Feeling Elder Rain's somewhat hostile gaze upon him, Wei Zhao sneered inwardly. So the old bastard had finally run out of patience and was preparing to make his move—but was Wei Zhao not nursing exactly the same thought?

Now that a way out had appeared, none of them insisted on sending Wei Zhao ahead; they all seemed to reckon the path held no danger. Old Black and Elder Rain took the lead, while Wei Zhao and the rest followed behind. The passage was long and narrow, the ground beneath their feet uneven, giving one that stumbling, now-high-now-low feeling with every step.

They had assumed that once out by this route they would soon see daylight again. Yet after walking for nearly an hour, they had still not reached the end, as though the corridor were without limit; and since it did not run straight but curved, no one could see what lay ahead.

After another two hours or so, Elder Rain began to grow anxious. "What's going on? So long, and we still haven't reached the exit—is this path even the right one?"

"It should be, shouldn't it?" Old Black was doubtful too. True, it had taken them a long while to get into the tomb, but the way out was plainly not the way in; by rights they ought to have emerged easily enough. So why, after walking so long, was there still no sign of the exit?

"There doesn't seem to be any danger for the moment. Let's keep going." Wei Zhao had felt no warning from the jade pendant, so his face stayed perfectly placid, and he did not slow his steps.

Hearing this, Elder Rain felt a good deal steadier. After all, Wei Zhao's predictions had always proven sound; and recalling how long it had taken them to enter the ancient tomb, he reflected that getting out—even without the hindrance of traps along the way—was not something an hour or two would settle.

The group pressed on swiftly. After nearly a full day of walking, as evening drew near, Wei Zhao suggested they rest.

He himself did not care one way or the other, but Yu Xiaoke was far too weak. She had not even reached the Yellow Rank; the true qi within her was pitifully thin, and her endurance was naturally limited. Seeing how exhausted she had grown, Wei Zhao proposed they stop.

"What's with all this trouble? Sleep? You're a Mystic Rank cultivator—what do you need sleep for?" Old Black did not mind, but Elder Rain was nearly driven to distraction by the suggestion. A little more walking and they would be out; if they wanted to rest, they could rest once outside—why rest in here?

"If you want to go, then go by yourself. We're practically at the exit anyway; you don't need anyone else." Wei Zhao glanced at Elder Rain and spoke mildly, then paid him no further heed and sat down cross-legged where he was.

"You—hmph!" Elder Rain had meant to go on alone, but then he thought of what Wei Zhao carried, the thing he wanted, and knew he could not leave. So with a cold snort he halted as well, found himself a spot, and sat down—all the while turning over in his mind whether tonight should be the night he struck at Wei Zhao.

Who knew how much farther this exit ran? With Wei Zhao stopping and starting like this, when would it ever end? In truth Elder Rain had also noticed that the one Wei Zhao was looking after was not Old Black but Yu Xiaoke, and it rankled him. Lecher, that was what he was—the moment he saw a pretty girl he had to play the gallant protector. Who knew what the Female Thief was thinking, to ask nothing and say nothing?

Old Black breathed a sigh of relief as well and hastily found a place to lie down, not daring to waste a single moment. He had to seize every instant to rest; among them all, his endurance was the worst—to put it bluntly, not even fit to match a dog.

Looking at that Vigorous General, so lively and bouncing about, Old Black felt a pang of sorrow. Was he himself really that weak?

Yu Xiaoke, too, hurried to take her rest. After a few bites of the compressed biscuit she carried, she drifted off to sleep early.

Qiu Lingshan and Chen Yutian, meanwhile, seized the time to cultivate, and Elder Rain did the same. Only Wei Zhao took out his flashlight and began reading the medical notes with relish, turning to the passages concerning the Fuxi Nine Needles.

Acupuncture is a most wondrous science, yet with the passage of time much of the important material on it had been lost, and the Fuxi Nine Needles had become a thing of legend.

What surprised Wei Zhao was that this set of Fuxi Nine Needles had been given to Zhang Liju by a friend—not something he had stumbled upon by chance. Yet after extensive research and verification, Zhang Liju had all but confirmed that this was indeed the legendary set of divine needles, capable of raising the dead and growing flesh upon bare bone.

Even knowing this, however, Zhang Liju could not use them. The Fuxi Nine Needles were fashioned from a most peculiar material, but peculiar as it was, Zhang Liju had found nothing miraculous in it; used for acupuncture, they behaved no differently from ordinary silver needles, with no particularly special effect.

After several trials, Zhang Liju put the silver needles back into their box and stored them away. This legendary set of divine needles had nothing extraordinary about it at all, which left him deeply disappointed.

Later, however, through an accidental stroke of fate, Zhang Liju heard a legend concerning the Fuxi Nine Needles: they had to be used in concert with a special set of internal-energy techniques. Without that inner art to complement them, the Fuxi Nine Needles were no different from common silver needles.

Wei Zhao was well aware that certain acupuncture techniques required the use of true qi—his own included. It was a secret art handed down in the old man's family; only it demanded relatively little true qi in support, and no separate internal-energy art—ordinary true qi would serve. The crucial skill lay in the needling technique itself.

The Fuxi Nine Needles, by contrast, plainly placed their essence in the companion internal-energy art. To hold a treasure in hand and have no use for it—this disappointed Zhang Liju, and he could do nothing but treat it as a collector's piece and put it away on a high shelf.

That was also why Wei Zhao had seen the Fuxi Nine Needles in the display room. If they had truly been an item Zhang Liju carried on his person, he would likely have placed them in the last "bedchamber," or in the main burial chamber to be interred with him, rather than leaving them on a display cabinet like a mere ornament.

From this, too, one could see that although Zhang Liju valued the Fuxi Nine Needles, he did not much care for them.

If Zhang Liju could not use them, then Wei Zhao certainly could not either. Still, keeping the thing at his side, who knew when it might prove useful; Wei Zhao now understood that lesson deeply from experience.

Take that Myriad-Year Springwood Box, for instance. At the time, Wei Zhao had never meant it for any purpose; it was mere curiosity that had led him, with Feng Xiaoxiao's help, to bid on it—and now, unexpectedly, it had become the very thing that saved Feng Xiaoxiao's life. Life is indeed full of coincidences and chances. When Feng Xiaoxiao helped him secure that box, she surely never imagined what it would one day be used for.

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