Chapter 51: Echoes in the Rift

Zhang Jun's boot soles crushed the gravel, the tactical flashlight's beam flickered wildly across the rock wall. Lin Xue suddenly grabbed the strap of his tactical vest; a fine strand of ice crystal formed and stretched straight between them—three centimeters from the tip of the nose, purple slime was dripping down the stalactite.

"This thing is even more disgusting than Zhao Wushuang's mouthwash," Zhang Jun pricked the slime with his sword tip, watching it draw a spider‑web‑like filament in mid‑air. "Last time it got on my combat suit, I washed it for three days and it still smelled like rotten apples."

The jade pendant suddenly heated up inside his collar, its blue glow flashing on and off like an ECG. Lin Xue unclasped his tactical gloves, the frosty pattern on his palm resonating with the pendant: "Approximately four hundred meters to the northwest there is…"

The thunderous collapse of the altar swallowed the rest of the sentence. Zhang Jun hauled Lin Xue as they rolled into a fissure, his lower back striking a protruding bronze beast head. He felt a sandalwood pipe clenched in the beast's mouth, its rim still stained with tar—identical to the one his master clutched before death.

The phantom of the Purple Robe Man coalesced in the dust haze; a mechanical spider slipped from his cuff and struck Lin Xue's ice shield, its eight legs twitching and sparking with electricity.

"Twenty years ago your father smashed three compasses here," the Purple Robe Man's voice crackled with electromagnetic interference, the tactical flashlight beam passing through his semi‑transparent body. "Now it's your turn…"

"Stop the damn recording," Zhang Jun suddenly flung his pipe at the southeast corner of the altar. "Wang Laotou once said, villains who talk too much never make it past three episodes."

The bronze beast head turned in response, and the hidden door creaked open. A foul stench mingled with the brackish scent of groundwater assaulted them, while the white bones crushed under Lin Xue's tactical boots gave a crisp crack. She suddenly pressed her hand against Zhang Jun's gun holster: "Wait."

Ice shards brushed past his ear and flew by, piercing the mechanical tendrils jutting from the rock wall. Purple motor oil splattered onto his combat suit, corroding honeycomb‑shaped holes.

"The seventh trap," Zhang Jun tore the fabric stuck to his chest, revealing a dragon‑scale soft armor underneath. "Do you think that Purple Robe guy's grandson ever did design work at an amusement park?"

The jade pendant's blue light suddenly surged into a pillar, sending the swarm of bats at the ceiling flapping away like a black cloud. From the depths of the dark river came a muffled grinding of gears, as if some gigantic machine were awakening.

Lin Xue suddenly drove an ice blade into the fissure, the crack spreading along the runes: "It's collapsing!"

The moment the two leapt into the dark river, twenty‑seven bronze gears meshed and rolled over their heads. Zhang Jun's tactical flashlight flickered in the torrent, illuminating the Lin Group logo on the gate ahead—its crossed‑out "2003" inscription covered with fresh gouge marks.

"My father's handwriting," Lin Xue's voice mingled with the surf as she kicked open the rusted valve. "Back then he said he was conducting research in Yunnan…"

A baby's cry echoed from beyond the gate. Zhang Jun suddenly hauled her against the wall, his modified sonic weapon skimming his tactical helmet as it swept across the rock wall, blasting a half‑meter‑deep crater.

"Zhao Wushuang used this move," he said, swapping liquid‑nitrogen rounds into his assault rifle. "Last time it was at the seafood market, and I ended up costing the stall owner three baskets of swimming crabs."

When the Purple Robe Man's holographic image reappeared, Zhang Jun's bullet had already pierced the illusion. Frost spread along the trajectory, freezing the signal transmitter hidden in the shadows.

"You... can't stop..." the electromagnetic static grew fainter.

"The lines need updating, old relic," Zhang Jun crushed the frozen circuit board underfoot, pulled out his pipe and brushed it along his trouser leg, "Tell your master—"

Sunlight filtered in at the far end of the dark river as the engine of a modified off‑road vehicle roared from a distance, growing louder. Lin Xue suddenly shaped the ice crystals into a convex lens, and the scorching light spot burned through the tire.

