Chapter 62: Descent into the Ancestral Hall

"Liang-ge, let’s go report this. Time’s tight."

Tan Wenbin tugged on Xue Liangliang’s arm.

He had a vague idea what Little Yuan was planning.

When they first met, he used to call the boy "ge" half-jokingly, half out of admiration for the prodigy. But after witnessing the boy blind himself from eye-bleeding strain just to exact revenge, after seeing the dismembered dwarf father and son float across the river’s surface, that "ge" had taken on real reverence.

It couldn’t be helped. A regular high schooler, who normally just got into scuffles, suddenly encountered someone this ruthless—who usually looked all cute and harmless.

"Little Yuan, whatever it is you're planning, you make sure you stay safe, got it?"

"I will, Liangliang-ge."

Xue Liangliang and Tan Wenbin left.

Li Zhuiyuan stepped up to the cliff edge, stood on tiptoe to peer down, and asked, "Runsheng-ge, ready?"

Runsheng bent down, gesturing for the boy to climb onto his back.

Then he straightened up, turned his back to the cliff, and warned, "Hold on tight, Little Yuan!"

"Okay."

Li Zhuiyuan wrapped his arms around Runsheng’s neck.

Runsheng pressed his left hand to his chest, gripped the steel pipe with his right, took a deep breath—

—and jumped backward.

After dropping a short way, he jammed the steel pipe into a crack in the rock. His right arm tensed, his waist muscles kicked in, and he hung nearly vertical in midair.

Then he yanked the pipe out, fell a bit further, and jammed it in again.

To Li Zhuiyuan, it felt like riding one of those pirate ship rides, except way more dangerous—no safety ropes like in extreme sports. Runsheng was relying on nothing but a single pipe.

In fact, Li Zhuiyuan suspected that even without the pipe, Runsheng might still be able to free-climb his way down a cliff like this.

After all, with the way Runsheng-ge could eat, and still not turn into a fatso, all that food must be going into raw strength.

Bit by bit, they descended. When there weren’t any cracks suitable for the pipe, Runsheng would just fall farther until he found one.

At the end, when there was just a bit of distance left, Runsheng let go entirely, kicking the cliff wall sideways with one leg to absorb some momentum. When they hit the ground, he stumbled back a few steps, spun around, and set Li Zhuiyuan down before collapsing flat on his stomach.

"Little Yuan, you okay?"

"I’m fine. That was kind of a thrill."

Li Zhuiyuan climbed off of Runsheng, who stood up and brushed twigs and leaves off his clothes.

The boy knew: if it weren’t for him being extra baggage, Runsheng wouldn’t have needed to land so clumsily.

That’s what you call talent.

Li Zhuiyuan had no doubt—if someone actually trained Runsheng, he’d be no worse than Uncle Qin in the future.

The boy himself didn’t care much for school loyalties or moral purism. After all, he had studied the feng shui techniques of both the Qin and Liu families. But the stance and breathing techniques Uncle Qin taught him couldn’t be passed on to Runsheng.

Those required highly specialized instructors to adjust your muscle activation and breathing patterns. What he was doing now only suited his own body. Teaching Runsheng could backfire.

All he could do was hope that once A-Li got better, and they met Uncle Qin again, he could ask him to teach Runsheng.

The Ancestral Hall’s outer wall wasn’t tall. Runsheng climbed up first, hooked his legs over, reached down, and pulled Li Zhuiyuan up.

This wasn’t like when they were in the spatial rift—just the four of them then, so they could kick doors open if they wanted. Now, making noise might wake the whole village.

The Ancestral Hall’s door was shut—meaning someone from the village had been here. Inside, the offering table was laid with fresh tributes.

Must’ve been the ghostly disturbances over the past few days that rattled everyone. Even the Ancestral Hall’s door had been kicked open by a "ghost"—which, to the villagers, meant the ancestors were disturbed. Of course they came to pray and beg for protection.

"Little Yuan..."

Li Zhuiyuan smiled. "Go ahead and eat."

"Alright!"

