to offer you?”

He slashed the fruit open.

Black blood, not juice, gushed out.

As the black blood pooled, all the doors opened at once.

Behind the doors were not lures but supply rooms stacked with household bones.

Among the bones stood many wooden tablets stripped of names.

Each tablet bore the same character:

“Wish.”

Song Qinghe understood.

“It collects wishers into rooms and feeds the stele with their wishes.”

“The Wish Stele’s roots are on those wooden tablets.”

“Then we strip the root.”

Lu Yuan nodded.

He planted his blade into the ground and formed a Disperse-Wish Seal with both hands.

Palms facing each other with three inches gap, left thumb pinching the middle finger, right thumb pinching the ring finger, then both palms pushed outward.

“Wishes arise from the heart and do not belong to the stele.”

“Those who sought life, return life; those who sought wealth, return wealth; those who sought fame, return their fame.”

“If a wish is unfulfilled, it returns to its original thought.”

“The Malevolent Deity shall not borrow wishes to form a body.”

“Disperse!”

The bones behind the doors trembled.

Black threads on the wooden tablets snapped.

Many faint white lights rose from the tablets like distant lamps on a snowy night.

They did not enter the party; they passed through the corridor and drifted out of the mountain.

Some burrowed into soil.

Some rode the wind into the trees.

Some landed at the roots of birch trees and became white seeds.

The character on the Wish Stele faded.

The blood lamp’s flame suddenly narrowed to a thin line that shot directly at Song Qinghe’s brow.

Lu Yuan raised his blade to block.

Blade met bloodline with a crisp clash.

The bloodline did not dissipate but crawled along the blade toward Lu Yuan’s wrist.

Song Qinghe suddenly spoke,

“Let me.”

“Don’t move.”

“It’s aimed at me.”

“The Wish Stele borrows your lamp, not you.”

She lifted the oil lamp. Only a little dark red oil remained.

She stared at the bloodline, then pulled the wick out.

The lamp went out.

The bloodline lost its guiding light, veered wildly, pierced past Lu Yuan’s shoulder, and struck the Wish Stele.

The character “Wish” on the stele shattered with a roar.

Song Qinghe’s oil lamp broke in two.

“The lamp’s out,” she said.

“But the stele is empty.”

Lu Yuan nodded.

“Right move.”

A low collective cry rose from behind the Wish Stele.

It was not one person, but the sighs of many wishers releasing their attachments at once.

The Voice Stele and Wish Stele emptied one after another; all the white lamps in the corridor extinguished.

The long corridor within the black shadow’s chest began to collapse.

Stone plaques fell from the walls, revealing thick black fetal roots behind them, covered in eyes.

Each eye wept black water.

Lu Yuan looked toward the deepest point.

Three steles remained.

“The Surname, Voice, and Wish are empty.”

“The Father, Home, Shadow, and Bone have been stripped.”

“What are the last three?” Zhou Heng asked.

Lu Yuan looked up.

The three steles hidden by black mist finally took form.

From left to right the faces read:

“Name.”

“Life.”

“Death.”

Xu Erxiao murmured,

“Why did three more just pop up?”

“The ones earlier were steles the Malevolent Deity used to feed its eyes,” Lu Yuan said. “These three are the main cave’s root.”

“Name is the gate, Life is the lock, Death is the road.”

“Asheng is trapped inside the Life Stele.”

“The Name Stele controls entering and leaving.”

“The Death Stele connects to the mountain’s yin-route outside.”

“To see the Malevolent Deity, you must pass these three.”

The black shadow’s chest tore open entirely.

The black membrane at their feet collapsed downward.

A stone bridge extended from the grotto’s depths, only three feet wide, with roiling black water beneath.

At the bridge’s end stood a stone gate without door panels.

Beyond it was the real well mouth.

Asheng’s face surfaced in the well water.

This time he no longer looked like a seven- or eight-year-old.

