Dragon Vein Storyteller

Chapter 13 Crossing the Bridge

I quickly pulled my foot back.

The bell rang for another two or three breaths before stopping.

"A fortune teller!" The little chick grabbed my arm, its face pale.

Feng the Cripple pulled me back half a step, staring at the lingering white smoke on the bridge, his face ashen: "This bridge is not for the living to step on."

Baldy Liao touched his bald head, cold sweat trickling down his temples: "It's phosphorescence. Phosphorescence has adhered to the bridge surface; it will ignite if you step on it."

I crouched down, rubbing my numb ankles, but a sense of calm settled in me. It wasn't the bridge recognizing me, nor was Baidi City targeting anyone; it was the phosphorescent light. That made things easier.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have to interject here. If you ever encounter this situation while tomb raiding, never believe those fabricated secret techniques or skills written by those authors. What Vajra Mantra, what fire-avoidance incantation, what biting your tongue and spitting blood on it—it's all bullshit. The dumbest thing to do when encountering phosphorescence is to set it on fire, to fight fire with fire. The underground is already stifling, with oxygen as scarce as hair on a bald man's head. If you start a fire, you'll either burn to death or suffocate. Why? Because phosphorescence burns oxygen. If you burn away the oxygen, what will you breathe?

There is only one correct method.

What did I do for a living? I dug up graves. What was my specialty as a grave digger? Digging in the soil.

"Three jin." I stood up, rolled up my sleeves, and said, "Grab the shovel."

Without a word, Sanjin took the folding shovel off his back and unfolded it with a "click". The shovel surface gleamed coldly in the firelight. It was a good one that I had taken from a dead captain in Beiman Mountain. It was made of fine steel and the blade still had quenching marks.

"Don't touch the bridge surface, shovel the wet mud from the riverbank." I squatted down and shone the torch on the mud on the bank. The soil was shiny black, and you could squeeze water out of it with a handful; the cold mud dripped from between my fingers. "Spread it on the bridge, spread it thickly. What are phosphorescent lights afraid of? They're afraid of the soil. Once the soil is pressed down, all the phosphorescent lights and bells will be suffocated."

"Will this method work? What if it angers anything in the water?" said the lame man.

I sneered, "The coffin is buried in the earth, the will-o'-the-wisp is extinguished. That's the rule underground. We're tomb raiders, when in Rome, do as the Romans do, what's there to be afraid of!"

Sanjin plunged the shovel into the muddy bank, stepped on the back of the shovel, and tensed the muscles in his arm, turning up a large clump of wet mud, grass roots, and black soil. He lifted his leg and shoveled, the clump of mud slamming "thud" onto the first bridge slab at the bridgehead, mud splashing everywhere. The eerie blue phosphorescence floating on the bridge surface was extinguished with a "sizzle" as the mud pressed down, not even having time to struggle. The bronze bell was splashed with mud, shook twice, but didn't ring.

"It works!" The chick's eyes lit up.

Three shovelfuls of mud were shoveled onto the bridge, one after another, the movements quick and ruthless, no different from digging a grave in the ground. Crippled Feng took the shovel and joined in, while Baldy Liao, without a shovel, simply squatted on the ground and used his bare hands to shovel mud out, cursing as he did so: "Damn it, I've dug graves my whole life, and this is the first time I've plastered mud onto a bridge, what kind of mess is this!" He shoveled mud onto the bridge handful by handful. Little Chick followed behind, smearing mud into the cracks in the bridge planks with his hands, even sealing the gaps under the bells completely.

The moment the soil was pressed down, the phosphorescent flames went out. Not slowly, but instantly, like a flame being strangled, not even given a chance to smoke. The phosphorescent flames that had been lingering in the air seemed to sense something, and they all retreated, swirling above the bridge, afraid to fall.

Before long, a layer of wet mud, about two fingers thick, covered the entire bridge surface. It was dark and smelled of the silt from the riverbed. Phosphorescent flames flickered on both sides of the bridge. The surface was clean and tidy, and when you stepped on it, the mud felt cool to the touch, with no more white smoke rising.

"Is that all?" The little chick squatted on the ground, its hands covered in mud, looking up at me.

"It's over." I rubbed the mud on the bridge surface with the sole of my shoe. It was thick and solid, and felt very stable underfoot. "What phosphorescent fire, what bells, it's just like a haunted grave. It looks eerie, but it's just spontaneous combustion. If will-o'-the-wisps could burn grave diggers to death, no one would be doing this job anymore, and there wouldn't be any problems."

I pointed the torch forward, about to speak, when Crippled Feng took a step forward.

"I'll go first." He slammed his crutch into the ground, his lame leg pausing for a moment. "If anything happens, you guys retreat, don't worry about me. This rotten leg was just a foundling."

I opened my mouth, wanting to stop him, but he had already reached the bridgehead.

"Let's go, cross the bridge." He glanced back at us, then tapped his cane on the muddy surface.

Sanjin followed behind, carrying a shovel. I was in the middle, Liao the Bald brought up the rear, and Little Chicken was beside me. He closed his eyes, buried his face in my arm, and moved forward step by step, barely daring to breathe. His little hands gripped my sleeve tightly, soaked with sweat. The five of us trudged through a thick layer of wet mud, slowly crossing the Bridge of Helplessness. The mud concealed the warmth of the petrified wood, leaving only the cool touch of our feet and the soft, intermittent sounds of the mud. The bronze bell hung motionless overhead, its clapper buried in the mud as if its mouth had been covered, utterly silent. Phosphorescent lights flickered eerily on both sides of the bridge, like countless cold blue eyes watching us pass, but not a single one dared to land on the mud.

The bridge is not long, only a little over three meters, and you can reach the other side in just a few steps.

I was the last to step onto solid ground on the other side, and I looked back at the Bridge of Helplessness that we had covered with mud. The bridge surface was covered with our footprints, one on top of another, stretching from the bridgehead all the way to my feet. That mud was dug from the dead earth by the living, suppressing the cold fire that had burned underground for thousands of years.

I knew in my heart that this wasn't breaking the formation; it was circling around it.

The actual feng shui arrangement was still functioning, but we didn't tamper with its mechanisms or touch its bells. We simply covered it with a layer of mud and slid across it. Just like walking on a grave without stepping on the coffin, as long as we didn't disturb it, there was no danger.

"Let's go." I turned around, no longer looking at the bridge, nor at the people in the river whose scales were still growing.

Ahead lay an impenetrable darkness.

I swung the torch forward, and the light had barely spread a few feet when I suddenly stopped.

Ahead, there is a dense forest of steles.

The bluestone tablets, of varying heights, stood upright, while others lay askew, half-buried in the black mud. The tablets were covered with inscriptions, blurred and indistinct by the dampness of time; the firelight illuminated only a few barely discernible strokes. Behind the tablets lay even deeper darkness; nothing could be seen except for the long, haphazard shadows cast by the firelight.

"How come there's a graveyard underground?" Liao the Bald asked, his voice weak.

Sanjin's grip on the shovel tightened, his knuckles turning white. Feng the Cripple slammed his cane heavily on the ground, his brow furrowed. The little chick shrank further behind me, burying its head even lower, its breathing becoming softer.

I gripped the torch tightly and remained silent.

After crossing the Naihe Bridge, you will see the Forest of Steles.

When the living walk the path of the underworld, each step takes them further from the rules of the human world. Whose grave is this? What is buried here? And whose name is engraved on the tombstone?

I have no idea!

All I know is that we have no other choice but to keep moving forward!