A dull, bone-cracking pain radiated from Lin Yi’s right scapula. Shi Meng’s weight pressed down on him like a sack of waterlogged sand and gravel, making his spine groan with every movement. Each time he took a step, the old wound on his left ankle, corroded by formic acid, burned anew. He had torn strips of cloth from his garment and twisted them into a rope to secure Shi Meng to his back; the knot dug into his sternum. Sweat mingled with blood and grime, trickling from his brow ridge into the corner of his eye. “Movement… on the left,” a broken, rasping whisper tumbled from his throat, more like a mutter to himself. The severed insect limb in his left hand probed the darkness ahead—it was scavenged from the queen’s chamber, its tip still smeared with yellowish-green mucus. His right hand pressed tightly against his chest; through the coarse fabric, the jade pendant pulsed with a faint but distinct rhythm. The fork in the ant tunnel reeked of the sour, rotten odor left by worker ants, but the air drifting from the passage the pendant pointed to carried a trace of strange cleanliness. Not the scent of flowers, nor the crispness of plants and trees. It was more like… the coolness of a stone slab after rain, mixed with a wisp of sandalwood, so faint it seemed almost worn away by time. Behind him, Shi Meng’s breathing was heavy and chaotic, alternating between frantic and shallow. His skin temperature was frighteningly high. Lin Yi nudged backward with his uninjured left elbow, touching the bandage wrapped around Shi Meng’s ribs—already soaked through with blood and sweat, sticky and cold. “Hold on a little longer,” he whispered, more for his own ears. A more fragmented, denser skittering sound, like countless carapaces scraping against stone walls. Lin Yi’s pupils constricted sharply, his body instinctively pressing against the right-hand wall. The tip of the insect limb pressed into the ground, the muscles in his arm taut as a fully drawn bowstring. Tiny, densely packed points of eerie green light ignited in the darkness. Rotted Armor Beetles. The size of fingernails, feeding on corpses and spiritual energy residue. They normally did not actively attack living creatures, unless… the prey was nearly dead. The swarm halted three feet in front of him, forming a squirming band of light. They did not pounce, only milled about restlessly in place, their elytra rubbing together with a teeth-grating rustle. Lin Yi looked down at his chest. Through the fabric, the jade pendant emitted a soft, milky-white halo, like a small, gentle moon. As the halo’s edge touched the swarm, the beetles in the front row recoiled as if shocked, their green light dimming. The swarm parted as if by an invisible hand, clearing a narrow path. The beetles crowded against the stone walls on either side, their green lights flickering, not daring to cross the line. Lin Yi, carrying Shi Meng, passed through the wall of insects. A wave of putrid stench hit him, mixed with the crunch of crushed carapaces. The passage began to slope upward, and the texture of the walls changed. It was no longer the rough earth and stone excavated by ants, but smooth, artificially carved rock faces. Extremely shallow incisions remained on the stone, their lines fluid and ancient, resembling some lost pattern of cloud and thunder. The touch was icy, yet carried a faint residue of spiritual energy that seeped into his skin through his fingertips. The frequency of that energy… was a perfect match for the pulse of the jade pendant. His heart clenched violently, blood rushing to his eardrums. He quickened his pace, the searing pain in his right shoulder suppressed by a kind of burning urgency. The end of the passage was blocked by a mass of vine-like root tendrils, gnarled and withered black, yet faintly glowing with a jade-like, warm luster. Behind the roots was a stone door. The door’s surface was covered with worn relief carvings, most eroded into obscurity by time. But in the center, there was a palm-sized indentation, the pattern along its edge— The cloud-and-thunder pattern along the jade pendant’s border fit the pattern of the door’s indentation perfectly. It wasn’t fear. It was something more complex, like a seed buried deep underground suddenly breaking through the soil, its roots sinking deep into his very blood. He gritted his teeth, forcing his wrist steady, and pressed the jade pendant into the indentation. The pendant’s light suddenly swelled. A milky-white spiritual radiance rippled The space measured no more than three zhang square. The walls and floor were all made of the same bluish-gray stone, polished smooth as a mirror. Scattered in the corners were the remnants of several stone furniture pieces — a low couch, a stone table, and half of a toppled curio shelf. Everything, however, was covered in a thick layer of dust, as if sealed away for countless centuries. The stone platform was one chi high and three chi wide, its surface flat and level as a whetstone. Its top was densely carved with words. Those words were written in a dark red