Chapter 59

The moment Luo Binghe lost consciousness, the oppressive aura that had kept the creatures at bay vanished. The blind corpses that had retreated into the shadows began to stir, their ragged hisses closing in once more.

Shen Qingqiu kept one arm wrapped around Luo Binghe’s slumped form while his other hand shot to Xiuyu Sword. With a sharp flick, the blade left its sheath like a loosed arrow, piercing over a dozen of the shuffling figures on its first pass. The polished steel, however, gleamed brilliantly under the sickly green glow of the death-watch candles. The blind corpses, hypersensitive to light, dodged the second strike with unsettling speed. Shen Qingqiu had barely sheathed his sword when several skeletal arms reached for them—one aiming straight for Luo Binghe’s eye.

He slapped out a palm strike, a burst of spiritual power exploding the offending corpse’s head like an overripe melon.

But such explosive techniques came at a cost. They drained spiritual power too quickly. Already back to a pitiful two bars of energy, Shen Qingqiu couldn’t afford to be reckless. After two dozen or so blasts, a familiar strain settled into his meridians. The blind corpses pressed forward in the cramped passage, a relentless tide. He resorted to kicking them back, one after another. Low-level as they were, their numbers seemed endless. Juggling the deadweight of an unconscious Luo Binghe made every step a stumble. One misstep, and Luo Binghe’s head knocked against the stone wall again.

Thud.

The sound made Shen Qingqiu’s own teeth ache. Guiltily, he cupped a hand behind Luo Binghe’s head, fingers probing. Was that a lump already forming? Amitabha, please, he prayed silently, between the fever and the concussions, don’t let me knock the sense clean out of the kid!

These low-level nuisances were tenacious. Staying in this candle-lit corridor would only draw more. He shifted his grip, hauling Luo Binghe’s arm over his shoulder, and half-dragged, half-carried him forward at a brisk pace. The blind corpses fell behind by several yards, but with each of Shen Qingqiu’s ragged breaths, more death-watch candles flared to life, painting their fleeing figures in stark, green relief. The creatures, though slower, never lost the trail, a persistent, hissing shadow.

He spotted a small side chamber at a corner—a preparation room, perhaps. Coffin slabs lay strewn about haphazardly, some with their lids tossed aside, devoid of any solemnity. Shen Qingqiu hurried inside, dragging his burden with him. He checked coffin after coffin. Some held desiccated corpses in twisted poses; others were empty.

The hissing and scraping at the chamber entrance grew louder, long, distorted shadows crisscrossing the floor. Out of time, Shen Qingqiu vaulted into the nearest stone coffin. He’d meant to shove Luo Binghe into a separate one, but there was no chance. They tumbled in together, a tangled heap.

Even with a padded base, the impact made stars burst behind Shen Qingqiu’s eyes. Luo Binghe landed on top, a dead weight that drove the air from Shen Qingqiu’s lungs.

What did this kid eat? He looks lean but weighs a ton!

The coffin lid was half-ajar. As Shen Qingqiu reached to pull it shut, a wavering green light filled the chamber, and several hunched shadows fell across the ceiling.

They were inside.

The blind corpses shuffled into the room. A soft tap-tap-tap echoed, followed by the spine-chilling scrape of long nails dragging over stone.

If there was one place guaranteed to be free of death-watch candles, it was inside a coffin. No light meant safety from these sightless hunters.

Shen Qingqiu lay still, staring up. Luo Binghe’s face was pressed into the crook of his neck, the heat from his forehead scalding against Shen Qingqiu’s skin. If he felt uncomfortable, Luo Binghe must be burning up. An idea struck him—Luo Binghe’s hands were ice-cold. Maybe they could cool his forehead. He started to maneuver one limp wrist upward, then froze.

Five skeletal fingers, tipped with long, filthy nails, appeared over the coffin’s edge.

Why are they searching so thoroughly?! Weren’t they supposed to be stupid? Weren’t they only interested in light?!

Then Shen Qingqiu noticed it: a faint red glow pulsing beside his own cheek.

He glanced sideways. Though Luo Binghe’s eyes were closed, the Heavenly Demon mark had manifested on his forehead. The crimson sigil dimmed and brightened with each shallow breath.

What is this thing? Some kind of final warning light, like those blinking timers on giant superheroes?

Both his arms were pinned. Instinct took over. He jerked his head to the side, pressing his lips firmly against the smooth, glowing forehead.

