Several people jumped in fright, all staring at the coffin hovering in the air.
Ye Qiu quietly activated his Heavenly Eye, trying to see what was inside, but his vision couldn’t pierce the coffin.
He instantly realized this coffin was no ordinary thing!
“Martial Uncle, how about we just leave?” Shuisheng said, a bit scared.
Elder Changmei snorted, “I’ve gone through hell to get here, the Heavenly Master Sword is within reach, how could I leave empty-handed?”
“Little brat, do as I say, cut the chains.”
“If some peerless monster’s in there, we can take it down together.”
Ye Qiu leapt up, swiftly slashing four times.
The Emperor Sword Chixiao was razor-sharp, the iron chains snapped in an instant, and the coffin crashed to the ground with a thunderous boom.
Ye Qiu and Elder Changmei stepped forward, eyeing the coffin closely, neither daring to open it rashly.
The coffin was pitch black, adorned with intricate dragon carvings.
“This coffin seems to be made of wood,” Ye Qiu suddenly said.
Elder Changmei nodded, “Yes, it’s definitely wood.”
Ye Qiu grew curious, saying, “If Zhang Tianshi put the Heavenly Master Sword in this coffin, it means this coffin was already here when he arrived.”
“Zhang Tianshi lived a thousand years ago, so has this coffin been here for over a millennium?”
“I’m puzzled, what kind of wood lasts a thousand years without rotting?”
At that, Ye Qiu froze, locking eyes with Elder Changmei, both blurting out, “Golden Silk Nanmu!”
Golden Silk Nanmu was an ultra-rare wood, and coffins made from it were insanely pricey.
In ancient times, only emperors could use Golden Silk Nanmu coffins after death, regular nobles and commoners needed special imperial favor to get one, unauthorized use meant execution of nine generations.
Why did emperors covet it? Simple—Golden Silk Nanmu could last a thousand years without decay, ten thousand without rot.
To test their hunch, Elder Changmei pulled out a dagger and scraped the coffin.
Beneath the black lacquer was red lacquer.
He scraped again, under the red was brown.
He kept going.
After ten minutes of work, the lacquer was gone, revealing golden wood grain, shimmering like gold.
“No mistake, this is Golden Silk Nanmu, but not just any kind—it’s Yinchen wood,” Elder Changmei said.
Ye Qiu gasped.
Yinchen wood, or ebony, formed when trees got buried in ancient riverbeds or mud after earthquakes, floods, or landslides, carbonizing over millions of years under oxygen deprivation, pressure, and microbes.
Its rarity earned it the name “Eastern Divine Wood.”
An old saying went: “A house with ten thousand taels of gold isn’t worth a block of ebony.”
That showed its value.
Ebony coffins didn’t rot for ten thousand years, resisted bugs and water, the ultimate burial luxury for feudal emperors.
But ebony was scarce.
So, many emperors settled for Golden Silk Nanmu instead.
What stunned Elder Changmei was this coffin being both—Golden Silk Nanmu turned ebony.
Meaning the wood had carbonized for at least a thousand years.
A coffin like this was a once-in-a-millennium treasure.
“Someone who could afford this coffin wasn’t ordinary, maybe not an emperor, but close enough,” Elder Changmei said, “Those ashes and bones outside? Probably sacrificial burials.”
He paused, then asked, “Little brat, know how much this coffin’s worth?”
“How much?”
Elder Changmei held up five fingers.
Ye Qiu guessed, “Fifty million?”
Elder Changmei shook his head.
“Five hundred million?”
Still a shake.
“Five billion?” Ye Qiu couldn’t believe it, “Just a coffin, worth that much?”
“You’re off, it’s fifty billion!”
Hiss—
Ye Qiu sucked in a breath, eyes blazing, “Old man, let’s figure out how to haul this out, split the cash fifty-fifty.”
“No way, it’s too precious to sell,” Shuisheng cut in, “Martial Uncle, when you die, I’ll bury you in it.”
“Am I not filial, Martial Uncle?”
Smack!
Elder Changmei slapped Shuisheng’s forehead, roaring, “Curse me to die again, and I’ll end you first!”
“Martial Uncle, I’m looking out for you, you don’t appreciate it and hit me?” Shuisheng whined, aggrieved.
“Shut up, kid,” Elder Changmei glared, then turned to Ye Qiu, “I’m not long for this world, money’s useless to me, but if you agree to one thing, I’ll help you get this coffin out.”
“What’s that?”
“Protect Dragon Tiger Mountain for my lifetime!”
“Deal,” Ye Qiu agreed without hesitation.
“With that promise, I’m at ease, let’s open it,” Elder Changmei said, then barked at Shuisheng, “Gimme the bag.”
Shuisheng handed it over.
Elder Changmei pulled out a candle, lit it, and set it in the cave’s southeast corner.
Next, he grabbed a handful of sticky rice, sprinkling it around the coffin.
Finally, he took out three Corpse-Suppressing Talismans, keeping one, giving the others to Ye Qiu and Shuisheng.
“The Patriarch put the Heavenly Master Sword in here, meaning whatever’s inside has turned, no need for the sword to suppress it otherwise.”
“When we open it, if anything’s off, little brat, slap the talisman on its forehead fast.”
“Let’s do it!”
Elder Changmei stepped back with Shuisheng.
Ye Qiu stood by the coffin, took a deep breath, pressed his hands on the lid, and was about to push.
Clang!
Suddenly, the lid jolted, sliding aside a crack, a frigid yin aura seeped out, bone-chilling, like a ghost possession.
Ye Qiu shivered, stepping back quick, eyes locked on the lid.
“Old man, careful, it’s dangerous.”
Right as he spoke, another “clang,” the lid flew off, and a figure stood straight up from inside.
