Chapter 2
2181words
I hadn't slept a wink, yet my mind raced with adrenaline, those final warnings echoing on repeat: "The curse is not heaven-sent, but man-made" and "Trust no one. Especially not Victor."
Every clue pointed to one place—the Lawrence family tomb. Not the sacred ground we'd been taught to revere, but a massive death trap hiding in plain sight.
I had no choice. I had to go.
For Lily, for my father, and to unravel the rot festering at the heart of our family.
But I wasn't stupid enough to dive into this hellhole alone.
I needed someone I could trust with my life. One name immediately came to mind: Leo Lawrence.
I gunned my car straight to Leo's gym.
At eight in the morning, the place was already packed with grunting meatheads pumping iron.
Leo was shirtless, spotting some yoga-pants blonde through her squats. His bronze muscles gleamed with sweat, testosterone practically oozing from his pores.
"Living the dream, I see," I said dryly from the doorway.
Leo spun around, his face breaking into a grin. "Finish two more sets," he told the woman before marching over. His massive paw landed on my shoulder. "Well, look what the cat dragged in! The bookworm emerges! What's up—finally decided to put some meat on those twigs you call arms?"
"We need to talk. Privately." I grabbed his arm and pulled him toward his office.
Leo drained half a bottle of water, wiped his face with a towel, and collapsed onto his couch. "Jesus, man. You look like someone died. What's going on?"
"My mother's been dead for years, and my father's been MIA for over a decade," I replied flatly, locking the door behind me. "How's your mom doing, Leo?"
The smile vanished from Leo's face, replaced by raw anger and fear.
He raked his fingers through his buzz cut. "How the fuck do you think? Got the 'medicine' from the family two days ago. Wanted to get it analyzed, maybe share some with Lily, but that old prick Victor watched her swallow every drop. Wouldn't spare a single extra milliliter! They're just keeping us on a goddamn leash—drip-feeding us just enough to stay alive, never enough to actually cure anyone!"
"Because it's not a real antidote," I said, enunciating each word.
Leo's head snapped up, his eyes suddenly razor-sharp. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Without a word, I pulled Grandfather's notebook from my backpack, flipped to the final pages, and handed it over.
Leo might be rough around the edges, but he's been my ride-or-die since we were in diapers. His trust in me is absolute.
He snatched the notebook and devoured the pages. The office fell deadly silent except for his increasingly ragged breathing. Minutes later, he slammed it shut and smashed his fist onto the coffee table. The cups rattled like they might shatter.
"That motherfucking snake!" Leo's eyes blazed with fury. "Jason, what's the play? I'm in, whatever it is."
"We're breaking into the family tomb." I met his gaze, my voice steady despite the insanity of what I was proposing. "According to the notebook, both the truth and the cure are hidden in the 'Return to Origin Ritual' in the main burial chamber. It's our only shot."
"The tomb?" Leo blinked, then a savage grin spread across his face.
"Fuck yes! I've been itching to desecrate those old bastards' graves for years! If they won't let us live, why should they rest in peace?" He didn't hesitate for a second—just like when we were kids poking hornets' nests. I'd hand him the stick, and he'd charge in swinging.
"We can't do this alone," I said, shaking my head. "I know the rituals, you know how to fight. But we have no idea what's waiting for us down there. We need someone who can handle the tech side."
"Michael?" Leo guessed immediately.
"Exactly." The three of us had been inseparable growing up. I was the mastermind with the crazy plans, Leo was the muscle who made them happen, and Michael was our tech guy—the kid who'd been dismantling electronics since before he could walk.
We found Michael in his apartment—a disaster zone that made landfills look organized. He hunched before three monitors, fingers flying across his keyboard. Empty energy drinks and ramen containers formed a small mountain on his desk. His unwashed hair stuck out in all directions above his thick glasses. When we walked in, he acknowledged us with the barest flick of his eyes.
"Michael, we've got something big. You in?" Leo clapped him on the shoulder.
