Underneath the deceased lay a straw mat. Several scraps of desiccated skin still clung to the skull, giving it a gruesome appearance.
"The skeleton seems intact."
Nian Songyu jumped down as well, peering closely. Suddenly, his expression changed. "Intact, but not in their original positions."
He pointed to where the limbs should be, still covered by dirt. "Clear away the soil."
At this juncture, He Lingchuan could only comply obediently.
When they dug it open, everyone let out a long gasp of surprise.
"Was he eaten too?!"
Several bones bore obvious scorch marks and knife gouges.
"Eaten first, then buried?" Nian Songyu was baffled in turn. "What was so special about this person?"
"Over here!" Maotao had just scraped away the dirt on the other side and discovered something clutched in the corpse's hand.
Upon pulling it out, they saw a small goatskin pouch.
Experienced as Sun Fuping was, his heart could not help but race.
They were finally one step closer to the answer.
He personally untied the sheepskin wrapper, revealing a handwritten journal resting inside.
With surging excitement, the group watched him flip open the notebook. The characters inside were densely packed, growing increasingly hurried and sloppy toward the end. Sheltered by the sheepskin, it was well preserved, save for the paper having yellowed and turned brittle.
And then... they couldn't understand a single word.
Everyone could only wait for the National Preceptor to translate. Sun Fuping, however, read slowly, word by word, terrified of missing the slightest useful detail, pondering as he read.
Unable to hold it in any longer, He Lingchuan slipped outside to relieve himself thoroughly. By the time he returned, Sun Fuping was just tipping his head back to take a sip of water.
"National Preceptor, what does the journal say?" He pointed at the burial mound. "Did the dead man write it?"
"No. It is a final testament left behind by the companion who buried him—the last survivor of that Baling expedition," Sun Fuping said slowly. "This man was Zhu Gen's grand-disciple, Tao Bo.
"This journal records everything from when he accepted the mission from Grandmaster Zhu Gen until the expedition was virtually wiped out. They found the entrance to the illusion before the temple in the ruined desert city and triggered the wild sand season early, but were immediately attacked by resentful souls. The Gale Army in particular proved formidable, inflicting heavy casualties on the entire party. Only five managed to flee in here, and the resentful souls pursued no further.
"I will not dwell on what came before; we have experienced it ourselves. The crucial part lies after: once they entered the illusion, they failed to achieve their objective. They found neither the Dafang Pot nor an exit. The provisions and water they brought were steadily consumed until supplies ran completely dry."
Sun Fuping spoke slowly and in great detail—not simply to explain it to the three of them, but because he needed to digest and ponder the contents himself.
"This place seems peaceful and content, but in truth, it is no different from the desert. It merely lacks the extreme cold and scorching heat, yet neither environment sustains living beings. Those who cannot find a way out will ultimately meet only death." Sun Fuping casually turned a page. "Running out of food and water, these Baling men were forced to consume their companions, deciding on the victim by drawing lots. We have already seen their remains at the Chen residence."
Nian Songyu asked curiously, "Then what is the deal with this grave?"
"The third person who drew the death lot refused to be eaten and tried to resist, only to be slain by Tao Bo and Yu Qingyuan working together. That man was tough to deal with; Tao Bo could not have handled him alone. Sometime later, when it was down to the last two to gamble their luck, Yu Qingyuan took his own life voluntarily, yielding the final chance of survival to Tao Bo."
The three fell silent. To survive dozens of days in despair and terror, and then willingly surrender the last shred of hope for survival—they knew that was something none of them could do.
"Moved by his noble sacrifice, Tao Bo erected this mound for him and left his own journal alongside, gifting it to those who might follow."
Maotao gave a wry smile. "Namely, unlucky bastards like us."
"Watch your words." Nian Songyu did not consider himself particularly unlucky. "Surely the journal contains something useful?"
"Relying on food, water, and his companions, he survived in the illusion for over sixty days in all. He searched Panlong City inside and out several times, and even made several treks into the wasteland. However, there was a boundary thirty li outside the city; one could go no further." Tao Bo's journal was like a diary, recording daily observations and thoughts, which inevitably grew trivial, so National Preceptor Sun simply summarized the essence. "Grandmaster Zhu Gen had put forward many hypotheses regarding Panlong City and the Dafang Pot. As his grand-disciple, Tao Bo strove to verify them here, but succeeded at none. In the end, he even abandoned the search for the Dafang Pot, hoping only to find a means of escape.
"Of course, he also understood that the two were fundamentally one and the same.
"The greatest problem of living in this illusory city was not knowing where to begin at all. Countless attempts ended in failure. After Yu Qingyuan died and only a single living soul remained in the entire city, Tao Bo drifted in a daze for many days, until a thought suddenly struck him: could the reason they couldn't find the Dafang Pot be that it simply isn't here?"
All three were taken aback. "What does that mean?"
Without the Dafang Pot, how could this illusion even exist?
Nian Songyu's face instantly darkened. "You mean we came to the wrong place?"
"The wheat fields outside the walls, the architecture within—all indicate that Panlong City was enjoying peace in this era, untouched by the flames of war," Sun Fuping said slowly. "Without war, the people would not perform a deity blood sacrifice, and the god Mitian would naturally not bestow the Dafang Pot meant for battle!"
War was the beginning of all the tragedies that followed.
Without war, there was naturally no Dafang Pot.
Absurd! Had they come here to die for nothing? Maotao wanted to object, but opened his mouth without being able to utter a word. He Lingchuan mumbled, "Does it really seem to be like that?"
What else could they do here? "If we cannot find a way out, then this illusion is a dead end—a hopeless trap!" Nian Songyu's eyes flickered. "There cannot be such a formation or secret realm in this world; it violates the laws of heaven!"
Even in a man-made death trap, there had to be a gate of life, however slim the odds, or the trap itself could never have been constructed. This was a fundamental law of this realm, as indisputable as water flowing downward or the sun rising the next day. Having studied divine arts, Nian Songyu understood this principle thoroughly.
"So why does this world of Panlong City exist?" Sun Fuping shook the journal in his hand. "As a direct grand-disciple of Grandmaster Zhu Gen, Tao Bo proposed a conjecture. Who do you think would love the Panlong City of this era?"
Love it?
The three looked at each other. He Lingchuan probed, "Everyone?"
A peaceful, prosperous haven beyond the passes, untouched by war—who could fail to love it?
"Yes, everyone! Everyone who ever lived on this land, living and dead—the ideal home in their hearts must have looked like this. That is why the Dafang Pot forged such a world for them, following the cherished wishes of the resentful souls in life!" Sun Fuping continued, "Tao Bo even suspected that this illusion was beautified and embellished, far better than Panlong City ever was in history, so that the resentful souls would remain here in peace."
Chapter 51