Deng Yang emerged from the teaching building a short time later, scowling and muttering under his breath.
When he looked up he saw Yu Nian surrounded by a cluster of kittens. His eyes lit up instantly.
“Master, how did you get them all to follow you?” he blurted, half joking. Did cats have taste in faces too—favoring beautiful people?
Deng Yang was a burly archaeology student, a solid 1.8 meters of muscle, but he was a soft spot for furry things. Normally there were so many people around the kittens that he never even got a chance to get close. He moved toward them quietly, ready to indulge himself.
Before his fingers could touch a kitten, one of them let out a piercing shriek, arched its back into an ugly crescent, fur standing on end, a low growl rumbling from its throat. The other kittens’ pupils went wide the instant they saw Deng Yang; they abandoned their tins of food and bolted.
Deng Yang froze, flummoxed. The small crowd that had been watching dispersed, disappointed that the kittens had fled.
He looked wounded. “Why do the kittens run from me? Am I that ugly?”
Yu Nian was about to soothe him when he noticed the dark, clinging aura that had gathered around Deng Yang. At the same time a faint, dreadful odor reached his nostrils—like meat left to rot in blood.
Seeing Yu Nian’s expression, Deng Yang only grew more confused. “What’s wrong with that look?”
Yu Nian didn’t answer. He pressed a slip of talisman paper against Deng Yang’s chest.
In seconds, the stench that had been clinging to Professor Sun’s body flooded into Deng Yang’s nose as if funneled straight to the brain. He staggered, retched convulsively.
“Why is there a rotting smell here? Where’s it coming from?” he choked.
Yu Nian and Feng Chengyuan exchanged a look and both pointed, as if in perfect unison, at Deng Yang.
Deng Yang blinked, horrified. He sniffed his sleeve—and a sound worse than the first erupted from him. Working in archaeology meant getting your hands dirty, he didn’t care much about appearances, but nobody could accept smelling like a corpse.
A breeze made the odor prickle stronger. Deng Yang felt suddenly on display, convinced every passerby was stealing glances. Tears prickled.
“Master, how can this be? Is the smell contagious?” he asked miserably.
Yu Nian frowned. Something about this was off. Deng Yang had only ducked into a classroom to sign in—a twenty-minute round trip. How could he suddenly reek of putrefaction?
“Did you meet anyone suspicious just now?” Yu Nian asked.
Deng Yang thought hard. “Mostly classmates. If I had to pick one who seemed odd... it’s our graduate senior, Yao Chen. Professor Sun is his advisor—he’s been working with us on the project. He’s usually friendly. I ran into him in the corridor; he had a flat cap on, wrapped up like he was hiding from the heat. I tried to say hi but he ignored me, and he bumped into me as he passed.”
Yu Nian considered that. The string of strange things began when the team took on that mysterious archaeological project, and the black aura on Deng Yang almost certainly came from someone involved—Yao Chen was a likely source.
“Where does your senior usually go at this hour?” Yu Nian asked.
Deng Yang stared for a beat, then answered blankly, “Like Professor Sun, he eats and sleeps little—usually holed up at the archaeology research institute.”
On the walk to the institute Deng Yang hurried, anxious that anyone might catch the smell. Whatever casual concern he’d shown for Professor Sun before had hardened into a burning need to get to the bottom of this; he wanted to be at the institute now.
No matter how fast Deng Yang moved, Yu Nian kept pace without missing a step—calm, unruffled, as if strolling in the park. Deng Yang grew more impressed as he explained the project in detail.
The tomb lay outside the capital in a remote mountain village, stumbled upon by a villager. Experts estimated it to be over two thousand years old. The burial chamber was small, damp and dim; even a short time inside left the team with chilled hands and feet. At first it looked like an ordinary tomb, but when they inspected the coffin their breath caught.
The coffin was exquisitely made, lacquered jet-black and crafted from high-grade yellow dragonwood, its sides carved with intricate, archaic patterns. When the team prepared to open it, they found four chilling characters carved into the stone slab above—“Who opens the coffin will die.”
Even seasoned archaeologists felt a prickle of fear. Still, science won out; they pried the lid open.
Inside lay a scattered male skeleton, but around it were hundreds of valuable burial objects—each a potential research treasure. Most items were handed over to the state. One tiny sealed box, however, baffled them: its material unknown, it wouldn’t open. They asked Professor Sun to bring the box and the unidentified skeleton back to the university research institute for study.
They arrived at the institute. From the outside it looked like an old two-story row building: a narrow corridor linked a string of small rooms, and the place had a distinctly worn feel.
“Don’t judge the institute by its exterior,” Deng Yang said, scratching his head. “Inside the equipment is all top-notch. The building’s been around a long time—others have been renovated, but Professor Sun won’t let them touch this one. He says the old things kept here have a kind of life; he’s afraid moving them would cause accidents.”
He rubbed his arms and felt inexplicably chilled.
Before they entered, Yu Nian slipped Deng Yang another talisman and, casually, cast a long look toward the trees nearby. Then he and Feng Chengyuan walked into the institute.
Hidden among the trees, Jiang Jin shivered. Yu Nian’s glance had felt like a blow.
“I don’t like this,” he whispered. “What if she does something?”
This was the first time Jiang Jin had seen a woman standing close to Feng Chengyuan. Curiosity had driven him and Yu Qinghe to follow the group—to find out what was really going on.
Yu Qinghe stared at Yu Nian’s retreating back. Jealousy and hatred churned inside her. She had just seen a trending post: Yu Nian, after leaving the Yu family, hadn’t fallen—she’d soared, becoming a star in the occult world.
Yu Qinghe couldn’t accept it. Why should Yu Nian be adored while she was stuck with Jiang Jin, a nobody? She didn’t trust Yu Nian’s talents; she wanted to find dirt on her and ruin her reputation.
When Jiang Jin hesitated, Yu Qinghe snapped, “What are you waiting for?”
He’d grown used to her usual meekness; the force of her sudden glare left him dazed. “W-what did you say?” he stammered.
Yu Qinghe quickly softened her tone into a smile. “Jin-ge, I mean—if we don’t catch up now, we’ll lose them.”
Jiang Jin forced a nod. The disdain and coldness he’d imagined in her eyes had to be a mistake. He hurried to follow, trying not to look back at the calm figure who had just made him tremble.