# 369
Chapter 369 – Opening the Coffin
His mental power couldn’t penetrate the surface of the coffin either.
If he wasn’t mistaken, these six great halls were the legendary Six Heavens of Luofeng, the dwelling places of the ghost-gods who guarded the six palaces. So why would a coffin appear in one of them?
And Lin Qiye could tell at a glance: this coffin had never been meant for a god. The paintings that covered it breathed the air of ancient scrolls, but Lin Qiye had never been good at history or art; for the moment he couldn’t deduce the dynasty from the pictures.
More importantly, the size was all wrong. A ghost-god who could sit on a thirty-metre-high throne could never be squeezed into so small a box once he died.
Lin Qiye crouched and studied the scenes painted on the lid.
First panel: a figure in blue robes stands on an altar heaped with offerings—fruit, wild beasts, even gold. A crowd kneels before him in worship.
Second panel: the same blue-robed man stands before a burning palace amid ruins, his clothes soaked in blood. Rank upon rank of green-armoured soldiers fight at his side against a tide of monstrous creatures.
Third panel: in front of another palace, a man in imperial robes watches a black-red coffin. The blue-robed figure has one foot inside, about to lie down.
Fourth panel: the blue-robed man is gone. Black-armoured troops carry the black-red coffin toward a half-open bronze gate.
The story ended there. Lin Qiye frowned, straightened slowly, and fell into thought.
The four panels gave little to go on, and the tale was full of riddles. Who was the man in blue? Why did so many worship him? What were the creatures that overran the palace?
Yet the last two pictures were clear enough: the man had climbed into the coffin himself, and an army had borne him through the bronze gate—and beyond that gate lay Fengdu.
Why send the coffin into Fengdu? And why store it in a celestial palace?
Lin Qiye shook the questions away, turned from the coffin, and walked toward the entrance.
However mysterious the story, it was centuries—perhaps millennia—old. He had no interest in playing detective. Since Baili Pangpang and the others weren’t here, he would search the next hall.
The moment he turned his back, a soft sound echoed through the vast chamber.
Thump—!
Lin Qiye froze.
Every muscle tensed; his mental power flared out, sweeping every corner.
Nothing.
Every suit of armour, every object, stood exactly as before. His senses had never withdrawn; for an instant there had been nothing else in the hall.
Another ghost?
He waited, rigid in the darkness, but nothing happened. He began to edge toward the door…
Thump—!
The second knock rang out clearly. He spun, eyes locking on the black-red coffin lying on its stone platform. One hand closed around the hilt of the Straight Blade on his back, ready to draw.
He stared, sweat beading, face grim.
The sound had come from inside the coffin.
A coffin that had lain forgotten in the ghost-city of Fengdu for who-knew-how-many ages.
Impossible.
Even if a ghost had been sealed inside, its soul should have scattered long ago.
He took one careful step backward toward the door…
Thump—!
A third knock answered him.
Worse, every suit of bronze armour quivered, helmets tilting a fraction toward him as though about to wake.
He drew his foot back. After a moment he stepped forward again.
Silence.
Only when he moved away did the coffin speak; when he approached, it stayed quiet.
So whatever lay inside did not want him to leave?
He stood among the armoured ranks, caught in a stalemate. Advance? Retreat?
Run for the door?
If the knocking continued and the bronze suits stirred, he would be in deadly peril. After the lesson of the paper soldiers, he knew the armour and Yin troops of Fengdu were divine wonders far beyond his present realm. If these bronze warriors woke, he would be finished.
Yet he could not stand here forever.
An idea struck him.
Clang—!
He drew the Straight Blade at his back halfway from its sheath.
If he couldn’t walk out, he could reverse-summon himself with the blade’s array—
But the instant steel showed, three hundred long knives whispered from three hundred bronze scabbards behind him, as if invisible hands had gripped their hilts.
Three hundred blades half-drawn in perfect unison.
Lin Qiye’s hand stopped. After a second he slid his own weapon quietly home.
Clang—!
Three hundred knives answered, sliding back into darkness.
The hall was silent once more, the armoured ranks unmoving, as though nothing had happened.
Lin Qiye: …
So even drawing a blade was forbidden?
He rubbed his temples, then set his jaw and strode straight toward the coffin.
Nothing hindered him. He reached it unopposed and stopped.
“You won’t let me leave, won’t let me draw steel—what do you want?” he muttered.
The coffin gave no answer.
He drew a deep breath, laid his hands on the lid, and brilliant gold flared in his eyes.
He could wait no longer. Whatever lay inside had to be dealt with before he could leave.
“With strength to move mountains and spirit to conquer the world—!”
He heaved.
A dull boom rolled through the hall as the black-red lid lifted slowly in his grip…