Chapter Forty-Six: Final Wishes

Before entering, Yang Fan covered his face. Only then did he step into the mine.

The cave was fairly large, sloping downward, its walls rough and pitted. After walking about fifty meters, small pits appeared on either side, dug out but not deep; the main passage continued downward.

The air grew increasingly foul and oppressive. Yang Fan felt a stifling weight pressing upon him.

With his sense of the earth, he “saw” many things. A strange sorrow welled up from the depths of his heart, swiftly replaced by anger.

At last, he saw people.

Emaciated figures, clutching iron picks to their chests, leaned against the walls of small pits, eyes closed. In their pockets were a few purple-hued ore stones. Hearing his approach, one quickly opened his eyes, clutching his pick tighter, and looked over warily.

A wave of stench hit him.

“All the guards outside have been killed. There is food, there is water—go now!” Yang Fan lowered his voice, rough and hoarse, uttering the words before moving on.

The branching tunnels grew more numerous. The number of miners increased.

All were gaunt, lifeless, like corpses on the verge of decay. The mingled odors of urine, feces, rot, damp, and death forced Yang Fan to retch.

He repeated his message as he walked.

At first, no one believed him.

But eventually, some could not resist going to check, for what if it was true?

After all, what awaited them was only death—why not try and see?

Yang Fan asked nothing of the miners, for there was no need.

He paused, seeing a familiar figure within thirty meters, clear as day.

He did not hurry forward but felt deeply unsettled.

He continued walking, repeating his message.

“The cave entrance is open, no one is outside, all the guards are dead, dead, haha, all dead—those damned beasts, those demons, I want to devour them, eat them!”

From behind came faint cheers, cries, curses.

And the sounds of biting.

Those within the mine rushed outward like madmen, swarming together, their movement causing stones to tumble and roll.

The cave itself seemed on the verge of collapse.

One person staggered, fell to the ground.

No one helped him, no one spared him a glance.

Yang Fan paused, but did not approach—the man was already dead.

Others died from overwhelming excitement.

He pressed on.

His steps stiffened.

Eventually, he stopped in a side tunnel where a man lay, barely human.

Yang Fan knelt, lifted the man's head, and brought a water pouch to his lips.

The blistered mouth instinctively moved, swallowing the water.

He opened his eyes with difficulty.

His lips moved, but only a whimper came forth.

“Uncle Da Sen, it’s me, Yang Fan, son of the Yang Lin family.” Yang Fan pulled down his mask and spoke softly. “I’ve killed all the guards outside. You’re safe now.”

His voice carried a deep sadness.

He knew Uncle Da Sen would not last long.

Once the captain of the hunting party, he had been close friends with Yang Fan's father, but disappeared after one hunt.

Yang Da Sen heard the voice, saw the face, and a flush of color rose to his pale cheeks; his breathing quickened.

He seemed to gather strength, sitting up from his blanket.

“You… you are Xiao Fan!” His voice was hoarse, but his eyes brightened.

“Uncle Da Sen, it’s me!” Yang Fan felt an indescribable sorrow, but managed a smile.

“Outside… outside, you really killed them?” he asked.

“I did,” Yang Fan nodded firmly.

“Good, good, good—those damned beasts, let them rot in hell, hell! I wish I could drink their blood, eat their flesh, cough…” Yang Da Sen, overcome with emotion, coughed violently.

“Uncle Da Sen, slowly, slowly!” Yang Fan quickly steadied him and offered more water.

“You, you really killed them and came here—good, the Yang family finally has a true hero.” Yang Da Sen’s excitement faded, his tone steadied. “How long has it been outside? How’s the family, how’s the town? Is that dog Yang Chun still bullying people?”

“The family is well, the town is well. Yang Chun colluded with outsiders to try and oppress us, but I took care of him.”

“Well done! Xiao Fan, how long has it been?”

“More than a year.”

“A year? I actually survived this long.”

“Uncle Da Sen, I’ll take you home!”

“No, I can’t go home—not anymore. My oil is spent, my lamp is out. To see you before I die—it’s enough, it’s enough!”

“Uncle Da Sen…”

“Don’t speak! I’m nearly gone, listen to me—back then…”

Yang Da Sen spoke slowly.

When they went hunting in the mountains, they had a good harvest, only to be captured by strangers and forced into mining.

At first, they hoped to escape, but there was no way.

Every day, they had to dig, dig desperately, just to exchange for the meager food sent down—so little.

Only once per day.

For food, the miners schemed, fought, and even resorted to cannibalism.

“Because my body was stronger, everyone agreed to give me most of the food, hoping… hoping that one day I could get out. We tried every possible way, ate…” At this, Yang Da Sen covered his face and sobbed.

Da Hu’s father died.

His own father died.

One by one, they perished.

Yang Da Sen, like a starving wolf, struggled desperately to live.

But now, his limits had been reached.

As if remembering something, Yang Da Sen hurriedly removed his pants, revealing a body like a mummy.

He painstakingly untied the cloth around his knee, took out a bead from the hollow behind his leg, glanced furtively outside, then carefully handed it to Yang Fan, explaining, “Your father found this while mining—don’t know what it is, but it must be precious. Take it home. We thought of handing it over, but with their disregard for human life, doing so would have meant certain death. So we kept it, as a token, a hope.”

“Xiao Lin, Pig Tail, Big Stone, I… I’ve seen hope come at last.”

“You, you can rest easy now.”

“No, wait for me, let’s go together!”

Perhaps because his wish was fulfilled, Yang Da Sen’s last breath left him. He raised his hand, grasped for something, then fell.

Beside his limp hand was a broken bone, marked with teeth.

Yang Fan’s eyes stung with tears, unmoving for a long time.

Alas…

At last, he sighed.

He laid Yang Da Sen gently down.

He had no intention of taking the body—this place was the best tomb.

Only then did Yang Fan examine the bead in his hand. It was small, yet radiated a rich purple hue.

[Purple Gold Essence Bead]: Born from the gathered essence of the purple gold vein, a companion spirit object, a rare earth treasure of the gold element with strong fusion properties. Ordinary weapons mixed with a portion of it become vastly sharper and more durable. Contains 6.6 units of essence.

Yang Fan hesitated.

For once, he truly hesitated.

He knew without doubt the bead’s value was immeasurable, but what mattered to him was the essence within.

Yet, it was his former father’s keepsake, the last hope of Yang Da Sen and the others.

Yang Fan finally placed it in his money pouch.

He would wait.

Just then, a vibration rose from beneath his feet, growing stronger.

He quickly activated his earth sense, and saw a terrifying scene: at the deepest part of the mine, in a place yet unexcavated, the ground was cracking—and from the fissure, a hand emerged.

A gray hand.