LRAB 676. Wasteland Black Charcoal
676. Wasteland Black Charcoal
As Yao Huang spoke, he became more and more excited, as if he could already see that glorious future: "At that time, the entire Nine Netherworld Python clan, its countless branches and offshoots, its accumulated treasures and resources over ten thousand years, its vast intelligence network spanning the continent... all of this and everything."
"All of it will belong to Your Highness!" At this moment, the layers of damp and cold miasma that the flying serpent boat broke through seemed unable to block the burning light in Yao Huang's eyes.
Despite Yao Huang's flattery, Qing Lin remained calm, harboring a huge secret that Yao Huang was completely unaware of.
……
The northeastern edge of Zhongzhou.
The dust kicked up by the tiny convoy was particularly noticeable. This was a convoy hired by Qianhua Trading Company, consisting of more than a dozen sturdy camel wagons, fully loaded with well-protected goods.
Leading the group was Wang Zhuang, the head镖师 (bodyguard/escort) of this trip, a man with a resolute face and a body as strong as iron, his face etched with deep marks left by years of hardship.
"Everyone, stay alert!" Wang Zhuang shouted in a deep, gruff voice that carried far through the air. "This desolate land has been quite unsettled these past few months. Rumors are that the earth's core fire veins are extremely restless, and who knows when some strange thing might suddenly appear? There have been instances of the ground exploding and spewing fire before. We must reach the next safe place to stay before nightfall."
"Yes, Chief Escort!" came the orderly responses from several caravans, demonstrating the team's discipline.
Just as Wang Zhuang confirmed the group's status and prepared to continue, a young girl suddenly emerged from a camel cart in the middle of the group. The girl was about fifteen or sixteen years old, with rosy cheeks and large, bright eyes, like a fawn in the forest, innocent and naive. She was Wang Ling'er, the only daughter of Wang Zhuang's elder brother. She leaned against the edge of a small wooden box full of medicine, craning her neck to peer into a small, unusually charred depression to her side.
She let out a soft gasp and patted Han San, who was driving beside her, with her small hand. "Uncle Han, look! That dark place... isn't there a figure there?"
Han San squinted and looked closely in the direction of her slender white finger. There was indeed a particularly scorched depression by the roadside. In the center of the depression, there was a dark shadow that was almost blending into the scorched earth.
Han San shook his head with experience, then smiled and explained, "Miss, you've misunderstood. This land has always been like this, dark and gloomy. When the wind blows for a long time, the stones roll up and pile up, making it look like this from a distance."
The convoy didn't stop, but Wang Ling'er was unwilling to give up, her gaze fixed on the dark figure. When the convoy passed the edge of the depression, at its closest point, she almost leaned half her body out of the carriage, her delicate brows furrowed tightly. This time, she saw it more clearly—within that distorted outline, she could vaguely make out human limbs!
"No. Uncle Zhuang, it's a person! There's someone over there!" Wang Ling'er's voice suddenly rose, filled with the urgency and panic unique to young girls.
Her shout was clear and loud, instantly attracting the attention of the entire convoy. The wheels slowly came to a stop, and dust briefly billowed out. Wang Zhuang frowned, and with a few leaps, he jumped over from the front of the convoy.
"Ling'er, what did you see again?" Wang Zhuang's tone was tinged with helplessness.
This girl has a very soft heart. Whenever she encounters injured or distressed passersby along the way, she never stands idly by and helps them. However, he has always treated Wang Ling'er as his own daughter, so he naturally cannot really scold her.
"Really!" Wang Ling'er pointed to the scorched center of the depression, her tone unusually certain. "I saw it clearly. It was a person, lying there, his whole body like charcoal."
Several guards and men nearby gathered around, peering in the direction they were being pointed at. Someone whispered among themselves, "It doesn't look human...it looks like a cracked rock..."
"It's a dark patch. Miss Ling'er has excellent eyesight!"
"But judging from that curled-up posture... it does resemble it to some extent..."
Wang Zhuang squinted and examined it carefully. His eyesight, being at the Douhuang level, was far superior to that of ordinary people. In the center of the depression, there was indeed a strangely shaped charcoal mass. Its twisted posture did indeed convey a sense of struggle before death, and there were extremely faint rises and falls in the chest area, making it seem like a real person.
"Sigh..." Wang Zhuang looked at his niece's pleading eyes and couldn't bear to refuse. He glanced around the spacious but not truly safe surroundings, finally sighed, and turned to the two burly men beside him, saying in a deep voice, "Old Wu, Old Han, hurry up and check. Bring them up, dead or alive!"
The two men named were Lao Wu, a capable middle-aged swordsman with two short blades tucked into his waistband; and Lao Han, Wang Ling'er's coachman, a strong and experienced veteran.
Without a word, the two jumped out of the car and cautiously made their way towards the depression. They moved very carefully because the black soil beneath their feet was loose and fragile, and in some places it emitted a pungent heat. Clearly, this was not an exaggeration; flames could really erupt from there, and ordinary people would have no chance of survival. In a few breaths, the two reached the depression.
As he got closer, the sight before him made even the seasoned veteran Wu gasp in shock. This wasn't an unconscious person at all; it looked more like a half-cooked, charred corpse.
The entire body was contorted in an extremely twisted, curled-up position, completely encased in a thick, cracked, charred black shell. This charred shell seemed to be the product of cooled lava, or perhaps formed by flesh and skin being instantly melted and solidified at extremely high temperatures, clinging tightly to the surface of the corpse. The faint undulations seemed to emanate from the slow heartbeat beneath this charred shell.
"Damn it, this is terrible..." Old Han couldn't help but curse under his breath, feeling a chill creep up his spine.
"There's still a sliver of life, very faint, but it's still there." Old Wu probed the barely discernible patch of skin below the charred neck, sensing the almost extinguished pulse to confirm it.
Both men were seasoned travelers in the martial world. Without another word, they carefully avoided the eerily charred shell, lifting the heavy "charcoal" body as gently as possible without causing further damage. It felt unusually heavy, less like flesh and blood and more like a rock covered in thick mud. With steady steps, they carried this creature, whether human or ghost, back to the large cart used for carrying miscellaneous items where Wang Ling'er was, and gently placed it on a pile of dry straw.
"Let's hurry and get out of here before nightfall. I've heard that this place can occasionally erupt with subterranean fire. If we happen to be caught in it, our mission is doomed!"
The others nodded in agreement. It was common knowledge that this area was known for its eerie flames that frequently burned passersby.
Clearly, everyone mistook this figure, now reduced to a charcoal ash, for someone who had accidentally passed by and been injured by the flames.