The wooden door creaked and was pushed open, causing a cloud of fog to rise and choking people to want to cough. Qin Zhao didn't cough or stop, he lifted his foot and walked in. The soles of the boots rolled over broken tiles and withered leaves, making a crisp "click" sound, as if someone's bones had been broken.
Behind him, the wind rolls fallen leaves at the entrance of the alley, and the sunlight slopes into the narrow passage, illuminating a boundary between light and dark. The line stopped outside the threshold and didn't move any further forward.
Ji Xue stood in the light and didn't follow in.
He knew she hadn't gone far, but he didn't turn back either. Just quietly touched the jade plaque on his waist with his left hand, and with a force from his fingertips, he "snapped" a corner. A layer of light blue mist silently spread, crawling against the ground, enveloping his breath like a white cloth covering a corpse.
This trick was copied from the modern negotiation table - before the negotiation collapses, hide your trump card first.
The mansion is even more dilapidated than he remembers. Half of the main hall collapsed, the beams and columns tilted, the altar overturned, the ancestral tablets scattered on the ground, some cracked, some gnawed by mice, and one piece covered in bird droppings. The plaque hanging on the wall with the words' Loyalty, Filial Piety, and Family Inheritance 'is only half left, while the other corner is stuck on the beam and sways, making a creaking sound when the wind blows.
He bypassed the ruins and headed straight to the backyard.
The ancestral temple gate was ajar, with cobwebs tangled in the gaps between the doors. He reached out and pulled, the silk thread broke, and several fat spiders slipped away along the wall. There was three inches of dust under the altar, and he crouched down, groping his fingers at the bottom of the card slot. Suddenly, he touched a depression - a palm shaped groove.
He bit his thumb and blood dripped onto it.
A faint sound of 'drip' shook the ground. The bricks and stones were misaligned, sinking with a loud bang, revealing a downward stone step that was pitch black, like an open mouth.
Qin Zhao squinted his eyes for two seconds and then lifted his foot.
The steps were damp, covered in moss, and every step was slippery to death. He supported the wall and walked down, rubbing his palm against a wet mud. He shook it and continued walking. The air is becoming increasingly stuffy, mixed with the smell of mold and rust, as well as an indescribable fishy smell, like the smell of blood dried for a long time.
After ten steps, finally.
The secret room is not big, with four walls made of bluestone. There is a wooden table in the middle, on which a booklet is placed. The cover is yellow, the corners are rolled up, and half of the rope is torn.
Genealogy.
He walked over and as soon as his finger touched the cover, the dark mark on his left wrist suddenly burned, as if someone had poked it with pliers. He frowned, didn't retract his hand, and opened it directly.
The paper is so brittle that it falls off at the first touch. He flipped back page by page, filled with names, birthdays, and marriage records, densely packed and dizzying. Until approaching the end, a line of words jumps into my eyes:
Qin Zhao was born with a disabled body and impure bloodline. At the age of seventeen, he was stripped of his spiritual roots and expelled from his family
He stared at the line of words for a full five seconds.
Then he smiled.
She smiled lightly, the corners of her mouth lifted and disappeared, but her eyes didn't move at all, as cold as water in an ice cave.
He continued to flip back.
On the last page, there is a small line of text hidden in the corner, with lighter ink than elsewhere, as if it was added later. The handwriting is crooked and twisted, with a hint of impatience:
Returning to the ruins as a remnant of the soul host will surely be met with backlash
Heh
He didn't laugh this time, he just let out a sound.
But his chest suddenly sank, as if someone had kicked him from behind. The faint golden crack on the left eyebrow bone began to burn, becoming increasingly intense, and the entire left arm felt numb. The deep sea of consciousness buzzes like thousands of bees bumping their heads.
He held down the corner of the table tightly, his knuckles taut and turning white, and his nails dug into the wood.
Not afraid.
It's annoying.
I'm tired of the feeling of being scripted.
You are born, you are disabled, you have been stripped of your spiritual roots, you have to leave - and then you have to add the sentence 'you will finish sooner or later', which is written like a fortune teller drinking too much nonsense.
