# 370
Chapter 370 – Jialan
As the coffin lid lifted, a strange fragrance flooded Lin Qiye’s nostrils. His eyes locked on the gap, and when he saw what lay inside, he froze.
On the smooth black coffin floor lay a girl in deep-blue robes. Her skin was flawless, as if a breeze might shatter it; ink-black hair framed exquisite features. Pale-pink lips pressed lightly together, a jade-like nose above them, long lashes trembling as star-bright eyes slowly opened…
Lin Qiye stared, stunned.
A human?
How could it be a human?
His mental power swept over her—human organs, human brain, human blood, human face… everything proved she was real. He had braced for a millennium corpse with a yellow talisman, a vengeful ghost, a blood-drenched revenant—he wouldn’t have blinked if a Bellsprout had jumped out.
Yet… a living girl lay before him.
Who could sleep centuries—or millennia—inside a coffin in Fengdu’s Heavenly Palace? Not a wrinkle marred her skin; her hair cascaded like a waterfall, her robe pristine, not a speck of dust.
Who would believe such a girl rested in this eerie place?
Her gaze fixed on Lin Qiye; unfocused pupils sharpened, confusion blooming.
She struggled to sit; long black hair slid over blue silk to spill across her shoulders. Turning her jade neck, she surveyed the hall with eyes that seemed to glimpse another lifetime.
The instant Lin Qiye saw her robe, he recalled the paintings on the coffin—the figure worshipped, then sealing herself inside—was a woman?
He opened his mouth to speak when a thunderous rasp of steel echoed through the hall.
Clang——!!
Lin Qiye’s face changed. The bronze armors that had stood sideways now faced him; wisps of black smoke seeped through seams, coalescing into human shapes.
Long blades slid free.
Three hundred bronze suits, three hundred killing blades!
The smoke-wrapped figures drifted forward, swords leveled, green light glowing beneath helmets; death-qi flooded the hall.
Lin Qiye inhaled, drew the twin Straight Blades from his back.
Here it comes.
Darkness spread beneath his feet; golden fire re-ignited in his eyes, his black shirt whipping in the gale.
The blue-robed girl frowned, tried to step from the coffin; stiff joints betrayed her and she crashed to the floor.
As the bronze tide surged, she bit her lip, scrambled up, staggered straight to Lin Qiye—
He froze mid-swing.
Barefoot, she dashed between him and the oncoming host, arms spread wide to shield him.
Wide Han-style sleeves snapped in the wind; star-bright eyes fixed ahead. A razor-sharp blade halted half an inch from her forehead—then every suit of armor stopped. The hall fell silent.
Her gaze swept the ranks. Lips parted; after several tries a hoarse syllable escaped.
“…Withdraw.”
Blades snapped back into sheaths; bronze suits retreated like ebbing tide to their cruciform racks. Smoke dispersed, green lights dimmed, the hall once more serene—as if nothing had happened.
Lin Qiye sheathed his blades, golden glow fading, suspicion thick in his eyes.
“Who are you?” he asked quietly.
She turned, studied his face, then curved her lips in a crescent smile.
She tried to speak; only muffled sounds emerged. Frustrated, she stamped a foot, delicate brows knitting.
Lin Qiye sighed. “Lost your voice from disuse?”
She nodded vigorously.
���Then I ask, you gesture.”
She blinked agreement.
“The figure painted on the coffin—was it you?” He pointed to the first image.
Nod.
“You’ve stayed inside this coffin the whole time?”
Nod.
“How long?”
She hesitated, raised two fingers.
“Two hundred years?”
Shake.
Lin Qiye swallowed. “Two… thousand?”
Nod.
His mind reeled. Two millennia in darkness, alone, unmoving—how?
He stared, then asked softly, “What’s your name?”
She pondered, then gave up and stepped forward. Taking his hand, she traced two characters on his palm:
—Jialan.