Chapter 330: The Divine Tomb of the Underground Palace (17)
After all, the terrain inside the karst cave was uneven, and there was a hidden underground river trickling through it. Yan Shixun often had to make large, agile movements to avoid dangerous spots. As a result, he tore open the bandages that had originally been wrapped and treated properly, causing the wounds that had just begun to heal to split open again.
Yan Shixun raised his hand to probe his wounds, his long fingers pressing gently to assess their condition.
Pain spread along his muscles and bones, causing him to groan softly, though he quickly swallowed it down.
After resting briefly, Yan Shixun once again headed toward the fork he had guessed at earlier, his steps firm and unwavering.
He continued following his theory, choosing paths that led upward and checking each turn carefully to ensure they weren’t dead ends.
When the sound of flowing water gradually faded, the dampness in the air lessened, and the temperature began to drop, a trace of a smile finally appeared in Yan Shixun’s eyes.
He was close.
—Far from the dark river, hidden deep within, the burial ground was not easily discovered.
After squeezing through a narrow crevice in the mountain and turning two more bends, the sound of water vanished completely from his ears.
And then, the sight before him opened up dramatically.
Illuminated by the glowing orb in his hand, the carved stone walls surrounding him were fully revealed.
The spacious cave hall had a vaulted ceiling at least ten meters high. Looking around, aside from the path he had entered through, there were no other side roads or branches. The solid rock walls of the mountain were tightly sealed, with no gaps through which the underground river could have seeped.
Everything was just as he had predicted.
Most importantly, right in front of Yan Shixun stood a massive stone stele. When he brought his glowing orb closer, he could see the inscriptions carved into it.
“Tomb of the Soldiers of Ye.”
The stele was also carved with patterns of rare beasts, mountains, rivers, the sun, and moon—imitating the styles used by the old imperial court—but it was far rougher than anything Yan Shixun had seen in museums or ancient architecture.
It wasn’t the meticulous work of master craftsmen, but the clumsy effort of a strong stoneworker, roughly following remembered patterns to chisel out a crude imitation.
Yet in Yan Shixun’s eyes, compared to those exquisite tombstones symbolizing posthumous honor and prestige, this simple stele, erected by villagers, held far more meaning and glory.
This was the coronation of honor that the people Ye Li once protected had bestowed upon him with their own hands, infused with the villagers’ tearful gratitude and heartfelt emotion—something no lifeless object could ever measure up to.
Yan Shixun instinctively held his breath as he reached out a hand toward the man-sized stele. He brushed away the dust covering its surface, his fingertips slowly tracing the characters now revealed.
Though the carving had been rushed and crude in its time, it was still clear enough for Yan Shixun to read the contents of the inscription.
From the words etched into the stone, he finally learned the truth that had been buried beneath layers of myth and confusion for over a thousand years.
These inscriptions had been carved by the villagers who had gathered the bones of the fallen. Every stroke they had carved was deliberate, telling the story of what, in their eyes, were the soldiers’ most worthy accomplishments.
This elite army had never lost a battle, yet had rooted themselves in a remote, small town.
When they first stationed there, the people were all deeply afraid of the soldiers, fearing that—like in the past—any wrong word or misstep could bring fatal consequences upon their families.
Better to quarrel with a scholar than reason with a soldier. That had been the shared wisdom of that time a thousand years ago.
No one dared provoke these soldiers, cloaked in killing intent and bloodlust—let alone such a famously elite force.
But these newly arrived soldiers shattered that old perception.
Though their commanding general was stern and cold, rarely smiling and naturally intimidating, he turned out not to be a frightening man.
He disciplined his troops strictly, forbidding them from disturbing the peaceful lives of the locals. He ordered them to respect the nearby villagers, to pay for grain rather than seize it by force like other armies. He even casually helped resolve disputes and maintain public order.
While the elite army was stationed there, the nearby residents experienced a rare moment of peace amid the chaos of war. For a time, they even felt as though they lived in a flourishing, prosperous age.
Gradually, the villagers warmed up to the soldiers. They looked at them with the same affection and tenderness they might show to sons who had been conscripted and taken from home.
The soldiers, in turn, helped the villagers harvest crops during busy farming seasons, built houses for them, and even stood up for the people—driving away officials who came to extort outrageous taxes.
The people were filled with gratitude for the general and his soldiers, believing it was a blessing earned over many lifetimes to encounter such a virtuous army.
However, the Battle of Ye shattered that tranquility.
Because the general was beloved by the people wherever he went, and was known as an undefeated war god who upheld the hopes of countless people on his shoulders—alongside his brave and formidable subordinates—a new political force grew increasingly wary of Ye.
They would stop at nothing to ensure this army perished here, no matter the cost.
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