Zhang Fan hadn't expected Biyao to react so strongly. Startled by her outburst, he pointed toward the ceiling of the cave and said, "There are some red stones up there…"
Bi Yao stepped forward at once and looked carefully up at the cave ceiling. Sure enough, through the water droplets she could make out seven red stones embedded in the rock above, each roughly half a palm in size. Their texture and grain were indistinguishable from the surrounding stone—only their color set them apart.
Zhang Fan noticed that Bi Yao's expression was tense, her full attention fixed on the stone ceiling of the cave. Curiosity stirred in him as well, and he stood up to look in that direction. There on the ceiling, seven red stones were scattered in a crooked, irregular pattern that somehow resembled the shape of a peculiar ladle.
Most striking of all was the color—no one could say how many years those stones had been scoured by the water within that cave, yet they remained a deep, vivid crimson, like blood. Even the crystal-clear droplets that trickled over their surface were stained by them, turned the same lurid red as fresh blood, before falling away—dripping from the cave ceiling like drops of blood itself. Yet the moment those droplets drifted beyond the reach of the red stones, they resumed their original transparency, as clear as before.
He was gazing there when he suddenly heard Biyao beside him murmuring under her breath: "Dripping Blood Cave, Dripping Blood Cave, Dripping Blood…" Biyao suddenly lit up with delight, and with her right hand gave Zhang Fan a hard slap. Zhang Fan's face instantly went pale — that palm strike was truly no light blow.
Zhang Fan was furious and was about to demand an explanation, when he saw the young woman smile sweetly, utterly unconcerned, her face brimming with excitement: "You black-hearted old ghost—to think you built the Blood-Drip Cave in a place like this. No wonder we searched dozens of times over eight hundred years and never found it." Zhang Fan was inwardly startled, but turning it over in his mind, he immediately connected it to how Bi Yao had shouted at him about the "Blood-Drip Cave" the moment they first met. Understanding dawned on him, and he gave a cold snort: "Demonic heretics!" Bi Yao was in high spirits and wasn't the least bit offended; she smiled brightly and said: "So I'm a demon and a heretic—what of it? I should be thanking you for helping me find this place!" Zhang Fan felt all the more reluctant. Especially looking at Bi Yao's smile, which seemed lovelier than ever in that moment, a nameless fire rose from somewhere deep within him—he had unwittingly done the demonic sect demoness a tremendous favor, and feared that if his sect's elders ever learned of it, punishment would be inevitable.
But no sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he remembered that he couldn't even step outside right now, let alone think about what lay ahead—and with that, all the air went out of him. He sat down without a word.
Bi Yao was overjoyed at that moment, paying no mind to Zhang Fan's inexplicable expression. The Demonic Sect had a long and storied history, with countless factions within its ranks, each rising and falling in their time.
Eight hundred years ago, the Blood Refining Hall faction led by the Black-Hearted Elder was hailed as the foremost power within the demonic path of its era—formidable in strength and teeming with masters. The Black-Hearted Elder himself was a venerable patriarch of the Cultivation world. Yet as the years wore on and the Hall clashed repeatedly with the righteous sects, the Blood Refining Hall gradually fell into decline, supplanted by rival factions.
In the present age, four major factions stand in parallel within the Demon Cult: the Hehuan Sect, the Wandu Gate, the Hall of Longevity, and the Ghost King Sect. Yet when it comes to sheer renown and influence, none can hold a candle to the Blood Refinement Hall, which once reigned supreme at the height of its glory.
Within the Demon Sect, it had been whispered for these eight hundred years that after the great war between the righteous and demonic factions, though all the leading figures of the Blood Refining Hall had perished in battle, many of their secret treasures and Artifacts had been concealed in a hidden place known as the "Dripping Blood Grotto," lying beneath the Blood Refining Hall's foundational stronghold, the "Ten Thousand Bats Ancient Cave."
Over these eight hundred years, countless members of the Demon Sect had secretly crept down into the Cave of Ten Thousand Bats, and even the Abyss of Dead Spirits had been searched from end to end—yet all had returned empty-handed.
