The air underground was different. It wasn't the damp mold of a common cellar, but a dry, filtered cold that smelled of ionized metal and rare oils. Tiān Shù descended the matte metal steps, his flashlight beam slicing through the darkness like a scalpel. With every step, the weight of reality seemed to crush his shoulders.
"What did you do, Grandpa?" the thought hammered at his temples. "Why turn our home into a war bunker?"
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the beam revealed a long corridor whose walls weren't made of earth or brick, but of reinforced alloy plates. Suddenly, an electrical crackle ran across the ceiling.
A sequence of plasma torches, disguised as ancient iron wall lamps, ignited in a cascade. The fire didn't flicker with the wind; it was a steady, bluish flame, illuminating reliefs that made Tiān Shù's historian heart leap.
Dragons. Hundreds of them.
Carved into the walls with a mastery that defied any known dynasty, the dragons seemed to follow his every move. Their eyes were made of small gems that reflected the blue light, creating the illusion that the creatures were about to leap from the metal to devour him.
"This isn't possible... this has crossed into science fiction mixed with Wuxia nonsense," Tiān Shù murmured, his voice failing. "How the hell is this possible, Grandpa? You used to complain when I lost the TV remote. How did you build this alone? Or were you... never alone?"
He walked down the hall, the feeling of being an intruder in his own lineage growing by the second.
At the end of the corridor, the space opened into a circular chamber. In the center, atop an obsidian pedestal, rested a statue of a dragon carved from jade so pure it seemed to emit its own light. The creature was coiled upon itself, majestic and terrible, and between its clenched jaws lay a parchment cylinder sealed with scarlet wax.
Tiān Shù approached. The silence here was absolute—the kind of silence that precedes an avalanche. He reached out, his trembling fingers hesitating inches from the cold jade.
"It hurts now. You'll thank me later."
Xuan Zhao's words echoed again. Tiān Shù grit his teeth.
"I hope the 'later' is right now, Grandpa. Because I am scared to death."
As he touched the parchment, the jade dragon made a mechanical click. The jaws opened smoothly, releasing the document. Tiān Shù broke the seal. The calligraphy was unmistakable: strong, precise strokes, without hesitation. The ink still seemed fresh, carrying the scent of pine that always emanated from the old man's clothes.
"Dear Tian Shu, If you are reading this, it means I have been murdered. Do not try to sugarcoat it with terms like 'passing' or 'rest.' I was hunted. And you, my grandson, will likely be the next target. I am sorry for once again destroying the image of the dear grandfather you strove to believe in. I know it hurts to discover your life was a performance, but the theater is over. You do not remember now, as your mind could not endure the training, but the power that flows within you does not belong to this ordinary time. You must contact your 'other self' and recall the lessons of the past before it is too late.
If you found this scroll, the time for mourning is over. You are in immediate danger. Get out of this house. Now. There is a secret passage behind the statue that will lead you through the heart of the forest. Do not use the main roads. If the guard dogs of the Nine Abysses show up, the defense systems of this chamber will activate to protect you, but they are only a delay, not a solution.
Run. Seek the Martial Arts Association. The world of evildoers and hidden sects will come after you like hyenas. They seek what I protected my whole life. They seek the Key to the Heavenly Treasure."
Tiān Shù felt the ground vanish beneath his feet. He reread the last sentence three times, the paper crumpling under his fingers.
"The Heavenly Treasure?" his voice came out as a whisper. "That's... that's a myth. A bedtime story for children who want to be emperors. A source of wealth, power, and forbidden knowledge that could bend the world... It can't be real."
He looked at the jade statue, then at the armored walls. Denial, his old friend, tried to protect him, but the facts were brutal. A heart attack doesn't build bunkers. An old man doesn't have automated defense systems against "hooded assassins."
"Dragon Warriors..." he laughed, a nervous, almost hysterical laugh. "You mean the old man who taught me to tie my shoes was one of the legends protecting the balance of the world? And what does that make me? A target? A tool?"
He closed his eyes, trying to organize the chaos in his mind.
Other self... contact the other self... What did Grandpa mean by that?
He had always been just Tiān Shù—the lazy academic, the grandson who preferred history books to physical exercise. But deep in his mind, there was a noise. A blocked memory, like a locked door in a dark hallway of his childhood.
Suddenly, a muffled sound came from above.
A heavy vibration. It wasn't the wind. It was the sound of high-performance engines stopping in front of the wooden house.
"Damn it..." Tiān Shù felt cold sweat trickle down his neck. "They're here? I'm screwed!"
He looked at the scroll, then at the path behind the statue. His historian's mind wanted to stay and catalog everything, to understand every secret of that bunker. But survival instinct—something primitive and sharp beginning to awaken in his gut—screamed at him to move.
"Firmness of character begins at the tip of the brush."
What a shitty analogy, by the way!
Tiān Shù tucked the scroll into the inner pocket of his jacket. He was no warrior. His hands were made for turning pages, not breaking bones. But as he looked at the jade statue, he felt a strange connection. As if the dragon had been waiting for him.
"Fine, Grandpa. You win. You old bastard! What kind of grandfather doesn't teach at least a little martial arts?? Have you never seen Dragon Ball? Yu Yu Hakusho? Whatever, I don't have time!"
He moved behind the statue, finding a hidden lever at the base of the pedestal. Before pulling it, he looked up at the metal ceiling that separated him from the assassins who, at that very moment, must be breaking down the front door.
"If I don't survive this, you're going to have to explain a lot to me in the next life," he hissed.
With a sharp pull, the stone wall behind the dragon slid away, revealing a narrow, dark tunnel that exhaled the scent of damp earth.
Tiān Shù didn't look back. He dove into the darkness, while above him, the first sound of a door being kicked in with force announced that the hunt for the last dragon had officially begun.