Yi Yang stepped onto the first stone stair, planting his foot on the hardest part of its edge.
After descending three steps, he stopped and returned to the entrance. There was an oil lamp here too; it probably controlled the entrance from inside.
He gripped the lamp base with his right hand and turned it half a rotation in reverse.
Click.
A dull closing sound came from above Yi Yang's head.
As the lamp turned, the blue brick concealing the entrance returned to its place. The thick layer of earth filled the gaps again, cutting off the light completely.
But lamps burned continuously along the descending stairs, so his surroundings were not utterly dark.
Yi Yang looked at the oil lamp inside the passage and knew he could control his escape route.
Only after confirming that did he continue downward.
The descending passage was narrow. A slight tilt of his shoulders would bring them against the stone walls on either side.
The first dozen or so stairs were fairly rough, built from uncut stones, with moisture seeping through the joints.
But the farther down he went, the smoother the surrounding walls became. This was clearly far from normal.
Around the hundred-and-thirtieth step, Yi Yang ran his fingertips over the wall. Its texture had changed completely.
It no longer had the coarseness of natural rock, but the smooth surface of worked stone. He could even feel the direction of the chisel marks-from top to bottom, steady and forceful.
One or two people could never have done this work.
A little air circulated around him now, suggesting that the passage below was not a dead end. It must connect to somewhere else.
Rising with that air was the smell of medicinal herbs mixed with a scorched, bloody stench. The farther down he