Michael pushed his glasses up his nose and adjusted his headphones. "…Is it illegal?" he asked slowly.
"Not technically," I said, dropping the notebook in front of him, "but definitely dangerous." I laid out everything—Lily's condition, Leo's mother, the notebook, our plan to raid the tomb. Michael listened without a word, his fingers drumming absently on his desk.
He ignored the notebook, studying our faces instead. When he saw the do-or-die look in Leo's eyes, his fingers went still.
After a full minute of silence, he spoke, his voice rough from disuse. "What do you need?"
Relief washed over me. Our suicide squad was complete.
I'd handle navigation and puzzles using Grandfather's notes. Leo, with his special forces background, would deal with any physical threats. Michael would manage tech and surveillance. For the next forty-eight hours, we prepped like men possessed.
Leo sourced the gear—climbing equipment, tactical shovels, gas masks, even military-grade combat knives and a flare gun through his shady contacts. Meanwhile, Michael and I camped in his apartment, analyzing satellite images of the mountain behind the Lawrence estate—the forbidden zone.
"The family cemetery sits on Dragon Mountain's north face," I explained, pointing at the screen. "In feng shui terms, it's called 'Crouching Dragon Locking Veins'—supposedly perfect for gathering spiritual energy. But according to Grandfather, it's actually a death trap formation called 'Imprisoned Dragon Fatal Snare.'"
Michael launched his custom software, transforming flat satellite images into a 3D terrain model overlaid with data streams.
"The mountain has serious magnetic anomalies," he circled an area with his cursor. "Especially here. The interference is off the charts—standard electronics would be useless."
"Guess we'll need your little pet project," Leo smirked, polishing his knife.
Michael ignored him and pulled a sleek black drone from under his bed. The thing was smaller than anything commercially available, with folding wings, military-grade optics, and custom anti-interference modules with thermal imaging.
"Meet Nightingale," Michael said, stroking its carbon fiber shell with uncharacteristic affection.
With Nightingale's help, we mapped every inch of the mountain and cemetery grounds.
The security was no joke. Chain-link fence around the perimeter, surveillance cameras every hundred yards, and a permanently staffed guard cabin halfway up the slope.
"Frontal assault would be suicide," Leo muttered, studying the security layout.
"Check this out," Michael zoomed in on the footage. "Guard shifts change at 7 PM and 3 AM daily. Five-minute handover window. And here—" he pointed to the western cliff, "—they've got just one outdated fixed camera. The terrain's too rough and the waterfall creates too much moisture. Creates a fifteen-meter blind spot."
"Five minutes is plenty." I compared the blind spot with Grandfather's notes. They matched exactly.
With our plan set, we just needed the right conditions. A storm was forecast in three days—perfect cover.
When the night came, the heavens opened up. Rain hammered down in sheets, thunder cracking overhead as lightning split the sky. We ditched the car a kilometer from the perimeter, suited up in black tactical gear, and moved like shadows through the forest, using lightning flashes to navigate.
The ground had turned to mud soup, moss-slicked rocks threatening to send us tumbling with every step. But Leo moved like he was born in the wild, leading us with silent hand signals past cameras and trip wires. At 3 AM sharp, we reached the cliff beneath the blind spot.
"Here," I whispered, pointing to the rock face hidden behind a thundering waterfall. The cascade looked like a white dragon plunging from heaven, its roar drowning all other sounds as spray drenched us to the bone.
Leo pulled climbing rope from his pack, anchored it to an ancient pine, and tossed the end over the edge. He rappelled down first, landing on a ledge beneath the falls, then signaled us to follow.
Michael and I descended after him. The moment my feet hit the ledge, an unnatural cold shot through my body like an electric current. "Where's the door?" Leo shouted over the roar, wiping water from his eyes.
I pulled out the waterproofed notes and, by the weak beam of my headlamp, began feeling along the slick rock face, comparing it to Grandfather's diagrams.