It looked… suspiciously like he was kissing Luo Binghe’s brow. Forget the details. Survival first!

The gnarled hand, nails packed with grime and tangled hair, trembled as it reached into the coffin, blindly groping.

The interior was narrow but deep. If it kept searching at this level, it might miss them. But the fingers crept lower, and lower. Shen Qingqiu’s heart climbed into his throat. Just as they were about to brush Luo Binghe’s back, he gritted his teeth, wrestled his nearly numb right arm free, and pressed down on a relatively unmarred patch of Luo Binghe’s back.

The action eliminated the last sliver of space between them. Chest to chest, stomach to stomach, they were pressed into a single shape.

The abdomen was supposed to be soft. Yet Shen Qingqiu’s stomach was being distinctly prodded by what felt like a solid wall of muscle. Definitely an eight-pack. Uncomfortably so.

The searching hand halted a hair’s breadth above Luo Binghe’s spine, then changed direction, sliding toward the other side.

Now it was nearing Luo Binghe’s calf. With a internal curse, Shen Qingqiu parted his legs, letting Luo Binghe’s left leg settle between them.

This is the absolute minimum space two people can occupy. It can’t get any smaller!

The blind corpse fumbled for a long, tense moment, found nothing, and slowly withdrew its hand.

The shuffling, dissatisfied sounds of the horde faded as they wandered away. Only then did Shen Qingqiu allow himself to exhale.

This position was… undignified. If anyone peeked in now, they’d think Shen Qingqiu was clinging to Luo Binghe for dear life, desperately trying to mold him into his embrace.

He started to shift, to sit up and lift Luo Binghe off him, when a voice cut through the silent chamber.

“It is premature to relax.”

The voice was aged, laced with mockery. Shen Qingqiu instantly grabbed Xiuyu Sword, rolled over—pinning Luo Binghe beneath him—and sat up, blade held defensively. “Who’s there?!”

The chamber was empty save for the cold stone coffins. The corpses were gone.

…Don’t tell me one of these dried-up things decided to reanimate. I checked them!

“If this old man does not wish to be seen,” the voice continued, “you could search the entire Sacred Tomb and find nothing.”

Hearing more, Shen Qingqiu recognized it. He’d heard it before, and not just once.

A realization dawned. He sheathed his sword. “Since it is Senior Dream Demon, there’s no need for theatrics.”

A richly dressed old man materialized in the center of the room, eyes sharp as a hawk’s. He sat cross-legged atop a coffin, looking down with palpable arrogance. “You remember me.”

“Naturally,” Shen Qingqiu said. “Since Senior has appeared before me, I must be dreaming.”

Previously, the Dream Demon had only manifested as a wisp of black smoke in dreams. Now he held a solid human form. Borrowing Luo Binghe’s body had clearly aided his recovery.

Seeing him, Shen Qingqiu felt a thread of tension ease. The Dream Demon was firmly on Luo Binghe’s side. His presence, at least, meant no immediate harm.

“Yet the predicament you find yourselves in is no dream,” the Dream Demon snorted.

“Can Senior help?” Shen Qingqiu asked. “Can you enter his dreams and wake him?”

“I cannot.”

“Why not?” Had the fever cooked his brain?

“I cannot enter,” the Dream Demon stated flatly. “The boy’s primordial spirit is in chaos—a formless void shrouded in mist, lost in a deep slumber. In all my years, I have encountered such a state in only two types of people. The first… are those gravely ill, hovering at death’s door.”

This was not heading somewhere good. “And the second?”

“Fools and simpletons.”

Shen Qingqiu’s grip tightened on his sword.

The Dream Demon continued, unprompted. “He brought this upon himself. For five years, he expended his essence by day searching for souls, and by night, he slaughtered the creations of his own dreams. I warned him such acts were tantamount to shredding his own primordial spirit. He ignored me. This day was inevitable. These past seven days, draining his spiritual power to preserve your corpse… that demonic sword seizing the chance to run rampant… and then forcing his way into the Sacred Tomb to confront the most gifted inheritor of the Heavenly Demon bloodline in generations.”

Shen Qingqiu’s throat went dry. He glanced back at Luo Binghe, still and pale in the coffin. “…And Senior has no way to rouse him?”

“None.”

Shen Qingqiu gave him a curt, wordless salute, then lay back down in the coffin, pulling Luo Binghe close once more.

The Dream Demon: “…”

The old demon’s eyebrows shot up. “What are you doing?”

