Chapter One Hundred and Ten: Traces of History

"Your Majesty, the divination is set. The war is imminent; please depart at once!"

The woman's voice returned, though there was no image to accompany it. Zhang Qinglin tilted his body, his feet touching something as hard as iron. A chilling sensation surged from the soles of his feet through his entire frame, as if he were trapped in an ice cellar. Shivering, Zhang Qinglin watched as images and sound flickered back into the circular void.

"I shall set an ambush to the southwest. Your Majesty, lead the lords of the various regions to launch an offensive from the east. Drive the enemy into my trap, and we shall surely annihilate them in one stroke." The woman’s voice was crisp and bold.

"Very well. Make the preparations immediately."

Yet, the subsequent images began to flip rapidly, like a film reel playing at high speed, flickering incessantly. Suddenly, a pool of black-red blood splashed toward Zhang Qinglin. Startled, he instinctively rolled to the side.

"Why would you do this?" The woman's voice was both weak and agitated.

"My Lady General, how could someone as clever as you not know? Do not worry, I will serve the King well. You may depart in peace!" A young woman’s voice whispered in a soft, low tone.

In the vision, a cold, icy woman flashed past. Immediately after, a cry rang out: "Disaster! The Queen is hemorrhaging! Someone, come quickly!"

Zhang Qinglin froze as crimson water surged from all directions, swallowing him whole.

"Divination for Lady Fu Hao, mother of Xin. The hundred officials bleed; the King is well. Witness it."

Zhang Qinglin had thought he was drowning in blood, but then an aged voice reached his ears. He gasped, coughed violently, and sat up. Before him, the giant circle remained. In the image, an old man held an object and turned toward a wooden coffin behind him. The view slowly shifted to the coffin, where a woman lay dressed in noble, ornate finery, surrounded by jade, bronze, and jewelry.

The image lingered on her for a moment before plunging into darkness, accompanied by the sound of the coffin lid being sealed.

Zhang Qinglin scanned his surroundings, but there was not a sliver of light. Moments later, the outside world grew deathly quiet; the very air seemed to have solidified. He sat there, and after an indeterminate amount of time, voices echoed from outside the coffin.

"Fu Hao? Yes, she was the wife of King Wu Ding of the Shang Dynasty, the Queen of the Shang state. She was also a general and a commander."

Zhang Qinglin’s eyes widened; a jolt of clarity struck him. The woman had mentioned the Great Shang at the very beginning, but he hadn't paid it any mind. Hearing the conversation outside, he recalled a time he had accompanied Uncle Jiang to deliver goods to Uncle Fu, who happened to have acquired a Shang dynasty bronze ritual vessel. Uncle Jiang had spoken of the Shang era then.

The people of the Shang Dynasty were superstitious, revering the Mandate of Heaven and obsessed with sacrificial divination. The ruling class, in particular, would divine every major state affair repeatedly, seeking counsel from ghosts and spirits.

However, Uncle Fu hadn't used the name Fu Hao; he had called her Lady Fu Xin. He had described her life as one of composure and diverse roles—deeply favored by the King, a beautiful queen, a devoted mother, the high priestess of state oracles, a victorious hero on the battlefield, and a powerful regional leader. She had reached the pinnacle in both the brutal world of men and the delicate world of women, a feat unmatched for thousands of years since.

Zhang Qinglin remembered Uncle Fu saying that the cause of the Queen's death remained a mystery. Folk legends claimed she died in battle or from exhaustion, while others suggested she died in childbirth. But from the vision, it was clear she had been murdered by a traitor during labor.

Who had killed Queen Fu Hao? Aside from Zhang Qinglin and the Queen herself, no third person in this world would ever know. History would never record it, for no one else had seen the woman the Queen encountered in her final moments. Even if Zhang Qinglin had seen her face, what use was it now, thousands of years later?

As Zhang Qinglin sat in deep thought, footsteps approached, accompanied by clear voices.