Grandfather had written: "The entrance is not a door but a formation point. Arrange yourselves in the Three Talents pattern, activate the life gate stone, and passage will be granted."
I mentally mapped the Eight Trigrams onto our surroundings. The waterfall was Kan (Water), our position was Gen (Mountain), behind us was Zhen (Thunder). I found the "life gate" position—three stones arranged in a triangular pattern.
I pressed the stones in sequence—Heaven, Earth, Human—applying firm, steady pressure.
A grinding sound echoed beneath the waterfall as the solid rock face swung inward, revealing a pitch-black maw. A cold draft carrying the stench of damp earth and decay washed over us, raising goosebumps on my skin.
Holy shit, it worked. We locked eyes, each face mirroring the same mix of fear and exhilaration.
As we stepped inside, the stone door sealed shut behind us, cutting off the waterfall's roar. Sudden silence enveloped us, broken only by our breathing and hammering hearts.
The passage sloped downward, massive bluestone blocks forming walls slick with moss. We switched on our tactical lights, formed a triangle, and advanced cautiously.
After about a hundred meters, the passage opened into a circular chamber. Its walls were covered in intricate carvings chronicling the Lawrence family's migration and rise to power. Three stone tablets stood in the center.
"The Corridor of Three Questions," I whispered, eyeing the tablets.
Grandfather's notes had warned about this place—the first test, designed to verify bloodline authenticity.
"What the hell does that mean?" Leo gripped his knife, scanning for threats.
"Each tablet has an obscure question about Lawrence family history. Answer correctly or…" I aimed my light at the ceiling, revealing hundreds of small holes dotting the surface. "We get turned into pincushions." Leo and Michael exchanged grim looks.
Leo looked worried—history had never been his strong suit. Michael, meanwhile, knew nothing about our family's past.
I studied the first inscription.
[First question: The Lawrence patriarch departed with how many sons? Name them.]
Even Victor might not know this one.
Our family records only mentioned the patriarch's journey, not how many sons accompanied him or their names.
But I'd once restored a Ming Dynasty text called "Chronicles of Anomalies Beyond the Great Wall" that mentioned our ancestors: The founder traveled with three sons—Honor, Virtue, and Benevolence. Three corresponds to the "Li" position. I stepped confidently onto the "Li" marking on the floor diagram.
The moment my weight settled, the stone beneath me sank slightly. Gears ground somewhere inside the walls, and a narrow passage opened before us—just wide enough for one person.
We squeezed through without hesitation, reaching the second tablet. Another position diagram was carved into the floor.
[Second question: When the Lawrence family aided in suppressing the northern rebellion during the reign of Emperor Kangxi, what title were they granted? Where was their awarded land?]
Another trick question.
Our genealogy mentioned service to the throne but was suspiciously vague about rewards. Grandfather's notes explained why—the "honor" was actually a burden. Our ancestor received the hollow title of "Lieutenant of Loyal Service," a powerless sixth-rank position. The "gift" of land was three hundred miles of barren wasteland beyond the imperial hunting grounds—corresponding to the inauspicious "Kun" position. Six represents "Kan."
I stepped onto the "Kan" position. Another section of wall slid open, revealing the final tablet.
[Third Question: When the Lawrence ancestral grounds were established here, what was the birth date and hour (eight characters) of the first person interred?]
This question was a death sentence. Everyone knew who was buried first, but who the hell would memorize their exact birth time and date? If I hadn't seen this exact information in Grandfather's notebook, we'd be dead men walking.
I mentally converted the birth date to the traditional calendar system, then calculated the corresponding trigram position—"Dui." Without hesitation, I stepped onto it. The entire wall before us rumbled upward, revealing a wide passage beyond.
First challenge cleared. Tense, but bloodless.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Jason. Are you even human? How did you know all that?" Leo pounded his chest, staring at me like I'd grown a second head.
I didn't bother answering. Despite our clean passage, cold sweat drenched my back. This was just the appetizer—the main course would be far deadlier.
