The candles in the secret chamber flickered, stretching Bai Qi’s shadow long across the floor. He traced the patterns on the Bronze Tripod with his fingertips, the silver bells on his wrists chiming softly. The sound was like a fine needle, pricking at the back of Pi Yanlin’s neck.
"The fragments of the Imperial Token inside this tripod," Bai Qi said suddenly, his voice quieter than the candle flames, "do not come from ordinary commoners, but from those who once received imperial favor yet suffered betrayal."
Pi Yanlin’s fingers curled at his sides. He had sensed something wrong with the tripod from the moment he stepped into the chamber—the scent of sandalwood was tainted with a metallic tang, identical to the dried blood he had smelled at the mortuary last year. Now, looking where Bai Qi pointed, he saw dense, intricate inscriptions etched into the base of the tripod. They shimmered with a dark, greenish hue in the candlelight, looking like countless tiny snakes slithering.
Chapter 67