Chapter Eighteen: A Sudden Upheaval in the Secret Chamber

Old Jin’s disappearance was as sudden as his arrival—he came and went in the blink of an eye. Were it not for the two mangled bodies sprawled on the ground, one might have thought the entire episode was nothing more than a bizarre hallucination in the desolate earth forest.

Ding Jun suddenly staggered, bent over, grasped a chair, and sat down with great difficulty.

“How are you?” Fang Qing stepped forward, pressing her hand against his arm.

“I’m... cold. I overexerted myself and feel faint...” Ding Jun’s face was ashen, beads of sweat the size of soybeans dotting his forehead.

Fang Qing immediately took off her trench coat and draped it over his back.

“Hey, is there any baijiu? Bring it here quickly!” she shouted at Ruan Feng.

“Yes, yes.” Ruan Feng rummaged frantically through a cardboard box and pulled out a bottle of Qingke baijiu, biting off the cap and handing it over.

Ding Jun took two long swigs of the liquor, closed his eyes to rest, his whole body trembling uncontrollably.

“How could this happen?” Ruan Feng asked anxiously.

Fang Qing whispered, “Mr. Ding just used hypnosis on Old Jin to force the truth out of him. At the very least, we now know our enemies are the ‘Snow Mountain Ten-Day Eagles’ and a mysterious High Priestess—the High Priestess’s female disciple, Miss Xue Wan. Hypnosis drains immense mental energy, and since Old Jin is a master with formidable inner strength, it must have taken great effort to hypnotize him…”

Nearly ten minutes passed before Ding Jun recovered, his complexion returning to normal.

Just as Fang Qing said, from the moment Old Jin appeared, Ding Jun began the hypnosis, but Old Jin’s aura was like a taut balloon with no weak points to exploit. Fortunately, two concealed assassins showed up, and when Old Jin attacked them, his aura faltered, allowing Ding Jun to seize the opportunity.

“This is truly troublesome. For now, we must not tell Uncle Shi the truth. If those supporters discover we’re opposing the ‘Snow Mountain Ten-Day Eagles,’ their morale will collapse, and they’ll scatter. Our only trump card now is the baby’s birth time—we can revolve our strategy around that,” Ding Jun said.

Ruan Feng sighed deeply. “Ding Jun, I don’t think you have much confidence in what you’re saying.”

Ding Jun smiled wryly. “In any battle, there’s no such thing as confidence or lack thereof—only the desperate struggle to hold onto winning chances. Most fights are tests of patience and endurance.”

“Instead of risking our lives for others here, why not team up and search for the Heavenly Kingdom treasure…” Ruan Feng tried to pitch his plan again.

Ding Jun laughed bitterly. “Different paths, no partnership. Let’s part ways here.”

He stood, shoveling earth to bury the two mangled bodies.

“Hey! They just said they were Lady Lan’s men! Doesn’t that prove that Lady Lan from Singapore has also intervened in the Toling Monastery affairs?” Ruan Feng suddenly exclaimed.

Neither Ding Jun nor Fang Qing responded. This question had already crossed their minds, but the increasing headaches left them little time to dwell on it.

Ruan Feng escorted the two to a spot 200 meters east of Toling Monastery, then turned away.

Greed can make people forget all dangers. Look, even with everything in chaos, Ruan Feng still clings to his share. Is the allure of treasure really that irresistible? Fang Qing stood on the stone steps at Toling Monastery’s entrance, unable to suppress a sigh.

Ding Jun smiled bitterly. “Humankind’s ancestors were apes. Think of how monkeys risk themselves for chestnuts in the fire—greed is human nature, unchanging until death.”

The Snow Mountain Ten-Day Eagles were formidable adversaries, and that Miss Xue Wan was an unknown force whose status surpassed the ten of them. Then there was the revered High Priest Old Jin had spoken of… Sigh, in the darkness, who knows how many demons and ghosts roam unchecked? Fang Qing sighed sincerely, slowly turning up the collar of her leather trench coat.

Just now, when she took off her coat to warm Ding Jun, the coat’s warmth and fragrance had seeped into his very being, like a rare delicacy or a heavenly melody lingering for days.

“Miss Fang, thank you for your coat just now,” he said.