Though young in years, Bi Yao had already risen to a position of considerable importance within the Ghost King Sect, one of the four great factions. Her journey to this place of grave peril known as the Death Spirit Abyss had been undertaken on a personal commission from the Sect's own leader. Now, the very thing that countless predecessors over eight hundred years had failed to accomplish—the very place they had never been able to find—lay before her very eyes. How could she not be overjoyed? In that instant, she had forgotten entirely that she stood in a land of certain death.
Bi Yao's heart swelled with delight. She fixed her gaze unblinkingly on the cave ceiling, then sprang upward in a single motion, carefully reaching out to touch the red stones. They felt ice-cold against her fingertips, yet no different from the surrounding rock. She tapped them lightly — no reaction at all. By now her expression had shifted: beyond the excitement, a thread of unease had crept in.
She then tried every method she could muster — pulling, striking, and everything in between — touching each and every red stone in turn, yet all remained as before, with nothing unusual occurring.
Zhang Fan watched from below, a surge of delight rising in his chest. Unable to hold back, he laughed: "I see this isn't a Blood-Drop Cave at all—you guessed wrong yourself!" Biyao was at a loss. She dropped to the ground and shot Zhang Fan a fierce glare, yet doubt stirred in her own heart as well. Could it truly be that she had guessed wrong?
For the next four hours, Zhang Fan sat on the ground, watching Bi Yao—that young girl clad in water-green robes—pace back and forth with a deep furrow creasing her brow, racking her brains in silent deliberation. Every so often she would spring to her feet and try some newly conceived method against those red stones, yet without exception, every attempt came to nothing.
As he gazed on, Zhang Fan suddenly heard a low growl from his stomach — he was hungry. He reached into his robe, hoping to pull out some of the dried rations he always kept on him, only to find his pocket empty. They had most likely been lost when he fell into the water earlier. This was enough to make him groan with misery. His stomach was empty, and there was nothing to eat anywhere in this mountain cave. The pool before him was crystal clear — so clear, in fact, that not a single fish or shrimp could be seen within it.
As the hunger gnawing at his stomach grew heavier and more unbearable with each passing moment, Zhang Fan found himself at a complete loss. With no other option, he cupped his hands to scoop a mouthful of clear water and drank it down — but it did absolutely nothing to help.
He heaved a wretched sigh. It seemed he was going to starve to death here after all.
At that moment, Bi Yao felt not the slightest pang of hunger. Her entire mind was fixed upon those seven red stones. Yet despite busying herself for half a day, she had achieved nothing at all. She slumped back in defeat, but her eyes remained upon the red stones, staring blankly, lost in thought.
Zhang Fan watched from the side and could not help but remind her: "What use is it to keep staring at that? If we don't think of a way out soon, I'm afraid we'll starve to death here first." Biyao shifted slightly, as if only then remembering there was a righteous-sect disciple beside her. She turned to glance at him and suddenly said, "Are you hungry?" How could Zhang Fan possibly lose face before her? He immediately raised his head — "Gurgle, gurgle." His stomach seemed to be conspiring against him; the moment he finished speaking, it let out two loud growls in quick succession.
Biyao couldn't help but let out a "pfft" of laughter. Zhang Fan's face flushed crimson; overwhelmed with embarrassment, he wished the floor would crack open so he could slip inside and vanish.
Bi Yao let out a short laugh, then reached into her robes and produced a portion of dried rations, handing them to Zhang Fan. Turning serious, she said, "You'd better start helping me figure out how to open the entrance to this Blood Drop Cave!" Zhang Fan gave a snort, turned his head away, refusing to look at the rations, and said flatly, "You think a bit of dried food is enough to buy me? Dream on!"
Biyao was briefly startled, then her eyes shifted and she smiled. "You're wrong. Right now we're trapped in a desperate place — if there's no way out, we truly have no choice but to die here. But there's a Dripping Blood Cave right before us. If we find what lies within, who's to say there isn't another path out!" Zhang Fan heard her out and thought it over. There was something to it. If they wanted to stay alive, finding this so-called Dripping Blood Cave first was as good an option as any — otherwise, all that was left was to wait for death.
