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墨書 Inktalez
Now, the veil belonging to this Mysterious Ethnicity seems to be lifted layer by layer before us.
Perhaps it is time for some mysteries to be revealed. I felt a sense of unease in my heart, as if I sensed that Hills would appear here, which was the last thing I wanted to see. The Sculpture continued to extend downward, still singing its hymn in the darkness.
I felt a light sweat on my forehead; the further I looked down, the more moved I became. Zhang Tongni Ren and a few others followed me, and I occasionally shared snippets of what I saw with them.
Old Ghost couldn't help but exclaim, "What a great yet resilient nation this is!"
Hearing such a sentiment from someone who dealt in antiquities struck me as odd at first. But then I reflected on myself and realized I was no different, so I let it go.
A wide avenue stretched out before me, lined with tombstones that seemed to live silently.
Looking further back, the era of the Sculpture was drawing closer; I could already see the Ming Dynasty. Each piece of Sculpture bore the marks of time.
As I browsed through, I reached the Qing Dynasty, where dense inscriptions appeared like treasured family records. Suddenly, my eyes lit up when I spotted a Qiu Surname—Qiu Wen—who was a figure from the Late Qing Dynasty. Scattered records detailed his deeds, but they were trivial and did not reveal the clues I sought.
However, the character "Qiu" made me think of Hills. To some extent, could there be a connection or even a familial relationship? I tried to speculate, and as I pondered, it felt as though I had fallen back into a dense fishing net.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts and tried to remain focused, avoiding wild imaginings.
There are countless people with the same surname in this world; I comforted myself with that thought.
Yet, intentionally or not, I quickened my pace, eager to see all the remaining Sculptures. Soon enough, I arrived at the last one. To my disappointment, I still found nothing of what I sought—not even a mention of the Wei Clan. According to my research, the Wei Clan is the legitimate surname of the Ghost Clan; it made no sense that they would not be honored here.
Moreover, what I wanted to know most was information about Hills. It felt like a needle piercing the side of my heart; even a slight tug would cause pain and unease.
The Sculptures were finished.
Next, what lay before me was something even more shocking.
Many people stood before the food, stunned into silence, perhaps realizing that words could hardly encapsulate the experience.
The beam of the flashlight illuminated the scene, causing the massive palace to shimmer with a black metallic sheen. Towering over ten meters high and forged from bronze, it exuded an air of majesty and solemnity. A five-meter tall Bronze Giant Gate barred our path forward.
Moreover, behind this towering palace lay numerous other palatial structures.
It was nothing short of a monumental feat—a miracle.
We were left speechless, even forgetting how to express our astonishment.
If there were no surprises, this must be the legendary Ghostly Heavenly Palace! A national top-secret that had eluded investigation for decades—the Ghostly Heavenly Palace—was now right before our eyes. How many people, even generations, had sought the whereabouts of this mysterious palace? And now it stood before us.
"This..."
Someone stammered, unable to articulate their thoughts.
Standing in front of this grand palace made us feel as insignificant as ants.
Excitement filled the air.
Fat Ma approached me, his plump face quivering with laughter. "Old Sun, Sister-in-law, Mud Man, this time we’ve truly created something extraordinary!" His voice barely concealed his excitement.
Old Ghost, upon hearing this, was less than pleased. While three others were acknowledged, he felt overlooked.
Old Ghost argued, but Fat Ma was too caught up in his own exhilaration to pay attention, leaving Old Ghost to begrudgingly share in the spoils of this artifact venture.
The peculiar group standing behind Mud Man remained eerily calm, their emotions hidden from view. Only the dark muzzles of their guns hinted at their underlying sentiments.
Old Wang and Fish Head Elder were equally thrilled.
The mysterious figure was shrouded in a cloak, adding to the enigma surrounding him. He was also one of those summoned by the state, suggesting that his identity was likely significant.
Though everyone gathered here was close together, each person harbored their own hidden agendas.
About five minutes later, whispers began to circulate as they discussed how to enter the Ghostly Heavenly Palace.
The Ghostly Heavenly Palace was tightly sealed by the Bronze Giant Gate. Attempting to forcefully break through was unrealistic, but there had to be a way.
Some of the bolder individuals had already begun to probe around. Just as one approached the Bronze Giant Gate, a sudden flash of cold light reflected off his flashlight, and he let out a blood-curdling scream before collapsing lifelessly.
Looking at the Arrow Feathers scattered on the ground, everyone present couldn't help but shudder, relieved that it wasn't them who had stepped forward.
For a moment, everyone froze. This sudden turn of events served as a warning.
It seemed to say, "Those not of my kind will have different intentions; those who tread here will be killed."
A strange atmosphere enveloped the group. No one wanted to take risks anymore; they preferred to conserve their strength for later opportunities.
Just as everyone was at a standstill, the group behind the clay figure moved. Gunfire erupted in the stillness of the Tomb, and the flashes were exceptionally bright. They pointed at one person and commanded, "You go."
The brief words carried an undeniable authority; refusal meant death.
The Bronze Giant Gate loomed before them like a door to doom, and at that moment, no one dared approach it.
No one had seen where those deadly flashes had originated from.
Faced with the dark muzzle of the gun, the man hesitated, beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead. Finally, unable to contain himself, he shouted, "I'm not going! I want to go back!" His emotions seemed on the verge of collapse.
But the response was a gunshot, the sound of death—cold and cruel.
The man was shot in the leg, letting out a scream like that of a slaughtered pig.
"Are you going or not?"
He fell to the ground, blood oozing from his leg as he let out a wail of despair.
His body slowly writhed backward. The gun was about to fire again when it was pressed down by the Mud Man.
"Stop killing!"
The man glanced at the Mud Man, and the gun was slowly lowered. At that moment, someone stepped forward to bandage his wound.
Now they faced a stalemate; someone had to step up to break it. Only then could they avoid being powerless over the meat hanging on their lips due to lack of teeth. Yet despite this, no one dared to be the first to take that leap.
I took a step forward, wanting to observe better.
But just as I moved, Zhang Tong grabbed me, shaking his head worriedly. "Don't go," he whispered.
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