“Sleeping,” Shen Qingqiu replied. “Waiting to wake up.”

A vein pulsed in the demon’s forehead. “You dare ignore me?”

Shen Qingqiu kept his eyes closed. “Since the Senior said you’re powerless to help, the only option is to wait until I wake up naturally to protect him and get us out.”

The demon snorted. “This sacred tomb of my clan is filled with dangers. There are also two troublesome characters lying in wait. You alone cannot protect him.”

He was right. Absolutely right.

But who else was there now who could—or would—protect Luo Binghe?

Shen Qingqiu opened his eyes and sighed. “I’ll protect him even if I can’t. He’s still my disciple, after all.”

After having wronged Luo Binghe for so long, Shen Qingqiu’s mind was a mess of tangled emotions. He didn’t know exactly what he felt, but one thing was crystal clear: he absolutely could not let Luo Binghe die here.

The dream demon’s voice turned icy. “After all these years, you’re finally willing to admit he’s your disciple again?”

“It has indeed been a long time,” Shen Qingqiu agreed.

He waited for the old demon to continue his sarcastic taunts, but the ancient being suddenly let out a weary sigh.

“If that boy could wake up and hear you say that,” the demon murmured, “I can’t imagine how overjoyed he would be.”

Old man, must every word you utter be so damn ominous!

Shen Qingqiu’s face darkened. ‘If he could wake up’? That kind of life-or-death uncertainty was only making him more anxious!

Suddenly, the dream demon’s pent-up anger erupted. “I was the one who taught him!” he roared. “I was his true master! The arts to move heaven and earth, the techniques to manipulate the hearts of men! And yet he refused to call me ‘Master,’ always sticking with ‘Senior’ this and ‘Senior’ that! You, a mere mortal cultivator, taught him nothing but crude martial forms and a rough cultivation method, and yet he chased after you, crying and begging to call you ‘Shizun’! It infuriates me!”

He’d been stewing in this resentment for ages. Seeing the two of them lying together in the same coffin now was a sight so grating it threatened to blind his old eyes, fueling his bitter complaint.

Shen Qingqiu wasn’t pleased either. The sword arts of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect were ‘crude martial forms’?!

He let out a dry laugh. “I was his life mentor.”

System-certified, no less. Luo Binghe’s entire worldview, values, and outlook had been shaped by him. √

“You knew that?” the dream demon shot back. “Then why were you so heartless as to abandon him for all these years?”

Shen Qingqiu choked on his words again. From Luo Binghe’s perspective, that accusation wasn’t exactly wrong.

The demon’s beard bristled with fury. “If I had eliminated you silently within the dream realm back then, none of these troubles would exist today!” He paced back and forth atop the stone coffin, agitation in every step. “That boy was a talent of immense potential, a piece of clay ready to be shaped into a masterpiece! But the moment he encounters you, he becomes weak, dithering, and weepy! And still, he puts on a cold, aloof act in front of you! In my opinion, he should either claim you or kill you! All this back-and-forth, this hesitant longing, is utterly maddening to watch!!”

Shen Qingqiu desperately wished he could cover his ears—or sew the old demon’s mouth shut.

The dream demon is so annoying!!! Is it really appropriate to say these things right in front of the person involved?!

He glanced at Luo Binghe’s peacefully sleeping face beside him. An image of the boy weeping and sniveling flashed through his mind… Ack! He immediately averted his gaze, his cheeks feeling suspiciously warm. It had to be an illusion!

Shen Qingqiu could bear no more. “Senior, can you let me wake up now?”

The demon still harbored grievances. “Wake up? Even awake, you won’t know how to get out.”

“I do know,” Shen Qingqiu insisted. “Please tell me in which direction Luo Binghe used the Black Moon Rhinoceros-Python to break the boundary.”

“The opened entrance has already closed.”

“That doesn’t mean it can’t be opened again.”

His gaze fell upon the Xin Mo Sword at Luo Binghe’s waist. An entrance that had just been forced open once would still be weak. Using the demonic sword to perform another Void-Splitting Slash might just tear it open again!

The dream demon followed his gaze and understood, but was unimpressed. “That sword may not consent to be used by you.”

Shen Qingqiu knew that, of course. Gritting his teeth, he said in a low voice, “There’s no other way. We have to try.”

---

When he awoke, he was still lying in the stone coffin, with Luo Binghe obediently pressed on top of him, held securely in his arms.

