Chapter 43: The Immortal Shaman

Once, Cheng Xiangru felt lost about the future. He believed his sole purpose was to protect his younger sister, caring little for his own destiny and too afraid to contemplate it.

It was only after hearing Leng Ying’s account that he finally found a direction.

Though trapped in an unprecedented desperate situation, Cheng Xiangru firmly believed he would not die there.

He was not afraid of death; he knew his sister was waiting for him to return home. More than that, he was convinced he would find that person and see that sword.

Cheng Xiangru studied the murals on the wall intently, searching for any information about the golden sword, striving to memorize every detail.

Through observing and discussing the murals with Leng Ying, Cheng Xiangru pieced together a story resembling a legend.

The shaman holding the golden sword had descended upon Hetu Ala City on a day when the sky was filled with seven-colored auspicious clouds.

At that time, Hetu Ala City was newly established, with everything in disarray. A plague seemed to be raging, and malevolent spirits of death wandered everywhere.

The shaman set up an altar, summoned numerous celestial beings to possess him, exorcised the evil spirits and disease, and saved Hetu Ala City.

Before the Manchu could cross the pass to seize the world, that shaman died. On his deathbed, he offered the golden sword to the clan leader Nurhaci, who in turn buried it in his father’s grave.

The mural ended its story there.

Leng Ying speculated that later, when the Qing dynasty entered the pass and took over the empire, they secretly undertook massive construction of the Qing Dragon Vein and countless supposed tombs, relocating their ancestors’ graves to the still undiscovered Qing Dragon Vein. Yongling was preserved only as a memorial site for ancestral worship.

This was not mere conjecture but had some basis.

When the Qing dynasty was first established, the realm was in turmoil with rebellions to restore the Ming. Yongling was built on the surface, an obvious target that could not have gone unnoticed.

Ancient people were deeply superstitious, firmly believing that disturbing ancestral tombs would doom their descendants, so surely many righteous people longed to exhume the Qing royal graves.

Therefore, since the Qing likely secretly constructed the Qing Dragon Vein, the golden sword buried with Nurhaci’s father was very likely moved there as well.

What remained unknown was how that sword eventually ended up in Cheng Zhifeng’s hands, and what true significance it held to ignite such fierce, life-risking battles over it.

As Cheng Xiangru and Leng Ying analyzed and discussed, they proceeded deeper into the passageway. Unconsciously, they finished viewing the murals and reached the end, only to be stopped by another wooden door.

The door was low, requiring them to crouch to enter, but it was unlocked. Carved with reliefs of a hundred beasts and coated with a thick layer of lacquer, it still gleamed brightly despite some dust.

Leng Ying glanced at Cheng Xiangru, who nodded slightly. Understanding, she reached out to push the door open.

With a creaking sound, the door slowly swung open.

Leng Ying bent down, holding a flashlight as she peered inside, then gasped in astonishment.

Startled, Cheng Xiangru asked, “What is it?”

“There’s someone inside,” Leng Ying whispered.

A chill ran down Cheng Xiangru’s spine. He truly hadn’t expected anyone to be hidden in such a secret underground place.

“Hmm? Why isn’t that person reacting at all?” Leng Ying murmured, dragging her red tassel spear and stepping inside first.

Cheng Xiangru followed closely, also bending to enter.

Behind the door was a roughly twenty-square-meter enclosed chamber. Directly facing the entrance stood an octagonal stone platform, its surface carved with the same hundred-beast reliefs as the wooden door.

On the platform sat a figure clad in animal skins, legs crossed, hands resting on knees, eyes tightly closed, utterly still, like a statue. By appearance and garb, he resembled the shaman from the mural.

Leng Ying inched forward cautiously, approaching him step by step.

Worried, Cheng Xiangru took a step toward her and gently pulled her back. She gave him a slight nod to reassure him, then resumed moving forward until she stood before the shaman.

“He’s dead,” Leng Ying observed after a moment, exhaling deeply. “It’s strange. He should be the shaman from the mural. Sitting here like this—why hasn’t he decayed?”

Cheng Xiangru guessed, “Could it be some kind of immortal water applied to him?”

Leng Ying shook her head. “I don’t know.”

With no danger apparent, Cheng Xiangru relaxed and began examining the chamber.

There were no treasures here—only scattered animal bones and thick plant roots clinging wildly to the walls, sprawling in every direction.

In one corner, a tree trunk penetrated upward through the chamber, breaking the walls. Its roots dug deep into the stone bricks, an impressive sight.

Leng Ying respectfully bowed to the incorruptible shaman’s remains, then circled the chamber to personally inspect for traps or hidden mechanisms. Finding none, she finally exhaled in relief.

“Who would’ve thought a shaman’s tomb would be concealed beneath this supposed grave? Even more surprising is how perfectly preserved his body is, as if he were merely asleep.”

Cheng Xiangru was equally stunned.

“You said you and my father have explored many ancient tombs. Have you ever seen a corpse that’s truly incorruptible?”

Leng Ying nodded. “We’ve seen all kinds: mummified, blood-stained, hairy corpses… but this is the first like this. On the surface, he really looks no different from a living person.”

Cheng Xiangru glanced around again, then sighed with some disappointment.

“It’s confirmed — there’s no way out here. Let’s not disturb his peace any further. We need to think of another plan to escape.”

Leng Ying nodded and, together with Cheng Xiangru, bowed once more to the shaman, uttering words of apology for the disturbance. Then they carefully retreated into the passage and quietly closed the wooden door.

Chen Shangke was still unconscious in the burial passage, a large bump swelling on the back of his head—the result of Leng Ying’s palm strike.

The two sat beside him, faces heavy with worry.

“I reckon those guys are guarding the entrance to the looting tunnel right now,” Leng Ying said irritably. “If we show ourselves, they’ll definitely shoot us down.”

Cheng Xiangru pondered a moment and said, “I remember seeing a corpse near that tunnel. Do you think we could use it as a human shield, holding it above our heads to block bullets?”

“And then?” Leng Ying blinked her big eyes, puzzled.

Cheng Xiangru thought again, frustrated, and slammed his fist on the ground.

“Then we’re still dead. They have more people and guns. Even if we try to break through, there’s no way we’d win.”

This was clearly a dead end, impossible to survive—unless there was another way.

But the tomb beneath was filled with thick smoke, making it impossible to venture deeper to find an exit. Even without the smoke, the tomb was riddled with traps and man-eating monsters. Going in meant certain death.

Leng Ying snapped, “Forget it. Let’s just stall for now. Let’s see who outlasts whom!”

Cheng Xiangru poured cold water on the idea.

“We definitely can’t outlast them. If they lose patience, they can just seal the tunnel. Then the two of us…”

Before he finished, a thunderous explosion shook the ground, dust scattering everywhere.

Startled, Leng Ying jumped up.

“Did you just jinx us?” she exclaimed.

“What jinx? This is a disaster!” Cheng Xiangru grew anxious. He guessed what the explosion meant.

Those men had lost patience. They were likely demolishing the tunnel entrance, aiming to suffocate both Cheng Xiangru and Leng Ying beneath the earth once and for all.