Runsheng climbed up onto the offering table, grabbing food with one hand and pulling a half-burned pagoda incense stick from the burner with the other, wolfing it all down.

He was truly starving.

All he’d had for lunch was a bellyful of grass. Later, he ate some dry corn. Even a mule used for grinding would’ve been fed better.

Of course, he could’ve eaten other things—like that piece of cured meat Binbin had brought from the house. But he’d only taken that one piece and hadn’t gone back for more.

There were plenty of corpses in the pond. Though not fully decomposed and not exactly fragrant, they were still edible.

But he held back. One, he didn’t want to shatter his image in front of Little Yuan too badly. Two, they weren’t at total desperation yet.

Li Zhuiyuan picked up a few offerings and ate as he paced around the hall.

There was still time before dawn. Even once the sun was up, villagers likely wouldn’t come too early, so he had plenty of time.

As he observed the layout more carefully again, he couldn’t help but sigh.

"The Qi Clan’s ancestors really were on another level."

When it comes to building tombs, unless you’re running a separatist regime, you can pick any dragon vein you want, use all the labor you need. Even in a collapsing dynasty, the court would still scrape together funds for it. So building a good tomb wasn’t considered special—messing it up was incompetence.

But out here, in the middle of nowhere, under such crude conditions, to still build something this refined—that took real skill.

Runsheng, munching away, asked curiously, "Then how did their base get taken by outsiders?"

Li Zhuiyuan shook his head. "The world doesn’t work like that. Feng shui can’t guarantee a dynasty forever. If it could, no dynasty would’ve ever fallen."

He gently tapped his forehead. The better the feng shui layout here, the harder it would be to alter. He’d likely end up overexerting again.

But once he’d made his decision, he wasn’t about to back down.

The upside: modifying an existing layout using local materials would make construction much faster and easier, as long as he designed the blueprint well.

He turned to look at Runsheng, who was peeling and eating a sweet potato.

He remembered how, on the train, when he brought back roasted sweet potatoes, Runsheng had peeled them while complaining about the price.

"Runsheng-ge, I think the skin tastes good too."

Runsheng replied, "Back when we had nothing but sweet potatoes at home, my grandpa wouldn’t let me eat the skins. Said we had to leave something behind—give life something to look forward to.

Little Yuan, I’m full now." Runsheng hopped down from the offering table and patted his bulging stomach. "Heh, this’ll last a good while."

"Runsheng-ge, here, here, and here..."

Li Zhuiyuan gave him tasks—some involved removing or swapping positions of bronze coins and swords on the eaves, others required digging up and rearranging bricks in the courtyard.

There were tools for minor repairs in the corner of the Ancestral Hall. They just had to keep quiet using them.

These were just the peripheral odd jobs—not difficult, but time-consuming. Best to have Runsheng start on them.

The real core modifications were on the three stone walls. Just changing a few pebbles—sometimes even just one—could reverse the entire configuration.

It wasn’t that Li Zhuiyuan was some kind of genius. The real brilliance lay with the Qi Clan ancestors. They had truly mastered the art of laying out a grand feng shui formation with surgical delicacy.

Runsheng grabbed the tools and got to work.

Li Zhuiyuan dragged over a long bench, sat in the center of the hall, closed his eyes, and began his deduction.

But as soon as he started, his head throbbed and his eye sockets felt dry and sore.

Last time, he’d only skimmed the surface—deciphering the pictographic messages left on the walls. Those had been meant for descendants to see. Now, he was diving deep into the technical artistry. That was a whole different level of difficulty.

Midway through the calculations, he felt like his nose was running.

Without opening his eyes, he slid off the bench and lay on the ground, continuing to work through the logic.

Soon, tears came too. Still, he didn’t stop to wipe them.

Not until his head began to sting sharply did Li Zhuiyuan finally get irritated.

The deeper he analyzed, the more he sensed layers of unfathomable mystery.

In the past, he would’ve jumped for joy—content to nibble away like slicing salami every day. But now, he felt cornered, with no way to stop.

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