Chapter 9: The Second Door
The dead leave graves.
The living leave memories.
But those who disappear from history leave something far more difficult to find.
The Chamber of Seven Doors
Deep beneath the Northern Wastelands, the ancient celestial map continued its silent rotation.
Thousands of silver stars drifted through the darkness above the circular chamber.
Beneath them stood three figures.
Ye Wuchen, dressed in simple black robes, examined the second stone door.
Lin Qingyue stood beside him, holding a luminous talisman.
Mu Cang remained several steps behind, carefully studying the expedition journal he had recovered.
The old scholar had been unusually quiet since leaving the archive.
Forty-three years.
For forty-three years, he had searched for evidence that his missing companions had existed.
Now he possessed more evidence than he had found in all those decades combined.
Yet every answer seemed to reveal another contradiction.
He looked at the journal.
We entered the ruins with seven people.
He remembered six.
Then another entry:
Only six of us remember entering.
He remembered five.
Mu Cang slowly closed the book.
Something about those numbers troubled him.
But before he could pursue the thought, Lin Qingyue spoke.
"Fellow Daoist Ye, this door is different."
Ye Wuchen nodded.
The first door had possessed a mechanical identification array.
The second contained no visible mechanism.
Instead, nine concentric circles had been carved into its surface.
Each circle contained hundreds of tiny characters.
The inscriptions appeared to be arranged according to a mathematical sequence.
Lin Qingyue studied them.
"These resemble the principles of a rotating formation."
"Correct."
"But the spiritual energy channels are missing."
"Also correct."
She frowned.
"Then how is it supposed to function?"
Ye Wuchen looked at the door.
"By using something other than spiritual energy."
Mu Cang approached.
"What?"
"Movement."
Lin Qingyue blinked.
Ye Wuchen pointed toward the outermost circle.
"Look carefully."
She leaned forward.
After a moment, her expression changed.
"The characters aren't fixed."
Indeed, the tiny inscriptions were moving.
So slowly that the motion was nearly imperceptible.
Each concentric circle rotated independently.
Some moved clockwise.
Others moved in the opposite direction.
Every few breaths, particular characters briefly aligned.
Then separated again.
Lin Qingyue examined the sequence.
"It's a calculation."
Ye Wuchen nodded.
"The door is continuously producing combinations."
"What combination opens it?"
"That depends on the question."
Lin Qingyue looked confused.
"What question?"
Ye Wuchen pointed toward a line of ancient writing above the circles.
Mu Cang leaned closer.
He recognized the script.
After several moments, he translated it aloud.
"That which has been forgotten must first be..."
He hesitated.
"Counted?"
Ye Wuchen nodded.
THAT WHICH HAS BEEN FORGOTTEN MUST FIRST BE COUNTED.
Mu Cang stared at the inscription.
"Counted?"
His gaze slowly dropped toward the journal in his hands.
Seven people.
Six remembered entering.
Five remained in his memory.
The old scholar's expression changed.
"Wait."
Lin Qingyue turned.
"Old sir?"
Mu Cang opened the journal.
He pointed toward the first entry.
"We entered with seven."
Then the second.
"Only six remembered entering."
His fingers tightened around the book.
"But I remember five companions."
Ye Wuchen looked at him.
"Including yourself?"
Mu Cang shook his head.
"No. Five people in total."
Silence settled over the chamber.
Lin Qingyue counted quietly.
"Seven entered. Six remembered. Now you remember five."
Mu Cang nodded.
"Yes."
Ye Wuchen examined the rotating circles.
"Then try seven."
Lin Qingyue looked at him.
"How?"
He indicated seven markings along the outer ring.
"Align those."
She studied the mechanism.
Then carefully pressed her palm against the first circle.
It moved.
A faint metallic sound echoed through the chamber.
She rotated it until the seventh marking reached the uppermost position.
Then adjusted the second circle.
The third.
The fourth.
As the sequence progressed, the remaining circles began moving on their own.
Mu Cang watched anxiously.
Finally, the ninth circle stopped.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the entire door trembled.
A deep sound emerged from within the stone.
The nine circles separated.
And the second door slowly opened.
Lin Qingyue lowered her hands.
A small smile appeared on her face.
"I did it."
Ye Wuchen glanced at her.
"Yes."
She looked at him expectantly.
He added:
"Well done."
Lin Qingyue blinked.
Then quickly looked away.
For some reason, praise from this strange young man felt considerably more satisfying than it should have.
Mu Cang, meanwhile, stared into the darkness beyond the doorway.
