Chapter 215: Stone Chamber

Inside the manor, defenses were strict, with sentries and hidden posts everywhere; the patrolling household servants moved with steady steps, their formations neat—all were trained martial artists.

At the corners of the eaves, faint traces of mechanisms could be seen; a moment's inattention would trigger them, alarming the entire manor.

Zhang Jun drove the breath‑controlling method of the Pure Yang Infinite Skill to its limit, his body turning into a wisp of smoke that slid soundlessly along the shadows at the base of the wall.

His divine sense had already spread out, finely scanning the surroundings within dozens of zhang; no stir of wind or grass could escape his perception.

"Three behind the left flowerbed, two by the right moon gate, and that one at the corner of the front corridor… heh, still dozing off—later, don't piss yourself from fright."

Zhang Jun made rapid calculations in his heart, yet his feet never stopped, dodging patrol after patrol.

Several times, the hem of a servant's robe nearly brushed his nose; that close call would have made anyone else collapse in fright.

Just as he neared the area marked on the map, a stifled argument drifted on the night wind.

"The ancestral rules are right there! Forbidden grounds are forbidden grounds—I won't tolerate your repeated insolence!" A hoarse yet imposing voice spoke, clearly displeased.

Zhang Jun's heart jumped; that voice sounded somewhat familiar.

"Third Grandfather! I only want to know exactly how Father is! His illness is so strange—there truly is no remedy, I can only leave him be…" A girl's voice, choked with tears yet still obstinate.

That voice… Zhang Jun almost bit his tongue—wasn't that the little firecracker Murong Wanqing from earlier today?

Running out in the middle of the night to argue with elders?

He held his breath and stifled his sound, pressing his body against the Taihu stone rockery, then peeked out cautiously.

Under the moonlight, Murong Wanqing's pretty face was tense, her eye sockets reddened, as she faced off against an old man dressed in a dark brocade robe, his hair and beard white.

The old man's expression was grave, his brow showing weariness and helplessness.

"Wanqing, it's not that I, Third Grandfather, won't help you. Some things, once you know them, bring no benefit. The Family Head's illness… involves far‑reaching matters; neither you nor I can control it—we must leave it to fate."

The old man let out a long sigh, his words full of unspeakable bitterness.

Forbidden grounds? The Family Head's strange illness? Far‑reaching implications?

Zhang Jun felt his heart pound; the waters of the Murong family were deeper than he had imagined.

That little firecracker may seem rash, but she's actually filial.

Zhang Jun dared not stay long; while the two were talking, he slipped away quietly and continued to feel his way inward following the sheepskin map's guidance.

Soon he arrived at a courtyard utterly unlike any other part of the Murong manor.

Rather than a courtyard, it was more like ruins.

Broken walls and ruined ramparts, weeds grown past the knees, eaves and corners draped in spiderwebs, the air thick with the stench of decay and mold, mixed with the earthy odor of soil.

As the night wind passed, the dry twigs and leaves made a rustling sound, adding to the gloom.

Compared to the carved beams and painted pillars, the glittering gold and splendor outside, this place looked as if it had been abandoned for a hundred years.

This place was so deathly still it made one's skin crawl.

Could the "dead land" mentioned in the letter be this very spot?

In the center of the courtyard stood a dry well.

The well mouth was pitch‑black, its bottom unseen, capable of swallowing all light and sound.

The crooked arrow on the map ultimately pointed to this very dry well.

Zhang Jun focused his senses; an extremely faint breath‑like vibration came from below the well, barely perceptible.

His heart stirred—could there really be something down there in the well?

He bent down, picked up a small stone, weighed it in his hand, and tossed it toward the well mouth.

Soon after, a muffled "thud" came from the well's bottom, the echo hollow—it did not sound like water.

Below was dry.

Zhang Jun hesitated no longer, regulated his breath, sank his legs slightly, and then leapt into the well soundlessly like a civet cat.