"What are we betting on this time?" she turned to ask the reloading Zhang Jun, "Washing socks or scrubbing the toilet?"

"Bet on who finds the old man's hidden Moutai first," Zhang Jun flung a grappling hook and scaled the rock wall. "Last time I smelled alcohol in the base warehouse, it must be hidden in…"

The tactical flashlight swept across a section of the cavern wall, revealing a graffiti from twenty years ago: a hooded figure clutching a wine jar, with a scrawled note beside it reading "Zhang Tiangang paid a visit here."

"This dump doesn't even have Wi‑Fi coverage?" Zhang Jun prodded the mottled wall of the church with his sword hilt, his tactical gloves scraping off a layer of moss. He fished out the vibrating jade pendant from his trouser pocket, its blue glow casting a crooked arrow on the Gothic spire.

Lin Xue kicked open half of a decayed wooden door, ice crystals spreading from her combat boots to form an anti‑slip layer. The scent of disinfectant mingled with motor oil as it hit her nose; she suddenly grabbed Zhang Jun's rear collar and pulled him backward—three micro‑drones brushed past her nose, exploding spider‑web cracks on the stained‑glass.

Twenty‑seven holographic projectors descended from the dome, showing a younger Lin Yuehua calibrating a cultivation chamber. From the shadow of a purple robe extended a mechanical arm, its fingertip‑sized crystal chips glowing faintly.

"Stability of the seventh‑generation spirit‑carrier increased by 37%," the holographic mother adjusted her gold‑thread glasses, "but more living samples are needed."

The energy detector on Zhang Jun's tactical belt suddenly blared, and he thrust the Heavenly Man Sword into the seam of the floor tiles. The moment the sword's runes ignited, sixteen machine guns sprang from the confession chamber, the clatter of ammunition belts sounding like a venomous snake spitting venom.

"Damn!" he rolled to dodge behind a long bench, the bullet shaving the solid wood bench into shavings, "I used the same trick at the Mysterious Heaven Building last month!"

Lin Xue's flung ice spear lodged into two machine guns, the cold traveling down the barrels to freeze the firing pins. She suddenly froze in place— the holographic display switched to encrypted files, showing the Lin Group logo watermark beneath her mother's and the Purple Robe Man's electronic signatures.

The alarm blared, tearing through the still air. Zhang Jun hauled her into the confession room, where the modified bullet‑proof glass instantly sprouted cracks. He felt a data interface beneath the priest's seat, and when his tactical dagger pried open the panel, a cascade of sparks flew.

"Do you remember that contract from the secret room?" Lin Xue shaped the ice crystals into a data‑cable connector, "Xiao Lin's share‑transfer document number is XZ‑—"

The holographic projection suddenly warped into snow‑flake specks, and the Purple Robe Man's phantom rose from the altar. Zhang Jun's jade pendant burned his chest, and he recalled the surveillance footage he had found three days earlier in Xiao Lin's office: the same mechanical prosthetic, with the same spade‑shaped tattoo on the left pinky.

Twelve mechanical guards smashed through the stained glass and surged in, their joints emitting a sizzling purple arc that blazed in the twilight. Lin Xue spun and kicked the third row of benches away, frost coursing down the chair legs to freeze the tracks of two guards.

"Southwest corner!" she flung an ice blade to nail the drone attempting to reboot, "That servo motor is the same model Zhao Wushuang uses!"

Zhang Jun's blade cleaved the guard's chest cavity, splattering motor oil onto the face of the white‑clad Madonna statue in an abstract splash. He suddenly froze—inside the guard's core module was a half‑sheet of orange‑flavored candy paper, the same kind he had bought at the convenience store yesterday.

The holographic projector erupted with a harsh purple glare, and the younger Lin Yuehua's image began to rewind. Zhang Jun's tactical ocular captured a frame flashing coordinates: 31°14' N, 121°29' E—exactly the location of the church they now occupied.

"Damn!" he kicked the smoking guard wreckage aside, "This is real‑time surveillance!"

Lin Xue suddenly ripped off the tourniquet from his left arm, ice crystals enveloping the bleeding wound: "The crystal chip on your nape is heating up."