Now Zhang Rantian, with a crossbow bolt still stuck in his head, looked over at us. When he saw the crossbow in my hands, he grinned and said, "Just now, I really thought I was dead. Who would've thought even heaven doesn't want to take in a monster like me? So, what do you say? Want to give it another go?" The moment he finished speaking, the sound of rushing wind rang out behind him. Zhang Rantian didn't even have time to turn his head before a gleaming broadsword came crashing down toward the back of his skull.
It was Yang Jun who made the move. He had been standing by with a grim face ever since the bolt pierced Zhang Rantian's brow. When Zhang Rantian got back up and started talking to me again, Yang Jun quietly walked over—thump!—and embedded the broadsword right into Zhang Rantian's skull. The massive force knocked him back down to the ground.
That strike didn't split Zhang Rantian's head in two as I'd imagined. The broadsword got lodged in the back of his skull, stuck fast. A thick, ink-like black liquid sprayed all over Yang Jun. But he couldn't be bothered with that. He raised one foot and stomped down on Zhang Rantian's body, grabbed the sword hilt with one hand, and yanked the blade out of his skull. Then, with the sword tip aimed at his back, he drove it straight down again.
This time, the blade pierced clean through Zhang Rantian's torso, pinning him firmly to the ground. He didn't respond at all—just lay there like a pile of dead meat, with a huge hole in the back of his head. It looked like he was truly done for this time. Still, Yang Jun didn't ease up. The only weapon he had was this broadsword, so he simply stood there, gripping the hilt with one hand and pressing his foot on Zhang Rantian's skull, which was still gushing black blood. It was as if he expected Zhang Rantian to leap back up at any moment and resume the fight.
Even so, Yang Jun wasn't reassured. He turned and shouted, "Shen La! Get over here!" I was surprised that, with people like Hao Zhengyi and Hugo present, he would call out to me. I quickly ran over to his side. Yang Jun glanced at the crossbow in my hand and asked, "How many bolts do you have left?" I didn't answer, just showed him the bolts Sun Fatty had given me.
Yang Jun didn't look too pleased with the number, but still instructed, "Shoot along his spine—one bolt every five inches! Start from the neck and don't stop until you run out." Just from his expression, I could tell that Zhang Rantian wasn't as dead as he looked. I quickly loaded a bolt and fired it at his neck.
But the moment I pulled the trigger, Zhang Rantian, who had appeared completely dead, suddenly moved. It was as if he had predicted my timing—just as I released the bolt, he jerked his head sharply to the right. The bolt missed his neck by a hair and hit the ground. I was terrified—not so much by the miss, but by his inhuman vitality. His skull was blown open, half his brain leaking out, and Yang Jun had skewered his heart—and still, he wouldn't die.
"Don't just stand there! Keep shooting!" Yang Jun barked. He raised the sword half a foot, then drove it down again, nailing Zhang Rantian to the floor once more. The impact lifted his body and pinned it back down. I used the opportunity to reload and pressed the crossbow right to Zhang Rantian's neck before firing.
The bolt pierced through his neck and embedded into the ground. "Hah!" Zhang Rantian coughed up a cloud of black gas, and his body began to twitch again. I quickly loaded another bolt and fired five inches below the last one.
One bolt after another—I kept firing all the way down to his chest until I used up the last of the bolts. By then, Zhang Rantian's upper body lay limp, but his lower half began to twist wildly. His legs moved as if boneless, contorting like twisted rope.
At that moment, Sun Fatty shouted, "That's enough, Lazi, Yang! We've dug out the exit! If we're going, now's the time!" Yang Jun and I turned to see him standing under a stone slab, where a hole large enough for two people to pass through had been carved out.
Yang Jun gave me a push and said, "I don't need you here. Go with the others." His words sounded ominous, and I quickly replied, "Zhang Rantian's done for. The Bureau's reinforcements should be arriving any minute—let them deal with it. No point in you staying. Come with us."
Before Yang Jun could respond, Sun Fatty shouted again, "Check Zhang Rantian! What the hell is he doing now?" Both Yang Jun and I turned to look. Zhang Rantian's arms, twisted behind his back in an unnatural position, were reaching for the sword embedded in his spine. He was slowly pulling it out.
If he weren't pinned down by the crossbow bolts, he'd already be up and fighting again. Skull pierced, brain exposed, heart skewered—yet he still had the strength to pull a sword from his own body. Despite everything I've seen this past year, I couldn't help but panic. My mind went blank, fear overtook me, and I started to feel faint.
Thankfully, Yang Jun reacted fast. He grabbed the sword hilt and shoved it back down hard, forcing the blade deep into the floor. Zhang Rantian's arms dropped limply to his sides. But from all that struggling, the bolts pinning him down had begun to loosen. The two in his neck were starting to rise from the ground. Yang Jun pressed down with his foot, and with just a little force, drove them back in.
As I stood there stunned, Sun Fatty's shout brought me back to my senses. "Lazi! Stop staring! Move!" I looked at Yang Jun, who understood what I was thinking. He waved me off and said, "You guys go first. I'll catch up after I finish him." Then, maybe worried I'd insist on staying, he added, "There's another row of stone gates outside. Go help clear the path. Once I'm done here, I'll be right behind you."
