Chapter Forty-Three: The Blackwater Leech

At that moment, the last man in the group let out agonized screams, his right hand already entangled in writhing, pitch-black creatures. These dark things squirmed relentlessly, twisting about his arm until his right hand was severed.

“What the hell are these things?” the Mountain-moving Taoist pulled out his climbing lamp, the intense beam illuminating the wriggling black mass.

“They're leeches,” Bai Ling, a descendant of the tomb-raiding Mojin clan, declared bluntly, her voice calm from years of dealing with tomb traps.

“These leeches have survived in this pitch-black, sunless pool for years—surely corrupted by the malevolent energies within the tomb, making them vicious and strong. We must leave this chamber at once!” In Fang You’s eyes, the bodies of these creatures were wreathed with traces of evil energy.

Even as the words left his mouth, the last man tried to catch up, pleading desperately, “Please, save me! Don’t leave me behind!”

An Wu, torn inside but resolute, lifted his right leg and kicked the man away. “Don’t... drag us down!” Though An Wu was known for his ruthless discipline, he was a man of loyalty, never one to abandon a comrade lightly.

But the man overcome by the leeches seemed to understand his fate—if even his righteous leader An Wu had cast him off, he knew he was beyond saving. Resigned, he abandoned all hope and fell straight into the black pool. Instantly, countless black leeches surged upon him, and soon bright blood welled up from the water’s depths.

Fang You and the others hurried through the leech-ridden chamber, reaching a stone wall at the exit.

The Mountain-moving Taoist, without hesitation, pressed a talisman to his right forefinger, chanting, “Mountain-cleaving Talisman!” This was the secret art of the Mountain-moving Clan. His right fist shone with golden light as he struck, shattering the stone wall in a single blow.

The group rushed through the passage into the next chamber.

Now, only six remained: the Mountain-moving Taoist Fang Zhong, Bai Ling of the Mojin lineage, the Grave-rising Taoist Master Qiu, Fang You—the youngest disciple of the Maoshan Sect—An Wu, the last of the hired men, and one small follower brought by An Wu.

They found themselves in a completely sealed burial chamber. Behind them, from the black pool, the sound of leeches gnawing on bones was still audible.

“Could this be the main chamber?” Bai Ling wondered aloud, scanning the arrangement. At the center stood a large crimson coffin, surrounded by burnt-out eternal lamps. Yet, the atmosphere was strangely desolate.

“Not yet,” grunted Fang Zhong, the Mountain-moving Taoist skilled in tomb layouts. “This is likely one of the side chambers adjacent to the main tomb. Usually, the main chamber is flanked by one or two such side rooms. These are different from the trap-laden or servant burial chambers we saw before.”

“These companion chambers, so close to the tomb owner, bear deep connection to them in both life and death,” Fang Zhong muttered.

Suddenly, Master Qiu’s spirit monkey, still wounded from the earlier battle, let out a shrill, warning cry. Master Qiu tensed immediately.

“My spirit monkey knows the ways of heaven and earth, can sense calamity and fortune. It has already sensed grave danger in this chamber—everyone, be most cautious!” As he spoke, his gaze fell on Fang You, the only one skilled in the Maoshan arts of exorcism.

Fang You, staring at the blood-red coffin before him, was puzzled. “Traditionally, black coffins are for those who die young with black hair, white coffins for those who lived long in fortune and died with white hair. But this red coffin…”

The saying goes: black coffins for the young, white for the blessed aged. Black coffins entomb those who died young or before their hair turned white. White coffins are reserved for those who lived to nearly a hundred, hair turned white with age—a sign of accumulated virtue.

Realizing this, Fang You’s eyes widened and he hastened to warn everyone away from the red coffin.

“Master, have you discovered something?” An Wu asked, his tone heavy with worry—he and a single follower were all that remained of his men.

“This red coffin… It belonged to someone who died with immense resentment. It was sealed with rooster’s blood to suppress the spirit within—what lies inside is no ordinary corpse,” Fang You said thoughtfully. “It isn’t truly a red coffin. It’s been stained with rooster’s blood.”

“Rooster’s blood?” Master Qiu’s brow furrowed in sudden understanding. “To keep such a malignant coffin above ground, directly before the main tomb, instead of burying it for peace—was it the builder’s intention to deny the soul inside any chance of salvation?”

“Exactly!” Fang You continued, “A black coffin belongs to the yin, rooster’s blood is pure yang, and the dead pass into the yin realm. Staining a coffin in such thick rooster’s blood is meant to render the spirit neither yin nor yang—trapped, unable to become a shade, nor return to the world of the living.”

“The dead pass into the underworld, their souls to reincarnation. But if forcibly kept back, their souls may vanish—or worse, become demons, never to re-enter the cycle of rebirth, suffering eternally beneath heaven and earth.”

“It seems someone deliberately used this method to trap the soul within, preventing passage to the underworld. If so…” Fang You’s face paled as the realization dawned: the tomb’s builder meant to refine the soul, binding it to the coffin as an evil spirit, forever guarding the tomb’s master.

As they spoke, the crimson coffin began to tremble. Wisps of red vapor seeped from its edges, accompanied by a haunting, ethereal woman’s voice:

“You lived before I was born, I was born when you were old. You blame me for coming late, I blame you for being too early. We parted and traveled a thousand miles, with no promise of return. Thirty days in a month, not a night I do not long for you.”

The mournful melody filled the chamber, chilling and forlorn.

“Damn, our living yang energy has disturbed the rooster’s blood, breaking the balance of yin and yang—the one in the coffin is awakening!”

Suddenly, the coffin lid flew open, propelled by a powerful force. A rush of red vapor burst forth. The group dodged desperately as the vapor darted about, then abruptly chose its victim, plunging straight into An Wu’s last follower.

“Hey! Are you all right?” An Wu called anxiously.

His follower suddenly spun with an eerie grace, holding his hand in a delicate pose, covering his mouth and simpering, “Gentlemen, what day and year is it today? I have slept so long—I know not what time it is now!”