Chapter 56

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes snapped open.

Absolute darkness.

His heart hammered against his ribs, the pounding echoing in his own ears. To determine whether it was truly pitch black or if he’d gone blind, he actually raised a hand, fingers splayed. Before he could extend it far, his fingertips met a solid, unyielding barrier. Slowly, he began to explore his surroundings by touch.

After a moment of careful probing, a grim understanding settled in. He was inside a narrow, confined space—like being sealed within a long, rectangular stone box.

He tapped the stone wall. Cold. Smooth and fine-grained, likely marble or something similar. Probing with his spiritual power, he gauged its thickness—not excessive, probably no more than four inches.

Gathering his breath, he focused his energy and suddenly struck upward, palm slamming into the center of the stone lid above him with a surge of spiritual power.

Three heavy blows later, the darkness shattered with a deafening crack of splitting stone. A rush of air flooded in. Shen Qingqiu sat up sharply, gulping it down—only to realize it wasn’t fresh at all. It carried the stale, thin quality of air trapped underground for years. Looking down, the truth struck him: he was lying in a coffin.

This rectangular stone box was, in fact, an exquisitely carved sarcophagus, its entire surface gleaming like white jade.

Pressing a hand against the coffin’s edge, he vaulted out.

He found himself in a dimly lit stone chamber. The sarcophagus, its lid now blasted aside, rested on a central altar. The room’s corners were haphazardly piled with dust-shrouded objects: weapons, gemstones, bamboo scrolls, jars and vases. Beneath a thick layer of grime, the cold glint of blades and the muted shimmer of jewels hinted at their presence.

His gaze swept the walls, covered in vivid murals depicting a chaotic dance of demons, surrounding him on all sides.

Shen Qingqiu smacked his own forehead.

No mistake. This was absolutely the Holy Mausoleum.

Before he could fully process this, a glance downward delivered another shock.

This body… wasn’t the one fashioned from the Sun-Moon Dew Lotus. This was Shen Qingqiu’s original body!

The legends of the Holy Mausoleum possessing life-restoring arts weren’t mere boasts, it seemed. The likely scenario was that someone had smuggled Shen Qingqiu’s corpse into the depths of the mausoleum and activated a soul-summoning array, forcibly dragging his spirit back from its new vessel.

The Holy Mausoleum was a forbidden ground for demons, the final resting place of their highest rulers throughout history. Unauthorized entry meant death. Shen Qingqiu, however, had entered as a corpse. His subsequent possession of the body was a loophole, granting him this… sightseeing opportunity.

Luo Binghe had claimed he spent five years repairing this body’s spiritual veins. That, it appeared, was also true. Shen Qingqiu tested his circulation—spiritual power flowed smoothly and unimpeded. As for the “Wukejie” poison, he felt no blockage for now, though he couldn’t tell if it had been neutralized.

The body formed from the Dew Lotus would rapidly wither and decay once a soul was injected and then forcibly extracted. Luo Binghe, who had just been on the receiving end of his beating moments ago, was probably getting the shock of his life watching that borrowed flesh turn to dust.

All those years of diligent farming, tending the Dew Lotus… gone. Wilted! Wasted!

Shen Qingqiu was nearly overcome with the urge to beat his chest in frustration when the System chimed in with a message:

【Friendly Reminder: You have now entered the scenario “Holy Mausoleum.” The “Fill the Plot Hole” mission has been issued. Please proceed actively and seize the initiative.】

Shen Qingqiu grunted an “Oh” and remained squatting.

The System repeated: 【Please proceed actively and seize the initiative.】

Shen Qingqiu didn’t move. The System: 【Warning: Please proceed acti—】

Shen Qingqiu: “Alright, alright! I’m going, I’m going!”

Grumbling internally, he headed out of the burial chamber, trying to recall the original novel’s Holy Mausoleum arc as he walked.