I knew he was just giving me an excuse to leave. And honestly, this chamber was unbearable. Seeing that Yang Jun had Zhang Rantian under control, I wasn't much help here anyway. Sun Fatty shouted again, "Lazi! Don't be polite. Everyone's waiting on you!" That did it. I took one last look at Yang Jun, then walked toward the exit.
It turned out they weren't waiting for me—they couldn't get out because Sun Fatty was blocking the way. But no one seemed eager to leave. Hao Zhengyi and Crow were calmly observing the situation, while Hugo had pulled out a small notebook and was scribbling notes under the beam of Sun Fatty's flashlight.
Once I reached the exit, Hugo actually walked back to Yang Jun's side. Before speaking, he took several photos of Zhang Rantian's body with his phone. Then he whispered something to Yang Jun. I couldn't hear what he said, but afterward, he took out his last vial of holy water and waved it in front of Yang Jun. From the look on Yang Jun's face, he wasn't interested. He'd been polite at first, but when Hugo produced the holy water, Yang Jun didn't even bother replying. Hugo, embarrassed, had no choice but to return to the exit.
As Hugo walked away, Sun Fatty glanced at Hao Zhengyi and asked, "Director Hao, your big brother—are you two coming with us, or staying here to watch Yang Jun's performance?" I'd thought Hao Zhengyi would want to stay and see things through. But he looked at Yang Jun's back and said, "What we need to know, we already know. What we're not meant to know, he won't tell us anyway. No point staying. Given our current state and gear, making it back to the surface in one piece would be a blessing."
Sun Fatty gave him and Crow a curious look, then smiled strangely. Hugo also returned from Yang Jun's side, and Sun Fatty turned to Hao Zhengyi, saying, "No need to be polite, Director Hao. Wounded go first—please." Hao Zhengyi said nothing, but Crow stepped forward.
Crow took off his backpack and tossed it through the exit. He didn't climb up right away. After a moment of silence, hearing nothing unusual, he leapt up and through. Then Sun Fatty tossed the flashlight up to him. Crow shone it around, found nothing strange, and flashed a signal—safe.
The four of us—myself, Sun Fatty, Hao Zhengyi, and Hugo—climbed up into the warehouse. Only to find that the original entrance had been sealed by a massive boulder. Unlike the stone slabs earlier, this one was far too solid to carve a hole through. Sun Fatty took the flashlight from Crow and pointed it toward the massive hole in the wall—made by Yang Jun and Crow when they broke through.
He turned to Hao Zhengyi and said, "Director Hao, ask your buddy how he followed Yang Jun through that way. Did they hit any trouble?" Though Crow was mute, he wasn't deaf. He immediately began signing rapidly.
Hao Zhengyi interpreted as he signed: "Crow says it's a straight path inside. About halfway through, there's a sacrificial altar. Past that is the burial chamber where we were split up. On the way, they ran into a few half-formed Nyeh near the altar, which delayed them a bit. But they cleared them out—should be safe now."
After hearing that, Sun Fatty shouted back into the chamber, "Yang! The main exit's blocked. We're taking the path you and Crow came through! When you're done, catch up!" But before he finished, Yang Jun's voice rang out, "You can't go that way! It's one-way—only in, not out! Hmm?" His tone changed halfway through, followed by a shout: "Get back! Move away from there—fast!"
Something had changed again. Alarmed, I drew my short sword and prepared to head back. But the whole warehouse began shaking violently. Rocks and debris fell from above. Sun Fatty, seeing there was nowhere to hide, dashed into the hole made by the Soul Husk.
Strangely, though we were only separated by a wall, stones fell only on our side—nothing where Sun Fatty stood. He waved frantically, "Lazi! It's safe here—come on!"
We didn't need a second invitation. Covering our heads, we rushed in. It was a tunnel—the one leading back to Dong Qichao's tomb, most likely. Remembering Yang Jun's warning, we stood still and didn't venture farther.
The warehouse kept shaking, debris raining down, but we were completely untouched. It didn't feel like an earthquake anymore. I called out toward the chamber, "Yang Jun! Are you okay?"
Just then—BOOM!—a massive explosion. The warehouse shook again, followed by several more loud bangs. The entire floor collapsed, forming a pit five or six meters deep.
I froze, stunned. Then I tried to jump down to dig Yang Jun out. But before I could move, Sun Fatty grabbed me by the collar and growled, "Lazi! We're not even safe yet. Don't throw your life away!"
Red-eyed, I shouted back, "What about Yang Jun? Are we just gonna watch him get buried alive?"
Sun Fatty got serious. Holding onto me tightly, he leaned in and said in a low voice, "Lazi. Who told you Yang Jun would get buried or suffocate? You think he's just some ordinary guy?"
He was right. My mind cleared. Yang Jun was no average person. A legendary Jinyiwei Centurion. The guy who survived the Ghost Ship. One of the Bureau's three white-haired elites. With hair like that, death was probably a luxury he hadn't earned yet.