Fang Qing smiled and led the way, the two moving from inside Toling Monastery along the circumambulatory path toward a small courtyard in the northeast corner.

“I need to check the secret chamber again,” Ding Jun said.

“I’ll accompany you. Since Auntie Ge is involved—more hands mean more strength.” Fang Qing’s unfinished words were accompanied by a shy smile. “I haven’t thanked you yet. When Old Jin showed up earlier, you defended me in every way. Thank you, thank you.”

Ding Jun shook his head. “It’s nothing. Besides, Mr. Fang Qianqi—the ‘Asian Mountain King’ and your brother—is a senior I greatly respect.”

Fang Qing’s lips curled slyly. “Oh? You did it because of my brother?”

Ding Jun found it difficult to answer and only smiled.

At that moment, Fang Qing was stepping over a green bluestone threshold. Playfully, she stood on the threshold, spun around, and gave Ding Jun a sincere thumbs-up. “Mr. Ding, you’re a true gentleman!”

Ding Jun smiled wryly. Praise from a beautiful woman was always welcome, but the weight of the Snow Mountain Ten-Day Eagles left him drained, unable even to muster a proper smile.

After meeting with Master Shi, Ding Jun requested to visit the secret chamber.

“You two go ahead. I want some quiet time, so I won’t accompany you,” Master Shi said, his spirit weary and voice faint.

This arrangement suited Ding Jun perfectly, as he had feared others might follow, making his investigation difficult.

The two entered through a small door, each holding a flashlight; Fang Qing’s other hand gripped a pistol tightly, prepared for any ambush. Only after Ding Jun flipped the switch to illuminate the lowest level did they both relax slightly in the bright light.

In the temples of Tibet, during times of war and chaos or to conceal valuables, cellars and secret chambers were often built beneath the foundations. What they stood in now was one such relic.

“First, one thing is certain: a living person cannot simply vanish into thin air. Since Auntie Ge didn’t leave, she must be here,” Ding Jun said.

All four walls, the floor, and the ceiling were ancient, solid bluestone slabs. After careful tapping, they found no hollow echoes. They trusted that after Auntie Ge’s disappearance, Master Shi’s disciples had thoroughly searched.

The only suspicious element was the ice coffin. Both turned simultaneously to stare at the coffin holding the corpse of a woman in white.

The first time they came down, everyone was captivated by the jade plaque and astonished by the woman’s unchanged appearance after over a decade, causing most details to be overlooked.

Creak, creak—a strange noise suddenly echoed in the cellar, like an old, rusty spinning wheel struggling to turn, though only the ice coffin was present.

“It sounds… like it’s coming from the coffin,” Fang Qing whispered in Ding Jun’s ear, clutching his arm in terror.

Ding Jun never believed in the supernatural phenomenon of the dead rising. He trusted modern science and medicine: a woman stabbed by a Tang Sect poisoned blade fifteen years ago could not possibly come back to life.

“Don’t be afraid. Let’s take a closer look,” Ding Jun said, leading Fang Qing toward the ice coffin.

The upper cover of the ice coffin was a thick sheet of organic glass, two meters long and one meter wide, curved on top and framed by stainless steel. The cover weighed no more than twenty kilograms. Two stainless steel clasps on the right tightly sealed it to prevent cold air from escaping.

At a distance of five steps, they could clearly see the entire woman inside.

At a glance, it felt as if they were inside a cold storage room. The woman’s lips were slightly parted, performing slow breathing motions. When they first entered the cellar, her lips had been naturally closed.

Creak, creak—the sound came again twice more. Now they understood: it was the noise of the woman’s jaw joints opening and closing.

“She’s really... alive!” Fang Qing’s voice trembled like a candle flickering in the wind.

Ding Jun drew two deep breaths and quietly said, “Don’t be afraid. Let’s observe calmly.”

“I’m so cold... why is it still snowing? Why is it so cold?” Her lips moved, and her eyes opened slowly, pupils turning.

“Stop playing tricks, Auntie Ge,” Ding Jun said sternly.

“I’m so cold... why is it like this? Where am I? Master Shi... Master Shi... You never said your wife was from the Tang Sect. I didn’t want to hurt her, but she stabbed me right in the heart... What about your promises? Have you forgotten them?” The woman spoke slowly.

