The old man did not answer immediately. He just looked at me for a long time, his wrinkled eyes seeming to weigh something in the dark. The dusty sound of his breathing was the only noise in the stuffy cell.
"A person who can be trusted," he said slowly, as if tasting the words. "In this place, that is a rarity more precious than pure Spirit Ore." He moved closer, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "Why do you ask, Young Man? What did you bring home from your 'walk' earlier?"
I hesitated. Trusting anyone was a risk. But Old Man... he had survived longer than anyone. He knew things. And most importantly, he had no "Seed." He was useless to Yan's plan, which made him possibly, just possibly, not an immediate threat.
Carefully, I pulled the leather scroll from behind my tattered clothes. I didn't hand it over, only showed it briefly before hiding it again.
Old Man grinned, his toothless gums visible in the darkness. "Overseer Shen," he muttered. "He is indeed a stubborn old dog. Not like the other dogs who only know how to lick boots." He tilted his head. "You're thinking of building a bridge?"
"Is it possible?" I asked, hoping.
"Everything is possible. But that bridge must be built very carefully. And we need a courier." He closed his eyes again, as if concentrating. "There is a woman. A logistics clerk in the mid-level supply warehouse. Her name is Mei. She... owes me a debt."
The story was, years ago, Mei, then a teenager newly recruited, almost died from a respiratory illness caused by spiritual dust. The overseers didn't care—she was replaceable. But Old Man, using his secret herbal knowledge, secretly concocted medicine from moss and fungi he collected, saving her life. Since then, Mei had secretly sent him extra food or medicine, a life debt repaid at great risk.
"She has access to the administrative areas. She can approach Shen without raising suspicion," Old Man explained. "But we only have one chance. The message must be delivered perfectly."
What message? We couldn't just tell Shen that a soul-infested slave wanted an alliance. That was insane.
"We have to give him something," I whispered. "Proof. Something that only someone with access to... my knowledge could provide."
We devised a plan throughout the night. It was complicated, layered, and extremely dangerous. The message had to be clear enough to catch Shen's attention, but vague enough to protect me if it fell into the wrong hands.
---
The next day, during my shift working in a tunnel near the main drainage channel, I saw her—a woman in a simple clerk's uniform, carrying a clipboard, checking inventory on the supply racks. She wasn't pretty, but there was a steadfastness in her eyes. That had to be Mei.
As planned, I pretended to stumble and dropped my shovel, which landed near her feet. As I picked it up, I quickly slipped her a small piece of leather—not the original scroll, but a copy I had made with blood and charcoal, containing the same diagram of the Containment Formation, with one addition: a small symbol shaped like a grasshopper I had drawn in the corner, and a single word: "Leaking."
It was the same word Shen had used in his report. A hook.
Mei was startled, her eyes widening at me. Then, she looked at the piece of leather in my hand. With a swift, almost invisible movement, she took it and hid it behind her clipboard. She gave an almost imperceptible nod, then turned and walked away as if nothing had happened.
My heart pounded. Stage one was complete.
---
Two days passed without news. Yan grew more intense with his experiments, asking me to "communicate" with the souls about the energy architecture of the deepest underground chambers. I gave him enough information to keep him busy, but always withheld critical details—the true weak points, the uncharted secret paths.
I could feel his impatience growing. His Resurrection Project was likely nearing a deadline.
On the second night, as I returned to the cell after an exhausting day, something was waiting. A small bundle, wrapped in dry leaves, was placed under the straw of my bedding. Inside: a piece of salted dried meat (a luxury) and, more importantly, a piece of fine paper—the kind used for official overseer reports.
I unfolded it. The content was brief, written in elegant, firm handwriting:
"The bird recognizes its own song. But can an insect sing without attracting the spider's attention? If it can, sing at the Forgotten Spring, when the moon hangs highest."
I understood immediately. Shen had received my message. He recognized his own report ("the bird recognizes its own song"). But he was warning me to be careful ("don't attract the spider's attention"—Yan). And he was setting a meeting: "Forgotten Spring" must refer to the old, disused water catchment area in Sector 3, and "the moon hangs highest" was midnight, during the guard shift change.
This was insane. A slave meeting a senior overseer, in the middle of the night. But this was our chance.
---
That night, I pretended to sleep. When all the other slaves were deep in slumber and the night watch had passed, I used all the stealth skills I had gained from the souls of rebels. I slipped out of the cell through a loose gap in the bars long known to Old Man, and crept through the silent tunnels, avoiding patrols with the internal knowledge provided by the souls of former overseers.
Sector 3 was quiet and dusty. The Forgotten Spring was a small pool with almost black water, surrounded by rusted pipes. And there, standing with his back to me, was a stocky man in an overseer's uniform. Not an elite's robe, but the practical uniform of a field overseer. Overseer Shen.
He turned as he heard my footsteps. His face was weathered, with sharp eagle-like eyes and a scar on his temple. He did not draw a weapon.
"So, you are the 'insect'," he said, his voice deep and raspy, like stones grinding. "I have heard the rumors. Yan's miracle slave. The Stone-Eater." His eyes scanned me, as if trying to see what lay behind my dirty skin. "What do you want?"
"To survive," I answered, my voice bolder than I felt. "Just like you, Sir."
He smirked. "Don't equate my position with yours, slave."
"You are also in danger," I retorted, taking a risk. "The Resurrection Project. If the 'Buried One' awakens, it will not distinguish between overseer and slave. It will only be hungry. And you know that. That's why you tried to warn the Council."
Shen's face hardened. "You are bold."
"Truth often is," I replied, repeating words I had heard from one of the souls in my head. "Yan is using me as a key. He wants me to grow strong, absorb more souls, to be used as bait to awaken that Creature. If he succeeds, we all die. If he fails... he will blame you for failing to maintain the formation, and you will be the scapegoat."
I had struck a nerve. Shen was silent for a long time, gazing at the black water in the pool.
"You know things you shouldn't," he murmured finally. "But you are right. Yan and his Elders... they are playing with a fire that could consume us all." He looked at me again, and this time, there was a hint of respect in his eyes. "So, what is your proposal, 'Insect'?"
"We must weaken the formation," I said. "Not destroy it—that would trigger an alarm immediately. But make it seem like... a natural failure. Wear and tear. So that the project is delayed. That will buy us time."
"Time for what?"
"To grow stronger. Or... to escape."
Shen let out a short, bitter laugh. "Escape? From the Demon Servant Clan? You are truly insane."
"Is it more insane than awakening a hungry ancient god?" I countered.
He fell silent again. "How? The formation is heavily guarded."
"I know how," I said. "From those who built it." I pointed to my head. "I have the archive here. But I need access. And protection."
Shen nodded slowly, a decision made in his eyes. "I can arrange guard shift rotations. And give you a reason to be near the Stone Heart... perhaps as part of Yan's 'experiment'. But if you are caught..."
"We all die," I finished his sentence.
He nodded. "Return to your cell, Insect. I will send a message through the same channel. And... be careful with Yan. He is more dangerous than you think. He is not just a scientist."
With that, he turned and disappeared into the darkness.
I stood there for a moment, feeling the night's cold seep into my bones. I had just entered a pact with a serpent. But in a snake pit, sometimes you need another snake to survive.
The journey back to the cell felt lighter. We now had an ally. A hope, however small.
But as I lay down on the hard straw, my "Seed" pulsed uneasily. A warning.
We had taken the first step. But the dance over the snake pit had just begun. And the big spider—Yan—was still above, watching, waiting to pounce.