6.32 - The Secret Tomb of Yunchang

Standing at the base of the statue, the carved depiction of Yunchang seemed even more imposing up close. The figure towered overhead, its fierce expression a reminder that this was a man who led armies, and was a legendary combatant in his own right. A figure of myth, and the progenitor of many of the legends He Yu had grown up on. Standing in the presence of his likeness was humbling, to say the least.

In the chamber’s gloom, lit only by the pale light of Yi Xiurong’s technique, He Yu examined the base of the statue. He’d expected to find an inscription of some sort. Instructions as to how they were meant to proceed. At the very least a dedication, confirming that this unmistakable likeness depicted the real Yunchang. If only he were so fortunate.

The base of the statue was bare. Merely carved green jade, roughly resembling a boulder, or some other natural stone formation. It was clear that whoever had carved this massive statue cared far more for the figure of Yunchang himself, rather than whatever he might have stood upon.

“What now?” Zhang Lifen asked. “There doesn’t seem to be anything here for us. Shall we follow the qi? The four directions are clearly where they’re headed. We might find something of use there.”

Ren Huang kneeled down at the base of the statue. After several minutes of poking around, peering into shadows and crevices alike, he stood. “I can’t make out any of the formations. Whoever crafted the scripts, they’re well hidden. Probably underneath all of this.”

“If we’re to search, we should stay together,” Yi Xiurong said. Her voice was clipped as typical, and He Yu got the impression she was on edge. He couldn’t really blame her. She seemed like the type used to being in control of things. How long had she been the First Disciple of the Shrouded Peaks Sect? The day’s events, with Long Tingguang’s arrival, He Yu taking the lead in fending him off, and then getting sucked into some sort of magic tomb—well, He Yu couldn’t say he could blame her for being a bit shaken.

He Yu declined to weigh in. Instead, he stood before the small, nondescript altar at the base of the statue. If they truly stood within a tomb, it was only right he pay his respects to its inhabitant. Even a small bit of fortune from one so auspicious as Yunchang himself was sure to go a long way in their current predicament.

Channeling a spark of heaven qi, He Yu lit one of the long-cold sticks of incense. As the smoke drifted and curled in the darkness, he produced a spirit stone from his storage treasure and placed it in one of the votive bowls. Unsure exactly of what else to do, he clasped one fist in his palm, and gave the statue a brief but respectful bow.

To his surprise, one by one, the others followed suit. Each of them lit a stick of incense then placed a spirit stone in one of the bowls. Zhang Lifen went first, following a curious glance at He Yu after he’d finished. He said nothing to her, speaking seeming somehow inappropriate on the one hand, and his actions rather self-evident on the other. Ren Huang followed, and with less trepidation or ceremony. His offering was perfunctory and efficient—so wholly consistent with his personality. Yi Xiurong was the last, but her offering had more an air of formality to it. Unsurprising, given that she was the last remaining member of a once-powerful and proud noble clan.

After all four of them had finished with their offerings and stepped back from the altar, the four spirit stones flared a brilliant blue-white. The raw, unaspected qi that made them so valuable as cultivation resources streamed off them, flowing toward the statue, and into the point where its lower dantian would have been. Once the stones themselves had turned dull and gray, they crumbled to dust before a wind kicked up and carried the dust away before growing still once more.

A voice boomed out from the nothing that surrounded them, powerful like the crack of thunder. Iron-lunged, as befitting a general used to giving orders on the chaos of a battlefield. Confident from years of experience, defeat, and victory—the voice of one who had endured time and again.

“Prove yourselves worthy of the treasures of heaven. Prove yourselves worthy of the adoration of man. Prove yourselves worthy of the rule over the earth.”

The voice echoed for long minutes before finally it faded into the darkness. As the voice finally died at the last, one of the four flows of qi flared in power. A stream of brilliant vermilion light cascaded off the statue of Yunchang. Swirling motes of power followed that one channel of qi into the darkness.

“Well, it seems we’ve stumbled into the answer to our questions, haven’t we?” Zhang Lifen said. Without waiting for an answer, she set off after the swirling red light.

He Yu followed. There was little point in sitting around and debating things, at least as far as he was concerned. Ren Huang and Yi Xiurong had come here with the express purpose of uncovering the secrets of this place. That they’d taken shelter here when attacked by a foe beyond their strength didn’t change that. The way forward was as clear as day, at least as far as he was concerned. Ren Huang and Yi Xiurong silently fell in behind him.

They walked into the darkness for what felt like hours, following the trail of red light. If He Yu had needed any assurances, this was no natural cavern, this was it. The perfectly smooth tiled floor was the only feature of this space once they’d left the statue of Yunchang behind them. Still in perfect condition and perfectly clean, even after all the time it had sat unattended, forgotten. Aside from the flooring, the only other break in the endless dark was the trail of faint vermilion light.

Finally, a shape loomed out of the darkness. A gate towering nearly as high as those that marked the entry to Iron Gate City stood lonely in the darkness. Surrounded by nothing. The pillars to either side of the gate itself were painted red and adorned with the character for fire. The roof was tiled in gold, and the whole construction was decorated with figures of the Vermilion Bird.