Half of his face was clear, the other half smothered by black water.

“Lu Yuan.”

“Cross the Name Bridge.”

“But don’t leave your name behind.”

“How do we pass it?” Wang Cheng’an asked.

Asheng did not answer.

White paper figures suddenly floated up from the black water on both sides of the bridge, each holding a yellow paper.

Names were written on the yellow papers.

Together they chanted:

“Report your name.”

Lu Yuan stepped onto the Name Bridge.

A black character immediately rose under his first step:

“Lu.”

Under the second step:

“Yuan.”

On the third step no character appeared, only strange symbols—like someone attempted to continue his name but couldn’t find the right strokes.

Lu Yuan halted.

The paper figures looked up as one.

“Your name is incomplete.”

“Fill it in.”

“Fill it and you may cross.”

Wang Cheng’an whispered, “Brother Lu, don’t trust them.”

Lu Yuan took the black wooden tablet from his waist.

The crack on its surface had already closed, leaving a blank shallow groove.

He carved the two characters “Lu Yuan” into the groove with his blade tip.

After finishing, he pressed the tablet onto the bridge.

“Name stops here.”

“Names do not extend, do not add strokes.”

“I am not defined by what the stele writes; where I go is not set by the well.”

“When a person crosses the Name Bridge, the name stays among the living.”

“The bridge takes no names!”

As he spoke, the characters “Lu” and “Yuan” on the bridge flared and turned into two sparks that fell back onto the wooden tablet.

The paper figures screamed and lunged at Lu Yuan.

He did not swing his blade; instead he stepped forward.

“Don’t strike the paper figures,” he said.

“They are only mouths asking for names.”

“If you strike them, the names will return to the stele.”

He walked through them.

With each step, a yellow paper stuck to him.

The first adhered to his shoulder, reading “Guest.”

The second to his chest, reading “Offering.”

The third to his back, reading “Eye.”

Lu Yuan allowed the papers to stick and did not tear them off.

At the bridge’s midpoint he suddenly turned and stuck the three yellow papers onto the bridge’s railings.

“Guest returns to the road.”

“Offering returns to the altar.”

“Eye returns to the mountain.”

All three papers ignited.

The paper figures’ voices weakened.

Lu Yuan turned and continued forward.

Xu Erxiao, Wang Cheng’an, Lin Zhaoxuan, Song Qinghe, and Zhou Heng stepped onto the Name Bridge one by one.

They did not report names; they guarded their tongue roots with hand seals and kept their heads bowed.

Each received one yellow paper on his body.

Xu Erxiao’s shoulder read “Disciple.”

Wang Cheng’an’s chest read “Account.”

Lin Zhaoxuan’s back read “Gate.”

Song Qinghe’s shoulder read “Lamp.”

Zhou Heng’s feet read “Guest.”

Lu Yuan instructed them to stick them on the railings in the same way.

The six yellow papers formed a line.

The stone bridge glowed faint red.

The black water beneath surged, and a massive black face surfaced with a roar.

“If you do not leave names, you leave your lives.”

The black water whipped into waves that crashed toward the bridge.

Lu Yuan turned and formed a Water-Calming Seal with both hands.

Left palm facing down, right hand sword seal pressing on the left wrist.

“Water has a source, waves have heads.”

“Water in the well does not cross the rim.”

“Mountain evil does not cross the stone bridge.”

“The bridge is the boundary, names are the pegs.”

“Stop water!”

The black waves stalled.

But beneath the surface a gigantic mass moved along the bridge’s underside.

Its back arched in segments, and each segment bore a stele.

“Death Stele,” Asheng said from the well.

“It will pass under the bridge.”

Lu Yuan looked down.

“The Death Stele does not guard the dead.”

“It guards the death road.”

“If it crosses under the bridge, we will be carried into the death road and never return outside.”

Zhou Heng said, “Then cut it.”

“There’s water under the bridge, the blade is not long enough.”

