A sinister ancient tomb.
A muffled thud came from the pitch-black darkness where one could not see their hand before their face.
With a clatter, something heavy seemed to hit the ground, the sound echoing through the burial passage. A torch appeared through a broken opening, driving away the darkness and lighting the cold stone walls. A little boy jumped out of the narrow grave-robbing tunnel, followed by a girl in green, with a worm perched on her shoulder.
Tieqiu raised the torch and examined the carvings on the stone wall.
Firelight swept across the damp walls, where bold lines told the story of the tomb owner's life.
Qing Ling had become a king of tomb raiders too. Her leader was simply too outstanding; no matter how solid a tomb was, it could not escape being visited. Pangolins had long been revered by the tomb-raiding world as their founding patriarchs.
But their purposes differed.
Tieqiu did it purely for archaeology, searching for hidden secrets. When it came to history, his findings were more accurate than the records of ancient clans in the immortal realm.
After all, no one wanted their tomb to be filled with lies after death, just as it had been in life.
Qing Ling took out paper and brush to copy down the murals. At times, the most primitive methods of recording could endure the longest. Living permanently at Bamboo Spring Temple was peaceful and carefree, and occasionally going out to visit such places was wonderful too. Brushing aside the dust to restore Ancient Times—only by seeing the past clearly could one see the future clearly.
It was damp and bone-chilling, and the environment within the ancient tomb was harsh, but it posed no challenge to the three demons.
There could never be spiderwebs deep underground.
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