"What lies inside?"
Ye Wuchen stepped forward.
"Let's find out."
The Hall of Witnesses
Beyond the second door stood a long rectangular chamber.
Unlike the empty archive, this room was almost completely filled.
Rows of stone pedestals stretched across the floor.
Upon each pedestal rested a small object.
A broken hairpin.
A rusted sword.
A wooden toy.
A cracked jade ornament.
A piece of embroidered cloth.
Thousands of ordinary possessions.
There were no treasures radiating heavenly energy.
No divine weapons.
No immortal scriptures.
Only objects that appeared to have belonged to ordinary people.
Lin Qingyue looked around.
"What is this place?"
Mu Cang approached the nearest pedestal.
Upon it rested a small bronze bell.
Beside the bell stood a stone tablet.
The inscription contained three lines.
OWNER: LUO FENG
STATUS: UNCONFIRMED
WITNESS: ONE
Mu Cang examined another pedestal.
A wooden comb.
OWNER: XIAO RU
STATUS: UNCONFIRMED
WITNESS: TWO
He moved farther down the row.
A child's cloth shoe.
OWNER: UNKNOWN
STATUS: UNCONFIRMED
WITNESS: ZERO
Mu Cang stopped.
His expression became solemn.
"These are personal belongings."
Ye Wuchen nodded.
Lin Qingyue examined the surrounding pedestals.
"Why preserve them?"
Ye Wuchen studied the inscriptions.
"Perhaps because someone wanted evidence that their owners existed."
Mu Cang slowly turned toward him.
The words struck him deeply.
Evidence.
That was what he had spent decades searching for.
Not power.
Not wealth.
Not revenge.
Only proof that the people he remembered had once lived.
He looked across the enormous chamber.
Thousands of objects.
Thousands of names.
Thousands of lives.
"How many people were forgotten?" he whispered.
No one answered.
They continued deeper into the hall.
Eventually, they reached a section containing seven pedestals.
Six held objects.
The seventh was empty.
Mu Cang stopped.
His breathing changed.
Upon the first pedestal rested a scholar's writing brush.
The second held a cracked compass.
The third contained a folded piece of cloth.
The fourth held a small bronze seal.
The fifth displayed a damaged inkstone.
The sixth...
Mu Cang froze.
A silver hairpin lay upon the stone.
Its surface was decorated with tiny plum blossoms.
He knew that hairpin.
He had seen it countless times.
Forty-three years ago, Shen Yulan had worn it during their expedition.
She had complained that the northern winds constantly loosened her hair.
He remembered teasing her about it.
He remembered her threatening to throw his books into a river.
He remembered everyone laughing.
And then...
Nothing.
Mu Cang slowly approached the pedestal.
His hand trembled.
"Yulan..."
Lin Qingyue remained silent.
Ye Wuchen examined the inscription beneath the hairpin.
OWNER: SHEN YULAN
STATUS: UNCONFIRMED
WITNESS: ONE
Mu Cang stared at the final line.
"One witness."
He swallowed.
"That must be me."
Ye Wuchen looked at him.
"Possibly."
Mu Cang turned.
"What else could it mean?"
"We don't know how this hall defines a witness."
The old scholar fell silent.
Ye Wuchen continued examining the pedestal.
Unlike the objects elsewhere in the chamber, the hairpin had been placed inside a thin protective formation.
Its structure was old.
But the formation remained functional.
Beside the inscription lay a narrow slot.
Ye Wuchen noticed that its dimensions matched a small rectangular object.
He turned toward Mu Cang.
"Your pendant."
Mu Cang instinctively touched the gray pendant hanging from his neck.
The ancient circle-and-line symbol was carved upon its surface.
An additional stroke distinguished it from the ordinary version.
"You think it belongs here?"
"Let's examine it."
Mu Cang hesitated.
Then removed the pendant.
He approached the pedestal.
Slowly, he placed it into the slot.
The stone responded immediately.
A soft click echoed through the chamber.
The protective formation brightened.
Then a line of characters appeared above the hairpin.
WITNESS IDENTIFIED.
Mu Cang's eyes widened.
Another line followed.
MU CANG.
The old scholar staggered backward.
Lin Qingyue caught his arm.
"Old sir!"
He barely heard her.
The inscription continued changing.
TESTIMONY PRESERVED.
RECORD ACCESS GRANTED.
A thin compartment opened beneath the pedestal.
Inside lay a folded sheet of paper.
Mu Cang stared at it.
Then slowly reached forward.
His fingers touched the paper.
