A week later, Zhang Jiuxuan stood before the Meridian Gate of the Forbidden City in Beijing.
The autumn sun cast long shadows across the red walls and golden tiles, and the air hummed with the weight of six hundred years of history.
Lin Weiyao adjusted his coat beside him, looking up at the towering gate towers.
“The Black Cross first set foot in China here, during the late Qing Dynasty.
They traded silver for ancient maps, bought their way into imperial favor, and hid their first altars deep in the palace grounds.” Huo Yunxi nodded, unfolding an old hand-drawn map.
“Records say they carved a hidden array under the Hall of Central Harmony.
Designed to siphon the imperial dragon’s fortune straight back to their headquarters in Rome.” They walked through the gates, past tourists and palace guards, moving slowly toward the heart of the complex.
The deeper they went, the quieter Zhang Jiuxuan became.
The Celestial Master’s Seal grew warm against his chest, thrumming with faint unease.
“The dragon here is restless,” he said softly.
“It feels old wounds reopening.” When they reached the Hall of Central Harmony, Zhang Jiuxuan stopped at the stone steps.
He knelt, pressing his palm to the weathered marble.
Faint black lines snaked beneath the surface, pulsing slow and cold.
“The array is still active,” he said.
“Tended by someone who knows exactly how to stay hidden.” That night, once the palace closed, they slipped through a little-known side passage used only by maintenance staff.
They followed the black lines on the ground until they reached a sealed cellar entrance beneath the hall, its iron doors etched with the twisted cross.
Zhang Jiuxuan pushed the doors open.
The air reeked of stale incense and buried dust.
In the center of the stone room stood a small altar, and behind it, an old man in a faded Taoist robe stood holding a brush, finishing the last stroke of a blood-red rune.
“Master Qing?” Zhang Jiuxuan said, surprised.
“I thought you vanished thirty years ago.” Master Qing turned, his face lined with grief, his eyes dim.
“I didn’t vanish.
I stayed.
To watch.
To wait.
The Black Cross promised they would restore the old rites.
They said the world had forgotten how to honor the spirits.
But they lied.” He gestured to the altar, where a small jade dragon statue sat surrounded by fading talismans.
“They don’t want to honor the spirits.
They want to enslave them.
They’ve been drawing power from this cellar for generations.” Before he could say more, shadows coiled up from the corners of the room.
Four figures stepped out—warriors in ancient armor, their faces blank, their movements stiff as puppets.
“Terracotta guardians,” Zhang Jiuxuan said.
“Stolen from the Qin tombs and twisted to serve foreign magic.” He stepped forward, raising his hand.
“These guardians swore to protect the land.
Not to become weapons in someone else’s war.” The guardians lunged, stone spears striking fast.
Zhang Jiuxuan didn’t fight to destroy—he moved between their blows, touching each one’s chest in turn.
Golden light seeped into the stone, and the blank faces softened.
The spears lowered.
One by one, they knelt, then dissolved into fine dust that settled gently on the floor.
Master Qing let out a long breath, tears glistening in his eyes.
“I thought I’d never see them rest again.” Zhang Jiuxuan turned to the altar, pulling the Celestial Master’s Seal free.
“Where is the next stronghold?” “Xi’an,” Master Qing said quietly.
“The heart of the first empire.
Beneath the great mausoleum.
They’re digging for the imperial seal of Qin Shi Huang.
If they get it, no dragon vein in China will be safe.” Zhang Jiuxuan nodded.
He pressed the seal to the altar, and the black lines burned away, leaving the stone clean and warm.
“Thank you for watching,” he said.
“Now let’s go stop them from digging up history’s most dangerous secret.”