But his temperament was quite stubborn; he simply ignored the dried rations Bi Yao held out to him, rose to his feet, and looked once more toward those red stones. Bi Yao took no offense—she merely watched his figure, smiled faintly, then stood as well and turned her gaze up toward the ceiling of the cave.
Those seven red stones, arranged in the shape of a ladle, lay embedded within the rock face of the cave ceiling. Apart from their deep crimson color, they were utterly indistinguishable from the surrounding stone. Zhang Fan stared at them for a long while and came away with nothing. He considered climbing up to tap each one in turn, but then he thought of how Bi Yao had just tried every method imaginable up there—and gave up.
The two of them began by craning their necks to observe, then grew tired and sat down on the ground. Later still, Zhang Fan stopped caring about propriety altogether — a man at death's door, what did it matter — and simply lay flat on the ground, staring up at the cave ceiling. How much time passed, neither could say. Still nothing revealed itself. In the end, drowsiness overtook them both, and they drifted off to sleep.
He slept in a daze, not knowing how much time had passed, before Zhang Fan finally came to. Opening his eyes, he was startled to find that Biyao was still wide-eyed, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on those seven red stones.
At that moment, Zhang Fan found himself harboring a measure of genuine admiration for this woman. He sat up—but no sooner had he moved than his stomach let out a loud, insistent growl. It seemed hunger had gotten the better of him entirely, his belly showing not the slightest regard for its owner's dignity.
The mountain cave had been utterly silent but for the sound of dripping water. When a soft *growl* suddenly broke that stillness, it reached Bi Yao's ears at once — she turned her head to look.
Zhang Fan was nearly beside himself with shame. A man could die, but losing face was absolutely out of the question. He turned his head sharply to one side, refusing to look at Biyao, though his cheeks still burned. He let out a couple of hollow, sheepish laughs, then walked over to the pool's edge, hoping to cup some clear water in his hands and drink a little to ease his hunger and thirst.
The water in this pool was likely fed by mountain springs welling up from deep underground—icy cold and crystal clear, with a refreshing taste that carried the faintest hint of sweetness. Yet after Zhang Fan drank two mouthfuls, the hunger gnawing at his stomach only grew more intense.
After all, water was no substitute for food. Zhang Fan let out a soft sigh and stood staring blankly at the surface below, watching droplets fall from the stone walls of the cave ceiling and strike the water, sending out ring after ring of ripples that drifted slowly outward. And beneath that surface, his reflection gazed back at him—his face somewhat haggard, flushed a faint red…
Faintly flushed?
Zhang Fan suddenly startled — why was there red showing in his reflection on the water? He quickly fixed his gaze and indeed saw several red patches on his reflected face. But something felt wrong. He looked more carefully, then raised his head toward the stone wall above — and there it was: the red stones on the cave ceiling and walls were casting their reflections down into the water, overlapping with his own reflection, and that was what had caused the effect.
Zhang Fan finally breathed a sigh of relief—but in that very moment, something stirred within him. He stepped back and fixed his gaze upon the water. The surface rippled and swayed, and sure enough, the reflections of seven red pebbles slowly materialized in the pool. Because they were reflections, their arrangement no longer resembled that peculiar ladle shape; instead, it looked rather like a human palm.
Zhang Fan stood there in silence, momentarily at a loss for words. In that moment, a sudden hesitation came over him—as though he had found himself standing at a crossroads, with no idea which way to go.
The feeling passed in a flash. He turned and looked back: Bi Yao was still gazing at the stone wall overhead, and said with casual indifference, "My name isn't 'hey'—that's what you called me when we first met." Zhang Fan was momentarily struck dumb, the words that had nearly reached his lips almost retreating back down his throat. Yet somehow, faced with this seemingly flippant young woman, he found himself possessed of uncommon patience. "What is your name?" Bi Yao turned her head, a smile rising to her face. "Bi Yao."
Zhang Fan muttered a few words to himself, then shook his head. "Come over here and take a look!" Biyao looked mildly surprised, rose to her feet, and walked over. "Hmm?"
Zhang Fan pointed at the water's surface, and Bi Yao leaned down to look. The surface shimmered with rippling waves, yet as she gathered her focus, she gradually made out the reflections of those seven red stones lying in the water—each one spread like an open palm.
