Futile Devices Scans

Qingtie’s smile was fleeting, like a passing glimmer of light—it vanished in an instant. After smiling, he straightened his lips again, as if he found it a bit foolish. A’Lin, however, leaned weakly against the stone wall, using that brief laughter to release all the lingering shock of having survived death.

The feeling of going in and out of the gates of hell was far too intense. If possible, he never wanted to experience it a second time in his life.

After calming down for quite a while, he gathered himself again. In a safe environment, his natural liveliness gradually returned.

He glanced curiously at the young assassin. Qingtie was lighting a torch prepared in the secret passage with a fire starter. It was as if he had eyes on the back of his head—he was extremely sensitive to others’ gazes. Without lifting his head, he asked, “What is it?”

Only after asking did he remember that the boy was mute, so he turned to look at him. A’Lin tried to gesture in sign language, asking “What is your name?”, but Qingtie did not understand. Tilting his head, he asked in confusion, “What?”

After a moment’s thought, he picked up a stone from the ground and handed it to A’Lin. “Can you write?”

A’Lin: …

Having been confined in the main altar for so long, his mind had almost rusted over—if it hadn’t been brought up, he might have forgotten he could still write.

He wrote the character for “name” on the ground. The strokes were smooth and elegant. Qingtie’s brow lifted almost imperceptibly. “You’re asking for my name?”

A’Lin nodded vigorously, looking at him with anticipation.

“My name is Xie Ying,” Qingtie paused slightly, almost imperceptibly. “Ying as in firefly.”

A’Lin wrote on the ground: “Many thanks.”

“No need to be polite.” Xie Ying studied his handwriting with interest, then asked casually, “Is your real name A’Lin? Where are you from?”

“Jiang… he? No, wait—this character is ‘guan’?”

A’Lin wrote quickly, and Xie Ying leaned closer with the torch, bending down to read the writing on the ground. “Your name is Jiang Guan, and you’re from Xiling?”

Jiang Guan erased the “Jiang” on the left, replaced it with the character “Xiao,” then drew a horizontal line beneath it to indicate they should be read together. Only then did Xie Ying understand. “You want me to call you ‘Xiao Guan’?”

Jiang Guan’s eyes curved in satisfaction as he nodded, and inwardly he secretly changed how he referred to him—to “A’Ying.”

But since he could not speak, and writing did not require addressing someone first, there was no need to specifically tell Xie Ying.

As for Xie Ying, he didn’t use any form of address either. He wasn’t used to calling people so intimately, and besides, there was no one else in the tunnel. When he spoke, it was naturally directed at Jiang Guan. “How did you end up in the hands of the Ten Aspects Sect?”

Perhaps it was retribution for probing someone’s sore spot. Before his words had even faded, a deep rumble suddenly echoed from within the mountain. The trembling they had felt earlier on the platform returned with even greater force. In an instant, gravel and dirt rained down on them like hail.

Both of them nearly lost their footing. Xie Ying grabbed Jiang Guan, who was crouching on the ground, with one arm, raised the torch, and glanced toward the entrance. After quickly assessing the difficulty of climbing back up, he turned decisively. “Something’s wrong. Move!”

Jiang Guan had barely had a moment to rest before being dragged into a sprint toward the other end of the tunnel. The flickering torchlight danced before their eyes, and the blurred surroundings flashed past, swiftly swallowed by the darkness behind them.

Fate was like a sword suspended above their heads by a spider’s thread. The only thing he could cling to was Xie Ying’s hand.

Pebbles struck their faces and bodies painfully. Several times, Jiang Guan heard the whistling rush of larger stones passing dangerously close. The ground shook more violently with each moment. The two of them were like ants fleeing a flood, racing through the groaning mountain—any hesitation would see them swallowed by the surging disaster.

After rounding a sharp bend, the firelight suddenly spread outward. The marks of human excavation ended here, and before them lay a vast natural cavern.

Xie Ying halted, scanning their surroundings with caution. Even in such circumstances, he thought wryly that at least they would not be trapped in the tunnel this time. Suddenly, a force struck from behind—Jiang Guan leapt forward and tackled him, and the two rolled aside. A massive rock crashed down where they had stood, barely missing their feet.

It seemed like an omen. The cave began collapsing uncontrollably. Xie Ying had no time for thanks or fear—he grabbed Jiang Guan, who was still coughing, and ran. “Don’t stop! This place is about to collapse!”

The thunderous rumbling continued without pause. Sharp shards of stone sliced thin cuts across his face, but Xie Ying, wholly focused, felt none of it. His eyes tracked the falling rocks, his feet moved in rhythm with the crashing ground, threading through the collapsing cavern with precision. With a swift motion, he shoved Jiang Guan into another connected natural cave.

Boom—!

Amid the violent shaking, Xie Ying pulled Jiang Guan into his arms and pressed him against a narrow corner of the cave entrance.

In the next moment, the cavern behind them collapsed completely. In the pitch-black darkness, the tremors and roaring sounded like echoes from a world turning upside down. Every sense was overwhelmed by this disaster beyond human control. He could not see, could not hear clearly, could not feel his own breath or heartbeat—he could not even tell if he was standing still or falling.

Or perhaps his body had already been torn apart along with the earth beneath him, leaving only a drifting soul, clinging to its last human obsession, forever trapped beneath the ground.

Darkness stretched time endlessly. It felt as though a lifetime had passed before the commotion finally subsided, as if the raging beast deep within the earth had temporarily gone still.

Jiang Guan moved slightly, only then realizing that he was clinging to Xie Ying in a desperate, life-or-death embrace.

The dust had not yet settled, the air still thick with debris, and a ringing lingered in his ears—but at least they were alive.