The well walls were slick and covered in thick moss, offering almost no foothold.

He circulated his Pure Yang True Qi, his body becoming light, and slowly descended about seven or eight zhang before his feet finally touched solid ground.

As soon as he landed, a strong, pungent medicinal smell mixed with cold death‑qi rushed straight to his head.

Zhang Jun's brows knotted tightly; that smell… he had some recollection of having smelled it before, and it bore an ominous feeling.

He quickly produced a tinder, puffed it to life with a "puff", and the weak flame slightly dispelled the darkness.

Before him lay a narrow, deep stone‑cut passage, unknown who carved it, winding crookedly toward the depths below.

A dungeon!

Zhang Jun's heart jolted—he never expected that deep within the splendidly embroidered Murong manor lay hidden such dark deeds!

Zhang Jun held the tinder, stepping carefully.

Within the passage, his faint footsteps echoed; the deeper he went, the thicker the heavy medicinal odor and the palpably oppressive death‑qi became, almost condensing into substance.

At the end of the dungeon lay a modest stone chamber.

The firelight illuminated the scene inside the stone chamber, and Zhang Jun's pupils contracted to pinpoints!

On the stone wall at the chamber's center, a withered, age‑indistinguishable old man was bound hand and foot, his limbs and neck shackled by several thick, rust‑covered iron chains.

The old man's hair was disheveled, half‑covering his face; the exposed skin was dry and waxy yellow, as if coated with a layer of gold paper, his eye sockets sunken, cheekbones high, his whole body reduced to a skeleton.

His chest barely rose and fell; were it not for Zhang Jun's extraordinary divine sense detecting the faint vestige of life within him, he would truly seem a desiccated corpse.

Even more uncanny, the old man emanated an inexplicable "false‑death" state, his life force forcibly sealed within his body, unable to escape.

What is going on?

Doubts flooded Zhang Jun's mind; he hurried forward and placed two fingers lightly on the old man's icy‑cold, iron‑like wrist.

The pulse was faint, almost inaudible.

He immediately focused, wrapping a thread of pure Pure Yang True Qi around his divine sense and cautiously probed into the old man's body.

In the next instant, Zhang Jun felt as if struck by electricity; his face changed dramatically, and his heart surged with turmoil!

This old man—indeed, he was still alive!

But his internal condition was a hundred times worse than death!

He had been poisoned with a strange toxin that Zhang Jun had only seen in ancient fragmented scrolls—the 'Soul-Locking Lure'!

This poison is incredibly vicious, forcibly sealing a person's three hun and seven po, preventing the soul from leaving the body, while vitality slowly drains away, yet it clings to the last breath, refusing to let it end completely.

Those poisoned may remain conscious, yet they are no different from the living dead, enduring day and night an indescribable torment, unable to live, unable to die.

An uncontainable fury surged up from Zhang Jun's heart.

What kind of vicious heart, what deep hatred, would resort to such an inhuman method to torment a person!

Who is this old man imprisoned here, subjected to inhuman torment?

Could it be related to my master's disappearance?

The messenger's words 'finding life in a dead end'—could they apply to this person?

Just as Zhang Jun's thoughts raced, preparing to examine the old man for clues or attempt a rescue—

"Who's down there in the well? Sneaking about, come out and die!"

A clear, crisp feminine shout, like ice beads striking a jade plate, suddenly came from the wellhead above, full of vigilance and killing intent!

The sound penetrated down, echoing in this narrow cell, exceptionally clear.

Zhang Jun's heart gave a thump—that voice……it's that little firecracker, Murong Wanqing!

How does she keep haunting me, returning so quickly and even precisely finding this dry well?!

Damn it, this girl's nose is sharper than a dog's, or did she plant a tracker on him?

Just 'accidentally' bumped into someone during the day, and now tonight I'm blocked in their cell—what the hell is this?!

Now the trouble's really big!