Chapter Thirty-Nine: Dig a Pit and Bury It

The figure quickened its pace once more, charging straight at the trunk of a massive tree that would take three people to encircle. Leaping high, white hair streaming in the wind, he gathered his strength midair and struck the trunk with a fierce punch.

With a thunderous crash, the tree trunk shattered, revealing the immense force behind the blow. The great tree, now devoid of support, fell with a tremendous noise, sending a cloud of dust billowing into the air. As the dust cleared, the figure stood proudly, his resolute and handsome features illuminated by the pure silver moonlight.

Ye Wuyá dusted off his fists, wiping away the splinters clinging to his knuckles, and said, “My physical strength has grown again. A tree that would take three men to encircle was demolished with a single punch.” He continued, “Tomorrow night, my chances of storming the Mu family are even greater! Who would’ve thought there’d be a little river behind the Ye family’s rear mountain, forming this small lake—truly a fine place to train!” With that, Ye Wuyá approached a massive boulder and sat down cross-legged.

He picked up the iron sword at his side, drew it with a sharp flourish, set down its scabbard, and gently caressed the blade as if soothing an old friend. Placing the sword on the ground, Ye Wuyá began to recite a sword incantation: “With my obsession, I prove my heart; in my heart there is a sword, in the sword there is my heart…”

A subtle shift rippled over Ye Wuyá, extending slowly to the blade. The sword began to tremble, emitting a clear, ringing sound. “Rise!” Ye Wuyá commanded. The sword shone brightly, resonating with him in some mysterious way.

As his voice fell, the plain iron sword before him wobbled and floated into the air, despite the absence of any spiritual energy. Suddenly, it lost control and clattered to the ground with a metallic ring.

“Again! With my obsession, I prove my heart; in my heart there is a sword, in the sword…”

“Rise!”

The iron sword shook and floated half a meter up, but quickly wavered and fell once more. This cycle repeated over a dozen times, until sweat beaded Ye Wuyá’s brow.

“This is the first time I’ve been able to repeat the practice so many times! Before, I’d get sore all over after just two tries in a day.” He muttered, “After more than twenty years, I’m finally making some progress.”

Ye Wuyá had learned this sword technique at the age of fifteen, after discovering it inscribed on a stone wall in an ancient tomb known as the Sword Mound. Aside from this incomplete sword manual, there was nothing else in the tomb.

He glanced up at the night sky—the full moon hung bright.

Then, abruptly, Ye Wuyá sensed as if someone was secretly watching him. The feeling was akin to standing naked before a crowd, utterly exposed.

“Who’s there? Show yourself!”

A voice drifted through the night, ethereal and teasing: “Hahaha, young man, you’re quite alert! Didn’t expect that!” In Ye Wuyá’s ears, the tone was unbearably mocking.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Ye Wuyá demanded, gripping his sword tightly.

A chill wind swept behind him, raising goosebumps on his skin. That sly voice sounded right at his ear: “Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is… heh heh!”

Thirty years of tomb-raiding experience guided Ye Wuyá’s reaction. He leaned forward, shifted his right foot, spun on a dime, and thrust his sword behind him in a lightning-fast strike.

Yet the trembling tip of his blade found only empty air. Ye Wuyá drew back, sword at the ready, his heart pounding—how could there be no one there? An unknown enemy was the most terrifying kind.

“Not bad reflexes! Heh heh!” The voice now came from all directions, disorienting his senses. Tense and alert, Ye Wuyá activated his cultivation technique, releasing three layers of protective spiritual shields from within.

He watched his surroundings coldly, every rustle of grass setting his nerves on edge. What to do? He didn’t even know who the enemy was! Still, it seemed the stranger bore him no real malice, or he would have been killed already.

“Senior, I am Ye Wuyá. If I have offended you in any way, I beg your pardon. Please show yourself, so I may apologize to you face to face!” he called loudly, all the while scanning the darkness warily.

“Don’t be in such a hurry. I love that look on your face—annoyed but helpless! Come, let’s play some more!” The voice echoed from all sides. “Careful now, I’m going to hit your left foot!”

What! Ye Wuyá leapt backward in shock. Whether it was a trick or not, better safe than sorry…

Boom! The spot where he’d just stood exploded, leaving a crater two meters deep.

He’s serious! Ye Wuyá’s eyes flashed cold.

“Now I’ll hit your left leg, haha!”

Ye Wuyá jumped aside again—another two-meter crater appeared where he’d been.

“Ooh, not bad! Let’s hit your left leg again!”

He dodged once more.

“Once more—left leg!”