The trail of red light they’d been following surged toward the gate, filling the space between the pillars with a shimmering red expanse. Its swirling opaque field must be a portal of some sort. He Yu couldn’t think of any other reason the light they’d been following would behave that way after leading them to this lone structure, sitting in the middle of nothing.

He stepped forward. The others were only half a step behind him. There was no need for discussion—they’d all come here for one reason. And now they’d found it. Red light filled He Yu’s vision as he stepped through the gate. His stomach turned as he felt like he was in two places at once. Then everything sort of snapped, and he found himself standing in the middle of an inferno.

All around, a village burned. Shouts, urgent or panicked but most often both, filled the air along with the crackling of flames and the crack of collapsing timber. A line of peasants—none of whom had any cultivation to speak of—passed water to dump what they could on the largest sections of the blaze. They’d repurposed anything vaguely capable of holding water to aid in fighting the fire. A battle anyone could see they were destined to lose.

He Yu leaped into action. Storm clouds joined the smoke in the blackened sky, and the first patters of rain fell upon the flames. As his presence aided the villagers in the fight to save their homes, he called the winds to contain the fire’s spread, while racing to fill buckets of his own, and dump them on the fires from above.

Zhang Lifen was the first to join him in his efforts. A barrage of arrows launched into the sky turned to water and fell upon the flames. Her spirit turned the town’s only well into a geyser. Steam hissed as flames died, both from He Yu’s rain, and the advance of Zhang Lifen’s spirit. Ren Huang had no techniques to combat the blaze, but he contributed all the same. He threw off his outer robe, and set to hauling water. He carried more than ten of the mortals combined all at once, dumping it on the still-growing blaze. Yi Xiurong also joined in, lending her efforts in much the same manner as Ren Huang.

For hours they labored, for hours they fought. In the end, it wasn’t enough. When the night turned to a smoke-filled dawn, the village lay in ruin. The charred remains of homes sat skeletal in the morning mist, their blackened timbers and beams a bitter reminder of the effort they’d spend to no avail. Many of the villagers fell to their knees, hands covering their faces as exhaustion, grief, and despair overtook them in turn. A wail rose up from the far side of the village—a mother that had discovered her child’s remains, perhaps. Or a wife, her husband’s. The particulars didn’t matter, He Yu thought. It was a loss just the same. Indiscriminate and uncaring. It had come for them all, and despite the efforts of four immortals, the village was gone.

“Is that it?” Ren Huang asked. He Yu had gotten used to his stern and stony demeanor over the years at the Shrouded Peaks Sect. Especially in the wake of that first meeting. There was a note of disbeleif in his voice now, and half concealed anguish in his eyes as he beheld the destruction they’d failed to fend off.

“I don’t think so,” Zhang Lifen ventured after a moment’s silence. “We’re still here, aren’t we? This is clearly a trial of some sort. The voice bid us to prove ourselves worthy. I don’t imagine that if we’d truly failed whatever we’re meant to do, we would still be here.”

“Or we could just be trapped,” Yi Xiurong said. “Our failure condemning us to an eternity in this realm, to forever bear consequences of our inadequacy.”

He Yu didn’t think that was the case. For one, it seemed too cruel a test for one as righteous and just as Yunchang to set them to. If anything, he’d expect them to be kicked out of the tomb entirely if they’d failed the test. Left to the mercy of Long Tingguang, who no doubt remained outside, perhaps seeking a way in as they spoke.

No, if they were meant to do something here, it wasn’t yet complete. Now that the initial grief had broken over the now homeless villagers, He Yu noted that many of them had already gathered themselves up. They picked their way through the rubble, cleaning what they could, and clearing away debris that had cooled enough to handle. As the morning blossomed into fullness and the sun climbed higher in the sky, more and more villagers started to pitch in.

At first, it seemed a hopeless thing. The village was all but ruined. Not a single building yet stood, and rebuilding would take months, if not years. But still they trickled in, in ones and twos they joined their hands to the effort. Were they meant to take some lesson from this? Almost certainly, but He Yu couldn’t imagine they were meant to simply sit back and watch.

Then he saw the fields.

On a hill behind the city, rice paddies had been cut into the slope. The terraces remained untouched by the flames—there would be food, at least. Beyond the paddies and to either side lay a forest. Trees, thick and sturdy, grew along the slopes, and further past. The forest had also been spared. The village had everything it needed to rebuild—and if they had a little help, they could do so quickly.

“I don’t think we were meant to put the fire out,” he said.

“No?” asked Zhang Lifen. “That seems awfully cruel, if you ask me.”

“It’s not as if these people are actually real,” Yi Xiurong said. “They’re meant to test and to teach.”

“And I think I know how they’re meant to do that,” He Yu said. “And it doesn’t matter if they’re not real. They need help just the same.” He pushed down the knee-jerk feeling of foolishness that rose as soon as he’d said it, but it was true, at least in a sense. Just because these people were constructs, illusions, created to reveal character or teach a lesson—it didn’t change what was right. At least not so far as He Yu was concerned.

After a few moments of searching, he found a sturdy ax. Tool in hand, he set about to felling trees. As soon as the first tree hit the ground, Ren Huang appeared at his side, hoisting it onto one shoulder.

“You’ve a good heart,” he said as their eyes met for a moment. “Better than most of your advancement.” Without another word, he hauled the tree to the village square, where woodworkers and carpenters were already waiting.