I, the military god of the Tang Dynasty, have risen since I destroyed the Turks

Chapter 785 The Mystery of Identity
The tomb passage was cold and damp, and water droplets condensed on the stone walls dripped onto the bluestone floor, making a crisp sound.

Yang Guo held a tinderbox, its dim light flickering in the deep passageway, casting his slender shadow onto the mottled murals. Though the murals had weathered a century of wind and rain, their colors had faded, yet the figures of the ancient tomb sect's founders were still discernible.

"This should be the secret chamber that Grandmaster mentioned," Yang Guo muttered to himself, his right hand lightly tracing a nearly imperceptible crack in the stone wall. He channeled his inner energy, his palm slowly moving along the stone wall, suddenly pausing slightly at a certain spot.

With a soft "click," the mechanism activated, and the stone wall silently slid open inward, revealing a dark room less than ten feet in size. Yang Guo held his breath as the firelight illuminated the room—hanging in the center was a portrait of a woman dressed in snow-white robes, holding a dragon-shaped jade pendant, her features exquisite yet cold as ice.

"This is..." Yang Guo's pupils contracted slightly. The woman in the portrait bore a striking resemblance to Xiaolongnu, only her eyes were more piercing. He took two steps forward, wanting to get a closer look, when suddenly, he heard soft footsteps behind him.

The footsteps were extremely light, like leaves touching the ground, but they were clearly audible to a master like Yang Guo. His muscles tensed instantly, and his right hand was already on the hilt of his Gentleman's Sword.

"Who?" Yang Guo turned around abruptly, his Gentleman's Sword already drawn, its tip gleaming coldly in the firelight.

A dark figure slowly emerged from the shadows, her steps as light as a cat's. Moonlight streamed through the cracks in the tomb's roof, illuminating the person's face—a face as pale as paper, eyes as cold as ice. It was Leng Qingshuang, whom she had met briefly outside Xiangyang City. The slender sword in her hand gleamed with a chilling light, its tip trembling slightly, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue.

“Young Master Yang, we meet again.” Leng Qingshuang’s voice was as cold as her name, but a strange smile appeared on her lips.

Yang Guo pointed his sword directly at Leng Qingshuang's throat, his eyes filled with even greater wariness: "You've been following me?"

Leng Qingshuang didn't answer. Her gaze passed over Yang Guo's shoulder and landed on the portrait, a strange light flashing in her eyes. "It's a beautiful painting, isn't it?" She suddenly rolled up her left sleeve, revealing a magnolia flower mark on the inside of her wrist. "Do you recognize this?"

Yang Guo was struck dumb, nearly dropping his Gentleman's Sword. That mark—a pale blue magnolia with five petals and a dot of cinnabar at the stamen—was exactly the same as the one on Xiaolongnu's body!

"This is impossible." Yang Guo's voice trembled as the same mark on Xiaolongnu's snow-white wrist flashed through his mind. It was a mark only direct disciples of the Ancient Tomb Sect had, pierced into the skin with a special potion from childhood, never to fade.

Seeing Yang Guo's shocked expression, Leng Qingshuang's smile deepened: "It seems you recognize it." She suddenly pressed her temple, a pained look on her face, "Every time I see these things from ancient tombs, my head... Ah!"

She suddenly ripped open her collar, revealing a hideous brand on her collarbone—the character for "slave"! The brand was so deep that bone was visible, and the edges were an unnatural purplish-red, clearly left with a special branding iron.

"Sixteen years ago, someone pierced my head with seven golden needles," Leng Qing Shuang's voice became erratic, her eyes sometimes clear and sometimes confused. "I can't remember many things, but I know that the woman in the painting with the dragon pendant—that's me."

Before he could finish speaking, Leng Qingshuang suddenly launched an attack, her slender sword piercing Yang Guo's heart like a venomous snake! The sword was incredibly fast, its tip drawing a silver line in the air, its trajectory almost invisible. Yang Guo hastily parried, his Gentleman's Sword clashing with the slender sword, sparks flying, but he was still grazed on the shoulder, blood instantly staining his blue robe.

