The Creatures That We Are-Chapter 1077: Dried Well

Half an hour later, Wang Zikai sat on the ground panting, covered in mud and drenched in sweat.

It would've been easy for him to make a hole in the ground with a punch, but to avoid damaging the tomb and coffin, he had no choice but to use the machete as a shovel, making the task exponentially harder.

It wasn't that Gao Yang didn't want to help, but disturbing his own grandfather's grave felt morally reprehensible. And Qing Ling simply didn't want to, hiding behind the excuse that she was the deceased man's granddaughter-in-law.

Thus, Wang Zikai endured the task alone. Finally, he dug all the way down and lifted the coffin out of the hole.

Gao Yang had them back away while he carefully opened the coffin, protected by the Golden Armor.

There was no threat inside, only a folded shroud, a cap on top, and an urn on the side.

Gao Yang stepped into the coffin to pick up the urn. His expression darkened when he opened it.

Qing Ling and Wang Zikai leaned over to check it.

“Whoa!” Wang Zikai frowned. “What’s this?”

There was no ash inside, only a rectangular light green stone that looked like a brick. Gao Yang took it out and inspected it, concluding, “Flintstone.”

Qing Ling reached out. “Give it to me.”

Gao Yang handed the flint to her. She closed her eyes for three seconds before opening them. “There’s energy lingering in it, the same as the energy in the machete.”

Gao Yang knew what to do. He glanced at Qing Ling. She gave him an agreeing nod.

“Wang Zikai.” Gao Yang extended a hand. “Machete.”

“Oh, right.” Wang Zikai picked up the mud-covered machete and gave it to Gao Yang.

Gao Yang shook off the mud, placing the blade on the flint. The blade immediately hummed into life, glowing a light purple.

He took a deep breath, sliding the blade across the flint.

Hiss. The glow intensified, casting their three faces in a purple light. Suddenly, the light turned into a ball of purple fire and flew out of the blade, going up the mountain at an impressive speed like a sparrow. It was soon going to vanish in the setting sun.

“Let’s go!” Gao Yang made the call.

Qing Ling hopped onto her Tang Dao while spreading her arms to grab Gao Yang and Wang Zikai, carrying them into the sky.

The purple fire flew over two ridges before landing on a wasteland, which stretched into a fluctuating mountain range that could not be reached—it was merely a fabricated landscape visible at the edge of the Mist.

The fire burrowed into the tall grass in the clearing. The three of them landed nearby.

Excited, Wang Zikai was the first to run toward the waist-high grass. He parted it with his hands and moved toward where the fire had vanished. “Here! Take a look!”

Gao Yang and Qing Ling quickly followed. They were surprised to find a well hidden in the sea of grass.

It was an unassuming stone well, its years of being forgotten visible in the broken pulley, toppled and covered in wood mold. Gao Yang leaned in and looked down into the well. It was pitch black, seemingly bottomless. There didn’t seem to be any water.

Clearly, the fire had entered the well.

Qing Ling glanced at Gao Yang. He thought for a moment.

“Let’s leave it first.”

The three of them retreated to the clearing. With a lift of his hand, Gao Yang conjured fire to ignite and burn away the grass quickly.

His reasoning was simple: clear the line of sight with Fire first, and it would also be a test to see if the dried well reacted to Talents and their energy.

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Soon, the blazing flames consumed all the grass around the well, turning the area into a patch of charred land. Yet the well in the heart of it remained untouched, without even a scorch mark. Now it was certain: there was more to the well than it seemed.

“Call everyone here,” Gao Yang said.

Qing Ling nodded, taking out her phone.

“I’ll check inside.” Gao Yang walked toward the well.

Qing Ling frowned. “You sure?”

“Don’t worry,” Wang Zikai pounded his chest. “He’s got me.”

“Stay here too, Wang Zikai. I’m going down alone.”

Gao Yang wasn’t trying to play the hero. He could create an Absolute Barrier to protect himself from any danger, and with Time-Space Spirit, he could make a speedy escape through Spatial Jump. Moreover, the system would warn him should there be a danger. It would notify him if he had entered an unusual subspace, too.

Qing Ling didn’t argue; she knew what Gao Yang was thinking. Wang Zikai would like to object, but he had to concede since he knew Gao Yang wouldn’t be easily convinced.

“Be careful,” Qing Ling said.

“Yell if there’s anything,” Wang Zikai added.

Gao Yang nodded and made an OK sign at them.

He teleported to the edge of the well and took a deep breath, conjuring a small Absolute Barrier to shield himself. He slowly descended.

At first, light filtered through from the mouth of the well, but darkness soon enveloped everything.

Manipulating the Absolute Barrier, Gao Yang continued his steady descent. After around thirty seconds, he sensed the space around him opening up.

He conjured a ball of fire in the barrier. As expected, the well wall had vanished. He found himself inside a vast empty space. Gao Yang concluded this must be a massive funnel-shaped cave.

He sent the fireball out of the barrier and scattered it, illuminating the stone walls of the cavern. They were crimson red with ridges and dents, as if a massive volume of blood had congealed and dried.

Upon closer inspection, he realized that the “blood” wasn’t dried blood, but something organic, slowly writhing. It reminded Gao Yang of a monster’s intestines.

Before Gao Yang could examine it further, the Absolute Barrier made a safe landing.

The darkness pressed in closer. He split the fire into twelve hovering fireballs and spread them clockwise, yet the flames failed to disperse the shadows.

After a moment's hesitation, Gao Yang dissolved the barrier and raised his hands, conjuring a giant fireball. It slowly rose to the cavern ceiling and hung there like a miniature sun that would last a few minutes, finally illuminating the space.

Gao Yang gasped.

This was a circular underground palace, at least as big as a stadium. Against the undulating red walls, twelve massive statues stood towering.

They looked mysterious, ancient, and abstract. He had to strain to make out the features of “people”. Their heads were lowered, mouths stretched unnaturally wide with something red—neither gas nor liquid—flowing out like a crimson waterfall. The substance flowed into ditches on the ground, all converging into the large crimson pool at the heart of the palace.

Gao Yang immediately recognized it as the blood mist that rose during the Crimson Tide.

After confirming the system showed no warnings, he activated Golden Armor and slowly approached the vast crimson pool. At its center sat a circular platform at water level, about five meters in diameter. On the platform stood a thin red chair—seemingly formed from congealed blood.

An old man sat in the chair. Behind him towered a giant red horn, reaching ten meters into the air.

The old man slowly raised a hand, beckoning Gao Yang closer.

After checking for dangers several more times, Gao Yang advanced ten meters, reaching the pool's edge to study the figure at its center.

He wore tattered black clothes. His hair was silver, his figure bony and sickly, the skin covered in liver spots. His gray eyes were clouded, and thin white stubble covered his flat chin. On his shoulder perched a purple butterfly. It flapped its wings gently—the same purple fire Gao Yang had tracked here!

His left sleeve hung empty from the stump. Eyes narrowed, he chuckled at Gao Yang.

Shock rippled through Gao Yang.

Although he had never seen the old man personally, the host body remembered him very well.

Gao Yang’s grandfather.