Beside the little lake in the Ye family’s rear mountain, deep craters pocked the earth. A lone figure kept leaping as explosions erupted beneath his feet each time he landed.

“Senior, are you done yet? Is your only move attacking my left leg?” Ye Wuyá roared in frustration.

“Heh heh, as you wish. Biubiu, both legs this time—let’s see how you jump now. You think you’re Han Jumpjump or something?”

“What!” Ye Wuyá was stunned. “Please, senior, show mercy—I have something to say!”

“What is there to say? I haven’t finished playing yet!” the voice replied.

“The Han Jumpjump you mentioned—does that refer to a character in King… in that game?”

“Oh, oops, I think I slipped! Hahaha!” The cheeky voice grew awkward.

Hearing this, Ye Wuyá was even more certain of his suspicion. He sheathed his sword and ceased to resist.

After a while, when no further attack came, he let out a sigh of relief.

Han Jumpjump—a hero in a game developed by TM Corporation on Earth a hundred years ago, famed for his mobility. Coincidentally, Ye Wuyá himself had played that game, which is why the voice’s words had aroused his suspicion.

Now Ye Wuyá dared not be completely sure: did this mysterious person know of Earth, or even come from it?

The voice fell silent, as if lost in thought.

After much consideration, Ye Wuyá asked, “Senior, do you know of Earth?”

A long silence—over ten minutes—followed, a torment for Ye Wuyá.

“Is Huaxia well?” The voice became serious, even solemn.

“Senior, Huaxia is well. It is now the largest nation on Earth! Do you truly know of Earth? Are you also from there? Can we return?” Ye Wuyá asked urgently.

“So many questions—which should I answer? Heh heh! I can be quite indecisive, you know!”

“Sen—” Ye Wuyá’s words were abruptly cut off.

Bang!

Before he could finish, there was a loud thud, his vision went black, and he collapsed unconscious.

A young woman stood behind him, holding a large iron shovel, frozen in mid-swing. She said coolly, “So long-winded.”

The girl’s face was hidden behind a white veil, only a pair of clear, limpid eyes visible. She wore a robe of blue silk, and in her slender hand was a Luoyang shovel—yes, a genuine one, inscribed with “Made in China.”

Clearly, Ye Wuyá had been knocked out cold by this girl who had appeared without a sound.

High above, a figure in a Daoist robe stepped out of the void. “Amitabha, Long-Life Celestial! Blessings!” he intoned grandly, reciting a Buddhist chant—or was it a Daoist one? No matter!

The Daoist descended step by step from the void.

“Dear lady, I wasn’t done playing! Just as I was getting interested, and then you—”

“Silence,” the girl said coldly.

The Daoist flinched, hurriedly making a sealing gesture over his lips and flashing an OK sign, then stood quietly aside.

The veiled girl picked up the Luoyang shovel and thrust it into the ground. With a single twist, the earth seemed to part effortlessly, soil flying aside as if untouched by dirt.

She repeated this motion again and again. Soon, a pit a meter long, a meter wide, and about two meters deep had formed.

Watching her work, the Daoist’s curiosity got the better of him. “Amitabha, Long-Life Celestial! Dear lady, what are you doing?”

The girl leapt gracefully to the ground, answering calmly, “Digging a pit—to bury him.”

She tossed the shovel aside and strode toward Ye Wuyá.

“What? Digging a pit—to bury him?” The Daoist stared in shock, muttering to himself.

Suddenly realizing something, he rushed over, blocking her path with outstretched arms, pleading, “Dear lady, you mustn’t! Please, you mustn’t!”

“Move aside,” the girl ordered icily.

“No, I won’t! No matter what, I won’t let you!” The Daoist shook his head vigorously.

“Move,” she repeated.

“I can’t, dear lady, I really can’t! He can’t be buried—absolutely not!” the Daoist begged earnestly.

“Ye Wude, I’ll ask you one last time—are you moving or not?” Her voice was cold as ever, devoid of emotion.

“I won’t, no matter what!” the Daoist insisted stubbornly.

Seeing his refusal, the veiled girl stopped arguing, as if unwilling to waste her breath. She turned back toward where she had dropped the Luoyang shovel.

Watching her finally leave, the Daoist let out a long sigh of relief.

Looking at the unconscious Ye Wuyá, he thought to himself, “You brat, do you know how much risk I took to save you? If you don’t stir up enough trouble to repay me, it’ll be a waste!”

“Hm?” The sound of digging reached his ears. Turning, he saw the veiled girl busy excavating another pit, a strange feeling welling up inside him.

He asked, “Amitabha, Long-Life Celestial! Dear lady, what are you doing now?”

“Digging another pit. To bury you with him.”