Dragon Vein Storyteller

Chapter 2 The Nail of the Vengeful Infant

Ladies and gentlemen, as we mentioned last time, a few of us grave robbers were led by a group of men in black armor who strung us together like grasshoppers with hemp rope and drove us deep into the mountains.

This journey was truly a brush with death. Without food or water, if we slowed our pace even half a step, an arrow would pierce our backs, leaving us sprawled by the roadside without even a burial. Thankfully, they didn't steal our water and provisions, otherwise, these two weeks of mountain travel would have turned us into withered bones by the roadside. Along the way, they bound anyone they saw, regardless of age or gender, tying them up as they went, losing their lives in the process.

As we ventured deeper into the Qinling Mountains, the silence grew ever quieter. Birds ceased to fly, and the roars of beasts were no longer heard. The only sound was the clanging of pebbles being struck by shovels. Rounding a bend in the mountain, we came upon a cluster of tents. Three three-story stone towers stood in triangular formations, their roofs blazing day and night. Thick black smoke, like burnt syrup, dripped from the tops of the towers and clung to the air, impossible to wipe away.

My eyelids twitched, and my mind went blank. The images from that tattered family heirloom book flashed before my eyes like branding irons. My mouth moved faster than my brain, and I blurted out: "The Nail of the Vengeful Infant."

"What did you say?" The little chick shoved me, and I froze on the spot, half-asleep.

Feng the Cripple yanked the rope from behind, nearly strangling me, and yelled in a low voice, "Half-immortal, are you possessed? What is that tower?"

"Infant Spirit Tower".

As soon as the three words were uttered, Liao the Bald broke out in a cold sweat, and Feng the Cripple's lame leg trembled even more violently. It wasn't that they hadn't heard of this sinister object, but they never expected that three of them would appear at once. My Wang family ancestors worked in the Imperial Observatory, and with their keen observation skills, they could immediately see the resentment clinging to the towers, a mixture of black and red, wrapped in the cries of children, seeping into the very bones.

"This is fucking defying the heavens!" Feng the Cripple cursed in a low voice. "What on earth is buried down there that they'd use such an outrageous method? I've dug up graves my whole life and I've never seen anything like this."

The little chick tugged at my sleeve, its voice trembling, "Mystic, what is the Infant Spirit Tower?"

My voice trembled as I pointed to the entrance of the tower and said to him, word by word, "You were picked up by that tower. The entrance is narrow, only big enough for a child to crawl through, and inside it is full of wooden spikes and bamboo blades. Anyone thrown in would either fall to their death on the spot or be riddled with holes, suffering for three or four days before finally dying, their resentment locked inside the tower."

The chick's face turned pale instantly, its eyes filled with hatred as it stared intently at the three stone towers.

I glanced at him sideways: "What, are you being treated badly by following us grave diggers?"

The kid snorted, turned his head away, and didn't say a word.

Sanjin leaned closer, his sturdy body trembling slightly: "Immortal, what exactly is this 'Resentful Infant Nail'? My heart is pounding with anxiety."

"It's a feng shui formation." I swallowed hard. "The book only mentions it briefly... using the resentment of innate infant spirits to firmly nail down, seal, trap, and rot the dragon veins underground. As for any other insidious uses, I can't say. The person who created this formation buried their conscience and risked their life."

"This is a complete disaster." Baldy Liao touched his bald head, his face ashen.

We were led to the camp, where the man in black armor whispered a few words to a man who looked like a manager, and then led us directly to the entrance of a cave. The iron gate was cold and rusty.

"If you want to live, go in. If you go back, you die."

Before the words were even finished, the bowstring behind us was drawn taut, the arrow tip pointed at our hearts. We dared not delay, and rushed into the cave like madmen.

Whoosh... whoosh... whoosh...

Arrows rained down like a storm; those who ran slowly fell to the ground, their blood splattering onto the stone wall, creating a crimson stain. We squeezed into the middle of the line, barely managing to escape with our lives.

Just as I breathed a sigh of relief, a chorus of screams erupted ahead.

My heart sank, and I yelled, "Stand together! Stick close together!"

But then a crowd surged in from behind, like a flood, pushing and shoving, unable to grip the rock face or find solid ground under their feet. They didn't even have the strength to struggle before being pushed to the edge of the cliff.

Suddenly everything went black, my body felt light, and I started to fall.

Snapped……

I crashed onto a pile of soft, sticky, fishy, ​​and stinking stuff... The stench hit my head, making my eyes water. When I reached out and touched it, it was rotten flesh, broken bones, and a corpse that wasn't quite cold yet.

If we didn't scramble away, we'd be crushed into mincemeat by the people falling from behind. I scrambled and crawled, grabbing onto Crippled Feng, Baldy Liao, Sanjin, and Little Chicken, and huddled under a protruding rock at the corner of the cliff.

The cliff was over thirty meters high, and below it lay corpses, piled one on top of another, forming a small mountain. If it weren't for this heap of rotting flesh cushioning our fall, the five of us would have been smashed into a puddle of mud long ago.

"Half……"

Just as the chick was about to speak, I snapped back, "Screw you! Catch your breath first, you almost got crushed to death!"

The cursing had barely stopped when I looked up and froze, not daring to even breathe.

This is hell.

Death clung to their faces, malevolence enveloped their bodies, and resentment, like wisps of smoke, swirled around the pile of corpses, clinging to the air...

Floating in mid-air, cold, sticky, and fishy, ​​it seeps into your pores and into your bones.

Amidst the pile of corpses, a small face was facing me, eyes wide open, at most seven or eight years old, wearing a tattered cotton-padded jacket, a bamboo splinter stuck in its chest, and tears still clinging to the corners of its mouth.

A woman lay beside him, holding an even smaller baby in her arms, her head tilted to one side, the blood on her neck congealed and turning black.

Looking further into the distance, men, women, the elderly, and children were all corpses. Some were rotten to the bone, while others were still fresh, layer upon layer, like a pile of firewood, stretching as far as the eye could see.

The flickering firelight illuminated faces that were deathly pale, contorted, and filled with despair. The air was thick with the stench of decay and blood, along with a cloyingly sweet odor—the smell of rotting corpses fermenting.

In my life, I've dug up graves, excavated tombs, seen lonely graves and wandering ghosts, seen rotten bones and coffins, but I've never seen so many dead people.

So many that it numbs you.

So much so that I forgot to be afraid.

I sat amidst the pile of corpses, staring at the child with bamboo splinters stuck in his throat, my mind as blank as if it had been emptied out.

Feng the Cripple stopped cursing, Liao the Bald stopped making a fuss, Sanjin was panting with his head down, and Little Chick was clutching the hem of my clothes without saying a word.

No one spoke.

In this place, cursing is useless, begging for mercy is useless, and crying is useless.

I only know one thing...

This time, it's really not going to work.

Just as the silence was so profound that only the stench of corpses could be smelled, a few will-o'-the-wisps of light suddenly flickered around the corner of the pile of corpses not far away.

The flickering firelight cast shadows on the stone wall, making them look like menacing demons crawling out of the underworld. Only when the torch drew closer did I realize—they looked like people!

These men were all skin and bones, their bodies covered in dried, black scabs, like a smear of mud. They weren't carrying weapons; some clutched sharpened pieces of wood, others held bloodstained bamboo spears, and the more ruthless ones carried freshly dismantled leg bones, with fascia still clinging to them!

The stench was even more overpowering than the burial pit, giving one a headache.

Before our side could even beg for mercy, a hoarse scream erupted from the crowd, sounding as if it had been rubbed against sandpaper.

"Hand over the water!"