Lu Yuan took the broken mirror from his waist.

Only half the mirror remained, the glass full of cracks.

He placed the shattered mirror in the bridge’s center, reflection side down.

“The mirror reflects the depths.”

“If there is form beneath, form will have a position.”

“Zhaoxuan, give me the ink-line.”

Lin Zhaoxuan handed over the ink-line.

Lu Yuan tied one end of the line to the broken mirror and looped the other end around his wrist. He planted his feet firmly on the bridge.

“This line does not reel souls, only reels form.”

“This mirror does not reflect faces, only reflects roots.”

“If the thing under the water has stele bodies, it will have a place to fall.”

“Pull!”

Lu Yuan suddenly yanked the line.

The black water exploded beneath the mirror.

A huge black creature was dragged half out from under the bridge.

It was like a snake, like a headless dragon.

Three steles were embedded in its body, inscribed with “Death,” “Burial,” and “Return.”

Black fetal roots entwined each stele.

The beast gaped at Lu Yuan as it rose.

There were no teeth, only a stone stairway descending.

At the stair base stood countless inverted coffins.

Lu Yuan held his ground.

He wedged his blade tip into the ink-line, using the line as string and the mirror as eye, and yanked hard.

“The death road will not ferry the living!”

“The burial gate takes no living bones!”

“The return path borrows nothing from the Malevolent Deity!”

“Cut!”

The blade sliced along the ink-line.

The Death stele on the black creature cracked apart.

A muffled crash sounded from below.

The Burial and Return steles dimmed.

The beast gave a wordless roar and sank back into the black water.

Before it fully submerged, a black tail swept across the stone bridge.

The bridge snapped in two.

The front half, where Lu Yuan and the five stood, slid toward the stone gate at the end; the back half collapsed into the black water.

They had no choice but to keep moving forward.

Behind the stone gate was a real well mouth.

The well stood in the cavern’s center, its walls formed from countless black wooden tablets.

There was no water inside, only a swirling layer of black mist.

Asheng stood in that mist.

Half his body remained childlike, the other half a mass of black flesh connected to the Malevolent Deity’s fetal roots.

Behind him stood the final three steles.

“Name.”

“Life.”

“Death.”

They formed a triangle.

Under each stele was a black nail.

Bloodlines wrapped those nails, all converging into Asheng’s chest.

Asheng looked at Lu Yuan, fear plainly visible in his eyes for the first time.

“You should not have come here.”

“If you pull out the black nails, what will happen?” Lu Yuan asked.

“Names scatter, life breaks, death opens.”

“The Malevolent Deity will come out.”

“You will come out too.”

Asheng shook his head.

“I cannot get out.”

“You are the lock.”

“I am both lock and gate.”

Lu Yuan looked at the three steles.

“The Name Stele locks who you are, the Life Stele locks how much living qi you have left, the Death Stele locks where you should return.”

“As long as these three steles aren’t empty, you cannot be whole.”

“But if the three steles move, the Malevolent Deity will awaken.”

Asheng said nothing.

The black mist in the well began to rotate.

The huge black face took shape out of the fog.

Its voice was much closer than before:

“The Living Guide must not return.”

“Return life, and the mountain collapses.”

“Mountain collapses, people die.”

“How many household bones will you trade to restore one child?”

Lu Yuan stared at the black mist.

“You’re speaking for the mountain again.”

The black face gave no answer.

Lu Yuan suddenly turned and looked at the well wall.

Black wooden tablets densely covered the wall, each carved with a name.

Many names had already faded.

Some tablets held only a radical.

Some had only a single horizontal stroke left.

“The names in this well are not all offered to the Malevolent Deity,” Lu Yuan said.

Lin Zhaoxuan followed his gaze.

“Some have already detached from the steles.”

“But they have nowhere to go.”

“They are trapped on the well wall, turned into waste names the Malevolent Deity uses to sustain the mountain root.”