It was real.
Not an illusion.
Not a fading image. This story is hosted at g.com.
A physical document.
He unfolded it.
And immediately recognized the handwriting.
"Yulan..."
His voice broke.
It was Shen Yulan's handwriting.
The Letter
Mu Cang read the first sentence.
Then stopped.
His eyes filled with tears.
Lin Qingyue gently asked:
"What does it say?"
Mu Cang took a long breath.
Then began reading aloud.
"If Mu Cang finds this letter, then at least one of us has remembered enough to return."
He paused.
The paper trembled between his fingers.
"I don't know what will happen after we leave this place. Our notes have already begun contradicting one another, and we can no longer agree on how many people entered."
Ye Wuchen listened silently.
Mu Cang continued.
"Yesterday, we counted seven bedrolls. This morning, everyone insisted there had always been six."
Lin Qingyue's expression changed.
The journal.
The door.
The missing companions.
The contradictions were not new.
They had begun during the original expedition.
Mu Cang swallowed.
"I have decided to leave something that cannot depend entirely upon memory."
The next sentence was written more heavily.
"If you find this, please believe that I was here."
Mu Cang lowered the letter.
For several moments, he could not continue.
Lin Qingyue stood beside him.
She did not rush him.
Ye Wuchen examined the paper from a respectful distance.
The handwriting was consistent throughout.
There were no obvious alterations.
The document appeared to have been written by someone who understood that their own existence might soon become difficult to prove.
Mu Cang finally continued.
"There is one thing I must tell you. We were not the first expedition to discover these ruins."
His expression changed.
He read the next line.
"Someone had been studying them before we arrived."
A pause.
"I found their notes in the northern passage. They were written in a language I could not identify, but one page contained a drawing of a man dressed in black."
Mu Cang looked up.
His gaze slowly moved toward Ye Wuchen.
Black robes.
Silver eyes.
The ancient depiction he had discovered decades earlier.
Ye Wuchen remained expressionless.
Mu Cang continued.
"I do not know who he was. The notes were incomplete. But whoever drew him seemed to believe he was important."
The letter ended with a final sentence.
"And Mu Cang, if you remember me, please do not spend the rest of your life searching only for my name. Live your own life as well."
The old scholar fell silent.
His shoulders trembled.
For forty-three years, he had believed that if he stopped searching, Shen Yulan would disappear completely.
Now, after all that time, he held a letter written in her own hand.
And she had asked him to live.
Mu Cang slowly sat upon the floor.
He pressed the letter against his chest.
Lin Qingyue crouched beside him.
Neither spoke.
Ye Wuchen turned toward the remaining pedestals.
He allowed the old scholar his moment.
Some discoveries deserved silence.
A Different Kind of Strength
After a long while, Mu Cang rose.
His eyes were red.
But his expression had changed.
He looked less frightened than before.
"I thought..."
He stopped.
Then smiled faintly.
"I thought I was losing my mind."
Lin Qingyue shook her head.
"You found her letter."
Mu Cang nodded.
"Yes."
He looked toward the hairpin.
"I still don't know what happened to her."
"No," Ye Wuchen replied.
"But now you know she left something behind."
Mu Cang slowly nodded.
For the first time in decades, he had a fact he could hold in his hands.
He carefully folded the letter.
Then turned toward Ye Wuchen.
"Young man."
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
Ye Wuchen glanced at him.
"You found it yourself."
"Only because you brought me here."
"You brought us here."
Mu Cang blinked.
Then laughed softly.
"Perhaps we both deserve some credit."
Ye Wuchen nodded.
"That seems reasonable."
Lin Qingyue smiled.
The atmosphere in the chamber eased.
But only briefly.
A faint sound echoed from the entrance.
Crack.
Lin Qingyue immediately turned.
The light of her talisman flickered.
Another sound followed.
Crack.
A thin line appeared across the stone floor.
Mu Cang looked alarmed.
"What's happening?"
Lin Qingyue extended her spiritual sense.
Her expression changed.
"Something is moving beneath us."
Ye Wuchen looked toward the entrance.
The mechanism within the second door had begun rotating again.
But this time, the nine circles were moving in the wrong sequence.
The ancient formation was destabilizing.
Lin Qingyue hurried toward the doorway.
"The mechanism is collapsing!"
Mu Cang gripped his letter.
"Can we get out?"
"Not if the door closes first!"
The stone slab began sliding shut.
Lin Qingyue raised her sword.
Spiritual energy gathered around its blade.
Ye Wuchen looked at her.