While demon dwellings were burrowed underground, their mausoleums were built above—their customs seemed opposite to the human realm in every way. The tomb was not only riddled with deadly traps but also teemed with guardian demons lurking in the shadows.

If not for the System’s brain-piercing nagging, he’d have to be out of his mind to wander these tomb passages!

The corridor was intensely dark, yet Shen Qingqiu refrained from conjuring a flame. Holding his breath, he moved forward silently.

Soon, a faint, drawn-out, rasping sound reached his ears.

It resembled breathing, but closer to the sigh of a dying man.

Shen Qingqiu froze in place.

So soon. They were here.

From the darkness, a gaunt, skeletal shadow slowly materialized. Then a second, a third, drifting over like lost souls, moving with a sluggish, swaying gait.

These shadows swayed with each step, drawing nearer. Shen Qingqiu shifted sideways imperceptibly, slowing his breathing to a minimum.

One of the lowest-level, most commonly encountered guardian demons: Blind Corpses.

Despite the “Blind” in their name, they lacked no eyes. In fact, they sported several extra pairs crammed onto their faces—a nauseating and bizarre sight.

But while numerous and large, those eyes were mostly useless. Most of the time, Blind Corpses were just that—blind, wandering the Holy Mausoleum on patrol with laughable efficiency. Their many eyes had severely degenerated. However, their sensitivity to light was extreme. Even the faintest glimmer or reflection could be instantly detected.

Once detected, their demeanor shifted violently. They would instinctively launch ferocious attacks toward the light source, moving nothing like their leisurely, shuffling parade through the tomb.

Alone, such monsters weren’t particularly fearsome. The true terror lay in what often accompanied them.

As Shen Qingqiu thought this, one Blind Corpse lurched closer. He sidestepped it.

Abruptly, a weak flame ignited in the darkness. This wisp of fire was a ghostly green, growing brighter, painting the entire corridor in a sickly, oily hue.

The several Blind Corpses that had been about to pass by suddenly turned. Each face, adorned with at least three pairs of bloodshot, bulging eyeballs, stared directly at Shen Qingqiu, now clearly visible in the light.

Damn it! Speak of the devil!

Shen Qingqiu moved with blinding speed, flashing to the corridor’s end in an instant. But wherever he fled, patches of that eerie green light would bloom, illuminating his form and leaving him nowhere to hide. He was fast, but the light-stimulated Blind Corpses were faster!

Breath-Snuffing Candles!

Shen Qingqiu sent several pouncing Blind Corpses flying with a blast of energy.

These candles used the vital breath and exhalations of living beings as fuel, igniting spontaneously whenever a living creature drew near. Sounded like a tricky little gadget for scams, but paired with Blind Corpses, the effect was catastrophically brutal!

Imagine an intruder slipping into the Holy Mausoleum. Wherever he went, he had to breathe. With each breath, candles would flare up—unquenchable, inextinguishable, potentially placed in every corner of the vast tomb. Hordes of Blind Corpses would swarm. Only upon the intruder’s death would the candlelight gradually dim. Breath-Snuffing Candles—the name was fitting!

Like now. More and more light-sensitive Blind Corpses were flooding the corridor, packing it solid!

Shen Qingqiu burst out of the passage and dashed into a burial chamber. This one was far more spacious and imposing, with a grand coffin placed high on a central altar. He leapt onto it, tried to pry the lid open—no movement. He struck it—a dull thud echoed, but it remained utterly immovable, its material far harder than the stone sarcophagus he’d just occupied. Is someone already inside?! Shen Qingqiu rapped on the lid. “Might I borrow your esteemed residence for a temporary refuge?!”

It was a moment of sheer mental short-circuiting, but after two knocks, a voice actually responded from within.

The voice, though emanating from the coffin, was clear as if spoken beside his ear, not muffled in the slightest, and seemed to carry a hint of amusement. “By all means.”

Holy shit!!! A corpse uprising!!!

