Chapter 117: (For exceeding 2500 recommendation votes, extra chapter) Chapter 40: Mountain Prison Crimson Lines and the Faqiu Seal

(For exceeding 2500 recommendation votes, extra chapter) Chapter 40: Mountain Prison Crimson Lines and the Faqiu Seal

That night, after returning to the inn, we unusually drank once; a group completely opened up, got roaring drunk, even Yuan Qiu, this unknown coward, couldn't help joining the fray, hitting it off with Wei Xiong, whom they had just met.

"Do you know? I'm about to get rich soon; after we get rich, I will definitely not forget you two brothers." Wei Xiong slammed his chest, drunkenly said.

"Getting rich, getting rich doing what business?" Yuan Qiu also opened his slightly drunk eyes, his mind not clear, chatted with Wei Xiong about heaven and earth.

Wei Xiong belched repeatedly, hehe-laughed, leaned close to Yuan Qiu's ear and mysteriously whispered: "I'm going with my uncle... confidential." At the end, Brother Wei laughed, gave us a bait, but stubbornly refused to reveal the answer.

Perhaps, I was the only one able to stay sober in the whole drinking hall. Even Pangzi, who rarely drank normally, now had a flushed face, stood up swaying, barely able to tell east from west.

After years apart, the brothers reunited, everyone opened up, sharing funny and absurd stories from these years.

Some people are like that—no need to mention, no need to speak; even when they call each other, they hang up after less than two sentences. But not mentioning doesn't mean forgetting. Friendship is like that: it doesn't need many words, yet it remains forever in the heart. At crucial moments, a single call is enough for them to rush to each other's side.

When drinking, there's never need for too much politeness; open up and selflessly share your secrets with each other.

I don't even know how much I drank; in short, this drinking bout was the craziest I've ever had. Still, crazy as it was, I have a principle: no matter when, I must keep the last shred of sobriety. If I can't take it, I can sleep, but I will never get drunk and cause a scene.

So, among these four people, I am not sober, but I am the most sober of them.

Wei Xiong talked about many past experiences these years: after dropping out of school, he waited tables at restaurants, carried bricks at construction sites, and also worked as a sailor on ships.

Now he says he'll soon get rich, following his uncle to undertake a big job. After it's done, he'll have money, live the life he wants, and let his parents spend their remaining years comfortably, free from hardship.

Wei Xiong's values differ from ours; he was born into a typical poor Chinese family. Regarding money, he always has a stronger desire than anyone. Because of poverty, he started planning his life from school onward. He wants his parents to live a bit more comfortably, so whatever he does, he puts in double the effort compared to others, craving success and recognition.

But society doesn't guarantee success just from hard work. There are always harsh realities that ruthlessly crush your ideals and wishes. In the end, after living most of your life, you find you've gone with the flow, ending up on a completely different path contrary to your wishes.

Wei Xiong has always been ambitious; unlike his small stature, his heart constantly harbors a stronger ambition than anyone's. This ambition has been suppressed and hidden for countless years. When he was about to face success, he couldn't wait to vent this repression, sharing it with those he trusted.

So tonight, Wei Xiong said many things, constantly shaking his head and muttering: "I'm going to get rich, I'm going with my uncle to make a big fortune."

At first, I didn't pay much attention to his muttering, born of long‑suppressed frustration; I just smiled drunkenly and watched him.

But… when I saw the item peeking out from his flung‑open jacket pocket, my heart clenched, my head felt as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over it, and I broke out in a cold sweat.

Although it was just a corner, the object hidden inside Wei Xiong's jacket was strikingly similar to the legendary item.

I dared not drink anymore, and cautiously began to probe Wei Xiong's lips for information.

However, although Wei Xiong was drunk, his lips stayed tight; no matter how I probed, he wouldn't say more. In the process I only got two pieces of information: one, Wei Xiong will soon undertake a big deal; two, the leader of that deal is his uncle.

Not long after, Wei Xiong collapsed onto the sofa and fell into a deep sleep.

Seeing him about to pass out, I gave him a couple of tentative pushes. When he lay there unconscious like a dead pig, I cautiously approached and opened his jacket.