"Don't strike it."
She stopped.
"Why?"
"The force will spread through the formation."
He pointed toward the outermost circle.
"Adjust the fourth marking."
Lin Qingyue hesitated.
The door continued closing.
"Now," Ye Wuchen said.
She moved.
Her sword returned to its sheath as she pressed both hands against the rotating mechanism.
The fourth marking shifted.
A sharp sound echoed.
The movement slowed.
"Second circle," Ye Wuchen instructed.
She adjusted it.
"Now the ninth."
Lin Qingyue followed his directions.
The formation trembled.
Then stabilized.
The stone door stopped moving.
The cracks along the floor ceased spreading.
Silence returned.
Lin Qingyue stepped backward, breathing heavily.
She looked at Ye Wuchen.
"How did you know?"
He examined the mechanism.
"The formation was attempting to reset."
"Why?"
"Possibly because we activated a restricted record."
Mu Cang looked toward the letter.
"Because of this?"
"Perhaps."
Lin Qingyue stared at the ancient circles.
She had studied formations for years.
Yet Ye Wuchen had understood the mechanism after only a brief glance.
He had also known precisely which markings she needed to adjust.
She looked toward him.
"Fellow Daoist Ye."
"Yes?"
"Who taught you formations?"
Ye Wuchen considered the question.
"A long time ago, I studied a few."
Lin Qingyue stared at him.
"A few?"
"Yes."
"How many?"
He thought for a moment.
"I never counted."
She closed her eyes.
For some reason, that answer was becoming increasingly familiar.
The Sword Palace's Missing Founder
Far above the Lower Realm, within the Nine Heavens Sword Palace, Ji Wuhen stood beside the Grand Archivist.
Gu Shixuan had spent several hours comparing ancient records.
Now, at last, he had discovered something unusual.
"Ancestor."
Ji Wuhen turned.
"What have you found?"
Gu Shixuan placed two manuscripts upon the table.
"These are among our oldest surviving accounts of the palace's founding."
Ji Wuhen examined them.
Both described the same event.
The establishment of the Nine Heavens Sword Palace.
The gathering of its founding ancestors.
The creation of the first sword monument.
But the accounts differed.
The first manuscript named nine founding figures.
The second named ten.
Ji Wuhen frowned.
"A discrepancy?"
"That was my initial conclusion."
Gu Shixuan pointed toward the older manuscript.
"But look at the ceremonial arrangement."
The page contained a diagram.
Nine seats surrounded a central altar.
Behind them stood a tenth seat.
Its position was unusual.
It faced neither the altar nor the gathered founders.
Instead, it faced the entrance.
Ji Wuhen studied the diagram.
"Who occupied it?"
"That is precisely the problem."
Gu Shixuan opened another record.
"This account describes nine founders."
Another.
"Nine."
Another.
"Nine."
Then he opened a much older scroll.
"This one mentions ten participants."
Ji Wuhen examined the text.
"Does it name the tenth?"
"No."
"Was the tenth a guest?"
"Possibly."
Gu Shixuan hesitated.
"But the manuscript refers to the gathering as the Assembly of Ten Witnesses."
Ji Wuhen looked up.
"Witnesses?"
"Yes."
The Grand Archivist continued.
"That wording is unusual. Our later histories call them the Nine Founding Ancestors."
Ji Wuhen examined the old diagram again.
Nine seats surrounding an altar.
A tenth facing the entrance.
An unnamed participant.
He remembered the symbol beneath the Ancestral Sword Monument.
The hidden inscription.
The blank pages.
Now another inconsistency had emerged.
"Could the tenth participant have been an observer?" he asked.
"Perhaps."
"Or someone whose name was omitted?"
"That is also possible."
Ji Wuhen looked toward the oldest manuscript.
"Find every reference to this assembly."
Gu Shixuan bowed.
"Yes, Ancestor."
Then he hesitated.
"There is one more thing."
Ji Wuhen turned.
"What?"
Gu Shixuan pointed toward the diagram.
Beneath the tenth seat, almost invisible, lay a tiny symbol.
A circle divided by a vertical line.
Ji Wuhen's expression became solemn.
The same symbol.
Again.
But this time, it had not disappeared.
He examined it carefully.
"Preserve this manuscript."
"Of course."
"And do not alter the diagram."
Gu Shixuan nodded.
Ji Wuhen looked toward the distant heavens.
He had begun searching for the origin of a corrected sword scripture.
Now he was questioning the founding history of his own sect.
The implications were unsettling.