Lu Yuan said, “If we send these waste names back outside the mountain, the root won’t wholly collapse.”

Wang Cheng’an asked, “But how can we manage so many?”

“You don’t need to carry them out.”

Lu Yuan took out a blank offering paper and stuck it to the well mouth.

“Names needn’t be carried away.”

“Just let them know they no longer belong to the Malevolent Deity.”

He bit his fingertip and wrote the character “Return” in the center of the offering paper with his blood.

Then he mixed the remaining black ash, cinnabar, and salt and scattered a circle around the well mouth.

“The well is the yin gate, the steles are old ledgers.”

“Unnamed ones are not sacrifices, named ones are not food.”

“Today we open a human path and send these residual names back outside.”

“There is soil outside to receive bones; there is wind outside to carry voice; there is the human world outside where names can be registered.”

“All names, hear the order—Return!”

The “Return” on the offering paper flared and burned.

Countless wooden tablets on the well wall began to tremble.

Black water leaked from their seams, forming thin lines that flowed over the well rim and out through the grotto’s crevices.

This was no ordinary water.

Each stream carried within it a blurred human silhouette.

They did not flow toward the Malevolent Deity but drifted along the mountain’s fissures and scattered outward.

Some burrowed into the soil.

Some rode the wind into the forest.

Some landed beside birch roots and turned into white seeds.

The black face inside the grotto shrank violently.

“You are stealing my names.”

“Names were never yours.”

Lu Yuan said, “You only remembered the dead, so you assumed the dead belong to you.”

The black face roared a deafening sound.

The three root steles flared simultaneously.

The characters on the Name Stele rose outward and formed a massive black net that shot toward Lu Yuan.

Lu Yuan raised his blade to parry.

The black net pressed against the blade, bending its edge bit by bit.

Xu Erxiao, Wang Cheng’an, Lin Zhaoxuan, Song Qinghe, and Zhou Heng stepped up and each pressed a hand to the blade’s spine.

Lu Yuan said in a low voice,

“Don’t use brute force.”

“This net is woven of names.”

“Everyone must guard their own name and not let it mingle.”

They immediately calmed their minds.

Xu Erxiao held the copper coin in his mouth and formed the Zi-Wu Seal.

Wang Cheng’an used the broken abacus frame to brace the blade’s spine.

Lin Zhaoxuan wound the ink-line around the hilt.

Song Qinghe placed the shattered oil lamp at her feet and cupped the wick with both hands.

Zhou Heng closed his eyes, short blade across his chest.

Their breathing steadied.

The black net continued to press down but could not tighten further.

Lu Yuan looked down at the blade.

A hairline crack had appeared along the spine.

He suddenly recalled the phrase the Iron Abacus left behind:

“Broken tablets, shattered mirror, black ash, and a blade that refuses to settle accounts.”

The blade was not for cutting people.

It was a blade that refused to do the Malevolent Deity’s bookkeeping.

Lu Yuan loosened his grip.

They were all in agreement.

The net descended and smashed down, but Lu Yuan did not collapse.

He drove the blade into the well mouth’s rim, letting the black net coil around his arm.

“You want my name?”

The black face’s voice faltered.

Lu Yuan looked up.

“Take it then.”

The net tightened quickly.

Black characters appeared along Lu Yuan’s arm.

“Lu.”

“Yuan.”

“Lu Yuan.”

The letters crawled from his arm to his chest.

Asheng cried in terror,

“Don’t let it finish writing!”

“I know,” Lu Yuan said without struggling.

He stared at the marks and used the blade tip to cut a wound across his palm.

Blood flowed down the black letters.

“Names are called out.”

“They are also recognized by the person.”

“You only write my name; you didn’t write my life.”

Lu Yuan pressed his palm against the Name Stele.

“My name is on my body.”

“My life is in my hand.”

“If you take the name, you can’t take the person.”

Blood light exploded from his palm.

