Chapter Seventy-One: Born from Infinity, The Azure Heaven Tomb

The crescent moon hung high in the night sky, its faint silver glow slanting over the chill of the stone monuments. Under the moon’s gaze, Yi Mengyun realized how truly perilous it felt to spend a night alone, without map or aim, in this pitch-black graveyard. Humanity’s instinctive fear of the dark conjures terror from every whisper it contains. Crickets cried mournfully; the tombstones, draped in a shroud-like haze, became phantoms. In the distance, jagged rocks loomed as shadowy monsters, and the swaying silhouettes of trees mimicked the sinister pageantry of demon’s arrival.

It is said: where virtue and fortune dwell, so does good fortune; the unworthy, even in blessed lands, bring only ruin. The so-called “auspicious geomancy” of dragons and tigers is no more than a poetic way of describing mountains at the fore, flowing waters behind, gentle breezes, and a sense of tranquil self-awareness. To choose such a place—nestled by mountains and streams—as one’s final resting place is surely the convergence of heaven, earth, and man.

Mountains enclosed them on all sides, a living barrier; behind the tomb, a stream ran clear, the source of all things, the mother of movement and stillness, of yin and yang. In motion, it divides; in stillness, it unites. From this vantage, the southern bay of Xiamen sprawled below, where mountains and waters merged, rivers embraced the sea, sky and ocean shared a single hue, sun and moon shone together—altogether resembling a paradise on earth.

“How large is this tomb? How deep is it buried?” Zifan tiptoed around, eyeing the surroundings, unable to shake the eerie chill that crept through the graveyard. Guo Jia, after a long and careful inspection, shook his head. “We’ll only know the truth at the site itself. This tomb is no simple affair; I suspect it’s quite unlike anything we’ve known.”

“The key lies in this unique terrain—these mountains and trees keep all evil at bay. We can at least rest easier for now,” he said. “With such mountains as our rear, not even a typhoon could threaten us. This place truly lives up to the claim of ‘blessed land’—what a clever design for a tomb!”

At this point, the tomb’s entrance had already been pried open by armored guards. To maintain the auspicious alignment of geomancy, the layout must remain fixed, its energy contained and harmonious.

Heaven above, earth below—the ancient wisdom held true.

The group approached the ancient tomb. Zifan stepped forward and questioned the guards keeping watch. “Before we arrived, has anyone suspicious been near?”

The soldier lowered his weapon, saluted smartly, and replied, “General, we’ve kept a constant watch here, taking shifts through the night. There are also patrols around the perimeter. No one has come by—if anyone had, even a fly’s wings would have stirred the air and our attention.”

“Very well,” Zifan nodded. “After we go in, continue your watch. Take turns at your posts, and if anything happens, report at once.”

“Yes, sir.” The armored soldier straightened at once.

With that, Zifan led the group of tomb raiders inside. They moved cautiously, guided by two seasoned tomb robbers, Erniu and Dahei. The flickering torchlight barely pierced the gloom, and every step was taken with utmost care—no one knew what might appear the next moment.

Though the tomb’s actual area was not enormous, its depths were unfathomable. The deeper they ventured, the more the silt underfoot thinned, revealing ancient relics and remains, clear and haunting in the shallow waters—forming a scene both eerie and magnificent. The water was only two or three meters deep, but amidst the ruins and tangled roots, it felt as if only a thin veil separated them from another world.

After half an hour, the tunnel sloped downwards. Soon, a thick iron door appeared, flanked by two stone Buddha heads. Guo Jia stepped up, inspected the door, and ran his hands carefully over its surface. “The mechanism here is broken—rusted through with age. We can push the door open directly.”

A narrow opening appeared; through the gap, it was clear this tomb had been sealed for ages. “What’s strange,” Guo Jia mused, “is that perhaps the open door was intentional. These two guardian statues’ eyes are fixed straight at the entrance.”

“Does it matter if it was deliberate?” Guo Jia stroked his chin, his gaze calm. “To enter a tomb such as this is to tempt fate itself. How interesting…”

“Let’s press on,” Zifan urged, “our torches are nearly spent and time is short. Enough dithering!” He waved the others forward.

They slipped through the narrow door, the gloom making it nearly impossible to see. Zifan set his torch on the ground; Guo Jia did the same, creating a crisscross of light that dimly illuminated the burial chamber.

Zifan swept his gaze around. In the center stood a coffin. The chamber’s domed ceiling was covered in murals—scenes of music, dance, domestic life, painted buildings, servants, animals, flowers, and plants—all exquisitely vivid. The walls were lined with stone tablets dense with inscriptions. Peony motifs and a ring of twelve gilded zodiac animals adorned the borders. To Zifan’s surprise, he found himself able to read some of the characters.

In golden script, the center detailed Lady Liu’s life. The tomb’s owner, Liu Ji, had served as military governor of Lulong and Youzhou, a man of distinguished service. Born in 757 and dead in 810, aged fifty-three—poisoned by his own son.

“Strange, this tomb shouldn’t be so simple,” Guo Jia muttered. Zifan clapped him on the shoulder, “Relax, maybe it really is that straightforward.” With that, he approached the coffin.

