Chapter Fourteen: Exploring the Depths of the Cave

Seeing the look of fear on Li Chongyuan’s face, Song Changkong held back a laugh and spoke with a serious tone, “Well, it’s hard to say for sure. Back in the day, when Yin Liji seized Tianshan, he ruled with tyranny and once imprisoned two Southern Sect elders here. Not long after, they mysteriously disappeared. Decades later, when our Elder Ye reclaimed Tianshan, a disciple who had broken the sect’s rules was exiled here. A year later, Elder Ye, feeling remorseful, sent someone to bring the disciple back, only to discover that he too had vanished without a trace—alive or dead, no one knew. Perhaps he was devoured by ghosts. Since then, no one else has come here. You are the first to reside in this place in nearly thirty years.”

“Ah! Is that true? Why didn’t the elders of the cave investigate what happened?”

Miao Kewei, seeing the grave expression on Li Chongyuan’s face, couldn’t help but burst into laughter, “Brother Song, don’t frighten him so.”

“So Brother Song made all this up?”

“Not exactly. The events did occur, but they weren’t quite so frightening. The elders assumed the three simply couldn’t bear the bitter cold and solitude, lost their minds, and threw themselves off the cliff. That’s likely why their bodies were never found. The cliff is thousands of feet high; there’s no way to search for remains down there, so the matter was left unresolved.”

“Oh, I see,” Li Chongyuan finally breathed a sigh of relief.

“Junior Brother, three hundred paces northwest from here you’ll find an iron chain. Each month, provisions are sent from Langya Pavilion, hanging from that chain. When you hear the bell, go and collect your rations and firewood, but beware of the snow and ice—don’t slip and fall. The other side of the chain is shrouded in mist, and no one knows what’s there. For all we know, it could be the realm of immortals,” Song said with a smile, as if deliberately trying to make the place seem more mysterious.

After seeing Song Changkong and Miao Kewei off, the stone cave fell silent. While everyone was talking, the lively atmosphere kept loneliness at bay, but once they had left, a sense of emptiness crept into Li Chongyuan’s mind. Countless emotions welled up inside him. Time and again he had escaped disaster, only to end up exiled here, likely to spend the rest of his life in such isolation. The thought brought a wave of sorrow, and he fought to hold back his tears. Yet after a while, he consoled himself: Heaven never seals all exits—perhaps exile here did not mean he would never return. Forcing himself to regain some confidence, he lay on his bed, burdened with heavy thoughts. What worried him now was not the tales of ghosts, but the little booklet weighing on his mind. He had been brought here directly by Song and Miao from the Langya Pavilion, with no chance to retrieve any possessions. That booklet, filled with martial arts and cultivation notes, was left behind in his room. Even though he had memorized most of its contents, he couldn’t help but fret over its fate. Would someone find it? Would it fall into the wrong hands? But under such tight surveillance, perhaps no one would ever discover it… He could only let fate take its course, for now.

The next morning, he awoke and lay in bed for a long while, finally sighing and getting up to practice martial arts in the snow outside his door. In the past, he had to wait until midnight, after everyone else was asleep, to practice the Asura Divine Art in secret. Now, for the first time, he could train openly, which lifted his spirits considerably.

Beside the cave, icicles hung from the edge of the cliff—some of them centuries old. With a casual strike, he shattered one, then leapt lightly in the snow, soaring into the air and catching the icicle mid-flight. He began practicing the Falling Snow Sword technique. This style had been created over a hundred years ago by a swordsman from the south who, enchanted by the endless snow of Tianshan, secluded himself for years to develop it. The sword moves could be as fierce and overwhelming as a snow avalanche, or as gentle and silent as drifting morning snow—each concealing deadly intent. Wherever the icicle passed, snowflakes shattered into dust. After finishing the Falling Snow Sword, he switched to the Three Lives Sword, taught by Qu Beiyuan. Each move of this art contained variations for past, present, and future, designed to counter an opponent’s moves at every stage—intertwining life and death without end.

In the midst of training, he suddenly heard the ringing clash of metal in the distance and paused in surprise. Was someone else here?

Without hesitation, he set off. His inner strength had grown far beyond what it once was, and his lightness skill was ever more refined. In a few leaps, he arrived at the spot. There, a thick iron chain stretched across the void, anchored at one end to a massive boulder and vanishing into the clouds at the other, leading toward the distant Langya Pavilion. Hanging from the chain was a giant bamboo basket, swaying as it slid along. He watched as the basket crashed gently against the boulder. Li Chongyuan retrieved firewood and rice from the basket. After a short while, the basket rose again—tied to a thin hemp rope, and pulled back to the distant Langya Pavilion. Clearly, the other side could neither see nor hear him, and the handover was done in silence. It was a simple, efficient way to deliver supplies. Each month, this was how he received his rations, and it seemed unlikely anyone would come in person.

Li Chongyuan gave a bitter smile. When he had lost all his martial arts, the Tianshan Sect had treated him as a cripple, ensuring he was well fed and clothed. Now, with fortune’s favor and his skills restored, his circumstances had not changed—still fed and clothed, but exiled.

Since he was here, he might as well accept it. Food was necessary, after all; he carried the firewood and rice back into the cave. His stomach rumbled, so he thrust the icicle into the ground and set about making a fire to cook. The icicle was so hard it didn’t break even when driven half a foot into the frozen earth. After eating and resting, he resumed his training. There was little else to do atop this Immortal’s Peak, not even much to think about.

Time slipped by unnoticed; in the cycle of eating, training, and rest, a full year passed quietly.