Xie Ying’s grip on his hand had sunk deeply into his shoulder, yet he felt no pain. He merely lifted his shoulder slightly, signaling that Jiang Guan could let go.

The movement was like the first crack of ice breaking in a thawing spring river—faint but precious. Xie Ying slowly relaxed. Perhaps it was an illusion, but he seemed to hesitate for a moment before taking out a fire starter and lighting it. When he spoke, his voice had not fully recovered. “There’s no way back. Let’s keep moving forward. Watch your step.”

Jiang Guan reached out and took his hand without thinking. The two of them groped their way deeper into the cave, moving in the only possible direction.

In such a situation, even clinging to each other left no room for stray thoughts, let alone embarrassment. All they wanted was to survive, praying that they could hold on until they reached true safety, that no more collapses would come.

The natural cavern was uneven and treacherous compared to the man-made tunnel. Fortunately, after their frantic escape, the circulation of blood and qi had been stimulated, allowing the antidote to fully take effect. Jiang Guan’s movements had returned to normal, and he was no longer a burden.

Supporting each other, they walked for about the time it takes an incense stick to burn. Suddenly, they felt a faint breeze brushing their faces. The darkness ahead seemed thinner, revealing a dim glimmer of light.

At last, a sliver of hope in the depths of despair. Both of them quickened their pace, rushing toward the light. But before they could fully relax, Xie Ying stepped forward and unknowingly stepped on a loose stone. With a sharp crack, the ground beneath them shattered like brittle ice.

His footing gave way, dragging Jiang Guan forward with him. Both of them lost balance and fell—

No wonder the Ten Aspects Sect hadn’t chosen this cave for their tunnel. At the end of this cursed cavern was a vast chasm within the mountain.

Jiang Guan barely had time to gasp before a powerful force seized his wrist, abruptly halting his fall.

Perhaps the earlier collapse had loosened the rock above. Faint daylight filtered through cracks in the high ceiling, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Jiang Guan looked up and barely made out Xie Ying’s silhouette—one hand gripping a protruding rock, the other holding him fast. The two of them dangled like caterpillars hanging from a spring poplar tree, or like the last leaf of winter, suspended precariously against a steep rock face above a bottomless abyss.

“It’s okay. Don’t panic.”

Xie Ying’s breathing was growing heavier, his voice hoarse as he quickly reassured him. “There’s still a way to climb back up. See if there’s anywhere around you can place your feet…”

A warm, sticky flow suddenly ran from the back of Xie Ying’s hand down his arm. Along with it came the metallic scent of fresh blood. Jiang Guan froze.

Only then did he realize—it was blood. And in that instant, everything clicked together.

He was injured.

When the previous cavern collapsed, Xie Ying had shielded him from the falling debris with his own body. He had been struck in the back, yet endured the pain in silence, concealing his injuries so as not to shake Jiang Guan’s resolve.

And now, even with such severe injuries, he was supporting the weight of both of them alone.

How much longer could he hold on?

Jiang Guan’s throat tightened painfully. Never in his life had he felt such an urge to scream, to lash out, to tear something apart—or even to carve open his own chest just to release the turbulent emotions crashing within him.

If not for saving him, Xie Ying would have already left Luoling with his companion, carrying Helan Zhenjia’s head. He would not be trapped underground, nor in this life-and-death predicament.

Some obstacles in life cannot be overcome. When death comes, one cannot escape it. By refusing to accept his fate and seeking shelter from another, he had only dragged his savior down with him.

This had to end here.

He could not keep making the same mistake.

He looked up at Xie Ying, but in the dimness it was impossible to make out details. His gaze and expression could not be conveyed, and the countless words he wished to say had nowhere to go. All his gratitude and guilt could only turn into a silence carved into the bone, falling with him into the abyss.

Jiang Guan raised his free hand and forcefully tried to pry open Xie Ying’s iron-like grip.

“What are you doing?!”

Xie Ying sensed his intent and immediately shouted in anger, “Don’t be stupid! I know you’re moved, but you don’t need to repay me like this—stop it! Jiang Guan!”

Only his voice echoed in the darkness, striking the rock walls and breaking into fragmented reverberations.

“Jiang Guan, are you crazy?! Stop prying my hand! We’ve come this far—do you still want to die? Then everything I did before was for nothing!”

“Xiao Guan, don’t do this—just stay still… I’m really fine, just hold on a bit longer…”

But the stubborn mute seemed deaf at this moment. No matter how Xie Ying coaxed, reassured, or threatened him, he ignored everything, focused solely on forcing him to let go.

The injury on his shoulder hurt so much it was beginning to go numb—a bad sign. The arm gripping the rock trembled uncontrollably, muscles spasming. At that moment, a rustling sound came from above, and gravel and dust rained down like scattered beads. The mountain, which had only just calmed, began to tremble violently again.

Xie Ying almost laughed bitterly. After years wandering the martial world, he finally understood what it meant to be “a cat toying with a mouse”—no matter how far they ran, once the claws of chance struck, all their efforts would be undone, leaving them helpless before fate’s fangs.

His sweat-slicked palm was slowly slipping, like tightly fitted joints being pried apart under immense force.

Suddenly—

The wind roared. Xie Ying abruptly looked up, just as a massive shadow the size of a millstone came crashing down, accompanied by a storm of falling stones.

Jiang Guan rarely cursed, but at this moment he and Xie Ying were completely in sync. Both of them shouted upward in unison—

“Damn it! Again?!”

That fragile thread of fate finally snapped. In that instant, a faint sound seemed to echo through the void—almost silent, yet as shocking as thunder in the heart.

Xie Ying’s palm suddenly emptied. Jiang Guan broke free from his grasp. Their fingertips barely brushed in midair, like a final, resolute farewell. That figure left a fleeting imprint in his sight—then fell lightly into the gaping abyss below.

Previous

Main

Next