A chill shot down Shen Qingqiu’s spine. He swept a leg out, knocking several Blind Corpses off the stone coffin. In two steps, he flipped down from the altar and unleashed a furious blast upward at the ceiling.

Rubble rained down. Seeing it loosen, Shen Qingqiu continued his frenzied assault. Best to collapse the ceiling, escape in the chaos, and bury both the Blind Corpses and the risen corpse under tons of stone!

Amid the chaotic fight, a low, sinister hissing suddenly echoed from outside the chamber.

Shen Qingqiu looked up. Outside the hall, two bright yellow lanterns seemed to have been lit—a pair of glaring, bell-sized golden eyes with vertical slit pupils, fixed directly on him with monstrous intensity.

Hearing the sound, the Blind Corpses froze as if under an invisible, awe-inspiring deterrence. They lowered their heads, hunched their shoulders, huddled together, and began to tremble violently.

Those huge eyes blinked twice, holding Shen Qingqiu’s gaze for a moment before vanishing. A moment later, a figure stepped into the hall from outside.

Seeing the newcomer, Shen Qingqiu wasn’t surprised. He called out, “Xizhilang.”

Zhuzhilang’s foot nearly slipped.

He rubbed his nose, a touch exasperated but still polite, and smiled. “If Immortal Master Shen wishes to call me that, please feel free.”

Shen Qingqiu said, “So it was you who stole the corpse from Qiongding Hall.”

The pervasive bluish-black poison was likely venom from a Jade-Scaled Snake. Mu Qingfang’s initial examination failed to find wounds because the snake’s fang marks were minuscule and difficult to detect.

Zhuzhilang replied, “The situation was urgent. I had no choice but to resort to this underhanded method. I hope Immortal Master Shen can forgive the offense. I dared not harm your sect’s disciples, only ensured they slept for a short while.”

Shen Qingqiu gave a dry cough. “The situation was urgent” undoubtedly referred to him dousing Zhuzhilang with an entire town’s worth of realgar wine, beating him back to his true form, and riding him like a mount.

Fortunately, Zhuzhilang hadn’t killed any Cang Qiong Mountain disciples, or this matter would have no end. Shen Qingqiu said, “By summoning me back here in the Holy Mausoleum, you’ve also resolved a certain… predicament I was facing. Previously, you asked me to come to the demon realm. Now I’m here. What exactly is your purpose? You can speak plainly.”

"One reason, I have already explained to Master Shen," Zhuzhilang said. "A drop of kindness deserves a river in return. As for the second... you were not recalled by me. It would be better to ask His Lordship directly."

"Fine," Shen Qingqiu said. "Where is Tianlang-Jun?"

Zhuzhilang paused, seeming confused. "I assumed Master Shen and His Lordship had already... met."

Met?

Shen Qingqiu glanced down at the stone coffin.

Don't tell me... that thing that sat up inside... was Tianlang-Jun?!

To be strictly accurate, they hadn't exactly met, had they?!

The coffin lid he had struggled to pry open moments before began to tremble, then slid aside of its own accord. A figure slowly sat up from within.

Resting an elbow on the coffin's edge, the man turned his head and offered a faint smile. "Master of Qing Jing Peak. An honor, at long last."

Shen Qingqiu was stunned.

...This family certainly had diverse hobbies, but they shared a uniquely bizarre aesthetic. The son liked embracing corpses; the father enjoyed lying in coffins. The Demonic Bloodline was truly something else. He had to hand it to them.

While Luo Binghe's looks favored his mother, Su Xiyan, traces of his father were still visible. The eyes, for instance.

Tianlang-Jun had deep-set eyes, sharp brows, and pupils dark as abyssal pools—traits Luo Binghe shared. If even his eyes had resembled his mother's, his features would have been overly delicate.

Then there was the smile. The smiles of this father and son both gave Shen Qingqiu an indescribable... sense of foreboding.

"Peak Lord is a title I left behind many years ago," Shen Qingqiu replied cautiously.