The road to Xi’an stretched flat and straight across the central plains, flanked by endless fields of golden wheat.
In the distance, the tree-covered mound of Qin Shi Huang’s mausoleum rose like a silent giant, guarding the secrets buried beneath for more than two thousand years.
Zhang Jiuxuan rolled down the car window, letting the warm wind blow in.
The Celestial Master’s Seal hummed low and steady against his chest, as if greeting an old, slumbering ally.
“This is where the first dragon vein of the whole nation was anchored,” he said.
“Every dynasty that came after drew its strength from this root.
If they pull it loose, the whole land will stagger.” Lin Weiyao tapped the tablet in his lap, pulling up satellite images.
“Three weeks ago, a private archaeological team got permission to dig a new test pit west of the main site.
They’ve blocked off the whole area, no visitors allowed.
Locals say strange lights glow over the pits after dark, and the dogs won’t go within half a kilometer.” By late afternoon, they reached the edge of the restricted zone.
High fences wrapped around the site, and uniformed guards patrolled the perimeter—their movements too stiff, their eyes too glassy, as if they walked in a trance.
“Sleep ward,” Zhang Jiuxuan murmured.
“They don’t know what they’re guarding.” He led them through a narrow gully hidden by tall grass, climbing over a crumbling section of old wall to slip inside.
Beyond the trees, the test pit gaped wide, its sides shored up with steel beams.
At the bottom, robed figures chanted in unison, while heavy machinery hummed as it dug deeper into the packed earth.
And lining the walls of the pit, half-excavated, stood row after row of terracotta figures—warriors, archers, charioteers—their faces still bright with faded paint, their stone hands gripping weapons that had long since rusted away.
But now, faint black veins crawled across their chests and foreheads.
Their empty eye sockets glowed with dull red light.
“They’re binding the spirits of the guardians directly to the dig site,” Huo Yunxi whispered, horror in her voice.
“Using them to break through the tomb’s inner seals.” Before Zhang Jiuxuan could move, the chanting rose to a sharp peak.
One of the robed figures slammed a staff against the ground.
“Awaken the first army!” he shouted.
“Clear the path for the true masters!” The terracotta warriors roared—a sound like grinding stone—and stepped free from the earth.
They drew bronze swords and crossbows that had materialized from shadow, and charged straight up the slope.
“Stay close!” Zhang Jiuxuan called.
He pulled the Celestial Master’s Seal high, and golden light flared out like a shield.
“These are not enemies.
They are prisoners.” He leaped down into the path of the advancing army, not striking, but tracing a great circle in the air with the seal.
Runes blazed to life around him, and the black veins on the warriors began to fade.
“Your oath was to guard the emperor and the land,” he called to them.
“Not to tear open your own home for strangers!” The lead warrior froze mid-step.
His sword wavered.
For a long moment, he stood there, as if listening to a voice only he could hear.
Then slowly, he lowered his weapon.
One by one, the thousands of warriors behind him followed suit, their red glow dimming to nothing.
At the bottom of the pit, the robed sorcerers stared in disbelief.
“Impossible!
No one can break the blood binding!” “Your binding is a lie,” Zhang Jiuxuan said, stepping down to stand before them.
“Their loyalty is real.
And it will never belong to you.” He waved a hand, and golden chains shot from the seal, wrapping around every sorcerer before they could run.
The machinery groaned and ground to a halt.
Zhang Jiuxuan glanced at the tunnel the machines had dug—narrow, dark, sloping deep into the mound.
“How far have you gotten?” he asked sharply.
The lead sorcerer hung his head.
“We broke through the first outer seal yesterday.
The inner chamber… it’s not stone.
It’s water.
Mercury, flowing in the shape of rivers and seas, just as the old texts say.
And floating in the center… we saw it.
The Imperial Seal.” Zhang Jiuxuan looked up at the silent terracotta army, then back at the tunnel.
“Stay here,” he told Lin Weiyao and Huo Yunxi.
“Hold this line.
I go down alone.
What lies in there does not belong to the living—or the dead—who come with greedy hands.” He stepped into the dark tunnel, the seal glowing bright to light his way.
Behind him, the terracotta warriors stood guard, facing outward, ready to defend the tomb they had sworn to protect for eternity.