pigment, a color so deep it resembled congealed blood. Under the illumination of the milky-white spiritual light filling the chamber, they gave the faint illusion of flowing. The handwriting was wild and scribbled, the strokes brimming with a repressed, desperate grief and indignation. Lin Yi’s heart hammered against his ribs until it hurt. The jade pendant in his breast pocket grew scalding hot, almost searing through his skin. He stopped before the platform and looked down at the first line. His fingertip hovered above the characters, not daring to touch them. Within those dark red strokes lingered an emotion—not information conveyed by the words themselves, but the heart-state of the writer at that moment, branded into the stone like an imprint. The second line: "*The Lin Clan's Protector lineage, inheriting the will of the Destiny-Defiers, guards the secret of the Heavenly Gate.*" Two words pierced his vision like ice spikes. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Fragments flashed through his mind—his father's back in the ancestral hall, the evasive looks of the clan elders, the golden fissure that split the sky when that "Heavenly Punishment" descended. The third line: "*Heaven's Dao oversees, pursues eternally. The three hundred and seventy souls of the Lin Clan... all perished in... the autumn of the Jiazi year.*" Lin Yi's knees buckled. He braced a hand on the edge of the platform. The stone was icy cold, but the moment his fingertip brushed the dark red characters, a surge of overwhelming sorrow crashed into his mind. He saw flames. Heard screams. And golden thunderbolts falling from the sky like a rain of judgment. His teeth ground together with an audible click. His eye sockets burned. His blurred gaze swept to the fourth line, where the handwriting became exceptionally chaotic, as if the writer's wrist had trembled violently: "*Only a young son remained, entrusted to the Cold Pool, hidden under a false name. If descendants in later ages, the jade pendant resonates to this place—*" The following few characters were obliterated by a deep, gouging scratch. The edges of the scratch were scorched black, as if instantly seared by intense heat. Lin Yi's finger traced the scratch, and a needle-like sting shot through his skin. A residual spiritual energy fluctuation remained—violent, domineering, brimming with an aura of annihilation. He snatched his hand back, his chest heaving. The sandalwood scent in the stone chamber grew stronger, yet the thread of metallic rust became clearer. He scanned the room, his gaze falling on the side of the platform—there, a few more lines of smaller characters were carved, the handwriting much neater, as if added later: "*Destiny-Defiers do not defy Heaven, but defy the predetermined Mandate of Heaven.*" "*Heaven's Dao has flaws; rules have gaps. Destiny-Defiers seek the gaps to walk, wishing to mend Heaven's flaws, yet suffer the backlash of the rules instead.*" "*The Lin Clan's protection of the Way does not aid defiance of Heaven, but protects the possibility of 'mending Heaven'.*" "*However, the rules tolerate no variables. The Overseers descend, the Purge arrives.*" "*Descendants of later ages, remember well: Where the jade pendant points, there lies the 'Gap'. Yet to touch it will inevitably draw the Overseers.*" The final two characters, "*Be cautious,*" were carved so deeply they nearly pierced through the stone slab. Lin Yi stood rooted, his blood feeling as if it had frozen solid. He looked down at the scalding pendant on his chest, then up at the blood-red characters on the stone platform. Three hundred and seventy souls. All perished. Overseers. Purge. And he, was the only "young son" who had escaped. His father had shut him in the Cold Pool not as punishment, but to hide him. That "Heavenly Punishment" was no accident; it was the "Overseers" discovering a fish that had slipped through the net. All the fragments clicked together, forming the most terrifying picture. Lin Yi turned around in horror, raising the insect limb before his chest. In the Lin Yi leaned back against the stone platform, breathing rapidly. The intense pain in his right shoulder finally broke through the adrenaline barrier, making his vision darken. His spiritual energy was nearly depleted, his physical strength on the verge of collapse. And across from him, Shi Meng was being controlled by some higher-level power, transformed into a puppet that only knew destruction. The trajectory of the slash was chaotic, yet it sealed off all paths of retreat. Gritting his teeth, Lin Yi used the insect limb in his left hand to block upward. Clang—! The deafening sound of metal striking metal shook his entire body, splitting the skin of his palms and causing the insect limb to fly from his grasp. The heavy sword’s momentum continued unabated, grazing his temple and smashing onto the stone platform. A deep crack appeared on the edge of the stone platform, nearly severing several lines of blood characters. Lin Yi took the opportunity to roll to the other side of the platform. The