The Tomb Gate Chronicles 06 Part1: Return to Sea of Mysterie

A chill ran down my spine—there was no mistaking it. This was the sound of the horn that had echoed before the Bronze Gate opened.

Only Fatty and I had witnessed that eerie experience back then, and even now, the memory remained vivid. After listening to the recording a few more times, I was absolutely certain.

The first two tapes had been bizarre enough, so I had already steeled myself. My nerves were strong enough to handle it. After steadying myself for a moment, I shook off the creeping dread and sighed inwardly.

It was possible that this tape had been recorded by Wen Jin and the others at the foot of Changbai Mountain, near the massive Bronze Gate. Judging by the sounds, they might have been walking toward the end of the underground canyon—or perhaps they had already stepped inside the Bronze Gate itself.

Based on the snippets of conversation, I could almost picture the scene: the horn blaring, those horse-faced monsters appearing, and the people in the recording falling silent and hiding, as if deeply wary of those creatures. From their tone, it seemed this wasn’t their first encounter.

This was yet another fragment of the puzzle. It suggested that what Fatty and I had experienced wasn’t an isolated incident—and it definitely hadn’t been a hallucination. Still, for now, I had no idea where this piece fit.

I kept listening. The horn’s call gradually faded, leaving only the sound of rushing water in the recording. I waited, expecting something more, but soon realized the playback bar was nearing the end. There didn’t seem to be much left.

I forced myself to keep listening, and sure enough, a few minutes later, the tape ended. The screen remained pitch-black, revealing nothing—just as Third Uncle had said, there was nothing to see.

I replayed it, scrutinizing every second for new clues, afraid to miss even the slightest detail. But there was nothing. Knowing Third Uncle’s meticulous nature, I was sure he had already combed through it thoroughly. If he said there was nothing, then there was nothing.

Closing the laptop, I rubbed my temples. It seemed unlikely I’d find any useful clues from this tape. Wen Jin probably hadn’t considered how the recipients would react when she sent these—maybe the content wasn’t the main point.

Black Glasses, sitting nearby, gave me a helpless smile, patted my shoulder, and moved to sit across from me.

The sound of snoring filled the air—some had already fallen asleep. The rest spoke in hushed whispers. The warmth of the campfire, the flickering flames, and the crackling of burning wood eased my mind. After the grueling trek earlier, I still wasn’t used to the sudden calm.

I had been exhausted, but the tape had jolted me awake. I tried forcing myself to rest, but my thoughts spiraled uncontrollably. Just then, Third Uncle returned, covered in mud and reeking faintly of urine. His expression was odd—I couldn’t tell what he’d been up to.

Seeing I’d closed the laptop, he asked, “Well?”

I shook my head. “No leads. Just sounds—could match any footage. The tape doesn’t help at all.”

Third Uncle had expected as much. He sighed but said nothing. I asked, “What happened to you? Why are you in this state?”

He pointed to one of the drainage channels. “One of the guys found something interesting down there.”

I grimaced—that was where they’d been relieving themselves. No wonder it stank. Knowing Third Uncle, had he actually crawled inside?

He gestured at the sludge and moss on his clothes. “It’s filthy.” Then he kicked a few of the sleeping men awake, ordering them to prepare ropes.

I walked over and saw that the lower part of the channel had been severely damaged when the ruins collapsed. The bricks and stones were twisted, the walls displaced, leaving large gaps that exposed the sandy soil behind. A wide fissure ran vertically down the sandy layer—likely caused by an earthquake. Given the terrain, it wasn’t surprising.

Third Uncle’s “interesting find” had to be inside, but I couldn’t see anything. The crack was barely wide enough for a person, and my flashlight couldn’t penetrate the darkness.

The men, clearly in top physical shape, snapped awake in seconds. After Third Uncle explained, they immediately got to work. It looked like they were planning to descend.

I felt uneasy. The crevice was too narrow—even squeezing in sideways would be a struggle, and the interior was jagged. They could easily get stuck.

One of the men said, “There was a layer of mud covering this crack. My piss washed it away, and the gap opened up.”

Black Glasses fanned the air, grimacing. “You’ve got some serious heat in you lately.”

The man sighed. “We’ve been through hell. Never know if we’ll make it out alive. Of course I’m p*ss*d.”

Third Uncle stared at the fissure. “Stop whining. If this job was easy, you wouldn’t be here. Get the ropes ready. Blindie and I are going down.”

I stepped in. “Snakes could be hiding in there. If you run into one in such a tight space, there’s no escape. Why rush? Wait till morning.”

Third Uncle scoffed. “Bookworm, the sun doesn’t reach this d*mn place. Morning won’t make a difference.” The men had already secured the ropes, and Third Uncle fastened one around himself.

I grew more uneasy. “Let one of the men scout first. You’re not exactly young—why push it?”

Third Uncle gave me a strange, almost resigned smile. He lit a sulfur smoke bomb and tossed it into the crevice before grabbing a mining lamp. “I know my limits. I’ll take a quick look and come right back.”