The black net’s “Lu Yuan” characters were washed away by the crimson.

Then Lu Yuan grabbed the Name Stele’s edge with both hands and pulled outward fiercely.

The stele did not shatter.

Instead, it split open a door seam down the middle.

From the seam came countless voices calling names, some near, some far, like the mountain’s dead all waiting for an answer.

Lu Yuan did not answer.

He shoved the black wooden tablet into the seam.

The empty ledger on the tablet turned to white light and blocked the Name Stele’s doorway.

“If the Name Stele does not open, the Malevolent Deity will not come out.”

“If the Life Stele does not move, Asheng will not scatter.”

“If the Death Stele does not break, the road outside remains.”

“Now, pull the black nails.”

The three black nails vibrated simultaneously.

Asheng’s black flesh split open across his chest, revealing three deep wounds down to the bone.

He did not cry out but bit his lip hard.

Lu Yuan looked at him.

“How long can you endure?”

“For a long time.”

“How long did you endure before?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Then remember from now on.”

Lu Yuan handed his blade to Zhou Heng.

“You pull the Death nail.”

He passed the ink-line to Lin Zhaoxuan.

“You bind the Name nail.”

Finally he handed a cinnabar-tipped nail to Song Qinghe.

“You guard the Life nail.”

“Erxiao, Cheng’an, hold Asheng down and keep him from being dragged by the fetal roots.”

They all agreed.

Lu Yuan stood in the triangle formed by the three steles and faced the black face that widened.

“What are you doing?” Wang Cheng’an asked.

“Hold it.”

The black face lowered its gaze on Lu Yuan.

“A mortal body dares to block a god?”

“You first walk out of this well.”

Lu Yuan crossed his blade before him.

“If you can’t get out, then don’t call yourself a god.”

The black face suddenly thrust out a hand.

It was enormous, its nails like five black stone plates, pressing down toward Lu Yuan.

Lu Yuan planted his feet and invoked steps of the Seven Stars.

“Heaven’s Canopy turns left, Heaven’s Offering moves right; black fiends do not enter, yin wind not welcomed. Disciple of the Mysterious Gate borrows the Big Dipper positions to press!”

He performed seven star steps.

The first step landed on the Canine Star.

Second on the Giant Gate star.

Third on the Prosperity star.

Fourth on the Literary Harmony star.

Fifth on the Upright star.

Sixth on the Military star.

Seventh on the Breaking Army star.

With each step he carved a star dot into the ground with his blade tip.

The seven dots connected into the Big Dipper.

When the black hand pressed down, it landed exactly on the handle.

Lu Yuan gripped the blade with both hands, blade tip upward.

“Big Dipper suppresses evil, seven stars fix the soul!”

Blade met black hand with a thunderous clash.

Lu Yuan’s knees sank and the stone under his feet cracked inch by inch.

The black hand still pressed down, inching lower.

“Brother Lu!” Xu Erxiao shouted.

“Pull the nails!”

Lu Yuan gritted his teeth and commanded.

Zhou Heng had already rushed to the Death stele.

The Death nail was driven deep into the cavern floor; he gripped the hilt and lifted under the nail.

“Up!”

The nail would not budge.

A white-boned arm suddenly appeared from the nail, clutching Zhou Heng’s blade.

Zhou Heng’s wrist cracked, blood flowing down the hilt.

“It’s using the dead to weigh the blade!” Lin Zhaoxuan said.

Zhou Heng did not retreat.

He put his foot on the nail’s tail and switched to a reverse grip, driving the blade edge into the ground.

“If the dead press the blade, I’ll use the living to press you!”

He pressed his shoulder against the hilt, almost falling forward onto the ground.

The Death nail finally moved a half inch.

Lin Zhaoxuan’s ink-line had already bound the Name nail.

He looped the line around his arm and tied a reverse knot.

“Name returns to the line, the line returns to the gate.”

“The sect has rites; the rites will not be borrowed to the evil.”