jade pendant on his chest blazed with light, a milky spiritual radiance enveloping his body like a thin veil. The crimson eyes stared at the pendant’s glow, and for the first time, a trace of struggle appeared on his face. His muscles contorted, the green patterns writhing even more frantically. Garbled syllables forced their way out of his throat: “…Light… noisy…” “Shi Gantang!” Seizing this momentary hesitation, Lin Yi rasped, “Look around! This isn’t that old dog Xuan Yin’s kennel!” The heavy sword clattered to the ground. Shi Meng clutched his head with both hands, fingernails digging into his scalp, blood seeping between his fingers. “Shut… up…” His voice was as hoarse as sandpaper grating. “Something… in my head… is screaming…” “Is it telling you to kill me?” Lin Yi leaned against the stone platform, slowly standing up. The wound on his temple was bleeding, the blood trickling into the corner of his mouth, the salty, metallic taste stinging his taste buds. “But you owe me a life, Shi Meng. Xuan Yin treats you like a puppet on strings, and you’re okay with that?” Shi Meng jerked his head up, crimson eyes fixed fiercely on him. Bloody tears actually streamed from the corners of his eyes, mingling with the light of the restraining green patterns, creating a chilling, bizarre sight. He staggered forward one step, then another, as if struggling against invisible chains. It wasn’t an attack. His hand was reaching for the pendant on Lin Yi’s chest. The moment Shi Meng’s fingers touched the pendant, the green patterns reacted as if branded by a hot iron, emitting a piercing sizzling sound, their light dimming abruptly. The giant man let out a pained groan, collapsing to his knees, forehead pressed against the ground, his entire body convulsing. The sandalwood scent in the stone chamber suddenly turned fresh, the metallic odor fading. Under the spiritual light’s illumination, the blood characters on the stone platform seemed to regain a vivid, dark red hue, as if freshly written. Lin Yi stood in place, watching Shi Meng kneeling before him. The giant man’s convulsions gradually subsided. The green patterns beneath his skin dimmed but did not vanish, merely lying dormant. His breathing shifted from chaotic to heavy, then to… relatively steady. The crimson in his eyes faded significantly, leaving behind exhaustion, confusion, and a deep-seated, bottomless fear. He stared at Lin Yi, his lips moving slightly, his voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible: “…That light… made it… quiet.” Bending down, Lin Yi picked up the heavy sword that had fallen to the ground. The hilt still retained the warmth from Shi Meng’s palm. He offered it back. Shi Meng stared at the sword, then looked up at him, his gaze as complex as an overturned palette. “I…” He tried to stand, but his legs gave way. Lin Yi reached out to support his arm. The two leaned on each other, swaying unsteadily as they regained their footing in the center of the stone chamber. Shi Meng’s eyes swept over the dark red blood characters, his pupils contracting. He clearly couldn’t read the script, but the residual emotions within those characters pierced his perception like invisible needles. His face paled. “This place… feels wrong.” His voice was hoarse. “The moment I entered… that thing in my head went mad.” Lin Yi offered no explanation. He released his grip and turned to face the stone platform. The jade pendant was still warm, but the temperature was beginning to drop. The milky spiritual light gradually receded, and the stone chamber returned to its original soft illumination. Those blood characters appeared even more glaring under the light. Three hundred and seventy souls. But the direction it pointed had already been etched into his mind. Not a specific path, but a certain… feeling. Like an extremely fine thread in the darkness, faint and barely perceptible, tugging at his awareness. "Find the exit," Lin Yi said, bending to pick up the insect limb from the ground. Its tip was cracked, but it was still usable. "If this stone chamber has a door, there must be a way out." Shi Meng's face still bore the traces of bloody tears, but the confusion in his eyes had cleared. There was a kind of resigned clarity there now, like a beast that knows it has fallen into a trap and, therefore, no longer panics. Then, the giant man's face twisted into an ugly, yet genuine, smile. "Fine," he said, gripping his heavy sword. "Anyway... I owe you a life. At most, I'll just pay it back to you." He turned and walked towards the stone door, his steps much steadier than when he had entered. His right shoulder still hurt, but the pain had become a kind of cold measurement, reminding him he was alive, could still move, could still... keep going forward. The door slowly closed behind them. Milky-white spiritual light leaked from the crack, the last sliver vanishing into the darkness like a sigh. The bloody words on the stone platform sank back into eternal silence. Only the smell of rust still faintly lingered in the air. Like a great rain from three hundred years ago, that had never ceased. Lin Yi stepped inside, his vision completely dominated by the dilapidated stone platform at the center. The platform stood about half a man's height, its surface covered in fine, dense patterns. Under the milky-white spiritual light suffusing the chamber, those patterns took on a dark reddish hue—like blood that had dried for centuries. Shi Meng was slumped against the wall, his head tilted to one side, still unconscious. But on the giant man's thick arms, those cyan patterns were visibly squirming and glowing, as if something living was moving beneath his skin. Lin Yi's fingertips unconsciously tapped the hilt of the dagger at his waist. The rhythm was steady, carrying a kind of compulsive regularity. This was his habit when thinking, and the only way to suppress the turbulent emotions churning within him. The air in the stone chamber carried a strange odor, a mix of stale dust and faint sandalwood. The sandalwood was light, yet it couldn't mask a faint, elusive scent of metallic rust. The closer he got, the stronger the reaction from the jade pendant in his bosom. A gentle warmth seeped through the cloth into his skin, resonating with the spiritual light emanating from the stone platform. Their frequencies gradually synchronized, emitting an almost inaudible low-frequency hum. The characters on the platform's surface weren't carved, but written with some kind of dark red pigment—now he could see clearly, it wasn't pigment. The edges of the characters showed fine cracks, like patterns naturally formed after blood had dried. The handwriting was hasty, the strokes carrying urgency and resolve. In some places, the writer's trembling hand had left shaky, trailing marks. He leaned over, his fingertip hovering half an inch above the first line of text. A faint, stinging sensation came from his fingertip—not physical, but a kind of spiritual resonance: grief, unwillingness, anger, and a trace of near-desperate perseverance. These emotions were sealed within the characters, undiminished by the passage of time. The expansion of his lungs pulled at the wound on his right shoulder, the pain making him even more alert. He forced himself into that state of near-cruel rationality, stripping away emotion, leaving only the capacity for observation and interpretation. The script was in an ancient form, from the same origin as the cloud-and-thunder patterns on the edge of the jade pendant, belonging to a long-lost branch. He deciphered slowly, some characters requiring deduction based on context and the pendant's resonance. The frequency of his fingertip tapping the dagger increased. He continued reading, his gaze sweeping quickly over the dark red characters, capturing key information. "The Lin Clan's Guardian Dao lineage, inheriting the will of the Fate-Defiers, guarding the secret of the Heavenly Gate..." "The Great Purge... the Guardians all perished... no, it's 'conceal'..." When he read the character for "conceal," Lin Yi's heart suddenly clenched. The strokes of that character were applied with exceptional force, its dark red color deeper than the others, as if the writer had bitten his fingertip and traced it over again. And beneath the "conceal" character was a line of smaller, nearly worn-away commentary: "So long as the bloodline endures, the surveillance never ceases. Hunted for eternity." Lin Yi's fingertip stopped in mid-air, no longer tapping. He stared at So they gave up on him. So they publicly claimed it was "self-destruction of the foundation." So they confined him to the Cold Pool in the back mountains, both to protect the family's reputation and also... also what? Did they think this cripple struck by heavenly punishment was no longer worth investing resources in? Or were they afraid that him being alive would attract further surveillance? His fingernails dug into his palms, sending sharp pain. But he didn't release; instead, he clenched harder, letting the pain suppress the surging roar in his chest that was almost about to burst from his throat. His gaze continued downward, landing on a dense cluster of characters in the center of the stone platform. The text there recorded fragmentary information about the "Fate-Inverter": "Fate-Inverter is not the name of one person, but a lineage of a Way." "Their Way inverts heaven and alters fate, breaking predetermined tracks, thus it is not tolerated by the Heavenly Dao." "The secret of the Heavenly Gate... concerns the origin of rules... The Fate-Inverter seeks to open it, to alter the fate of all living beings..." "Heavenly Dao descended punishment, the Fate-Inverter lineage was nearly severed, only the Guardians hid the bloodline, awaiting..." The characters that followed were erased by a deep scratch. As if someone had fiercely scraped the stone platform's surface with a sharp tool, intentionally destroying the most crucial information. The scratch was fresh—relative to the other parts of the stone chamber, perhaps only a few decades old, at most a century. He leaned in closer, almost pressing against the stone platform's surface, trying to discern residual stroke traces from the scratch's texture. But he failed. It was destroyed very thoroughly. It was more like the death throes of a beast, mixed with pain and rage. No, it wasn't "standing." The giant's body was twisted in a bizarre posture, his legs stiff, knees barely bent, the entire person like a puppet lifted by invisible strings. His eyes were open, but there was no focus in his pupils, only a field of crimson. The cyan patterns beneath his skin now glowed piercingly bright, like glowing venomous snakes writhing and intertwining under the surface. Those patterns spread from his arms to his neck, then crawled up his cheeks, forming eerie spiderweb-like patterns around his eye sockets. Shi Meng's mouth hung open, drool mixed with blood threads trickling from the corner. He stared at Lin Yi, but his gaze was empty, as if looking through him at something else. Then, he moved. The giant's left hand grabbed, scooping up the heavy sword from the ground—Lin Yi had placed it against the wall earlier. The blade scraped across the ground, raising a shower of sparks and a piercing friction sound. The moment Shi Meng gripped the hilt, the cyan patterns on his arm erupted with even stronger light, almost about to pierce through his skin. His right hand pressed against the dagger at his waist, his left hand instinctively reached toward the jade pendant in his robe. His mind was racing: Was it because of the ancient artifact's spiritual power in the stone chamber? Or because of the fluctuations generated by the resonance between the spiritual light emitted by the stone platform and the jade pendant? Or both? What mattered now was that Shi Meng had lost control. And by the looks of it, this wasn't the previous semi-conscious struggle, but his body had been completely taken over by the restriction. Lin Yi spoke, his voice deliberately slowed, carrying a kind of oppressive calm. The giant's head tilted, his crimson eyes locking onto Lin Yi, and then—the heavy sword was raised. The blade tore through the air, carrying a heavy whooshing sound as it smashed toward the top of Lin Yi's head. The force of this strike was enough to split an iron ant's shell, let alone the fragile skull of a human. The blade swept past his left shoulder, crashing onto the stone chamber floor. A deafening boom echoed within the enclosed space, vibrating painfully against eardrums. Stone chips flew, the ground struck with a deep crack. Shi Meng retrieved the heavy sword, his movements still stiff, but the speed at which he turned was alarmingly fast. Lin Yi crouched low, the blade sweeping over his head, the wind pressure it generated ruffling his hair. He rolled toward the other side of the stone platform, putting distance between them. The stone chamber space was too small. Barely three zhang in length and width, with the stone platform occupying most of the central area. His room to dodge was limited, while Shi Meng's heavy sword had an enormous attack range. Continuing like this, he would inevitably be forced into a corner. Lin Yi's gaze swept quickly across the stone chamber. The walls were ordinary rock, without any array patterns. The ground, aside from the crack just struck, showed no abnormalities. The only special thing was this stone Milky white spiritual light rippled out like water, instantly filling the entire stone chamber. The light shone on Shi Meng’s face, and those glowing green patterns writhed violently, as if scalded. A faint, grating sound came from beneath Shi Meng’s skin. The giant man let out a pained roar, his heavy sword slipping from his hand and clattering to the ground. He clutched his head, curled up, and dropped heavily to his knees. “Look at where this is!” Lin Yi’s voice rang out, unusually clear in the spirit-lit stone chamber. “This isn’t that old dog Xuan Yin’s kennel!” Shi Meng raised his head, his crimson eyes fixed on Lin Yi, the pupils flickering in and out of focus. His lips moved, squeezing out a few broken syllables. Lin Yi took a step forward, the light from the jade pendant almost touching Shi Meng’s face. “The life you owe me isn’t repaid yet. You want Xuan Yin to keep you as his puppet forever? You want your parents to have died for nothing?” The crimson faded for an instant, revealing the pain and rage that belonged to “Shi Meng” himself. It was only for a moment, but it was enough. Lin Yi quickened his pace, each word hammered out like a nail. “The spiritual light in this chamber, the resonance of this jade pendant—they’re stimulating the thing inside you. But stimulation can also be suppression—if you don’t want to be controlled, seize this moment now!” A guttural “heh heh” sound came from Shi Meng’s throat. He knelt on the ground, fingers clawing at the stone floor until his nails cracked and bled. The green patterns beneath his skin still squirmed, but their glow had clearly dimmed. The lines seemed forcibly suppressed by some power, slowly, unwillingly retreating back into the depths. The spiritual light in