He took a breath and looked down at the line of words again.
Reverse attack? "He whispered," It's not certain who will reverse attack whom
As soon as the words fell, the wall suddenly shook.
The bluestone wall on the right made a loud "crack" sound, followed by the emergence of dark blue runes that lit up in circles, like living blood vessels. The rune quickly spread and formed a complex imprint, with the center prominently featuring a pattern of three eyes stacked together.
The imprint of the Heart Palace.
His pupils contracted.
Before he could react, several semi transparent spiritual tentacles emerged from the wall, like octopus arms and feet, moving at an incredible speed and rushing straight towards his temples. The air was torn out with a fine sound, like a blade cutting through glass.
He instinctively wanted to hide, but his body was faster than his brain - the dark lines on his left wrist exploded hot, and with a "bang" from the sea of consciousness, the invisible door suddenly opened in a line.
A suction force exploded from within the brain.
The incoming spiritual tentacles seemed to collide with a black hole, instantly twisting, elongating, and then disintegrating into threads, with energy flowing back and being pulled into the depths of his consciousness. A purple light flashed before his eyes, his ears buzzed incessantly, and his teeth turned sour, as if he had swallowed a whole bottle of carbonated beverage.
Looking for death, "he shouted softly.
The next second, the power inside the body completely erupted.
Boom
The walls of the secret room exploded, with gravel flying horizontally and smoke rising into the sky. The entire underground space shook violently, with bricks and stones falling off from above. A beam pierced through the ground and was inserted into the position where he had just stood.
The wall with the imprint of the Heart Palace has collapsed halfway, the blue light has gone out, the runes have shattered into pieces, and only a few charred stones are emitting blue smoke.
Qin Zhao stood still, motionless.
He was still holding the genealogy in his hand, and the pages were shaking loudly. The crack on the left eyebrow bone slightly expanded, with a fine line appearing, like cracked porcelain. His breathing was a bit heavy, his chest was heaving, but his gaze was terrifyingly steady.
He lowered his head and looked at the booklet in his hand, his fingers slowly caressing the line that read 'will surely suffer backlash'.
"Host?" He sneered. "Who told you that I am the host? I am his mother the landlord."
After speaking, he released the corner of the table and turned to walk towards the stone steps.
The footsteps are neither fast nor slow, stepping step by step on the gravel and making a creaking sound. Dust was still falling from his head, and he didn't look up or accelerate. Halfway through, suddenly stopped.
come back.
His gaze swept over the ruins of the secret room, and finally landed on the unfolded genealogy.
It lay quietly on the table, like a corpse.
He didn't speak anymore and continued walking upwards.
At the end of the steps, the sky was slightly bright. He stepped out of the ancestral temple with one foot, and when the wind blew outside, his clothes swayed. The courtyard was still in ruins, and the crow called twice on the broken wall before flying away.
He stood in the yard and didn't leave immediately.
But instead, he lifted his left hand and stared at the dark mark on his wrist.
It is still heating up, like a heart that has just run three kilometers.
Okay, you, "he whispered," when others install systems, they send you cheats. Why don't you come up and take the blame on me? Wasteland? Impure bloodline? Now there's another 'backlash'
He paused and lowered his voice.
But if you're really such a wicked person, why didn't you kill me? Instead, you let me live until now, and you could slap your bullshit prophecies to pieces
The wrist heat gradually subsides.
He withdrew his hand and stuffed the genealogy into his arms.
The movements were very casual, but when the fingertips touched the paper, they still stopped for half a second.
Then he took a step through the ruins of the front hall and walked towards the gate.
Outside the door, the alley is quiet, the sun is shining on the ground, there is no one, no sound. Only the wind was pushing a withered leaf around, as if waiting for someone to come out.
He stood on the threshold and paused for a moment.
I didn't look back at the house, nor did I call anyone's name.
Just touched the left eyebrow bone.
It's still hot there.
He raised his hand, blocked the sunlight, and squinted his eyes towards the alley entrance.
The shadow stretched very long.
The next second, he lifted his foot and stepped out.
When the sole of the boot fell, it shattered a fallen leaf.
Click.