Chapter 26: The Qilin Guards the Gate

By the time the scattered group had gathered together, dawn was already breaking in the east. Now, however, their numbers had been cut in half. Only Zhang Kai, the old fortune-teller and the boy, Gu Mingyu and the girl with twin ponytails, Master Chongming and his disciple, as well as two young men who had come along to help, remained. One of the helpers had been stung by a red-tailed wasp; a swelling the size of a pigeon egg had risen near his brow, so red and inflamed that he could barely open his eyes, shivering from the pain.

Zhang Kai sighed when he saw this. Misfortune always seemed to strike the extras first; these two were lucky to have survived thus far.

“What happened? Daoist Zhou, didn’t you prepare protective talismans for us? Why were we still attacked by the red-tailed wasps?” Gu Mingyu’s expression was grim—her subordinates had suffered heavy losses in the ambush.

Daoist Zhou replied helplessly, “I did prepare bone incense, but it’s mainly effective against bloodflies. Those are the truly deadly venomous insects. Who would have thought we’d encounter red-tailed wasps here? There’s no record of this in my sect’s secret texts.”

Gu Mingyu was at a loss for words.

“Perhaps these weren’t ordinary red-tailed wasps,” Master Chongming said gravely. “I sense there are spirit wasps among them.”

Spirit wasps! The color drained from Gu Mingyu’s face. If that was the case, things were much more dire. A swarm led by spirit insects was far more dangerous, and being bitten by a spirit wasp was nothing like an ordinary red-tailed wasp.

“It seems I miscalculated,” the old fortune-teller admitted with some shame. “Mingyu, perhaps we should turn back and reconsider our plan?”

“No,” Gu Mingyu rejected the suggestion at once, but then softened her tone. “We’ve come this far, and yes, the ambush was unexpected, but you yourself said that to enter the forbidden grounds, timing and circumstances are crucial. Who knows when the next opportunity will come? We cannot give up now.”

The old fortune-teller asked, “Then should we continue on?”

“We must,” Gu Mingyu replied. “According to the map, we’re not far from the Valley of Yin Winds. Once we cross it, we’ll reach the forbidden grounds. This time, surely there won’t be any more surprises, right?” She fixed her gaze intently on the old fortune-teller.

He looked a bit embarrassed. “There shouldn’t be. The worst thing in Yin Wind Valley is the bloodflies, but with the bone incense for protection, they won’t dare come near.”

“Good. Let’s rest here for a while, and set out at dawn.”

The group sat down where they were, tending wounds and checking their remaining supplies. Zhang Kai kept silent, keeping to himself as if invisible, quietly resting.

Within an hour, the sky brightened, filling the world with peace and the fragrance of flowers and the sounds of birds.

Gu Mingyu rose and ordered the group to move on.

Having suffered so many losses, no one was in the mood for idle chatter. They pressed forward in grim silence.

This time, they encountered no further trouble—not even a single large wild beast—making their way safely to the mouth of a gorge.

This ravine was formed by the pressing together of mountain ridges, resulting in a curving valley. Beyond it lay Snow Peak Mountain—their destination. The gorge twisted ahead, its length uncertain, the floor strewn with jagged rocks. A stream wound through, murmuring as it flowed into the distance, likely the source of the Icewater River.

The scenery was beautiful, but within the gorge, strange wailing sounds echoed unpredictably—at times like moaning, at others like crying, laughter, or anger—resembling a woman's shifting moods.

Zhang Kai observed the Valley of Yin Winds with keen eyes. Here, at last, he sensed the presence of spiritual energy—faint, almost imperceptible, but undeniable. This proved that Snow Peak Mountain was a place of spiritual power, that somewhere within, the energy was so concentrated that it spilled outward.

He was not alone in this realization. Both the old fortune-teller and Master Chongming noticed it too, exchanging pleased smiles.

“To cross the Valley of Yin Winds, we must contend with bloodflies,” the old fortune-teller announced, producing a box that contained a stubby stick, as thick as a finger and about the length of a palm, colored black and red. “This is bone incense—everyone, inhale its smoke to prevent bloodfly attacks.”

Lighting it with a lighter, a dense red smoke drifted out, carrying an odd scent, reminiscent of dried salted fish. No one complained, but instead crowded around eagerly, letting the smoke waft over them.

“It truly is bone incense—a rare and marvelous thing. It’s a privilege to see it with my own eyes,” Master Chongming said, gazing at the burning incense with admiration.

Zhang Kai, curious, asked, “What’s the origin of this bone incense?”

“It has quite the history,” Master Chongming answered with a smile. “According to legend, there was once a secret sect called the Bone Gate, which believed that all things have spirit, but bones are the root of all life. They specialized in the study of bones, combining the remains of countless creatures with unique secret arts to create various kinds of bone incense for different mystical purposes. Sadly, their obsession with bones made them enemies of all living things. One night, their sect was wiped out—some say by demons seeking revenge, others claim it was divine retribution. Either way, Bone Gate vanished overnight. It was thought their knowledge was lost forever, yet here we see its legacy endures.”

“You’re quite the scholar, Master Chongming,” the old fortune-teller laughed.

“I’ve only read a few scraps in old manuscripts,” Master Chongming replied modestly.

Gu Mingyu asked, “Daoist Zhou, how long does this bone incense last?”

“Rest assured, Mingyu,” the old fortune-teller said confidently. “Bone incense burns for three days without stopping. The threat of bloodflies is gone.”

Gu Mingyu finally allowed herself a smile.

By the time the incense finished burning, everyone who had been exposed to the smoke carried a pungent odor. No one minded; if anything, they wished for more.

Once the ritual was complete, they set off again, following the gorge deeper.

After a short while, they began to feel a strange wind—a fitful, intermittent breeze, almost like breathing in and out. It was cold, chilling them to the bone.

“This wind is odd. Cover your mouths and noses,” Master Chongming advised thoughtfully.

At once, everyone used whatever means they could to shield their faces.

Perhaps thanks to the bone incense, they encountered no danger at all—the only thing amiss was the eerie, cold wind in the valley.

After more than an hour, they reached the far end of the gorge and beheld two remarkable sights.

At the valley’s terminus stood two stone qilin, side by side. Each was massive, three or four meters tall, carved with intricate detail—claws bared, scales sharply defined, lifelike in every respect. They squatted on either side of the path, although their bodies were now largely covered in green moss from ages of exposure, obscuring much of their form.

Zhang Kai stared in amazement. “Why are there stone statues here?”

“What’s so strange about that?” the old fortune-teller laughed. “Where emperors and nobles are buried, guardian beasts are common.”

Zhang Kai was puzzled. “An imperial tomb?”

“Indeed. The burial places of gods and spirits are not chosen at random—they must be sites where the energies of humanity converge, to mask the presence of the divine and avoid calamity. Imperial tombs are the perfect camouflage.”

Zhang Kai was speechless. Bury themselves? This was just a case of a cuckoo laying its egg in another’s nest.