Lifting the lid, Zifan was shocked. The body within was dressed in finery, eyes closed, face serene, hands folded over a box of unknown material, as if only asleep—strikingly handsome, with no sign of decay.

“What is this?” Zifan wondered aloud. The box, kept so close in death, was clearly of great importance. He picked it up and turned it over, puzzled. “I can’t tell what this is made of!” Guo Jia, alarmed, shouted: “Put it back! Don’t touch that box again!”

No sooner had he spoken than the entire chamber shook, as if the very structure shifted above and below. Everyone was thrown to the ground.

A deafening rumble echoed all around, as if a mechanism long dormant had been triggered. “After so many years, the traps still work?” Guo Jia gasped. Zifan hastily replaced the box, his heart pounding.

After a while, the shaking ceased and silence returned. Zifan rose cautiously, surveying the surroundings. “Is it over?”

“Perhaps, but we must stay alert. Look there!” Guo Jia pointed to a hole in the wall, newly opened by the quake.

Approaching warily, they entered—and found heaps of gold piled like hills, jewels scattered everywhere.

In the center stood a coruscating coral tree, several stories high, emerald green, its branches heavy with clusters of cherry-like fruit, blue stems, green leaves, red berries—vivid and lustrous. Atop one branch perched a pair of bejeweled kingfishers. Such treasures must have cost enormous effort to bring here—what deeper secrets did this tomb conceal?

“My lord, we’re rich now! No more worries about army funds!” Guo Jia gaped at the mountain of gems.

“Yes—quick, send word outside to start moving the treasures. But this is only a side chamber. The main tomb must hold even greater secrets,” Zifan mused.

Cautiously, they proceeded. Suddenly, Zifan halted, raising a hand for Guo Jia to count their numbers anew.

“My lord, what’s wrong?” Guo Jia asked.

“Something’s off. I feel like we’re being watched.” Zifan strode to the nearest coffin and peered inside—only to reel back in terror: the corpse’s eyes had opened, cold and blue, fixed directly on him.

That gaze was chilling, almost hypnotic; Zifan found himself staring back, frozen. The corpse didn’t move, not even its eyes, yet the eerie stare held him captive.

Guo Jia was the first to snap out of it. He rummaged through his pack, pulled out a black donkey’s hoof, and knocked it hard against the coffin, chanting strange incantations as he bowed deeply. Wiping sweat from his brow, he whispered, “We must leave at once—touch nothing more. The person in this coffin is formidable—if released, not even gods could save us.”

They groped their way onward. Erniu, oblivious to the danger, joked, “Were you talking to a corpse just now?”

Guo Jia ignored him, pointing at the newly exposed hole. “Careful as you pass—don’t touch anything. Everything here could be a trap.”

“What you saw was no ordinary corpse—that’s a blood corpse. Who knows if it was placed here on purpose or for some other reason? We’ve probably disturbed its rest. If we don’t hurry, we won’t get out alive.”

At the mention of a blood corpse, terror gripped the group. Some clutched their protective charms, whispering prayers. Curious, Zifan asked, “What’s a blood corpse?”

“A blood corpse is a body that’s transformed on sacred ground—a terrible thing. It’s immensely strong, highly poisonous. Contact with the living is death. Rarely do they awaken, and their tombs are always lavish. There’s a saying: ‘blood corpses guard treasure.’ I never thought we’d find one here,” Guo Jia sighed.

They gathered themselves swiftly—Zifan in front, Guo Jia in the middle, Erniu bringing up the rear. Torch in hand, they crept through the passage.

But the tomb’s corridors grew increasingly strange. After forty minutes, the tunnel seemed endless. Each door was identical to the last, and they realized they were trapped—no wind, no movement, only despair.

“Ghost walls!” someone exclaimed.

Guo Jia chuckled. “Don’t panic. It’s just a trick. The tomb owner cleverly infused the air here with miasma—heavier than air, it pools in stagnant corners. Breathing it clouds the mind, leaving you to wander in circles.”

He took out a handmade blood talisman and placed it at the four compass points, then folded his hands in prayer, chanting a mantra. He instructed the group to turn at right angles every so often.

The tunnel was long, its end unseen. They crept along for some five or six minutes when suddenly, an eerie sound whispered directly into their ears.

Erniu’s scalp prickled; he clamped a hand over his mouth. Zifan drew his weapon, eyes scanning the darkness.

“Everyone, watch your surroundings!”

They stood back-to-back, sweat soaking their clothes in less than half a minute.

Suddenly, a shriek came from overhead. Zifan looked up to see a monstrous face, its black eyes boring into his own.

“Run!” he shouted, sprinting on his short legs, the others following in terror. Within moments, they had fled into another chamber, slamming the door shut behind them.

“It didn’t follow us,” Erniu gasped.

“What was that thing?” Dahei collapsed in exhaustion.

Guo Jia looked around, stunned. “This isn’t the same chamber as before!”

Zifan, too, stared in disbelief. “How can this be? We followed the path exactly—how is it we’re not back where we started?”

Erniu was completely baffled, unable to find an answer.