"You!" Yang Guo was both shocked and furious, taking three steps back to steady himself. He had never seen such bizarre swordsmanship before—it was clearly a move from the Ancient Tomb Sect, yet it was mixed with ruthless variations he had never seen before. Leng Qing Shuang's eyes had returned to their icy coldness, as if the pain and confusion she had just felt had never existed: "His Majesty has ordered that you be taken back. If you dare to resist..." She flipped her left hand, revealing a small porcelain bottle, "This is the antidote to the 'Seven Deadly Heart-Corroding Pill.' If you want to save that woman in the Cold Palace, then obediently come with me."

Yang Guo was shocked: "The person in the Cold Palace?" A terrible thought flashed through his mind—could it be that Xiaolongnü had not gone into seclusion as he thought, but had been imprisoned? But then he thought again and realized that was not right. With Xiaolongnü's martial arts skills, there were very few people in the world who could imprison her.

In the instant he was distracted, Leng Qingshuang's swordplay suddenly shifted, unleashing a move called "Cold Moon Peeping at Man" aimed straight for his throat. This move was originally a basic sword technique of the Ancient Tomb Sect, but in her hands it became unpredictable and elusive; the tip of her sword trembled, creating seven afterimages that were indistinguishable from the real ones. Yang Guo hastily dodged, but he was caught off guard when her left hand flicked out a cluster of golden needles as fine as cow's hair!

The golden needles gleamed a dark blue light in the moonlight, clearly coated with a potent poison. Yang Guo knew he was in trouble; at such close range, even with his exceptional lightness skill, he couldn't possibly dodge them all.

At the critical moment, a white figure darted down from the crack in the tomb roof, sweeping away all the golden needles with a flick of his sleeve. The newcomer landed lightly in front of Yang Guo, with white beard and hair, but a childlike, mischievous smile on his face—it was none other than the Old Urchin, Zhou Botong!
“Little girl, it’s not fair to use the kung fu I taught you to harm people!” Zhou Botong rarely looked so serious. He held the cluster of golden needles between his right index and middle fingers and rubbed them gently, turning them into dust.

Upon seeing Zhou Botong, Leng Qingshuang recoiled as if she had seen a ghost, taking several steps back: "You...you are—" She suddenly clutched her head, crouching down in anguish, "No, no! Those golden needles...they're moving!"

A hint of pity flashed in Zhou Botong's eyes: "Girl, are the Seven Deadly Soul-Locking Needles on your head acting up again?" He turned to Yang Guo, "Little Yang Guo, this girl isn't a bad person; she's just been possessed by evil magic."

Yang Guo asked in surprise and doubt, "Senior Zhou knows her?"

Zhou Botong sighed, "Sixteen years ago, I found her lying in a pool of blood while I was gathering herbs in Zhongnan Mountain, with seven golden needles stuck in her head. I saved her and taught her martial arts to protect herself. Later..." He shook his head, "Later, she suddenly disappeared, and I searched for a long time but couldn't find her."

Leng Qing Shuang suddenly looked up, a glint of clarity flashing in her eyes: "Master Zhou Zhou?" She trembled as she reached out her hand, then abruptly withdrew it, her face contorted in pain. "No, His Majesty will be angry! I must take Yang Guo back, otherwise my sister in the Cold Palace will..."

"Sister?" Yang Guo's heart skipped a beat. "Who's in the Cold Palace?"

Leng Qingshuang seemed to be in great pain, clutching her head with both hands, her nails digging deep into her scalp: "Longlong'er, no, no, I am Long'er, she is Shuang'er!" She suddenly let out a shrill scream, wildly swinging her slender sword, leaving streaks of sparks on the stone wall.

Zhou Botong flashed behind her and pressed a finger on a vital acupoint on the back of her neck. Leng Qingshuang's body went limp and she collapsed into his arms.

“She needs rest,” Zhou Botong said softly. “Those golden needles are eroding her memory and sanity.”

Yang Guo looked at the unconscious Leng Qingshuang, his heart filled with mixed emotions. The magnolia mark on her wrist, the slave mark on her collarbone, the "sister in the cold palace" she mentioned, and that portrait...
All clues seemed to point to an incredible possibility.

(End of this chapter)