But he would not abandon the investigation.
A sword cultivator who feared an inconvenient truth had already lost the sharpest part of his blade.
The Phoenix Race's Ancient Disagreement
Within the ancestral sanctuary of the Phoenix Race, Feng Qingluan stood before three elderly priests.
An argument had begun.
"Your Highness," one priest said, "the phrase before the heavens is symbolic. It may refer to the primordial chaos described in our earliest legends."
Another shook his head.
"That interpretation is too convenient. The inscriptions refer to witnesses and an event. Symbolic language alone cannot explain that." Find the original chapter at g.com.
The third priest remained silent.
Feng Qingluan listened.
Then asked:
"Do our ancestral records contain a complete account of the naming of the heavens?"
The first priest hesitated.
"No."
"Then we cannot determine whether the phrase is symbolic or literal."
The priest bowed.
"That is true."
Feng Qingluan approached the golden flames.
The incomplete image of the ancient assembly appeared again.
Countless figures knelt beneath an obscured throne.
She studied their positions.
Then noticed something she had overlooked.
Not every figure was kneeling.
Near the edge of the assembly stood several indistinct silhouettes.
Their features were impossible to distinguish.
But their posture was clear.
They stood upright.
Feng Qingluan narrowed her eyes.
"Why are those figures standing?"
The priests approached.
One frowned.
"Perhaps they were attendants."
"Perhaps."
But Feng Qingluan continued studying them.
The kneeling figures faced the throne.
The standing figures faced something beyond the visible scene.
Something outside the preserved image.
She could not determine what.
The record ended before revealing it.
Feng Qingluan withdrew her hand from the flame.
"Prepare the older ancestral feathers."
The priests looked surprised.
"Your Highness, some have not been examined for millions of years."
"Then they are overdue."
She turned toward the sanctuary entrance.
"And send word to the elders."
"What should we tell them?"
Feng Qingluan paused.
"Tell them I am investigating a historical inconsistency."
One priest hesitated.
"Only that?"
"For now."
She had no intention of announcing conclusions she could not support.
But she had found enough to continue.
The Name Beneath the Ink
Back in the Hall of Witnesses, Mu Cang carefully returned the pendant to his neck.
The protective formation around Shen Yulan's hairpin had dimmed.
The letter remained in his hands.
Lin Qingyue examined the other pedestals.
"Could these objects belong to the rest of your expedition?"
Mu Cang looked toward them.
"Perhaps."
He approached the damaged inkstone.
His expression changed.
"I recognize this."
"Whose was it?"
"An old friend named Han Zhen."
He touched the edge of the pedestal.
"At least... I think that was his name."
The inscription beneath the inkstone was incomplete.
Only the first character remained.
Mu Cang looked troubled.
"I remember his face."
He closed his eyes.
"I remember him arguing about the proper way to translate ancient scripts."
Then he opened his eyes.
"But his name..."
He looked at the inscription.
"Why can't I remember his name clearly?"
Ye Wuchen examined the damaged text.
He did not attempt to supply an answer.
The surviving evidence was insufficient.
Instead, he turned toward the empty seventh pedestal.
There was no object upon it.
No name.
No inscription.
Only a small depression carved into the stone.
Lin Qingyue approached.
"Another missing item?"
Ye Wuchen nodded.
"Apparently."
Mu Cang looked toward it.
"Could it belong to the seventh member of our expedition?"
"Possibly."
The old scholar examined the empty pedestal.
Then his gaze shifted toward the letter.
"Wait."
He unfolded the paper again.
He examined the final lines.
Something about the ink seemed unusual.
He tilted the page toward Lin Qingyue's talisman.
A faint mark appeared beneath the last sentence.
Mu Cang frowned.
"There's something else."
Ye Wuchen approached.
The mark was not part of the visible writing.
It had been impressed into the paper from another sheet.
A faint outline of several characters.
Mu Cang examined it carefully.
Then read aloud.
"Third night..."
He paused.
"The seventh..."
The remaining characters were too faint.
Lin Qingyue leaned closer.
"Can you make out the rest?"
Mu Cang shook his head.
Ye Wuchen studied the indentation.
The paper had once rested atop another document.
Someone had written on that document with enough pressure to leave an impression beneath.
He could recover part of the text by changing the angle of the light.
But the complete sentence remained unreadable.
He looked at Mu Cang.
"Keep the letter safe."
The old scholar nodded.
Ye Wuchen turned toward the exit.
"We've learned enough here for now."
Lin Qingyue looked around the chamber.
"What about the other objects?"