As she spoke, her chest rose and fell rhythmically, just like a living person. When she finished, her whole body stirred, as if awakening from an afternoon nap and preparing to get up. Yet, according to Master Shi’s account, this woman had died from a stabbing in a heavy snowstorm fifteen years ago.

“Who exactly are you?” Ding Jun shouted again.

“Master Shi... Master Shi...” The woman repeated the name, ignoring Ding Jun’s words. Despite the glass cover, her voice reached them clearly.

“It’s a hoax, a sham resurrection,” Fang Qing’s fingers tightened around Ding Jun’s arm.

Resurrections only exist in ghost stories like Strange Tales from Liaozhai, never witnessed in reality. As a girl, Fang Qing was understandably frightened by this eerie scene.

Ding Jun clenched his fists, making a difficult decision. He turned to Fang Qing: “You go get everyone. Bring them all here. Let’s see what tricks Auntie Ge is playing.”

“But this is a resurrection. Can you handle it alone? Please be careful...” Fang Qing asked.

Ding Jun smiled wryly. “The accident already happened. It’s fine—I know my limits.”

In extreme danger, a man must first ensure the safety of those he cares for, bearing the burden alone. This is a man’s instinct; those who cannot do this do not deserve to be called men.

“Alright, I’ll get help, but please be careful!” Fang Qing floated backward, leapt onto the stone steps, and dashed outside.

By reasonable estimate, it would take at least five minutes for her to return with everyone. So Ding Jun’s decision was to confront the resurrected woman face-to-face during that window.

Having dueled Old Jin, Ding Jun had a clear assessment of the Snow Mountain Ten-Day Eagles’ strength and knew he could handle a one-on-one fight. So even if Auntie Ge was behind this, he could control the situation.

He bent down gently, unfastened the nearest coffin latch, then the second, and with a single motion flung the coffin lid upward, letting it fall to the side with a loud clang.

“Hey, it’s dawn. Time to get up,” Ding Jun sneered. To him, no matter how convincing the charade, face-to-face confrontation would always reveal cracks in the ghost’s facade.

“I died... with regrets... someone like me isn’t accepted even by Yama, the King of Hell. I must return and ask Master Shi... ask clearly... ask clearly...” The woman murmured, slowly raising her right hand to press against the edge of the ice coffin.

Without hesitation, Ding Jun grabbed her hand and twisted her wrist, aiming to apply a counter-joint lock from U.S. Special Forces combat techniques.

Crack! He heard the sound of bone breaking.

Caught off guard by the ease of his move, his mind blanked momentarily as the woman’s arm twisted in the opposite direction, turning a full 360 degrees, also employing a counter-joint maneuver.

Ding Jun’s right wrist and elbow throbbed with sharp pain. He immediately stepped back, pulling hard to break free from her grip.

Normally, a fractured arm cannot exert force, but this arm defied all physiological rules. Seconds later, the figure inside the coffin sat up slowly, turning her upper body ninety degrees, fixing her black-and-white pupils steadily on Ding Jun.

Undoubtedly, the woman had been a beauty, with exquisitely delicate features. But her facial skin, preserved for so long in cold conditions, had turned unnaturally pale, as if carved from marble, giving her a strange appearance.

Truly... bizarre beyond measure. Was Auntie Ge behind this, or had the dead really risen? For the first time in his life, Ding Jun felt the urge to retreat.

“Master Shi...” the woman said.

This time, Ding Jun saw her teeth, tongue, and throat clearly, even the white mist of breath escaping her mouth—whether cold or hot, he could not tell.

“I want to see him. Where is Master Shi?” Her speech became increasingly fluent, indicating her brain functions had returned to normal.

Ding Jun didn’t know how to answer a question from a dead woman. He could only step back toward the stone steps.

“Where is he... where is he?” The woman rolled out of the coffin and onto the floor.

“My friend went to get him. Stay here, I’ll see if he’s arrived,” Ding Jun said, retreating up the steps.

That the corpse had been preserved for fifteen years without decay was already miraculous. As for resurrection, that was a miracle beyond miracles—worthy of Guinness World Records.

“Master Shi, don’t go... Master Shi...” The woman propped herself up on the coffin, looking around in confusion. After some struggling, black-purple blood began to seep from the wound in her chest once more.