The air folded in on itself and spat out a man.

His eyebrows were so long they reached his temples. His hair was thick and flowed smoothly down his back. His moustache and beard were long and full, hanging low enough to nearly rest on his wasit. His robes were blue-black silk, patterned in what looked like clouds fighting dragons… and losing. He raised a single hand.

Cassian felt a chill crawl down his spine the instant he saw the stranger, as though the man had reached into the marrow of his bones and pulled. His throat tightened. Instinct screamed at him to call on Lumos Noctic, the one spell he swore he would never use unless there was no other choice.

From the moment he had awakened it, he had felt an uncanny revulsion toward that power. It clung to him like a shadow with teeth, promising strength, and promising consequences he dared not name. He had convinced himself that to use it was to invite a debt he could never repay.

And yet, as the man’s presence pressed heavier on the clearing, the dread of not casting it was beginning to outweigh the dread of casting it. His fingers twitched toward his wand despite himself. The sensation was like standing on the edge of a chasm and realizing that, one way or another, he was about to fall.

Every wand in the clearing dropped like someone had flipped a switch. Even Cassian’s, halfway to some very creative retaliation, smacked into the dirt with a thump.

“Please,” the man said, voice like lullaby, “calm down.”

Cassian bent, snatched his wand up, and muttered, “Well, that is terrifying.”

Then louder, “What the hell is going on?”

Bathsheda leaned in, lips by his ear. “That is Ji Wenqiang.”

Cassian blinked. “That supposed to mean something?”

She gave him a look. “He is their Dumbledore.”

Cassian’s jaw dropped open, trying to form a word, failing. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Why is it always the beardy ones with ‘school headmaster’ energy and terrifying magical reach?”

Ji Wenqiang stepped forward. Everyone stepped aside without being asked. Wands stayed on the ground, except Cassian, who had no idea who the man was, others did not dare to make a move.

Cassian glanced across the field. The Aurors had dropped their stance, but they hadn’t relaxed. Nobody had. A few tried, halfway into a bow or something polite, but Wenqiang didn’t seem to care. His eyes drifted over the crowd like he was taking attendance and deciding who might need a stern note home.

“Whose expedition is this?” he asked, his tone was so soft it could’ve been a weather query.

One of the Chinese witches in front of the red tent stepped forward. “Madam Li. Lead researcher.”

Wenqiang’s gaze slid to her. “Explain, please.”

Her mouth twitched. “We discovered signs of pre-imperial burial architecture…”

“Explain the threat,” he cut in.

She hesitated, then gestured to Cassian and Bathsheda. “Foreign assistance was secured to parse the warding system. They… overreacted.”

Cassian raised a hand. “Hello. Historian-slash-linguist. Would like to clarify that ‘overreacted’ in this context means ‘noticed you tried to kill us.'”

Wenqiang’s eyes moved to him. Dark and deep. Not judging. Just watching. “Is that true?”

Bathsheda spoke before Cassian could. “M-Master Ji, there are tomb signs under the structure. Multiple curses. Spatial wards. Someone built a trap, not a monastery.”

Wenqiang held her gaze for a moment, then looked to Cassian.

“I am the idiot who found out the truth,” Cassian said. “Turns out, some people don’t like that.”

Wenqiang smiled, warm enough that the fog seemed to thin. “No. They wouldn’t.”

He turned from Cassian and Bathsheda, faced the crowd, and bowed… deep, unhurried, full spine dipped like a man greeting old friends, not an audience of suspicious strangers.

“I am sorry that you faced such injustice.”

That stopped the courtyard cold, as if they’d just seen something incomprehensible.

The Frenchman made a noise that might’ve been a gasp or a heart attack. “Master Ji! Please… please rise, this is…”

Others echoed him in panicked exclaims. Someone dropped a scroll. One of the local archivists looked like she might faint, hand hovering over her mouth like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to breathe.

Ji Wenqiang straightened slowly. “If apology shakes your view of power, perhaps your view was too fragile to begin with.”

Cassian leaned slightly towards Bathsheda. “Okay, so he is not just Dumbledore. He is terrifying Dumbledore with charisma and working knees.”

Wenqiang didn’t wait for the muttering to die. He raised one hand again. “Summon, Madam Li.”

The witch from before dashed off, and came back within two minutes. Cassian wasn’t sure if Madam Li had been hiding nearby, or if simply hearing Master Ji’s name was enough to bend time and bring her to the clearing so quickly.

“Come forward.”

She did, but not quickly. The walk across the open ground dragged. Like she was afraid to complete that walk.

“You led this expedition?” Wenqiang asked.

“Yes, Master Ji.”

“You authorised the team?”

She nodded. “With full clearance and documentation.”

He tilted his head. “Including contingency planning for magical casualties?”

Her throat bobbed.

“I asked,” Wenqiang said again, “if your paperwork included risk assessments for foreign researchers being used as live sacrifice.”

“No,” she said, voice flat now. “It did not.”

Cassian grinned. All he needed now was popcorn and a front-row seat.

Wenqiang looked at the Aurors flanking the red tent. “Retrieve her documents. Full set. Expedition charter. Team roster. All copies.”

They didn’t hesitate. Off they went.

He turned back to Madam Li. “Until this is verified, your role is suspended. You will surrender your wand and remain within the boundary wards.”

She didn’t argue. Just removed her wand and handed it to one of the officials without a word. Her face had gone pale, mouth clamped tight.

“Thank you,” Wenqiang said simply. Then, to the crowd, “Any other members of her coordination staff may step back now. No formal action will be taken against anyone who leaves the operation willingly.”

