Chapter Five: The Demon Suppression Platform

“Great Immortal above, golden body protect me, let no demon or monster come near...” Old Fifth chanted softly, but his hands worked with practiced skill. With a sharp strike of his palm, he hit the corpse’s lower jaw—one knock, one twist, and a thumb-sized object tumbled from the corpse into the cloth pouch on his chest. He took a closer look: it was a lump of gold.

Pinching it between two fingers, Old Fifth turned it this way and that, weighing it with glee, his grin stretching almost to his ears. He fumbled around some more, but finding nothing else of value, he finally withdrew his hands. Yet as he pulled back, something unexpectedly tripped him; with a careless flick, he tossed the entire corpse out of the coffin, sending it crashing to the ground. Dust billowed up, swirling in the air.

The black-robed elder hadn’t expected Old Fifth’s blunder. He froze for a moment, his eyes shooting a cold glare at Old Fifth.

“Master, it’s not what it looks like... My hand just trembled, I don’t know why—who could’ve guessed...”

Old Fifth hurried to explain.

“Master, look at this,” Scarface interrupted, as if he’d discovered something.

Following Scarface’s pointing finger, the black-robed elder narrowed his eyes and peered closer. The coffin’s base was rotten through, and beneath it, a stone slab was faintly visible. Brushing away the dust, the ancient grain of the stone was revealed. When tapped, it gave off a hollow sound.

“First Brother, Old Fifth, open it up—get the tools,” the black-robed elder said in a low voice.

Neither dared delay. Together, they pried open the stone slab beneath the coffin, revealing a deep, bottomless shaft. Looking down, they could see no end, and a chilling draft seeped upward, sending shivers through them.

Without needing to be told, Old Fifth deftly secured one end of a hemp rope in the burial chamber, threw the other end into the hole, and prepared to descend, his hopeful gaze seeking the elder’s approval.

“Keep your eyes wide,” the elder nodded slightly.

Old Fifth responded and slipped down into the darkness.

After a short while, his voice drifted up from below.

“Master, come down—it's level down here.”

Soon, the others descended as well.

By the dim light, the black-robed elder squinted and surveyed their surroundings, suspicion growing on his face.

The chamber was neatly built, floored with blue bricks, every gap sealed tight. Due south stood a stone pedestal, at whose base were carved mythical beasts, their lines simple yet vivid. Atop the pedestal rested a celadon vase adorned with a coiling dragon: the dragon’s head crowned the lid, its body wound around the neck, the belly round, its base firm—clearly no ordinary artifact. Strangely, though buried underground for centuries, the vase’s surface was crystal clear, not a speck of dust upon it; instead, it emitted a gentle, mesmerizing glow.

The longer he studied it, the more astonished the black-robed elder became. His brows knit tight.

“See, didn’t I say there’d be something valuable? With this treasure, we’re rich!” Old Fifth’s eyes gleamed as he reached for the vase, eager to examine it.

“Stop!”

A sudden shout split the air.

Old Fifth jerked back, his hand frozen midair, confusion on his face.

“Master, what’s wrong?” Scarface asked, baffled.

“Hmph. I keep telling you both to pay more attention, to learn something useful. All these years in the trade, and you still haven’t noticed what’s wrong here?”

The black-robed elder drew a long breath, eyes narrowed.

“That vase on the pedestal—it’s a Coiled Dragon Vase, also called a Soul-Summoning Vessel, used to suppress evil spirits. Look—the pedestal is carved all around with divine guardian beasts, the broken jars in the corners, the black stains on the stone, likely remnants of ritual dog’s blood. These are all traces of ancient exorcisms.”

“This is no ordinary tomb chamber—it’s a Demon Suppression Altar. If I’m not mistaken, the vase is sealing away something truly dreadful.”

Hearing this, the two men grew increasingly uneasy. In all their years and dozens of tombs, they’d never stumbled upon anything so sinister as this in a remote mountain hollow. There was little profit here, only a mounting sense of unease. In this line of work, crawling through the earth, only desire reminds a man he’s still alive; everything else is buried deep below. They were used to risk—heads always hanging by a thread—but experience had taught them: treasure’s no good if you can’t make it out alive. Better to let a priceless artifact sleep than to join it forever underground.

“I suspect some master left this arrangement here. Whatever’s inside must be incredibly fierce and difficult to contain. To keep it buried for eternity, they must have used ruthless measures—perhaps that’s why the general’s tomb was built overhead. The connection between the two is unclear. Either way, we mustn’t disturb the altar; otherwise, we’re finished. Let’s not linger. Time to go.”

The black-robed elder shook his head in disappointment. “At least the grave goods above are worth something—our efforts weren’t entirely wasted.” With a sigh, he led the retreat.

First Brother and Old Fifth responded, gathering their tools to leave. Scarface, though reluctant, knew it was better to be safe than sorry. He gazed at the glowing Coiled Dragon Vase—no matter how priceless, you had to survive to enjoy it. Over the years, he’d learned well: there’s always something more sinister out there, and caution is the only way to last.

Old Fifth had barely turned to leave when he sensed something off behind him—a cold chill crawling down his neck. In a daze, he thought he glimpsed two green lights flickering in the gloom, and a stench assaulted his nose, churning his insides. His head throbbed as if struck, a ringing in his ears and a suffocating pressure sealing his senses. The green lights before his eyes swelled and shrank, drawing him in, spinning his vision until he felt trapped within them.

Suddenly, a heavy hand clapped his shoulder from behind.

“Hey, Old Fifth, what are you playing at? Time to go,” Scarface snapped. He’d never liked the scrawny, shifty fellow, always noisy around the master. If not for the elder, he’d have dealt with him long ago. Now, more trouble.

The chamber’s dim flame had turned an eerie green, flickering and shrinking, bobbing closer and further like a ghostly fire.

A chilling, inhuman cackle echoed through the tomb.

Listening closely, they realized the sound came from Old Fifth himself. His thin shoulders quivered, and slowly, he turned.

His face had twisted into something monstrous, green light flickering in his eyes. He kept chuckling, his teeth bared, saliva dripping down his chin. There was nothing left of the man they knew.