Recap
The sensation of Shen Chaomu’s lips lingered, a warmth spreading through him. He was flustered. Shouldn’t it be the princess who blushed after being kissed?
“You owe me a lot,” Shen Chaomu said, a playful smile curving his lips. “Consider this payment for the Happy Beans. And we’re not ‘fine.’ We haven’t even explored the more interesting things, like biting ears.” He leaned closer, his gaze intense.
Long Shiyu, flustered by the princess’s boldness, remained red-eared and flustered for the rest of the evening. He couldn’t even build a proper nest, his card game was abandoned, and he completely forgot about bedtime stories and goodnight kisses.
Lying in bed, he replayed all the princess stories he knew. The princesses were always kidnapped, dragged tearfully to a castle, and subjected to the evil dragon’s teasing.
Why was his princess different? Why had his beautiful princess mutated?
Long Shiyu couldn’t understand.
The next day, they helped quell a small beast frenzy. That night, camped on the cold, arid plains, they slept in their individual tents. Despite being called “tents,” the accommodations were spacious and well-equipped, offering a steaming bath and a comfortable bed adorned with cheerful flowers.
“Why don’t you want a goodnight kiss tonight?” Shen Chaomu asked in the darkness.
“Ying!”
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Shen Chaomu chuckled. “I’ll do it again.” He leaned over and kissed Long Shiyu’s forehead.
The kiss lingered, a silent promise in his eyes. Long Shiyu, flustered, curled his tail protectively and lay rigid until sleep finally claimed him.
He dreamt of running hand-in-hand with the princess across the plains. In previous dreams, they would roll down grassy slopes, landing amidst blooming flowers, the princess shy and yielding under his playful touch.
But this time, the princess in his dream had also mutated. As they tumbled through the grass, the princess pulled up his shirt, mimicking Long Shiyu’s own actions from the wound inspections, then leaned in and nibbled his ear.
Long Shiyu woke with a start, his heart pounding. He drank some water to calm himself. This wasn’t how the story was supposed to go. He hesitated, then lay back down, falling into a dreamless sleep.
He woke refreshed the next morning. Shen Chaomu’s terminal buzzed with messages – mission reports, urgent notifications, and inquiries from friends about his withdrawal from the chief candidacy. As expected, the association hadn’t revealed the true reason.
Shen Chaomu’s affection for Long Shiyu was evident, and he was still central to Project High Wind. They wouldn’t risk alienating him over a strange beast, not yet. They maintained a delicate balance, seemingly content to ignore Long Shiyu for now.
Shen Chaomu answered the messages, then turned to Long Shiyu. “Time to go,” he announced.
“Okay.” Long Shiyu yawned, dressed, and donned the cloak Shen Chaomu had bought for him.
They boarded the aircraft, the mantises safely stowed away in Shen Chaomu’s private cabin. Long Shiyu, after another nap, munched happily on shrimp sticks, his gaze drawn to the scenery outside.
The arid landscape stretched before them, the sand dunes shimmering under the harsh sun. But beneath the ochre surface, a colossal shape was taking form, its blue-silver metallic gleam catching the light. The portion exposed resembled the leg of a giant spider.
“That’s a dwarven self-defense robot,” Shen Chaomu explained, noticing Long Shiyu’s interest. “It uses tracks to navigate the sand, switching to eight legs on firmer ground. Their forging skills were exceptional. Even machines made of pure metal can withstand the heat here.”
“I think I’ve seen it before,” Long Shiyu mused.
“You’ve been here?” Shen Chaomu asked, his voice sharp.
“Just passing through. I was flying too fast to get a good look.”
“You didn’t cause any trouble, did you?”
“Of course not. I don’t like this climate.”
They reached the defense line, a massive, pyramid-shaped structure rising in the distance. Crafted from black metal, it shimmered with golden veins under the scorching sun.
“That appeared with the monster frenzy,” the liaison hunter reported. “Our data shows the ground level here dropped by almost three hundred meters within twenty-four hours.”
