Chapter Thirty-Eight: Following

Zhang Qinglin watched as the vehicle ahead of theirs gradually pulled away—it was, as he had expected, the same van. When their own car drew closer, the van had already stopped at the roadside.

Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che got out to investigate. They hadn’t seen anyone emerge from the van. Cheng Che gestured to Zhang Qinglin and whispered, “Be careful.”

They approached the vehicle and found the door ajar. Cheng Che peered inside—it was empty.

This stretch of road marked the border between Xinxiang and Heze. Zhang Qinglin stood by the car, scanning left and right, unable to guess where their quarry was headed. If they were going to Xianyang, they wouldn’t take this route—unless… He had just turned to call Cheng Che when suddenly his vision went black and he lost consciousness.

He didn’t know how much time had passed. When Zhang Qinglin came to, he was battered by strong winds and his body rocked with the motion of a moving vehicle. He shook his head and tried to open his eyes, pain stabbing at the back of his head. Only then did he realize he was inside a car, slumped against the window. The glass was cracked open, and beyond it, all was pitch-black. He tried to move, but couldn’t—his hands and feet were bound, and his mouth sealed with tape.

He stared at the face before him—savage, disdainful, bristling with an unkempt beard. He closed his eyes, forcing himself not to look. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cheng Che tied up just ahead and to his right, still unconscious, with two others seated beside him.

There was no sign of Da Zhuang or Old Seven. Were these men working for Boss Ma?

Just then, a rough voice called from the front passenger seat: “The road ahead isn’t good. Watch the prisoners. If anything goes wrong, none of us will be able to answer for it!”

Zhang Qinglin closed his eyes again. He didn’t know who their captors were, but they had to find a way out.

A sharp noise—the car stopped. The man by the door opened it and the group got out, two remaining on guard in front.

Now only Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che were left in the car. Cheng Che came to, realizing he was bound, and began writhing in his seat.

Zhang Qinglin gazed at him and blinked, signaling him to stay calm. Cheng Che understood and settled down.

Zhang Qinglin felt around and found a sharp piece of metal, using it to cut the ropes binding both himself and Cheng Che.

“Pah… Old Zhang, what’s going on? Where are Xinyue and Wanqing?” Cheng Che whispered as he freed his ankles and tore the tape from his mouth.

“We were ambushed. The girls’ whereabouts are unknown. We need to get out of here first.” Zhang Qinglin edged toward the window. Outside, only two men stood a few paces away, smoking. No one else was in sight.

He gently opened the door, and both men slipped out quietly. As they turned to run, the two smokers sensed something and looked over immediately. Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che didn’t hesitate—they bolted.

The two guards gave chase, rapidly closing the distance. Cheng Che lost his footing and tumbled down a slope, with Zhang Qinglin, caught off guard, rolling after him.

...

“Damn, heaven help us… Old Zhang… Old Zhang…” Cheng Che clambered to his feet, brushing dirt from his clothes. It was miraculous—after tumbling down a steep slope in the dead of night, he was unscathed.

Zhang Qinglin sat up, clutching his left shoulder. “Cheng Che, you’ve really gotten me into a mess. Why’d you push me? Hurry up and get up!”

Cheng Che hurried over to Zhang Qinglin, patting his back. “Old Zhang, you alright? Did you hurt anything?”

Zhang Qinglin heard Cheng Che’s voice coming from behind his right side. Suddenly alarmed, his eyes widened. ‘Why does it feel like something heavy is pinning my lower body? I can’t move!’

He tried to move his legs—they were indeed weighted down. It was too dark to see anything, so he asked Cheng Che to check if something like a rock was pressing on him. Cheng Che, feeling around in the darkness, recoiled in shock.

He’d uncovered a corpse from atop Zhang Qinglin’s legs. “Ah… It’s a dead man… ah…”

Zhang Qinglin rubbed his legs, took out his lighter, and shone it at the body. “He’s already dead—what are you afraid of?”

He brought the flame to the corpse’s face. Wasn’t this Xiaomi, Wu Ye’s underling? How did he end up dead here? The fatal wound was a knife plunged into the heart. The skin was still faintly warm—could he have just been killed and dumped here?

They found a flashlight on Xiaomi’s body, but nothing else, and left quickly, dimming the flashlight beam as much as possible.

Zhang Qinglin surveyed their surroundings. The area was thick with pines and cypresses, lush and dense. Beyond, the rocky ground was barren, devoid of trees. The mountain’s contours were completely unlike those of Nanshan by Siyue County.

“Old Zhang, come here—there’s someone over here…” Cheng Che called softly, peering around the edge of the cliff where they stood.

Zhang Qinglin joined him and looked where Cheng Che indicated. A few meters away was a clearing with several figures gathered. From their voices, he recognized Old Seven, Boss Ma, Wu Ye, and Da Zhuang.

From their conversation, this was the place they’d been searching for.

“I never expected Wu Ye to be skilled in geomancy,” Cheng Che whispered. “But why did they kidnap Da Zhuang?”

Zhang Qinglin scanned the area again, frowning in confusion. “Something’s wrong. This isn’t Maple City. They don’t have the Tianqi Map—they can’t be here for Emperor Gaozong of Tang’s tomb. So Da Zhuang must know something.”

He kept his gaze fixed ahead.

Suddenly, several people jumped down—it seemed they’d uncovered the entrance to a tomb. A blood-curdling scream rang out, then all was silent.

At once, Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che scrambled down the cliff, sliding along the slope.

The stone door at the tomb’s entrance was half open. From the unopened half, green liquid was oozing out.

Zhang Qinglin shone his flashlight and stepped inside, Cheng Che close behind. An underground corridor stretched before them. This was no ordinary tomb—strange murals covered the walls. There were human hands, eyes, and all manner of symbols in unfamiliar script, the era impossible to determine.

From the moment they entered, Zhang Qinglin felt uneasy. The air was thick with a sour, putrid stench.

He pressed forward, but Cheng Che stopped suddenly, curiosity drawn by a mural on the right wall. Zhang Qinglin came over as well. The carving depicted a human shoulder, but the nape of the neck bore short black hair, uncannily realistic.

Driven by curiosity, Cheng Che reached out to touch the nape. Suddenly, the head moved, lifting upward.

“Help me, please help me…”

A living human head emerged from the mural. Startled, the two men bolted forward, not daring to look back until the monstrosity was out of sight.