"Leave them."
Mu Cang agreed.
"They belong to someone."
Ye Wuchen nodded.
"Exactly."
They began walking toward the door.
Behind them, thousands of ordinary possessions remained upon their pedestals.
A broken hairpin.
A wooden toy.
A rusted sword.
A child's shoe.
Small remnants of lives that had somehow slipped beyond ordinary memory.
For Mu Cang, the chamber had answered one question.
Shen Yulan had existed.
She had entered the ruins.
And she had deliberately left a letter for him.
But it had also revealed something far more troubling.
The expedition's own members had begun forgetting one another while they were still inside the ruins.
Whatever had happened forty-three years ago, it had not begun after they returned home.
It had begun here.
The Third Door
The three returned to the circular chamber.
Above them, the celestial map continued rotating.
Its missing region remained dark.
Ye Wuchen looked toward the remaining doors.
Four ordinary entrances had yet to be explored.
And the concealed seventh remained untouched.
Mu Cang stood beside him.
"Young man."
"Yes?"
"Do you think Shen Yulan is still alive?"
Ye Wuchen looked at the old scholar.
He considered the question carefully.
"I don't know."
Mu Cang nodded.
It was not a comforting answer.
But it was an honest one.
Ye Wuchen continued:
"We know she entered these ruins. We know she left a letter. We don't know what happened afterward."
Mu Cang lowered his gaze.
"Then we'll keep searching."
"Yes."
Lin Qingyue approached the third door.
Unlike the first two, its surface contained no writing.
Only a single circular depression.
She examined it.
"Fellow Daoist Ye."
Ye Wuchen turned.
"What is it?"
"There's something strange about this door."
He approached.
The stone was smooth.
No visible formations.
No inscriptions.
No moving mechanisms.
But at its center lay a small indentation.
A circle divided by a vertical line.
Lin Qingyue pointed toward it.
"The same symbol again."
Ye Wuchen nodded.
Mu Cang touched the pendant around his neck.
"Mine has an additional stroke."
"Yes."
Ye Wuchen examined the door.
Then he noticed something.
A faint scratch ran along its lower edge.
Not an ancient inscription.
Not part of the original construction.
A recent mark.
He crouched.
Lin Qingyue looked surprised.
"What did you find?"
Ye Wuchen touched the scratch.
The stone beneath it had been disturbed.
Not recently by ordinary standards.
But much more recently than the surrounding structure.
He examined the floor.
There were other marks.
Faint impressions.
Signs that something heavy had moved through the doorway.
Mu Cang approached.
"Is something wrong?"
Ye Wuchen stood.
"Someone opened this door."
Lin Qingyue frowned.
"Your earlier visit?"
"Perhaps."
He looked toward the scratch.
"But these marks don't appear to be forty-three years old."
Mu Cang froze.
"What?"
Ye Wuchen examined the entrance again.
Someone had passed through the third door after Mu Cang's expedition.
That alone was not impossible.
Other explorers might have discovered the ruins.
But the hidden entrance above had appeared untouched.
And the mountain itself had concealed the passage.
Ye Wuchen looked toward the darkness beyond the stone.
An interesting question emerged.
If no one had entered through the mountain...
How had someone reached this chamber?
He placed his hand against the door.
A faint vibration passed through the stone.
Then, from somewhere beyond it, came a sound.
Tap.
Lin Qingyue stiffened.
Mu Cang held his breath.
Another sound followed.
Tap.
Then a third.
Tap.
Three slow knocks.
Someone—or something—was on the other side.
Lin Qingyue drew her sword.
Mu Cang stepped backward.
Ye Wuchen remained motionless.
For several breaths, he listened.
Then he raised one hand.
And knocked back.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Silence.
Lin Qingyue stared at him.
"Fellow Daoist Ye!"
He glanced at her.
"What?"
"Why did you answer?"
Ye Wuchen looked toward the door.
"Because someone knocked."
Mu Cang closed his eyes.
He was beginning to understand why traveling with this young man was so exhausting.
Then a voice emerged from beyond the stone.
Faint.
Hoarse.
Human.
"Who..."
The three froze.
The voice continued.
"Who is there?"
Mu Cang's face turned pale.
His lips trembled.
He recognized that voice.
A voice he had not heard in forty-three years.
"Han..."
He stepped forward.
"Han Zhen?"
Silence followed.
Then the voice answered.
"Mu Cang?"
The old scholar stopped breathing.
From beyond the third door came a trembling question.
"Is that really you?"
End of Chapter 9