The Western Hemisphere’s arid surface hid a complex ecosystem of creatures that, when migrating, could cause significant shifts in the terrain. Combined with the flying snakes’ sandstorms, the landscape could be dramatically altered.
“But such a drastic change in such a short time is unprecedented,” the hunter continued. “The research team believes this might be connected to the monster frenzy.”
Shen Chaomu’s gaze settled on the black pyramid, its peak pointing toward the sun. From its heights, one could likely see the distant Tower of High Wind, the place where it all started.
Shen Chaomu asked, “What about the bell mentioned in the report?”
“We haven’t determined the source,” the hunter replied, his expression grim, “but it seems to originate from this area. And this structure…it resembles the dwarves’ ‘bell tower’ described in the records.”
Shen Chaomu lit a cigarette, his gaze fixed on the pyramid. “When can we enter?”
“Thirteen hours. The mechanics say the cooling system is damaged. We have to wait until nightfall.”
They set up camp, their tents and vehicles dwarfed by the towering sand mountains sculpted by the flying snakes. The makeshift basin provided some respite from the scorching sun.
Yang Zhiming, fascinated by all things mechanical, was in his element. He had been captivated by the Yermak’s engine, and now, he was eager to explore the dwarves’ legacy. He spent his days tinkering with salvaged gadgets. He would be joining them in the pyramid, but for now, he was busy dissecting a mechanical bird with a screwdriver.
Long Shiyu, back in the tent, munched on fruit. “What’s the dwarves’ bell tower?” he asked.
“Long ago, after they built the Damocles Bridge for Bei En, the dwarves discovered a unique metal,” Shen Chaomu explained. “Its resonance could shake the earth for a hundred kilometers. They built a structure to house a massive bell. This pyramid. Of course, it was on the surface back then.”
“Sounds fun,” Long Shiyu said, biting into a peach. “Did they ring it often?”
“Only for emergencies or important events. But as the ground level sank, people started hearing the bell again. Logically, no one should be ringing it from three hundred meters underground.” Shen Chaomu paused. “The frenzies used to originate in the forest, but this year, they’re coming from here. We need to investigate.”
“Okay.” Long Shiyu started on a pineapple. “I still don’t like this place. There’s nothing good to eat.”
“Peel that before you speak,” Shen Chaomu reminded him.
Nightfall brought a welcome drop in temperature. They waited two hours to ensure the pyramid had cooled sufficiently before entering.
A guide from the Zhanshu Chamber of Commerce accompanied them. A veteran of the Western Hemisphere, he was knowledgeable about the dwarves’ architecture and eager to assist the association.
They breached a side entrance. The morning’s heat had dissipated, replaced by the cool touch of metal. Hunters deployed flares, illuminating the passage – a narrow corridor, two meters high, three meters wide.
Long Shiyu examined the smooth walls, their dark lines glowing faintly. The metal, impossibly thick, likely weighed tens of thousands of kilograms. Even today, such forging techniques were beyond the Alliance’s capabilities.
“No strange beasts detected,” Shen Chaomu reported, his spiritual power sweeping the corridor. “Let’s proceed. We’ll retreat if we find nothing unusual.” With the frenzy still active, they couldn’t linger.
The enclosed space was oppressive. Their footsteps and breathing echoed in the silence.
The passage sloped downward, leading into the unknown depths.
As Long Shiyu contemplated dinner options, Shen Chaomu reached for his hand. It was the first time the princess had initiated such contact.
Long Shiyu, overjoyed, quickly promised, “I’ll find you the most beautiful flower when we have time.” He imagined a field of wildflowers, a playful tumble down a grassy slope, and a moment of shared intimacy with his princess.
“Okay,” Shen Chaomu replied, a soft smile gracing his lips.
They walked for another five or six minutes, reaching a small, cold chamber made entirely of metal. Intricate lines and mural-like patterns adorned the walls.
