By dawn, the storm had passed, but the road ahead remained treacherous.
The Forgotten Mine sat buried in the spine of Mount Lanxu—a jagged wound in the earth long sealed by royal decree. Legends claimed it had collapsed during the Rebellion of Ash and Bone, trapping three hundred miners whose screams were still said to echo through the stone.
Naturally, Chu Yunzheng was thrilled.
"This place is perfect for a romantic getaway," he muttered as he ducked beneath a moss-covered archway. "Damp air, likely cursed, and the smell of generational regret."
Sitori Feiyue rolled her eyes but didn't slow her pace. She moved ahead with quiet precision, every step careful, every movement controlled. She had changed since Qingya's message. Something cold and focused had settled behind her eyes.
He liked it. And it scared him.
The mouth of the mine loomed before them: a narrow fissure, barely wide enough for two people side by side. Rusted chains and weathered talismans still hung across the entrance, flapping gently in the morning wind.
"They tried to seal it with superstition," Feiyue murmured. "That rarely works."
Chu ran a finger across one of the old talismans. "They must've believed something was down there."
"They were right."
Together, they slipped inside.
Darkness swallowed them whole. The air was cold, but not from the absence of sunlight—it was the kind of cold that came from secrets, pressed deep into stone.
Qingya had warned them: "The Vault's first clue lies where the dead still dig."
That had led them here.
Feiyue produced a shard of soulstone, whispering a word under her breath. It glowed faintly, illuminating old mining tracks and broken crates half-consumed by mold.
"This way," she said.
They descended deeper. The path narrowed, twisted, opened again. Whispers crawled along the walls—just wind, probably.
Chu reached into his pack and pulled out a stick of dried meat.
"You're seriously snacking?" she asked.
He shrugged. "It's either chew something or scream. I chose flavor."
She almost smiled.
Almost.
They stopped before an old mining elevator—iron chains, rotted wood, and a lever that looked more decorative than functional.
Chu eyed it. "Let me guess—you want me to test it."
Feiyue gestured grandly. "After you, fearless hero."
Chu pulled the lever. Nothing happened.
He jiggled it. Kicked it.
Finally, he gave the whole platform a shake—and the damn thing dropped six feet with a gut-wrenching lurch.
Feiyue didn't flinch.
Chu clutched the side. "Just a warm-up drop. Builds character."
They descended in near silence, the groaning of metal echoing up the shaft. When the platform landed, they stepped into a vast underground cavern.
The walls shimmered with veins of quartz. Old tools lay scattered across the floor, half-buried in dust.
But in the center stood something unexpected.
A statue.
Not of a miner. Not of any king.
It was a fox. Nine tails curled behind it, each carved with ancient script. Its eyes were hollow, but something about it felt—alive.
Feiyue stepped forward. "This is old. Older than the mine. It was here before the tunnels were dug."
Chu circled the statue, chewing thoughtfully. "So... this was a shrine?"
"No," she said. "It was a warning."
Beneath the fox's paws was a stone tablet. Feiyue crouched, brushing dust away to reveal the glyphs—same style as Qingya's shard.
She reached into her cloak, pulled out the sliver of stone he had given them.
The shapes aligned perfectly.
As she placed the shard into the slot, the air changed.
Stone ground against stone. The floor beneath them shook.
Then the statue opened its mouth—and spoke.
Not in words, but in memory.
Visions struck like lightning.
A burning palace. Screaming foxes. Betrayal under moonlight. A man holding a scroll etched with stars, his eyes filled with guilt.
Feiyue staggered back, gasping.
Chu caught her. "What happened?"
She looked at him. "I saw... the night they destroyed the Fox Court. Someone handed over our defense plans. A man in black and gold. He had the scroll—the Tianji Scroll."
Chu's expression turned serious. "So the Vault exists. And someone used it to orchestrate the purge."
Feiyue nodded. "And he's still alive. I saw his face."
Before they could speak more, a sound echoed through the cavern.
A soft, deliberate clap.
They turned.
A figure stepped from the shadows beyond the statue. He wore no armor, no mask—just flowing dark robes and a silver sash. His face was calm, but his eyes glinted like broken glass.
"I must say," the man spoke, voice like velvet over steel, "you're both far more resourceful than I anticipated."
Feiyue's blade was out in an instant.
Chu rolled his neck. "Great. Another guy with mysterious robes. You people need a club or something."
The man smiled. "Oh, we already have one. It's called the Crescent Flame."
Then, with a gesture, the cavern trembled again—and dozens of hooded figures emerged from the tunnels above, blades drawn, eyes glowing.
Feiyue's eyes narrowed.
Chu grinned.
"So," he said. "You ready for a little mischief?"
She smirked. "Always."