When Li Chongyuan drew the 365th mark on the stone wall with a piece of charcoal, he suddenly realized that an entire year had gone by in this endless repetition. Miao Kewei had truly looked after him. Normally, exiled disciples like Li Chongyuan would have received meager rations, but thanks to Miao’s efforts, every delivery included a large bundle of salted meat or fish. Yet he was not a pig to eat and sleep his days away; he was a man, a man yearning for freedom and dreams. Over the year, he explored every inch of Immortal’s Peak and swept every tomb but one—he had never ventured to the end of the cave. Perhaps, he thought, it was time to see what lay at its depths. Maybe there was nothing, but it didn’t matter; there was little else to do.

Dropping the charcoal, he grabbed a torch and his provisions and set off for the back of the cave. The cave itself was not large, barely more than a stone cell, but it extended downward for a surprising distance. Along the way, there was nothing unusual—no ghosts or monsters, not even insects or snakes. The air grew warmer and wetter as he went deeper, the cold outside vanishing entirely. Stalactites and stalagmites crowded the passages, glistening with droplets of water—likely remnants of a much warmer, ancient climate. By the time he lit his sixth torch, he had reached the end of the cave. The fruitless exploration was disheartening.

With only a few torches left, he hurried back. At a bend in the tunnel, he noticed some odd stalagmites: they lacked the usual droplets above them. How had these formed? Curious, he bent down to examine them and was startled to find they had been placed in holes dug in the ground. Who had been so bored as to do this? Looking closer, he was shocked to discover the stalagmites had been arranged according to the Eight Trigrams of Qimen Dunjia—a traditional method of confusing intruders. Although there was nothing particularly mystical about the setup, it was ingeniously combined with the cave’s natural layout to create an effective trap. Only someone well-versed in classical texts and Qimen Dunjia, as Li was, could spot the deception.

He picked up some loose stones, arranged them in the positions of the Rest, Life, Harm, Obstruction, View, Death, Fear, and Open gates, then carefully removed the stalagmite at the Open position and swapped the ones at Rest and Fear. The Obstruction gate opened to reveal a narrow passage—a hidden branch in the cave, cleverly concealed by Qimen Dunjia’s art. The space was tight, allowing only the simplest tricks, but with so many stalagmites, no one would suspect a thing unless they noticed the lack of water stains. Li had simply gotten lucky.

He squeezed sideways into the new tunnel, which soon opened into a spacious stone chamber, crowded with stalagmites. After searching thoroughly and finding nothing, he turned to leave—only to spot faint lines of writing on the stone wall. Raising his torch, he saw dozens of bold characters carved deep into the rock, clearly etched by someone with formidable finger strength.

By the light, he read:

“For decades, I have been as close as brothers with Star-Plucker. Together, we have survived twenty bloodbaths. I thought we would find peace here, living out our years in tranquility. Alas, sect strife brought disaster within our own walls—there is no tragedy greater than kin turned against kin. I could neither resolve nor escape it and was betrayed by my own disciple. By Heaven’s grace, I survived, though banished here. What irony, to become a prisoner with my dear Star-Plucker as my neighbor—half tragic, half farcical. Yet, for two years, we wandered these fairyland realms together, marveling at the wonders wrought by nature, far beyond the reach of mortals. To witness such things is fate; to miss them, also fate. So we chose not to return. If we could grow old and die here, would that not be joy? Perhaps even the blessing of transcendence awaited us. —Lu Pinghu’s final words to the mortal world.”

After reading it several times, Li Chongyuan mused that the signature—Lu Pinghu—must be the founder of the Thunder Palm technique, as mentioned by the sect leader in old tales. The “Star-Plucker” spoken of could only be the ancestor of Tianshan’s famed lightness skill. Murong Star-Plucker had once been known as “Shadowless Before the Lamp,” his lightness skill unmatched, so much so that the sect named its art after him. Lu Pinghu, nicknamed “Thunder God,” was peerless in palm technique. Yet even they had not been able to escape Immortal’s Peak, and both met their end here. The thought drew a sigh from Li’s heart.

But then something seemed amiss. The closing—“final words to the mortal world”—did not read like a suicide note, but rather as a message left by someone departing. Moreover, there were no remains in the cave. But where could anyone go from a place like this?

He pondered, but soon realized it was a pointless question. As he turned to leave, he noticed that most of the torch’s smoke drifted toward the cave’s entrance, but a few wisps curled toward the cave’s depths.

*Author’s Note:*
I work during the day, care for my children morning and night, and look after my parents. Only in the quiet hours of the night do I find time to write. Over the past year writing “The Legends of the Flourishing Tang,” I have rarely slept before one in the morning. While I dare not claim every word is a gem, each line is the fruit of blood and tears. What takes readers minutes to read often costs me hours of thought. It has not been easy. I hope you will support and recommend the novel, so my efforts are not in vain. Thank you!

This novel is a slow-burn, with the story unfolding gradually over the chapters. The deeper you read, the more captivating it becomes. Schemes and struggles abound, and the early clues will become clearer in time. The book is not only a tale of martial heroes but also reveals the hidden power struggles of the court. The plot is based on historical events, and characters such as Li Chongyuan, Li Chongjun, Li Duozuo, Tian Yangming, and Xue Chongjian all truly existed, with their fates closely aligning with historical records. Thus, “The Legends of the Flourishing Tang” is both a martial epic and a historical novel. The secrets of the Tang palace will all be revealed within. I trust you will not be disappointed. When this novel concludes, I will present “Tang Shang” as thanks for your support.