Thank heavens! The tormenting old demon had finally let him go!

Just as Shen Qingqiu was about to sit up in one swift motion, something hard poked against the inner part of his right thigh.

His first thought was the hilt of a sword. Distractedly, he reached down to push it aside. The moment his fingers made contact, a system notification exploded in his vision:

【PLEASURE +1000 ┏(┏ ^q^)┓~~~ Congratulations on achieving the milestone "Relationship Progress"!!!】

In an instant, Shen Qingqiu froze solid, like a piece of dried jerky.

‘Relationship Progress’? What the hell was that?

He looked down. This ‘sword hilt’ was a truly formidable object.

Heavenly Pillar!!!!!!!!!!! It’s the Heavenly Pillar!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Shen Qingqiu felt the simultaneous urge to commit murder and then immediately turn the blade on himself!

After his mind whirled like a leaf in a storm for a long moment, he slapped a hand over his face, comforting himself internally: There’s no day or night in the sacred tomb. Maybe it’s just morning outside?! A normal phenomenon, a perfectly normal physiological reaction!

It’ll go away on its own, right?! That’s usually how it works!

But leaving it like this seems… too pitiful!!!

Pitiful or not, there’s no help for it! It’s not like I can help him take care of it under these circumstances?!?!?!

Pretending I didn’t see it should be forgivable, right?!?!?!

Right! When it comes down to it, a master has absolutely no obligation to help his disciple ‘put out a fire’… even if he was the one who rubbed it and started it!!!

Shen Qingqiu shoved Luo Binghe off him, then placed a palm on the boy’s chest, channeling several waves of spiritual power into him. It wasn’t much—he couldn’t output more right now—but he gave what he could.

Everything else? He would ignore it! Ignore it!

Once out of the coffin, he began the arduous task of dragging Luo Binghe along, heading in the direction the dream demon had indicated: “the far eastern end.” After walking for a while, the walls of the tomb passage grew damp and slick. Moss crept across the stones, making the footing treacherous. Shen Qingqiu slowed his pace to avoid slipping.

Further on, it wasn’t just moss. Weeds and flowering bushes sprouted from cracks. The passage widened, and trees of varying heights rose from the ground on either side. The floor was not only slick but also tangled with gnarled, protruding roots that threatened to trip them with every other step. Insects flitted by, and birdsong echoed. The blue-black ceiling vaulted suddenly upward, studded with glittering white crystal fragments that, at first glance, resembled a starry night sky.

Though it felt like they had stepped into a jungle, they hadn’t left the sacred tomb. This was merely a special burial chamber within it.

Every chamber in the sacred tomb had been designed in life by a noble of the demon race. They were a bizarre and varied lot. Think of it like an apartment building: each resident moved into a bare unit and then decorated and furnished it according to their own tastes. Those skilled in mechanisms favored intricate traps. Those familiar with demonic beasts raised guardian monsters. Those proficient with herbs filled their space with poisonous flowers and strange plants.

The master of this chamber was clearly the last type. These trees and plants might look ordinary, but Shen Qingqiu had no desire to touch a single one.

He removed his outer robe, draped it over both their heads, tightened his arm around Luo Binghe’s waist, and stepped forward with extreme caution.

The grass and leaves rustled.

Suddenly, a sharp whistling sound split the air, accompanied by a flash of cold, white light.

Shen Qingqiu snapped the fingers of his left hand. Xiu Ya, sheathed at his waist, shot forth in response. With a resounding clang, it intercepted the flying sword, the two blades forming a cross in mid-air. Before that threat was even neutralized, a second streak of white light shot toward them—this time aimed directly at Luo Binghe’s throat. Xiu Ya was still engaged with the first sword. He couldn’t recall it in time, and he certainly couldn’t throw Luo Binghe aside. If the boy touched any of those plants, it would be disastrous!

In that critical moment, Shen Qingqiu shifted his body slightly, raised his arm, and caught the second blade’s edge with his bare hand.

The sharp edge bit deep into his palm, but his grip held firm, stopping the sword’s advance completely. Blood didn’t drip—it poured, instantly dyeing half of Shen Qingqiu’s robes and the emerald grass beneath them a vivid crimson.

He finally understood just how painful it was to grab a naked blade with your hand.

The blood-red haze tinted his vision. He jerked his head up, pupils constricting.

He never could have guessed that the “little fish” Tianlang-Jun mentioned would turn out to be these two.