Biyao's body gave a sudden shudder; she spun around sharply— "Zhang Fan shook his head. It was only a chance glimpse — maybe it wasn't even real, hard to say…"
Before he could finish, Bi Yao had already cut him off: "No matter what, we have to try." Without another word, she waded straight into the water with a splash.
Zhang Fan was startled. In but a moment, the falling droplets had already soaked through Bi Yao's garments — yet she paid it no mind whatsoever, holding her breath in silent anticipation.
The surface of the water, disturbed by her entry, gradually grew still once more. Bi Yao waited quietly for the reflections of those seven red stones to reappear within it. From the shore, Zhang Fan watched as droplets—crystal-clear as pearls—drifted softly down through the air, settling upon the beautiful woman's head and shoulders, upon her face and robes.
Crystal-clear droplets slid from the tips of her jet-black hair, tracing slowly down her snow-white skin, as though her very face had grown so beautiful it was nearly translucent.
Zhang Fan was suddenly entranced. The rushing sound of water that had filled the cave seemed to fade into the distance, and in his eyes there was nothing but the graceful young woman standing before him in the water — pure and luminous as a lotus rising from the depths, her soul-stirring beauty washing over him like a wave.
The reflections of seven crimson stones slowly surfaced, taking the shape of an open palm, drifting silently in the water. Biyao fixed her gaze on the spot, then slowly extended her right hand and pressed down — upon that very place where the palm lay.
Her jade-like hand parted the gentle ripples and reached down into the water. The reflection of the red stone swayed faintly beneath the surface, and the water shimmered with light from some unknowable source, casting a soft luminance upon the beautiful woman's face.
The pool was shallow, and Bi Yao's hand quickly reached the bottom. A thin layer of sand and gravel lay spread across the bed, and where her fingers touched, she felt five slightly raised spots beneath her palm—each one aligned exactly with a fingertip. Her heart leapt. She swept her hand gently across the sediment, and sure enough, beneath the sand and gravel were five stones set into the floor of the pool, faintly suffused with a red glow.
Biyao thought no more of it. She pressed her five fingers down with force, then raised her head.
Not the slightest stir.
The joy on Biyao's face froze in an instant. Her gaze met Zhang Fan's on the shore for a brief moment, then turned away again.
Zhang Fan had just been about to offer her a few words of comfort, when suddenly he saw Bi Yao seem to recall something. She fixed her gaze on the surface of the water, searching carefully near the reflections of the other two red stones — and sure enough, found two more. This time she appeared noticeably tenser, cautiously pressing her left hand down as well, then pressed all seven stones down at once.
There was a moment when both Zhang Fan and Biyao thought they had failed again. The cave fell into complete silence, with no sound at all save for the drip of water.
However, just as they had endured a long, drawn-out moment of waiting, a harsh yet ponderous *clack-clack* sound rang out through the cave.
Bi Yao and Zhang Fan looked over at the same moment, only to see that behind the water curtain, the stone wall — once seamless and impossibly hard — had begun to recede as a single solid mass. Slowly, gradually, it finally revealed a new opening.
Zhang Fan stood transfixed, watching the secret cave open before him. His heart stirred with a measure of excitement, a measure of dread — yet somewhere deep within, in a place he himself seemed reluctant to acknowledge, there was also a flicker of curiosity.
What could possibly lie within this forbidden stronghold of the Demonic Sect, sealed away for eight hundred years?
Biyao slowly walked ashore and stood by his side. Her eyes shimmered with a flowing light, brimming with smiles. Zhang Fan glanced at her and saw that her skin was white as snow, her beauty matchless and pure; along her cheeks, glistening droplets of water slid gently downward, falling one by one—as if each landed softly upon his heart.
He shuddered, not daring to look again, turned his head away, and said softly, "Congratulations."
Biyao seemed to freeze for a moment, yet the smile in her eyes never dimmed, and her voice softened with a hint of tenderness. "You're so thoughtful." Zhang Fan felt his mouth go unaccountably dry, heat creeping into his face. He shifted a step to the side, instinctively putting a little more distance between himself and this young woman. "Aren't you going in to see for yourself?" Biyao watched him, then suddenly smiled. "You seem a little afraid of me?"