Inside his jacket lay a small, golden‑yellow bronze seal, with a tiny golden dragon coiled around it. Turning the seal over… the characters "Heavenly Palace Bestows Fortune, Eight Characters of Hao Ran with No Taboos" appeared before my eyes.

Gold‑seeking has its talismans, mountain‑moving its techniques, ridge‑removing its armor, and the Faqiu its seal… The bronze seal in Wei Xiong's pocket is clearly the Faqiu Seal of the four major tomb‑robbing sects.

Now I finally understand what he meant by getting rich. If I'm not mistaken, he's preparing to go tomb‑robbing with his uncle.

No, or rather, his ancestors must be inheritors of the Faqiu General line; otherwise, where would this Faqiu Seal come from?

I silently slipped the Faqiu Seal back into Wei Xiong's pocket, but as I did, he muttered like in a dream and turned his body to the left.

Startled, my hand shook and I almost dropped the seal to the floor. Later I realized it was just his drunken sleep‑talk, and I hurriedly shoved the Faqiu Seal back into his pocket.

Yet, just as I was putting the Faqiu Seal back, Wei Xiong's face made my heart clutch again.

On his nose, between the eyebrows, at the bridge of the nose, there were clearly two crimson lines splitting toward the eyes, passing over the brow and leading to the life gate.

Before I hadn't paid much attention to Wei Xiong's face, but his sudden roll now let me see those two red lines on the bridge of his nose clearly.

This pattern is called "Mountain Prison Crimson Lines" in physiognomy; red always signifies ill omen, so if someone's complexion shows silk‑like red lines, it's surely a bad sign.

If red light appears on the year and longevity positions, it foretells disaster in the coming year. If the bridge of the nose bears red lines past the eyes, it predicts a blood‑light disaster. If a red line runs from the life gate to below the eyebrows, joining the nose bridge, it foretells imminent imprisonment, possibly death under punishment. This pattern is called "Mountain Prison Crimson Lines", divided into innate and acquired forms.

Innate relates to one's fate; acquired omens foretell good or ill fortune.

Obviously, Wei Xiong's two red lines are acquired; in the past few years when we were classmates, I never saw such lines on his face, so they couldn't have been present at birth.

Seeing these two lines, and thinking of Wei Xiong's talk of getting rich and the Faqiu Seal in his pocket, I couldn't help linking the two.

One must know that such acquired lines usually appear because they relate to what the person will do later. When a person's coming year is due for disaster, the face tends to show corresponding omens; different disasters produce different lines, colors, and malevolent qi. Physiognomists therefore give appropriate advice based on these manifest signs to help people avoid misfortune and seek good fortune.

After sitting and thinking for a moment, I dared not be vague, and dragged the sound‑asleep Pangzi from the sofa into the room.

Why say drag? Because Grandpa Pangzi's weight is too great; I couldn't support or hold him steady, so I had to muster all my strength and haul him into the room like dragging a corpse.

With a clatter, I finally couldn't bear Pangzi's weight and threw him onto the bed; but because my balance was off, I ended up falling onto the bed as well.

"Stop it, don't make a fuss…" the dreaming Pangzi murmured shyly, flicking his right hand.

With a bang, my cheekbone announced injury, struck hard by Pangzi's unintentional flick and slammed against the underside of the bed.

When I rose again, my face bore five fresh red slap marks; the left cheek was swollen like a pig's head.

And Pangzi, still half‑covering his face like someone holding a pipa, shyly waved his hand saying, "Stop it, don't make a fuss, stop it…"

Me: "…" Stop the nonsense, damn it.

Watching Pangzi still striking various sleep‑walking poses on the bed, I could only turn away, resentful and tearless, rummaging through my luggage until I finally found a small bottle.

I opened the bottle cap, poured hard for a few seconds, and a black pill instantly appeared in my palm.

Looking at the drunken Pangzi on the bed, then at the pill in my hand, I couldn't help but sigh wistfully:

"I hope this Thousand‑Catty Not‑Drunk Pill works."