SES Chapter 140 Part 1

Chapter 140

Mu Dai hesitated for a moment, then switched on her flashlight and walked a few steps toward the direction of the sound. She also shone the beam down at the winding mountain path below.

She thought about ignoring it and moving on, but her feet refused to budge. Pulling out her phone, she checked the time. If she didn’t take the long way around and just climbed straight up and over the mountain, it actually wouldn’t take too long—she wouldn’t lose much time.

Decision made, Mu Dai exhaled sharply, shook out her hands, rolled her shoulders, clamped the small flashlight between her teeth, and ran forward a few steps to gain momentum. The slope was nearly seventy degrees, and she sprinted upward, occasionally grabbing at bushes or pushing off the ground for support. Finally, with one powerful leap, she landed on the mountain trail.

She remembered where the bats had flown out and cautiously approached to take a closer look. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary—just a regular rock face covered with vines and scraggly trees.

But maybe the light had startled something. That strange sound seemed to appear again.

Mu Dai froze for two seconds, then suddenly thought of something and reached for the tangled vines.

Sure enough, when she yanked them aside, a thick curtain of greenery came loose. Leaves and dust fell from above, choking her and making her cough.

It was… a hidden cave.

The cave entrance didn’t face outward. A jagged piece of stone jutted out at an angle like an old courtyard’s screen wall, concealing the real opening. Anyone trying to enter would have to turn sideways and squeeze through a narrow passage.

The vines covered the entrance perfectly. If it hadn’t been for the bats flying out, Mu Dai would’ve thought it was just another patch of wild growth.

Carefully, she followed the narrow path inside. Just as she neared the end, another clumsy bat flew straight at her. Startled, she swatted at it on reflex. Her palm brushed against something warm and squirming, and a wave of disgust shot through her—she flung it away immediately.

Her body always moved faster than her brain. Some habits never changed.

The cave was deeper than it looked.

She walked forward, flashlight cutting through the dark—and suddenly the beam landed on a face.

Pale. A piece of cloth stuffed in the mouth. The person was struggling violently. When they saw her, their eyes welled up with tears of desperate relief.

Cao Yanhua?

Mu Dai couldn’t believe her eyes. She froze for a second or two before she started forward—then a low, sharp, feminine laugh sliced through the air behind her.

Mu Dai shuddered violently and spun around.

Nothing. Not a shadow, not a trace. The laughter seemed to rise out of thin air, then dissolve into silence.

She decided not to chase it. No need to get lured away. The priority now was freeing Cao Yanhua. Whatever was hiding here, two people would be better than one.

Half-turned, she moved carefully toward Cao Yanhua, keeping part of her attention behind her in case that eerie sound returned—or worse, attacked.

She had only taken a few steps when, without warning, the ground beneath her feet gave way.

Her body dropped straight down. She reached out desperately, fingertips grazing the edge of a wooden board as it flipped shut.

A trapdoor—her master had once told stories about them.

Her master’s stories always sounded like old legends.

He said trapdoors had a central axis with latches on all sides. When someone stepped too far forward, the latch released—one side became light, the other heavy—and even if you had lightfoot skill, you couldn’t find purchase. With a loud boom, you’d fall straight down.

The cruel ones would even line the pit below with sharpened stakes. Many heroes had died that way.

Her master’s tales weren’t like martial arts novels—those heroes never died. But in his stories, they often did, suddenly and without mercy.

When she was little, she used to ask, “And then what happened?”

“They died,” he’d answer simply.

The brilliant ones, the graceful ones, the charming ones—how could they all die?

Her master would just smile. “Everyone dies. Plenty of great ones go down in the gutter. But because no one likes that ending, storytellers make their heroes invincible and eternal.”

The truth was, most of them died fast, and they died ugly.

As she plummeted, that conversation flashed through her mind like a movie reel.

She didn’t want to die.

She reached out, trying to grab something—anything—but the trapdoor had already swung shut. The fall was too fast; cold sweat prickled down her spine.

—She had no idea how deep it was.

Her hand brushed rough stone—jagged, uneven. She bent her arms, tried to grip.

Couldn’t hold on. Her nails scraped along the rock, making a horrible rasping sound.

She tried again.

Even a little friction could slow her down. She didn’t want to die.

Her master had taught her the “gecko wall climb.” To move like a gecko, press your limbs and belly against the wall—imagine a suction cup in your stomach.

She tried again, pressing with all her might, forcing her body to cling to the wall.

She kept falling. Her abdomen burned with a sharp, hot pain—she’d scraped against a protruding rock, maybe cut herself open. She didn’t know. She couldn’t think. Not yet. Not until she hit the bottom.

The sound of her fingernails tearing was unbearable—but she didn’t stop.

Then—boom!

She hit the ground.

The impact rattled her insides, made her chest and stomach twist painfully.

She had landed. Finally landed.

Her first reaction wasn’t pain—but relief.
I’m not dead. I’m alive.

A shaky laugh escaped her lips. It echoed through the huge cavern, warped and strange—so strange that she suddenly froze.

Was that me laughing? Or did I die and it’s my ghost laughing now?

She lay still, eyes closed, then forced them open again.