A few did. Three from the side tent. One of the sketch-artists. Nobody from the red one. Either loyal or trapped. Hard to tell.

Wenqiang waited until the last foot scuffed the grass.

Then he turned back to Cassian and Bathsheda. “I apologise again. You were not informed. You were not protected.”

Cassian gave a nod. “Well, we are used to being the least-loved at the party.”

Wenqiang’s eyes crinkled. “Then allow me to offer something better.”

He gestured to the ruins. “I will remain in charge of this site until the work is finished. There will be no further unannounced rituals, no use of unauthorised magic, and no sealed tombs opened without proper review.”

Cassian folded his arms. “And the bit where we were nearly hexed for pointing it out?”

“Accounted for.” Wenqiang glanced to the side. “Sanctions will follow. Quietly, but thoroughly.”

Bathsheda gave him a nod. “Appreciated.”

He returned it. “Your work is vital. The magic here predates record. And with proper care, may reshape what we understand of protection glyph systems.”

Cassian sighed through his nose. “Right. So you still want us to work?”

Wenqiang smiled softly. “I am asking you to stay. Both of you. Continue as you intended. This site is now under full academic protection.”

Cassian looked at Bathsheda. She was already nodding. Of course she was.

“Fine. But I want better tea in the mess tent. None of that dusty-leaf brew the archivists pretend is tradition.”

Wenqiang chuckled softly. “I will see to it.”

The Frenchman stepped forward again, visibly less likely to faint now. “Will the ward map be shared with all parties?”

“It will,” Wenqiang said. “No more compartmentalisation.”

Murmurs again, relieved. Ji Wenqiang stepped aside, motioned to the cleared path by the ruined hall. “Now. You may proceed. And if there is danger… speak it. I will not allow another silence to bury this work.”

Cassian looked down at the cracked stone underfoot. A whole dead dynasty probably rotting beneath his boots.

“Lovely,” he muttered.

With no one trying to use them as live sacrifices anymore, things crawled. Apparently when you weren’t chucking interns into cursed hallways to see which one lit up red, identifying ancient ward systems became painstakingly slow. Most of the original plan, Cassian realised, had been just that… send a body in, note the screams, adjust accordingly.

Fortunately for everyone still breathing, he and Bathsheda had caught the rot before it started. They uncovered the tomb markers tucked between fake monastery trappings, translated the fun little glyphs warning “do not enter unless you fancy bleeding from your soul,” and pointed out, politely enough, that maybe hexing your consultants wasn’t good research etiquette.

Now, they were leading the expedition. Or rather, Bathsheda was. Cassian just added running commentary and the occasional reminder not to touch anything unless you wanted to see your ancestors prematurely.

Once Master Ji discovered how Cassian had identified the royal tomb by scent alone, he was visibly delighted. That small triumph gave them a kind of social credit, enough that the other researchers began to listen when Cassian spoke. He might not have been as well read in runes as the rest, but his historical insights still managed to leave them impressed.

***

“I swear this sigil just moved,” Cassian muttered on the third day, squinting at a knot of spiralling lines half-buried under decades of grime.

“It didn’t,” Bathsheda said without looking up.

“Convincing. Except I saw it.”

“You are hallucinating from heat and arrogance.”

“Both well-documented causes, yes.” He knelt and scraped away some of the moss. “Still think this is directional. See this groove? Matches the orientation of that collapsed arch to the south.”

“Cass—”

“I am not touching it.” He paused. “Yet.”

The upper chamber wasn’t deep. Not by usual tomb standards. But it was wide and round. The walls were alive with etchings, thousands of them, layered over each other, some faint as breath, others branded into the stone.

Master Ji had given them full access. No red tape. No babysitters. Just instructions to “proceed carefully” and, if possible, not start any global conflicts.

The others, French, Spanish, Japanese, a couple of Iranians, mostly kept to their corners. Everyone wanted a piece of the tomb, but no one wanted to die for it. And since Cassian and Bathsheda had survived their first brush, the rest were happy to follow their lead. Or at least, stay close enough to yell if something exploded.

Bathsheda called out from a low alcove. “Bring your notes. This isn’t mirrored text.”

He walked over, brushing dust off his trousers. “Not mirrored. Layered?”

“Possibly.”

Cassian crouched beside her, leaning close to the stone. “Left to right. Then top to bottom. Very neat. Very misleading.”

She didn’t answer, already halfway through sketching the translation.

He read over her shoulder. “Hmm. Lovely. Mentions judgement. Purification. Oh, and spiritual fragmentation. Always a hit at parties.”

Bathsheda clicked her tongue. “It is a warning.”

“Strong one.” He traced the final glyph lightly with the tip of his pen. “Says anyone who breaches the seal uninvited will be ‘divided.'”

“Could mean soul splitting.”

“Could mean limb by limb. These old dynasties weren’t subtle.”

They worked like that for hours. No glory. Just ink, dirt, sweat, and magic so dense it clung to your lungs. They sketched the first ring, then moved inward, identifying structural fail-safes, mapped glyph clusters designed to confuse rather than protect. Cassian nearly walked into one, a recursive rune designed to loop spatial memory. You would think you were walking forward, but you would circle the same three metres until your legs gave out.

It became obvious to Cassian this expedition was going to drag into months. Maybe half a year, if they were lucky and nobody got eaten by runes. He and Bathsheda weren’t sticking around for the finish, too many obligations, too little time, but if they worked quick, maybe they would reach the tomb before the bureaucrats turned it into a restricted site wrapped in red tape and mandatory tea breaks.

Spoiler

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep