Chapter 8: The Nine Scriptures and Nine Veins

This place was somewhat unusual.

In the center lay a space the size of a basketball court, about five meters in height, hewn with remarkable regularity. Four mine tunnels stretched outward from its periphery.

One of these tunnels was the very one where Wei Cheng and his group of fifty had first appeared. There was no need to investigate it further; though it branched in several places, all led to dead ends.

The remaining three tunnels extended evenly in three other directions.

The trouble was, all three tunnels were blocked.

Zhang Yong’s plan was blunt and straightforward: dig through each one in turn, without bothering to ask why.

As for who would do the digging, naturally it fell to those with the toughest hides and sturdiest physiques.

This was the reason Zhang Yong sought Wei Cheng’s cooperation. He claimed, with a veneer of justification, that only a tank could take the lead if anything unexpected happened.

Wei Cheng did not refuse. After all, at this moment, no one could rival his defenses.

He examined the three blocked tunnels closely, but found nothing unusual. Each had been obstructed by individual blocks of ore, piled from the outside in.

This suggested some peril lurked outside, frightening a group of miners so badly that they had retreated into the tunnels and sealed every exit behind them.

“Be careful, Wei,” whispered the bald man. “I have a feeling it’s even more dangerous outside these tunnels.”

Wei Cheng nodded and chose the tunnel in the center. He lifted a block of ore and passed it to the bald man, who then handed it to the next person, and so on, down the line of more than a dozen people.

This relay made the work go quickly, and in no time they had cleared five or six meters of tunnel.

Suddenly, a chill ran through Wei Cheng. In lifting the next stone, he uncovered a shriveled, desiccated arm.

He had seen death with his own eyes before, but the sight still made his hair stand on end and a chill sweep over his neck. The shock triggered an involuntary surge of his internal strength, instantly activating the Golden Bell Shield. A faint golden aura shimmered around him—strikingly visible in the darkness of the tunnel.

Those behind him, already on edge, caught sight of this and bolted like startled hares, imagining some disaster had occurred.

“It’s nothing, just a dried corpse,” Wei Cheng explained in a low voice before cautiously moving aside more stones to free the body. It was clearly a miner, for a crushed basket lay at his back.

The basket, though flattened, had not decayed or broken. Wei Cheng pried it open and found inside two fist-sized pieces of jade-green ore—his by right of discovery.

He then searched the corpse’s clothes and, to his surprise, found a small bundle wrapped in cloth: inside were four vegetable cakes, perfectly preserved.

Wei Cheng was puzzled, but quickly tucked the bundle away and continued examining the corpse.

A body would inevitably decompose, and no matter how well-wrapped, those vegetable cakes should have been contaminated as the corpse rotted. Yet here they were, untouched. The only explanation was that, at the moment of death, all the miner’s blood and moisture had been sucked away, leaving only a husk.

“Could it have been the work of a spider demon?” Wei Cheng wondered. Spiders fed in just such a manner. Yet this miner had died inside the tunnel, his companions unable to attempt rescue, forced instead to seal him in with stones. The danger, then, still lay outside—a monster capable of draining a person instantly to a desiccated shell.

Wei Cheng dragged the corpse out, sending a fresh wave of terror through the others, who dared not approach or see what he had found.

Saying nothing of his discoveries, he led the way back into the tunnel. Under Zhang Yong’s threats, the others followed, passing stones outward in their relay.

As they cleared more of the blocked tunnel, Wei Cheng uncovered another desiccated corpse beneath the stones. From this one, he scavenged a half-full water pouch and three more vegetable cakes.

Though these finds were valuable, they signaled increasing danger—the exit could be just ahead.

“We need to rest,” Wei Cheng said coolly to Zhang Yong as he emerged. They had cleared nearly thirty meters of tunnel. Though not physically exhausted, rest was necessary.

Zhang Yong hesitated, but before he could reply, a young man in his twenties grinned and said, “But Brother Wei, the exit might be just ahead. Wouldn’t it be better to push through in one go? When the World Society takes the lead, we won’t forget everyone when it’s time to share the spoils.”

This man, Song Guiming, also practiced the Purple Mist Heart Technique. Glib and sycophantic, he had quickly won Zhang Yong’s trust and become his chief confidant. Yet anyone with discernment could see he was merely manipulating the naïve Zhang Yong for his own ends.

Wei Cheng, though no office schemer, was not blind to such ploys. He shot Song Guiming a cold look. “I need to rest. If you want to continue, do it yourselves.”

With that, he headed straight for the tunnel they had first appeared in. Despite the lurking stone demon, it was the safest place as long as no one caused a commotion.

Before opening the exit, he intended to raise his internal strength to the equivalent of two cycles—one hundred and twenty years.

Only then would he have a chance of surviving if he encountered the blood-draining monster.

“Golden Bell Shield, huh? No wonder he’s so smug.”

“He’s just lucky, that’s all. If our Brother Yong had reached the transmission stele first, do you think this kid would be so cocky?”

Song Guiming and his cronies muttered snide remarks in the rear, childish games that nonetheless worked wonders with Zhang Yong, who still brooded over missing his chance at the stele.

For a moment, Zhang Yong’s face flushed dark, but he quickly forced a laugh: “It’s fine, if Brother Wei says he needs rest, we’ll wait as long as it takes! No more whining—Wei and I have risked our lives together!”

Wei Cheng had already returned to the end of the tunnel where he had first appeared. Though dilapidated, it gave him peace of mind.

He piled several stones at the entrance, then sat cross-legged, drank some water, ate a vegetable cake, and focused wholeheartedly on circulating his internal energy, cycle after cycle.

During this time, spurred on by Song Guiming, Zhang Yong came twice to urge him onward, but Wei Cheng said nothing. If Zhang Yong dared, he was welcome to challenge him here.

Though Zhang Yong called himself the bravest under heaven, he did not dare disturb the stone demon, and could only leave in frustration.

At last, when Wei Cheng’s internal energy reached two cycles—one hundred and twenty years—a thunderous roar sounded in his mind. The transmission stele he had chosen at the beginning reappeared, and all at once, the force of two cycles surged forth, breaking through to a new level.

This time, however, Wei Cheng was much more composed, for the stele’s reappearance brought him new understanding.

In fact, breaking through with his internal strength meant opening a brand-new, vital meridian within his body.

Before this, though it seemed as if his energy circulated through every major meridian, he had tapped only a fraction of his potential.

Only by breaking through could he unlock more of his body’s latent power.

These newly opened meridians were called the Innate Meridians—nine meridians in the Mountain-Moving Technique.

Each cycle of internal strength opened one meridian. When all nine were open, a further transformation awaited.

Wei Cheng did not know what this next step entailed, but he could clearly sense that his current state was more than twice as powerful as before.

In the darkness of the mine, he could see as if in daylight; breaths, whispers, even heartbeats of the people over a hundred meters away were crystal clear to his focused senses.

When he tested the first level of the Golden Bell Shield, a deep, resonant hum sounded—an illusory golden bell manifested three inches from his body, far more formidable than Zhang Yong’s full-powered Purple Mist technique.