the chamber gradually weakened, and the resonance of the jade pendant stabilized. Lin Yi’s arm holding the pendant began to ache, but he did not lower it. Shi Meng slumped to the ground, head bowed, his heavy breathing starkly audible in the silence. The green patterns beneath his skin had completely dimmed, returning to their original faint green lines—no longer glowing, no longer writhing. “Why… did it stop?” Shi Meng spoke, his voice hoarse as if scraped by sandpaper. Lin Yi lowered the jade pendant but kept his hand on the dagger. He did not approach, maintaining a safe distance. “Because of what’s in this chamber. The restraint inside you reacts violently to ancient, pure spiritual energy.” Shi Meng’s eyes had returned to normal, but they were bloodshot, filled with exhaustion, lingering fear, and a hint of something Lin Yi couldn’t quite read… confusion? “Ancient… spiritual energy?” Shi Meng repeated the words, his gaze shifting to the central stone platform. Lin Yi was weighing his options. Tell Shi Meng? Or not? Shi Meng was lucid now, but the restraint remained, ready to be reactivated at any moment. Moreover, Shi Meng had been sent by Xuan Yin Zhenren—essentially a pawn planted by the enemy. Yet, in that brief moment, Shi Meng’s true self had overpowered the restraint. That meant Shi Meng wasn’t entirely willing to be controlled. It meant… there was a chance to win him over. Lin Yi finally spoke, his tone calm but each word carrying weight. “The Lin Clan’s Guardian Path inherited the will of the ‘Fate-Defiers,’ guarding something called the ‘Secret of the Celestial Gate.’ The Heavenly Dao thus decreed a purge, hunting down the bloodline, an endless pursuit.” “Fate-Defiers…” Shi Meng murmured the term, then as if suddenly realizing something, he sharply turned his gaze to Lin Yi. “Your family’s disaster…” “Not a Qi deviation, not an accident. It was the latest harvest in the Heavenly Dao’s hunt. The higher-ups of my clan knew, but they gave up.” Shi Meng opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end, no words came out. He just lowered his head, staring at his own calloused, scarred palms, and remained silent for a long time. “My restraint… reacts to ancient spiritual energy.” He spoke slowly, as if thinking while he talked. “When that old dog Xuan Yin planted this thing in me, he said… he said it could ‘sense anomalies,’ could ‘mark variables.’ I thought… it was just a means to control me.” Lin Yi continued, his gaze falling on the green patterns on Shi Meng’s arm. “It can sense spiritual energy fluctuations related to the ‘Fate-Defiers.’ You’ve become a kind of… detector. Xuan Yin sent you into the He quickly scanned the remaining text on the stone platform. Most of it was fragmented records about how the "Guardian lineage" hid, passed on their knowledge, and repeatedly evaded purges. Some passages mentioned scattered information about the "Secret of the Heavenly Gate"—it seemed to be a location, or perhaps an... entrance? It was related to the origin of the rules, capable of altering the fate of all living beings. But what it specifically was, where it was located, and how to open it—all of that had been deliberately obscured or destroyed. The final passage was written on the edge of the stone platform, its characters the faintest, almost vanishing: "If descendants of later generations reach this place, know this—defying fate is not to defy heaven, but to change fate. The Heavenly Way is not inviolable; the rules are not unbreakable. However, the price... is borne by oneself." Lin Yi stared at these words, his fingertips unconsciously tapping again. Price. What price? Having his spiritual root destroyed? His family being purged? Or something... deeper, something he couldn't yet understand? The giant man had already stood up. Though his steps were still somewhat unsteady, his eyes had regained their earlier resolve—or rather, a kind of grim determination born of acceptance. Shi Meng bent down and picked up the heavy sword from the ground. He didn't look at Lin Yi, but instead stared at the stone chamber's door. "We can't stay here long. My restraint... although it's suppressed for now, I'm not sure how long I can hold it. And besides..." "And besides, that old dog Xuan Yin might have already sensed it. We must find the exit and leave this lair before he sends people." He took one last look at the stone platform. Those dark red characters, under the gradually dimming spiritual light, resembled ancient bloodstains about to vanish at any moment. Then, he turned and walked toward the door. The two of them walked out of the stone chamber one after the other. Lin Yi paused at the doorway, pressing his fingers against the edge of the stone door. The door slowly closed, the last trace of milky-white spiritual light severed, completely swallowed by the darkness. Ahead, three passageways stretched into the unknown darkness. The jade pendant in his chest no longer felt warm, yet it seemed as heavy as a thousand weights, pressing down on Lin Yi's chest, making it hard to breathe.