Black Glasses, now in a tight-fitting suit, prepared to follow as backup, carrying another sulfur bomb. They descended together on the same rope.

Watching from above, my heart pounded. The channel’s opening wasn’t narrow, but the angle was steep. As Third Uncle and Black Glasses inched downward into the darkness, I couldn’t shake the feeling something would go wrong.

But my fears seemed unfounded. The descent was shorter than I’d expected. Within minutes, they reached the fissure.

The men above stopped feeding the rope. Shadows merged, making it hard to see what they were doing. The flickering flashlight beams against the stone walls reminded me of the underwater tomb’s passage.

After a pause, Black Glasses signaled upward. The men holding the ropes exchanged glances.

I asked, “What’s the signal?”

One replied, “Third Master says they’re going deeper.”

We couldn’t shout questions down, and no one dared challenge Third Uncle’s orders. Grudgingly, I bit back my protests, though curiosity gnawed at me.

Clearly, Third Uncle had found something—otherwise, he wouldn’t have made such a rash decision.

The rope continued to unwind as they squeezed into the sandy fissure. It was a tight fit, and soon, Third Uncle vanished from sight. Only sporadic flashes of light from deep within the crack remained.

Even the rope handlers broke into a cold sweat. Those still awake gathered around, the atmosphere growing tense.

After what felt like an hour, a signal finally came from below. The men, stiff from waiting, immediately began hauling the rope up. Black Glasses emerged—but Third Uncle wasn’t with him.

My heart dropped. Before I could speak, Black Glasses, reeking of mud and urine, said, “Third Young Master, Third Master wants you down there. Now.”

**Chapter 2: Delving Deeper**

Among the people here, my physical condition was the worst. Under normal circumstances, I shouldn’t have been moving at all, let alone going down. Third Uncle knew this, yet he still insisted I descend. Clearly, he didn’t expect me to do any heavy lifting—there had to be a reason. But the stench wafting from the drainage channel made me dread the idea.

Still, refusal wasn’t an option. Everyone was staring at me, their curiosity about what lay below mingling with the fact that Black Glasses had left no room for argument. With no choice, I let him guide me as I carefully lowered myself into the fissure.

Maybe it was psychological, but the moment I reached the bottom, an overpowering stench of urine hit me, so thick I could barely breathe. The channel wasn’t as easy to navigate as I’d imagined either—the angle was steep. Watching Third Uncle descend so smoothly earlier must have taken considerable effort. The moment I slipped, my clothes were instantly smeared with foul mud and moss soaked in piss. I couldn’t help but grimace.

Black Glasses, still above me, chuckled. “Sorry, pal. But urine’s good for the skin.”

“D*mn it. At least you didn’t let them take a sh*t down here too,” I snapped.

He laughed, the sound echoing upward. The others, hearing the commotion, paused the rope for a moment until he signaled for them to keep lowering us.

Soon, everything plunged into darkness. The space was so cramped I couldn’t even lift my head, leaving me with nothing but the beam of Black Glasses’ flashlight. At least we were descending—climbing back up would’ve been even more exhausting.

Noticing he still wore his sunglasses, I couldn’t resist asking, “Can you even see anything with those on?”

He smirked. “I see better with them than without.”

I had no idea what he meant, but since he didn’t elaborate, I let it go.

We continued downward until we reached the sandy fissure we’d spotted from above. A quick sweep of the flashlight revealed an entirely different world inside—a narrow crack so tight we’d have to squeeze through chest-to-back. But once inside, it became clear that while the passage was cramped, it stretched deep in all directions—up, down, and forward—as if a massive mountain had been split in two and we were crawling through the blade’s seam.

What shocked me even more were the walls. They were pockmarked with niches resembling Buddhist grottoes, as if someone had chiseled depressions into the sandy rock. Each hollow cradled a dried mud cocoon, stuck in place with sludge and tangled in roots. The mud had cracked like parched soap.

Looking around, I saw these hollows everywhere—above, below, left, and right. As far as the flashlight beam reached, the fissure was riddled with them.

Squeezing deeper inside, I touched the sandy wall and found it hard as stone. This had to be sediment compacted over time, damp and waterlogged. As I pressed forward, I suddenly found myself next to one of the mud cocoons. I reached out to touch it, but Black Glasses barked a warning.

“Careful. Don’t touch those.”

“What’s inside them?” I asked.

“Dead people.” He shone his light on a broken cocoon, revealing white bones. “Flexed burials. This was probably the most primitive kind of well shaft dug by ancient settlers—no stone, just smoothed-out fissures in the mountain. Later, it was repurposed as a tomb.”

“A tomb? In a place like this?” I frowned.

“Big projects like this always cost lives. These were probably slaves captured from other tribes. When they died here, no one bothered hauling them out for burial. The Great Wall’s littered with spots like this too.” He paused. “We’re here.”

I looked down. The fissure stretched much deeper, but on one sid