Volume One, Chapter 12: Journey into the Ancient Temple to Uncover the Truth

The group took a deep breath, no longer hesitating, and stepped into the shadow of the ancient hall. The heavy stone door closed silently behind them, like the jaws of a beast swallowing everything whole. A damp, decaying scent filled the air, mingled faintly with sandalwood incense, evoking a subtle unease.

They cautiously passed through one ward after another, each step measured with extreme care. The floor beneath was cold stone slabs that emitted faint cracking sounds underfoot, piercing the silent space with eerie clarity. Lin Fan led the way, gripping his longsword tightly, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings like a prowling leopard.

The walls were densely covered with intricate runes, twisted and grotesque like cursed inscriptions, exuding an ancient and mysterious aura. Occasionally, dried bloodstains of unknown origin could be seen, telling silent tales of fierce battles long past.

They traversed a long corridor until the space suddenly opened into a vast circular hall. At its center stood a gigantic altar, adorned with strange artifacts emitting a faint glow. The walls around the hall were riddled with various mechanisms—some resembling gears, others carved into stone statues with menacing faces.

“This place… it’s too eerie,” Zhang Meng’s voice trembled slightly as he clung tightly to the middle of the group, fearful of falling behind. Qian Ning appeared nonchalant on the surface, but his eyes flickered uncertainly. He quietly approached one of the mechanisms, feigning curiosity, a sly smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

Deliberately, he pressed a protrusion on the device. Instantly, the entire hall trembled; the runes on the walls began to flash with blinding light, and powerful energy waves filled the air, threatening to erupt at any moment.

“What’s happening!” Zhang Meng shouted in alarm, nearly dropping his longsword. Zhao Ling’er’s expression changed sharply; she glared fiercely at Qian Ning and demanded, “Qian Ning, what have you done?” Her voice brimmed with anger, clearly suspecting he was sabotaging them.

Qian Ning feigned innocence, spreading his hands and feigning surprise. “Junior Sister Zhao, what do you mean? I didn’t do anything! I was just curious and touched it casually.” His tone carried a hint of grievance, as if he were the one wronged.

“Touched it casually? Do you take us for fools?” Zhao Ling’er retorted coldly, refusing to believe his lies. She had always felt from the start that this man harbored ill intent.

Tension thickened instantly. They exchanged wary glances, mutual distrust hanging heavily in the air. The already perilous ancient hall became even more dangerous because of Qian Ning’s actions.

Lin Fan did not easily accept Qian Ning’s explanation. He approached the wall and studied the ancient runes carefully. Ignoring Qian Ning’s protests, his fingers gently brushed over the twisted symbols. The cold touch deepened his conviction that untold secrets lay hidden here.

The runes were not arranged randomly but followed some ancient law. He racked his memory for knowledge of primordial runes recorded in the Daoist Scripture, his eyes scanning the wall like a sensor.

“Found it!” Lin Fan whispered, stopping his finger on an inconspicuous rune. He took a deep breath and slowly infused his spiritual power into it. The rune seemed activated, emitting a soft glow. Gradually, all the runes in the hall extinguished one by one, and the energy fluctuations in the air subsided.

The group stared in disbelief. Zhang Meng’s eyes widened as he asked incredulously, “Lin Fan, how did you do that?” A flicker of surprise also crossed Zhao Ling’er’s eyes. She never expected this usually unremarkable servant disciple to possess such astonishing wisdom.

Qian Ning’s face darkened, veins throbbing with jealousy and hatred toward Lin Fan. He had planned to use the mechanism to eliminate Lin Fan but was foiled so easily. Clenching his fists, he silently vowed to make Lin Fan pay.

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They pressed onward, passing through a massive archway into a broad corridor. Embedded in the walls on both sides were luminous pearls that lit the space as bright as daylight. They tread carefully, avoiding any loud noise.

Suddenly, a figure appeared at the corridor’s end: an elderly man in a gray robe, white-haired and frail, leaning on a cane, seemingly waiting for them. His gaze was piercing, sweeping over them with a powerful aura that suffocated the air itself.

He spoke slowly, his voice low and hoarse: “Trespassers in the ancient hall, die!” Before finishing, he slammed his cane into the ground. The floor cracked in a spiderweb pattern as immense power surged toward them.

“Watch out!” Lin Fan shouted, drawing his longsword and charging forward. Zhang Meng followed closely, wielding his saber to coordinate attacks. Zhao Ling’er used her agility to find openings behind them, ready to strike critically.

Though their teamwork was seamless, the old man’s strength far exceeded their expectations. Each swing of his cane whipped up fierce winds that battered them relentlessly.

The battle intensified, thick with the metallic scent of blood. The old man’s assaults grew fiercer, and Lin Fan and his companions began to falter. Suddenly, the cane blazed with a dazzling light and slammed fiercely toward Lin Fan.

“Careful!” Zhang Meng shouted, recklessly throwing himself in front to block the fatal blow. “Zhang Meng!” Lin Fan cried out.

Zhang Meng flew backward like a broken kite, crashing heavily against the wall with a muffled thud. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth; his face was ashen, clearly gravely wounded.

Seeing Zhang Meng injured while protecting him, guilt and fury erupted within Lin Fan like a volcano. His knuckles whitened as he gripped his longsword, yearning to counterattack. Yet the old man’s relentless onslaught was like a storm, leaving him no chance to strike.

Xia Jiang called out anxiously from the side, “Lin Fan, be careful! Zhang Meng, are you alright?” Her voice trembled with concern.

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