Chapter Nineteen: Deep Within the Veins of the Earth

The chill in the tunnel was bone-deep; after a while, the stone steps vanished, leaving only a rough shale path beneath their feet. Beyond the beam from Master Cheng’s flashlight, all around them was a silent abyss of darkness.

“Young man, you truly shouldn’t have come down here. Life is precious and only granted once—cherish it. You and I are not the same. I am old, and I was born a Demon Suppressor; my fate was sealed from birth, destined to devote everything to suppressing evil… This time, we face death with little hope of return,” Master Cheng sighed deeply. Once inside the tunnel, he seemed transformed—his stride was nimble, his movements swift, always leading the way.

“There’s no demoness here, nor any other danger. Of course we’ll make it back alive,” Guan Wen corrected him.

“What we can see isn’t frightening. What’s truly terrifying is what remains unseen. I regret it now—I should never have broken the seal of the altar, and I certainly shouldn’t have brought you here.” Master Cheng halted at a fork, orienting himself before entering the passage straight ahead.

“Some things must be resolved. If not, they become burdens on the heart. Coming down to see for ourselves—confirming the demoness is gone—will put everyone’s mind at ease. Or, understanding what happened here and planning anew for the ‘Demon Suppression’ mission is what’s truly urgent,” Guan Wen replied.

Master Cheng stopped again, looking back at Guan Wen.

From the distant darkness came a low, constant humming, impossible to distinguish whether it was made by humans, animals, or machines. The air was tinged with the lingering scent of charred ruins.

“No one can achieve it—” Master Cheng said, and then repeated heavily, “No one can reach the grand state of demon suppression. Generation after generation, our powers decline, growing ever further from the three thousand Demon Suppressors of old. In battle, even self-preservation is difficult, let alone slaying the demoness.”

He led the way; at every fork—three-way or five-way—he paused briefly to find the direction.

“Master Cheng, have you been here before?” Guan Wen asked.

By rights, the seal of the altar was opened for the first time; no one should know the intricacies of the earth veins.

“No, but the battle of the three thousand Demon Suppressors was commanded by my ancestor in person. He left a map of this place, handed down through generations, along with the family mandate that Chengs serve as Demon Suppressors. He lived his life with unwavering loyalty to his friends, never considering his own safety. Perhaps only someone like him deserved the title ‘Demon Suppressor’.” Master Cheng’s feet moved faster, barely touching the ground, as if he might take flight. “Hurry, ahead lies the boundary of life and death.”

Guan Wen recalled Tang Dynasty history; the only famous Cheng was the one nicknamed ‘Demon King of Chaos’, Cheng Yaojin. Since Master Cheng spoke of the Cheng family ancestor, it must be that very man.

After another ten minutes, Master Cheng suddenly stopped and switched off his flashlight.

In the instant before the light vanished, Guan Wen glimpsed a vast open space ahead, where a net stretched across like a volleyball net. Each mesh was half a foot square, and at every junction hung pendants less than half a foot long. When the light vanished, both men were plunged into limitless darkness.

“This is the place. Listen—” Master Cheng whispered.

“Oh—ya… ah—ya…” A woman’s voice drifted closer from afar, mournful and shrill, as if weeping and pleading.

Upon hearing it, Guan Wen’s heart felt seized and twisted, pain radiating to his very soul.

“Who’s calling?” He swallowed hard, eyes wide, but saw only darkness.

“What did you hear?” Master Cheng countered.

Guan Wen held his breath, tilting his head, right ear forward, straining to listen. The sound continued, but after a while, it seemed less like a woman’s cry and more like an infant’s night wails, or the call of some bird or insect.

“Are there birds or insects in these earth veins?” He drew a deep breath, steadying himself, forcing a relaxation. As an artist, he knew well that extreme tension distorts perception, rendering one incapable.

“No,” replied Master Cheng, then pressed, “What exactly did you hear?”

Guan Wen forced a smile. “Perhaps I was hallucinating—I seemed to hear a woman sobbing, a child crying at night.”

Master Cheng immediately asked, “You really heard it? Was it the ‘oh-ya, ah-ya’ cry?”

Guan Wen nodded, “Exactly.”

In the darkness, he also heard Master Cheng nervously gulp.

“That is what I’ve heard since entering the Demon Suppression Circle—or rather, it’s the voice of the demoness. You didn’t mishear, nor did I. The demoness still lives.” After a pause, Master Cheng spoke in a low, haunted tone.

Human eyes cannot pierce darkness, but precisely because night blinds vision, hearing, smell, and intuition sharpen beyond normal limits.

“But beyond the net, there’s nothing.” After a long silence, Guan Wen murmured.

Master Cheng didn’t respond; instead, he silently lay on the ground, first pressing his left ear to the earth, then his right. This ancient technique, ground listening, was invented by martial artists and possessed scientific merit.

“There’s truly nothing there. The sound comes from afar, but at least it proves the demoness still lives.” Master Cheng’s voice trembled slightly.