“Cut!”

The Name nail shuddered violently.

Black threads along the ink-line snapped back and coiled around half of Lin Zhaoxuan’s body.

His face drained pale, but he did not release his grip.

“Qinghe!”

Song Qinghe had placed the cinnabar nail beside the Life nail.

Asheng convulsed.

Each time the Life nail moved, his chest split another inch.

Song Qinghe did not pull the nail; she stabbed the cinnabar nail into the shadow of the Life nail.

“Life is not for offering, fetus is not food.”

“Life is in the well, not at the evil mouth.”

“Asheng, hold on to your own name.”

Asheng raised his head.

Black water streamed from his eye sockets.

“I… am called Asheng.”

“I am called Asheng.”

“I am called—”

His voice grew clearer.

On the third time he spoke, the black thread coiling the Life nail suddenly loosened.

The pressure from the black shadow’s palm lessened at that moment.

Lu Yuan seized the chance and flicked his blade upward.

Boom!

The black hand split open along the Dipper blade’s path.

Lu Yuan crouched and slipped under the severed hand, running straight for the black face’s core.

The black face hadn’t expected him to come close; the crack yawned open.

Countless steles swiveled inward and emitted innumerable dull thuds.

“Do you think ripping away a few steles kills me?” it snarled.

“You won’t kill me.”

Lu Yuan was already under the black face.

“But I can make you shut up.”

He took out the last of the salt and black ash, mixing them in his palm.

Left hand formed the Purify Seal, right hand held the blade.

“Dust returns to dust, water returns to water, evil in the soil buried in soil.”

“Filth does not enter the body, unclean does not enter the eye.”

“Black mountain offerings, today we reverse.”

“Reverse sacrifice!”

He slammed the salt-ash mix into the black face’s crack.

The black face screamed, a sound that shook the mountain belly.

Steles inside began to invert.

Black qi that had been sucked inward burst outward.

The birch woods, huts, fake villages, stone steps, and countless scraps of name-offerings streamed out of the black face and rushed toward the mountain exterior.

The mountain belly began to split.

“Hurry!” Lu Yuan called, “Pull the nails!”

Zhou Heng finally pulled the Death nail free.

At the instant the nail left the ground, a huge collapse echoed from below the grotto.

Lin Zhaoxuan’s Name nail loosened too.

He twisted the ink-line and hauled the Name nail from the stele base.

The moment the Name nail came free, the black line snapped back and flung Lin Zhaoxuan into the stone wall.

Song Qinghe still guarded the Life nail.

“One more!”

The Life nail was driven deepest into Asheng’s chest.

Black fetal roots coiled around its shaft.

Asheng looked at Lu Yuan; his voice was barely a whisper:

“If you pull it, I will die.”

Lu Yuan walked to the well edge.

“Do you want to live?”

Asheng nodded.

“I want to.”

“Then you cannot only stay here.”

“But there is no home for me outside.”

“Get out first.”

“Then what?”

Lu Yuan looked at his half-child, half-black-flesh form.

“Get out first. After you’re out, find a place that lets you live.”

Asheng’s eyes flickered.

Lu Yuan extended his hand but did not grab him; he pressed it above the Life nail.

“I will not decide for you.”

“If you want to pull it, nod yourself.”

Asheng was silent for a long time.

At last he slowly nodded.

Song Qinghe gripped the Life nail with both hands.

“Pull!”

At the moment the Life nail came free, all sound in the main cave fell silent.

The black face’s features froze mid-air.

Asheng’s black flesh rolled outward, revealing a fist-sized black stone heart.

The stone heart bore the last character:

“Life.”

Lu Yuan raised his blade and chopped down.

The stone heart did not shatter.

The blade struck and was thrown back by enormous force.

The black face opened all seven eyes again.

“The character life must not be cut.”

“Cut life and the mountain dies.”

“If the mountain dies, you all die.”