“This is dwarven script,” the guide said, examining the markings. “A chronicle, it seems, but only a few lines.”
The small robot translated the inscription:
[This is the history of the great iron caster. Do it shirtless! Year one, blacksmithing. Year two, blacksmithing. Year three, blacksmithing and drinking. Year four, blacksmithing, fighting, and drinking…]
Meaningless exclamations followed.
“Typical,” Yang Zhiming scoffed. “Rough and uninformative.”
“At least they had progressed to drinking by year three,” Shen Chaomu remarked.
Yang Zhiming rolled his eyes.
The murals, depicting scenes of dwarves forging metal, were more informative. Hundreds of meters high, the melting furnaces glowed with an infernal light as dwarves wielded massive hammers, their muscles straining.
The murals progressed chronologically. The dwarves’ tools evolved from crude, steam-powered contraptions to those utilizing wind, electricity, nuclear energy, and finally, spiritual power.
The scenes were so vividly depicted that one could almost hear the clang of hammers against metal, the roar of the furnaces, the hiss of steam, and the sizzle of quenching.
Further on, the dwarves were depicted using strange machines to excavate the earth. A caption declared: [Let’s work together to penetrate the center of the earth!]
“I’ve never seen this mural before,” the guide said, his brow furrowed.
“Can you tell what it depicts?” Shen Chaomu asked.
“Not really. I’m not an expert on dwarven culture, and I haven’t heard of them building anything significant underground.”
“They never officially joined the Alliance,” Shen Chaomu said. “They disdained cultural exchange.”
“Perhaps they saw no difference between humans and strange beasts,” the guide chuckled. “Only metal was worthy of their love.”
The mural ended abruptly.
They continued down another long corridor, reaching a new chamber.
The first image depicted a massive bird soaring over a sun-drenched desert.
Yang Zhiming, his eyes wide with excitement, barely glanced at the mural before shouting, “That’s Xijia! It has to be!”
“Their divine bird?” Shen Chaomu asked.
“Yes, yes!” Yang Zhiming practically leaped at the wall. “Xijia really exists!”
The dwarves, unlike other civilizations, revered tangible creations. They scoffed at the orcs’ reverence for the ancient tree, their own beliefs centered on Xijia, a colossal machine forged entirely of metal. Its seamless construction mirrored the walls of the pyramid.
Xijia was a legend, a mythical creation. In that era, a metal bird weighing tens of thousands of tons, capable of flight, was pure fantasy. And Xijia was more than just a bird; it was a flying forge, its furnaces constantly burning, molten metal and wastewater raining down, its energy consumption staggering.
If it truly existed, it was a mechanic’s dream.
“If it’s in the mural, it must be real!” Yang Zhiming exclaimed, his voice trembling. “Maybe it’s hidden beneath this pyramid!”
The robot diligently scanned the murals, transmitting the data. The guide, alarmed by Yang Zhiming’s fervor, whispered to Shen Chaomu, “Is he alright?”
“He’s fine. Just excited.” Shen Chaomu turned to Yang Zhiming. “If there are no strange beasts here, we should return,” he said.
“I know, I know.” Yang Zhiming could barely contain his enthusiasm. “Just let me admire this for a bit longer.”
They continued examining the murals. Most were mundane, depicting scenes from dwarven life. But Shen Chaomu paused, his attention drawn to a specific image.
A massive oven.
The dwarves, with their demanding work and love of drink, consumed vast quantities of food. This enormous oven, five meters high and tens of meters wide, could roast any beast to crispy perfection.
But the oven in the mural was damaged, its stores of food depleted. A group of angry dwarves shook their hammers at the sky, where a winged dragon, flames erupting from its maw, hovered. A small arrow pointed to the dragon’s head, with a single word beside it: Silver.
Shen Chaomu’s gaze snapped to Long Shiyu.
“It wasn’t me,” Long Shiyu said quickly, his expression earnest. “I don’t know anything about this.”
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