Guan Wen couldn’t help but smile bitterly. “It’s hard to believe—now, in the twenty-first century, with science advancing, society progressing, global civilization reaching new heights, yet here on this remote snow plateau, we must confront the revival of the demoness—a doctrine of pure superstition. As the authorities said, to explain ‘Demon Suppression,’ one must come here. Outside this unique environment, no one would believe it; they’d assume the legend was mere myth.”

He helped Master Cheng up, and together they slowly walked to the net.

“What hangs here?” Guan Wen asked.

Master Cheng kept the flashlight off, his voice heavy. “What do you think?”

Guan Wen raised his hand, touching the nearest pendant. Its surface was dry and hard, wrapped in thin cloth, the texture strangely unsettling.

“It feels like… a doll, doesn’t it?” he ventured.

Master Cheng nodded and turned on the flashlight, the beam illuminating Guan Wen’s hand.

When Guan Wen saw the doll clearly, he gasped and let go at once. It was indeed a doll, but crafted with exquisite detail, its features complete—a miniature human, swaying gently with the net’s tremor.

“Look at its face,” said Master Cheng.

Guan Wen focused intently; the doll’s eyes glared wide, teeth clenched, as if its rage could no longer be contained. Though the facial muscles had shriveled, the furious spirit remained undiminished.

“Master Cheng, this is…” In the beam’s glow, Guan Wen saw that at every junction of the net, a similar doll hung—hundreds in all.

“They are the death-defying warriors among the three thousand Demon Suppressors, channeling their very essence into this net to oppose the demoness’s violent aura.” Master Cheng shone his flashlight upward, the net merging seamlessly into the cave walls, each cord anchored deep into the stone.

The net was about twenty paces wide and eight meters high, its ropes half an inch thick, gray-white, as if woven from the silk of a giant spider.

“This is the soul barrier of the three thousand Demon Suppressors. Each sacrificed their life to weave this net, sealing the demoness forever. The ancestral testament records the battle in detail: first, thirty-seven Demon Suppressors trained to breed Himalayan celestial silkworms rushed into the demoness’s lair, quickly controlling the silkworms to weave the net; then, two hundred forty-one Demon Suppressors who had cultivated their ‘inner elixir’ pushed the net forward, attempting to trap the demoness; another hundred fifty archers, armed with ten-shot repeater crossbows, waited at the flanks, ready to unleash poison bolts if the demoness neared the mesh; finally, five hundred experts in talismans and scripture formed a phalanx, chanting sacred texts, ready to mark her body with spells once she fell, ensuring she could never rise again…”

“A flawless plan,” Guan Wen sighed softly.

He felt no fear toward the dolls; on the contrary, he held boundless reverence for those who sacrificed themselves to suppress evil. Without their dedication, the legend of Princess Wencheng’s demon suppression would never have existed.

Beyond the net, the stone walls and ground were much the same, but deeper ahead, the path led into profound darkness, shrouded by faint, swirling gray mist.

“Where does the path lead?” Guan Wen mused aloud.

Master Cheng echoed his bitterness, “Indeed, where does it lead? Where did the vanished demoness go? My ancestor said the entire Potala hill was cursed by Demon Suppressors, the soul barrier covering a hundred miles around. Even if other exits exist nearby, the demoness cannot escape.”

He raised his flashlight, its beam swallowed silently by the gray mist.

“Master Cheng, you haven’t finished your story, have you? Your ancestor—is he not the renowned Duke of Lu, Cheng Zhijie, one of the twenty-four pillars of the Tang Dynasty’s Lingyan Pavilion?” Guan Wen asked.

Master Cheng nodded, “He is.”

The ‘Tang History’ records: Duke of Lu, Cheng Zhijie, courtesy name Yizhen, originally named Yaojin, later changed to Zhijie. Of Han descent, from the village of Quail Shop in Dong’e, Jizhou (now part of Dongping County, Shandong Province). A founding general of the Tang Dynasty, ennobled as Duke of Lu, listed among the twenty-four heroes of Lingyan Pavilion. In the reign of Emperor Taizong, he served as Left Commander of the Imperial Guard.

Beyond official history, folklore tells: Cheng Zhijie first gathered rebels at Wagang Mountain in Henan, striking fiercely against the Sui armies sent to quash them. One day, during torrential rain, the ground at the heart of Wagang Village collapsed, revealing a chasm a hundred fathoms deep. None dared approach it. Cheng Zhijie descended alone, emerging with the Demon King plaque, the golden crown, imperial robes, and three demon-suppressing talismans. Thereafter, he called himself ‘Demon King of Chaos,’ winning victory after victory and ultimately earning his place among the founders of Tang.

Under heaven, and in all history, only this unique, unmatched Demon King of Chaos gained fame surpassing all other ministers and generals of the Tang.

Guan Wen knew of Cheng Zhijie, but never imagined that the Demon King of Chaos would ultimately be linked to Princess Wencheng’s demon suppression. Small wonder—when it came to suppressing evil, the Tang emperor would look first to Cheng Zhijie; no one else could shoulder so great a burden.