"Alright, brothers, get to work. And you, Comrade Doggy, here, take this." A gruff man’s voice rang out.

"Boss Wei, can you stop calling me Doggy? I’m somewhat well-known in our county. Just call me Lord Dog, like Mr. Zhang does." The voice sounded young but carried an air of arrogance.

"Hah! Look at you." The gruff voice laughed again.

The dialogue revealed their mutual disdain, followed by the clatter of dropped items.

"Enough, hurry up and open the coffin. How are you doing, Mr. Zhang?" This voice was deep and resonant.

"It seems this really is the tomb of Queen Fu Hao. Look, there are inscriptions detailing her life, but..." This voice was profound, belonging to a man of charisma. He paused, intending to continue, but was urged by the gruff man: "What are you waiting for? Open it! Honestly, this place is giving me the creeps."

"Don't be hasty. Be careful when opening the lid; don't open it all the way—just half. Do not touch anything on the tomb occupant, and remember, we are not here to loot."

"What do you mean, Mr. Zhang? I don't follow. I’m here for the treasure. You’re telling me you came all this way just to catch a glimpse of the Queen’s face?" the gruff man sneered.

"Boss Wei, that’s not what Mr. Zhang meant. You’ve heard of him; he’s truly capable. Let’s just follow his instructions to avoid any trouble. If you don't listen and some 'corpse-demon' pops out, we’re all finished. Besides, once it's open, you can do whatever you want." The arrogant voice spoke from Zhang Qinglin’s front-left. Though quiet, Zhang Qinglin heard every word.

"You brat... fine. Let's do it your way for now."

Zhang Qinglin squinted toward the front-right. One of the voices was familiar. Just as he tried to move forward, a deafening sound of wood splintering erupted above his head. A beam of yellow light slowly filtered in from the right. He didn't hesitate; he lunged toward it.

The scene before him was bathed in soft yellow light. Two blurred heads leaned into the circular void. Then, a hand reached toward the image, growing larger until it covered the entire circle.

"Mr. Zhang, come look at this. What is this thing?" the gruff man asked.

In the circle, Zhang Qinglin saw a man with his back to him, holding something.

"I told you not to touch the things on the corpse."

"There is no corpse! Look for yourself."

The scene erupted into chaos. He heard the rapid sound of the coffin lid being slammed shut and panicked footsteps.

"Run! Get out of here now!"

"Mr. Zhang, look out!"

...

After that, his space began to shake violently. He watched the circle dart in front of him. The swaying object piqued his curiosity, and as he tried to approach, a sudden flip sent the circle back above his head. Massive stones began to rain down from the edges of the giant void. Zhang Qinglin’s body swayed; he dodged, then ran to a distance.

Stones continued to fall. Suddenly, one descended directly toward him. He rolled to the side, only to notice the stone vanish before it even hit the ground. More astonishingly, a face suddenly appeared in the image—a face with features identical to his own.

Stunned, he tried to get a better look. Suddenly, a woman in ancient attire flew into the frame. Her face was delicate and beautiful, her eyes filled with resentment and majesty. She brandished a weapon and charged straight at him.

Zhang Qinglin watched as she drew near. He tried to retreat, but his body was frozen. He stared wide-eyed as the strange, axe-like weapon, engraved with dragon and beast patterns, pierced his chest. He felt his lifeblood draining away, yet not a single drop spilled. In a blink, a blinding white light tore through everything, erasing all he saw. A piercing pain shot through to the crown of his head.

Zhang Qinglin squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth, until finally, he drew a deep, ragged breath.

He snapped his eyes open to see ceiling beams. His head throbbed, and his legs felt numb. He glanced down to see an old monk removing needles from his legs.

"He's awake! He's awake! Brother Dache, Sister Wanqing, Brother Xiaolin is awake!" Pitan, a bandage plastered to his forehead, turned and shouted joyfully.