Chapter 138: Black Pool, Lone Lantern, Layers of Shadow

The icy concrete floor seeped cold, piercing through thin clothing straight into the bone marrow. Lin Xue leaned against the mottled, peeling wall, her chest heaving violently; each breath brought the hurried, burning pain of a narrow escape. The old man's aura earlier, and that eerie sense of every plant and soldier, still made her heart palpitate when she recalled it.

She instinctively raised her hand to her chest; her fingertips felt not cloth but, through a layer of fabric, the hard little object hidden close to her body—a strangely shaped pendant, neither metal nor jade, its touch bearing odd patterns… a pendant. She had worn it all along, yet had almost forgotten its existence.

At the instant of contact, a faint yet unusually clear warmth surged from the pendant.

In her mind a "boom" sounded, as if something had been struck open. No longer the bloody, chaotic altar scene from the stone chamber, nor the twisted, frightening runes. It was a stretch of water, a black pool so deep its bottom could not be seen, the surface dead still like a huge slab of black glass, glowing with a faint light. Around the pond, a few dim glows spread out, hung on crooked wooden poles. Those were… lanterns. Their shape was unusual, and the lantern bore a blurred mark that felt inexplicably familiar.

"Suburbs," Zhang Jun's voice pulled her from the brief reverie. He stood a few steps away, fingertips pinching the slightly warm bronze shard, his brows knotted into a lump, "The fragment points to the western suburbs of the city. It's clear."

The warmth and pulse on the bronze shard were no longer frantic and uneasy as before; they had steadied, carrying an undeniable insistence that pointed to a fixed direction.

Lin Xue clenched the pendant at her chest; the faint warm current remained, oddly soothing her racing heart. Yet at the same time, the chill emanating from the azure crystal in her pocket persisted, a cold and heat forming a subtle standoff on her person. "I… seem to have seen that mark on the lantern before," she said, her voice dry.

Zhang Jun's motion paused, and he instantly turned his gaze to her.

There was no time for details. He pulled out an encrypted phone, quickly dialed Old Hu's number. The phone rang several times before connecting; background noise was chaotic, tinged with panic. Zhang Jun spoke extremely fast, with no wasted words, directly asking Old Man Liu Three for more details about the black jar—especially the jar itself and its surroundings.

On the other end of the line, Old Hu's voice was pressed extremely low, tinged with a hint of sobbing, as fragments of Old Man Liu Three's labored recollection came through, his voice weak and hoarse: "……in the courtyard……by the old well……the jar is black pottery, very rough……on top……on top it looks like……carved with a lantern shape……yes! It's a lantern! When the jar shattered……I seemed to hear……someone nearby murmuring……what……'primer'……yes, that's the primer……"

Black jar, beside the old well, lantern engraving, "primer."

Zhang Jun hung up the phone, his gaze sharp as he looked at Lin Xue. All the clues, like scattered beads, were suddenly strung together by this new lead. The jar that Old Man Liu Three had touched, the lantern mark flashing back in Lin Xue's memory, and the two fragments now jointly pointing toward the western suburbs.

"Go." Zhang Jun uttered a single word without hesitation.

"Those people outside…" Lin Xue warned, the feeling of being watched like a shadow had not faded.

"Shake them off." Zhang Jun's eyes were calm, exuding a ruthless determination. Since evasion was impossible, they would have to force a breakthrough.

The two pushed open the creaking old wooden door and slipped once more into the deep night. This time they were no longer fleeing in panic without direction; their goal was clear, their steps carrying the resolve to burn their boats.

The crowded subway station offered the best cover. Swiping in, boarding the train, the mixed smells of the crowd were unpleasant. They rode two stops, got off, walked briskly to the opposite platform, took the line back one stop, and exited. The whole process flowed smoothly without delay. The cries of night-market vendors and the aroma of food assailed them; they kept their heads low, brims pulled low, hurried through the throng, turned into a dimly lit alley littered with trash. At the alley's end, a taxi that looked ready for the scrapyard was already waiting, the driver cigarette in mouth, expressionless.

The car merged onto the main road and then turned inconspicuously at the next intersection. From the rearview mirror, Zhang Jun could catch a few fleeting headlights not far behind—more than one vehicle, tailing closely, like several sharks scenting blood, exuding an impatient urgency. The Qin clan, the Zhou clan, or perhaps some deeper lurking menace. He muttered to himself, "Really, how welcome."

The car stopped beneath a massive overpass. The two quickly paid and got out; the driver stomped the accelerator, and the vehicle slipped into traffic like a loach. They ducked into the shadow beneath the bridge, hurrying along the riverside path littered with rubble and overgrown weeds. Above them, several vehicles roared past on the bridge, undiminished in speed, obviously having lost their target.

After wandering in the dark for over half an hour, looping several large circles, they finally shook off all pursuers and stood at the edge of the western suburbs of the capital, a derelict chemical plant abandoned for years. The air reeked of heavy rust, oil, and some unknown chemical reagent that had fermented into a rotten smell—oppressive and suffocating, making their throats tighten just breathing it in. The wan moonlight fell on the ruined workshops and the towering smokestacks piercing the clouds, casting countless sinister, twisted shadows.

Here there was none of the bone‑chilling gloom of White Pagoda Temple, but a deeper stillness, like a vast hollow shell left after all life had been utterly drained and rotted away, making one's skin crawl.

The two exchanged a glance, about to head deeper into the plant to seek the possible "black pool" and "lantern."

Lin Xue's steps halted abruptly, her hand instinctively pressing into her pocket. The azure crystal had turned ice‑cold, biting to the bone, its chill almost freezing her fingers, exuding a strong sense of rejection… and a warning?

Almost simultaneously, Zhang Jun sensed something amiss; the bronze shard in his pocket, which had steadily emitted a warm guidance, abruptly lost its heat. It became as cold and inert as ordinary metal, offering no direction any longer.

The reactions of the two shards were utterly opposed—indeed, they could be said to be completely opposite!

At the same moment, the image of the black pool in Lin Xue's mind grew razor‑sharp. The lantern hanging beside the pool, bearing that special mark that felt inexplicably familiar to her… she jerked her head up, looking past the ruined factory before her toward the highest, rust‑streaked, iron‑giant‑like abandoned water tower deep in the plant.

On the water tower's midsection, a huge round steel plate had peeled halfway, wind blowing it to make a "clang‑clang" sound. The rust patterns exposed beneath the plate, traced in the pallid moonlight, outlined a distinct contour that matched exactly the mark on the lantern in her memory.

That's the place!