The authentic blue bricks underfoot gave off a biting chill. Ye Fan’s shoe sole crushed a depression—the tracking powder Su Qingxue had laid the day before, which now rose with his footsteps as a faint silver mist, a secret signal confirming the comings and goings of their own people. Behind the bronze door at the end of the corridor lay a hidden chamber even deeper than they had imagined.
The scent of mold mixed with the reek of dried blood assailed his nostrils. Ye Fan raised a hand in a slight downward gesture, and the five people behind him pressed against the stone wall like shadows. His pupils constricted slightly in the darkness, and by the moonlight leaking through the clerestory window at the top, he made out the black iron altar in the center of the chamber. The candlelight on the altar was a ghostly blue, casting flickering, shifting shadows over the faces of the two men standing at the foot of the steps.
The young man on the left, dressed in dark brocade robes, was Zhao Wuji, whom they had been tracking for days. His head was hung low, the ends of his hair stained with dark red blood. The elderly man on the right stood with his back to them, his grayish-white hair bound with a golden ring, the Soul-Calling Bell pattern embroidered on his shoulder gleaming with an eerie light in the fire.
Chapter 231