Chen Wuya's fingertips were still twitching, his palm scorching hot as if he were clutching a piece of red-hot iron. Bai Zhi's arm lay across his chest as she strained to lift him half an inch higher, barely keeping his whole body from toppling into the cracks between the stones.
"Don't let go." Mo Feng crouched on the ground, fingers pressed to Chen Wuya's wrist pulse, his voice lowered. "It's drawing your spiritual consciousness out of you—like someone's using a hook to scoop out your brain."
Chen Wuya's throat bobbed, but he made no sound, only forcing out a muffled groan through his nose. His eyes were open, yet his pupils were unfocused and reflected no light, as though something invisible had already dragged his consciousness into the abyss.
The woman holding the jade slip suddenly raised her hand and pointed to a marking at the base of the altar, nearly buried beneath dust. "'Turbulent Current Returns to Ruin'—it isn't meant to let people enter. It's meant to let something out. This inscription isn't a door at all. It's a lock."
Mo Feng abruptly looked up, turning toward the blank stele. He drew a mechanism compass from his robes, its bronze casing covered in fine scratches, its needle trembling faintly. He pressed it to the surface of the stele and closed his eyes in concentration for a moment before suddenly opening them. "Three sets of runes, nested in misalignment. Draw, merge, suppress... but the order is wrong."
"How is it wrong?" Bai Zhi asked, her voice taut.
"Normally, 'draw' should come first, guiding energy into the formation. But the energy flow here is reversed—the starting point is 'suppress,' and only after it gathers does it release." Mo Feng stared at the markings on the compass. "It's like... tying up a