Chapter 41: The Sacrificial Altar

Watching the last of them enter, we began our move.

At first, the cave was narrow and low; we had to hunch over, careful not to straighten up and bump our heads. Once they were out of sight, we picked up our pace. As we walked, the space gradually widened. Ahead, a door-like exit appeared, with a faint light filtering through.

"Is this the end?" Chen Jiansheng asked.

Sister Hong shook her head. "Not sure. Hurry up and see, and don't lose track of them."

I was agile and took the lead. I failed to brake in time at the opening and nearly tumbled over the edge. As loose stones cascaded down, Chen Jiansheng grabbed me from behind.

"What's your hurry, kid? Do you have a death wish?"

Still shaken, I stepped back. From the cave mouth to the ground below, it was at least twenty meters. A rope made of vines hung down; clearly, it was the only way down.

"Logistics, can your scrawny arms handle this?" Chen Jiansheng turned to ask.

"Just make sure you don't fall to your death; you don't need to worry about the rest of us," Sister Hong snapped at him.

"Fair enough," he said, grabbing the vine. "I'll slide down first to scout the path."

Judging by his movements, he was a veteran. He knew how to brace his legs against the wall to regulate his descent. It took him only five or six minutes to reach the bottom of the twenty-meter drop. Once down, he let go of the rope and waved his arms to signal us.

Sister Hong went next. She wasn't as fast as Chen Jiansheng, but she was steady, showing she had experience. Compared to them, I was clumsy. Lacking technique, the vine chafed my hands painfully as I slid. When I reached the bottom, my palms were raw and peeling.

Seeing my miserable state, Chen Jiansheng teased, "Practice more, kid. Use your leg strength when sliding; don't just cling to it for dear life."

We continued forward. The space below was vast, with clear marks of manual excavation on the walls. Two stone pillars stood in the center, between which was a staircase leading even deeper underground. It was pitch black.

"Is your flashlight still working, Yunfeng?" Sister Hong asked.

I turned it on to check. "There’s a little left, Sister Hong, but I doubt it will last more than an hour."

"I see," she said, frowning at the stairs. "Let's go down and take a look."

We began our descent. Initially, we kept our flashlights on, but as we walked, the flicker of torches appeared ahead.

Chen Jiansheng cursed under his breath, "What the hell? These things are wicked—I didn't expect them to use fire. I wonder if they can cook; I’d actually like to taste what a mountain demon’s cooking is like."

For a split second, as he spoke, I mistook him for my second brother. Once I snapped out of it, a wave of sadness washed over me; my brother was just the same—loose-lipped, speaking his mind regardless of the situation.

We walked along a paved stone path for a few minutes before Sister Hong suddenly signaled us to stop. "Wait. Listen—do you hear that?"

There was a turn ahead. I pricked up my ears and heard a faint squeaking sound. It was them. We carefully crept to the corner and peeked inside. The short creatures were squeaking wildly around a circular stone altar, where the dead one lay.

They suddenly fell silent, as if reaching a consensus. One of them jumped onto the altar, fumbled with itself, and pulled out a pale blue-white object shaped like a small axe.

Chen Jiansheng’s eyes widened. Suppressing his excitement, he whispered, "Look! Do you see that? That’s what I told you about! Those beasts really did steal it! That’s a *yue* axe! It proves I wasn't lying. Look!"

*Thwack!* The creature raised the blue axe and brought it down. *Thwack.*

It was a gruesome sight. Within moments, the head of the dead creature was smashed, and yellow-white gore splattered across the stone altar. The others swarmed forward, scrambling onto the altar, heedless of their own safety, frantically licking up the remains.

It was more than just terrifying; it was nauseating.

The air was thick with the smell of blood. My stomach churned, and I felt like vomiting. Sister Hong looked no better.

As we stood there, revolted, Chen Jiansheng muttered, "Seriously? What are they doing, eating tofu pudding?"

Once they had licked the altar clean, the creatures left in groups, disappearing into the darkness. We emerged once they were gone. The dead creature's head was mangled, and the others had cleaned it out, leaving only traces of the yellow-white substance.

Chen Jiansheng noticed inscriptions on the circular altar. They appeared to be bird-seal characters, though the ages had worn many of the strokes away. Forcing back our nausea, we pushed the carcass aside to get a better look at the row of inscriptions.

"Sister Hong, do you recognize these?" I asked.

She shook her head. "There are dozens of characters, but I only recognize one." She pointed to a specific glyph. "I’ve seen this on other bronzewares before. It should be the character for 'sacrifice'."

"'Sacrifice'?" I asked curiously. "Like a ritual?"

"Yes," she nodded, her expression grim.

"If that's the case, then this is an altar," Chen Jiansheng concluded after looking around.

Sacrificial culture has existed since ancient times and persists today—burning paper for the dead or incense in temples are forms of it. However, in the Shang Dynasty and early Western Zhou, the word "sacrifice" meant blood and death. Due to the prevalence of slavery, the Shang and Zhou rarely used livestock; instead, human sacrifice was common.

Slaves would be beheaded on altars, and their heads placed into bronze vessels called *lian*. A priest would then use a tool to puncture a small hole in the skull, as the ancients believed the heavens were round. This was meant to offer the tribute and release the soul to the gods. This was just one use of such altars; others involved vicious, dark sorcery.

In Western Zhou tombs, there was a rule: wherever a sacrificial altar was found, a pit containing human skulls or bones was inevitably within a five-meter radius.

And indeed, we found that pit—just to the northwest of the altar.