Zhang Fan immediately shook his head like a rattle-drum. "Yes—no..."
Bi Yao regarded him for a long moment, then gave a nod — yet the smile on her face lingered still. "Let's go in together!"
Zhang Fan was startled and hesitated for a moment. "This isn't right — this place belongs to your Demonic Sect. Are you by yourself, or…" Bi Yao let out a snort. "If there's a way out in there, don't tell me you'd still refuse to enter?"
Zhang Fan was momentarily stunned, then scratched his head. "Fair enough. Let's go!"
Bi Yao broke into a smile and gave a nod, then stepped back into the water, passed through the curtain of falls, and walked into the cave. Zhang Fan hesitated for a moment, but in the end followed her inside.
This was a deep, secluded tunnel. The glowing things on the stone walls lining its sides were noticeably fewer than in the outer passage—though the path ahead could still barely be made out, it was exceedingly dim.
Zhang Fan and Bi Yao proceeded with great caution. After all, this was the first time in eight hundred years that anyone had set foot in this place, and no one could say whether the old monsters and ancient figures of the Blood Refinement Hall had left behind any particularly fearsome restrictions.
The journey thus far had been uneventful, with no mishaps to speak of. Yet the passage was exceedingly winding—deep, long, and gradually ascending. By Zhang Fan's rough reckoning, he and Bi Yao had by now likely reached the very heart of the mountain's interior.
He was still deep in thought when Bi Yao, walking ahead of him, suddenly halted and said in a low voice, "We're here."
Zhang Fan's heart leaped. He looked ahead and saw, at the far end of the tunnel, a sliver of bright light filtering through—and beyond it, the dim outline of a large stone chamber. The two exchanged a glance, and Biyao took the lead, stepping forward toward it.
As they drew closer, the two could make out the layout of the stone chamber — the entire space was circular, the tunnel ending at its center, and directly opposite, another passage extended deeper into the rock. This was evidently not the only terminus.
On the left side of the stone chamber stood two enormous stone-carved statues. One bore a kind and gentle countenance, smiling serenely, its robes carved so vividly they seemed to billow in the wind—somewhat reminiscent of Guanyin, the bodhisattva of the Buddhist faith.
The other was of an entirely different cast — grotesque and ferocious, black-faced with demonic horns, bearing eight arms and four heads, with a trickle of fresh blood even carved dripping from the corners of its mouth, enough to send a chill down the spine of any who laid eyes upon it.
In front of these two statues stood a stone table, upon which sat an incense burner with several bundles of incense and candles placed beside it — all blanketed in dust, as though not a single offering had been made in the eight hundred years since.
As for the other end of the stone chamber, there were only a few meditation cushions tossed casually on the ground, with nothing else whatsoever.
Zhang Fan watched from where he stood, puzzled, when he saw Biyao's expression turn solemn. She walked forward, picked up a prayer cushion, shook the dust from it, and set it before the stone table at the statue's feet. She then took the incense sticks from the table, struck her flint to light them, and placed them in the incense burner. Returning to the cushion, she knelt down, her face grave and reverent.
Within the stone chamber, wisps of smoke curled slowly upward, while she lay prostrate upon the ground.
Zhang Fan stood behind her, listening to her voice resonate through the stone chamber.
Sacred Mother of the Netherworld, King Sha Ming — I, Biyao, disciple of the forty-third generation of the Holy Sect, bow before you with all sincerity. The Holy Sect has long suffered misfortune and fallen into decline; countless of its faithful have poured out their very hearts and souls, falling one after another in their devotion to its resurgence. I pray only that the Sacred Mother and the great King look upon all living souls with compassion, bestow your blessings upon us, restore the Holy Sect to its former glory, deliver and enlighten all sentient beings, and together lead us to ascend to the undying realm of eternal bliss and boundless joy!
Zhang Fan pondered briefly and understood at once — these two divine statues were most likely the wicked gods worshipped by members of the Demonic Sect. He let out a cold sneer, turned his head away, and never cast another glance at them.