The golden light receded. The gigantic stone gates remained shut with only a hair's breadth of an opening. Despite the heavy commotion and the clouds of dust only just now settling, their combined might had done little to the door.
With a collective step, the heirs retreated ten paces. Su Ying and Lui Gang held confusing tells that betrayed their intent. Mo Lin saw the color of anger drag their faces down like a heavy weight. What fluttered through them then was not confusion, but dread.
When the last of the golden light evaporated like mere vapor, a deep silence sank into the crevice where they stood. Within those soundless waves, the pockets of unspoken dread became louder. It rolled through the air until it could no longer be ignored.
"Veins. Circulatory system. Blood. Clearly, we were being cowards," Meng Zhang spoke.
Mo Lin heard more than just simple words. He heard the tethers of a man who did not care about the price. This was the same man who had threatened the boys who watched what happened to Shen, warning them not to spill a word. Now, he wrestled control right out of Mo Lin's grasp.
"What do you mean?" Lui Gang asked with a tremble that required absolute focus to notice.
Mo Lin caught it, though. It was as clear as a pin drop in the silence that preceded them. Meng Zhang cracked his neck to the left. All the scholarly aura that usually spun around him despite his muscled appearance faded away. Something primal had tainted him.
"Song Jin," he commanded.
An enfeebled elder glided down the jagged steps of the tunnel. His movements played a trick on the eyes, making him seem like a falling leaf taking all day to arrive. Yet in mere seconds, he reached them. Dressed in dirty brown robes, the elder with stained black hair bowed low.
"What do you require, Young Mayor?" Song Jin asked.
"Thank you for your service," Meng Zhang said.
Not a moment was given for wonder or questions. It happened faster than an instant. Meng Zhang's thick fingers snatched the elder's throat like a defeathered chicken. The ground beneath them cracked. Wind blew. The sound of bone snapping reached their ears.
Meng Zhang slotted the elderly man into the leftmost scroll. Blood splattered across the stone doors, which greedily absorbed the liquid. The doors approved of Meng Zhang's conjecture with the sound of thick stone scraping the ground. There was no golden light this time. There was only the stench of iron and copper scraping the back of Mo Lin's throat while the doors gleefully opened. The movement stopped a short while later. Only a quarter of the way.
Bile built up at the back of his throat, but he forced it down. Mind over body. He whispered the mantra in his heart and ensured it echoed in his mind. He had killed a man before, but that was rage. It was unintentional. What Meng Zhang did was brutally different.
He turned a cold gaze toward the man he thought he understood, a friend, with the sobering realization that he didn't know him at all. Touching his tongue to his own serrated front teeth, Mo Lin felt a phantom ache. He was no different from the scroll.
Meng Zhang held the man in place. He had died instantly, and all that remained were the body's spasms and phantom inhales, not knowing the mind had died seconds ago. He splattered the squishy red matter onto the ground and cleaned his fingers.
"So, a sacrifice? That is the piece we missed," Su Ying answered, trying to retain a joyous melody in her voice like an inquisitive little girl.
The act fooled no one except perhaps her. Possibly countless thoughts ran through her mind. Mo Lin could imagine them. The most draining of all was likely the question of whether she would end up like this. Mo Lin saw the question tied to her tongue, and she had no choice but to swallow it.
"Three more to go," Meng Zhang said.
What would he do?
Two shadows unfurled right next to him. He had lost focus at some point, unable to track their location as they descended. Uncle Feng had sent them. Two scrolls. Two sacrifices. The choice was never his to begin with, was it?
"Elder Feng has instructed us on what needs to be done. Either you do it, or Eagle does," one of the shadows whispered to him.
The grain on the stone gates suddenly interested him. Their vast structure, littered with hundreds of thousands of tiny indentations carved by the relentless corrosion of time, spoke volumes. The blood from the initial sacrifices of the wicked doors had long since dried, merging with the stone to become part of it.
Eagle stood to the side, poised and ready for action. Cow stood next to him. Both of their gazes were fixated on the heirs. Mo Lin scanned their eyes, hoping to find a shred of fear or anger or even rage. He found none.
Then he turned to the two shadows who had come to lay down their lives so the clan could gain another treasure. He hoped to see some reluctance passing by like an old neighbor in their eyes. None was present. He didn't know which was worse. Was it the training that had ground away their individuality, or had their hearts always been this cold?
Mind over body.
No. They were afraid, just as he was. But the body must do more than survive. The clan needed to thrive.
"I'll do it."
They nodded.
Blood Qi surged through his veins like a great river during a storm. It strengthened his grip beyond human capabilities. Mo Lin pushed back the deepening pit sinking in his stomach and went with it. He could not afford to show weakness. Not now.
He snatched their throats, prayed silently to the gods or the Heavens, and sailed through the air in a single bound. He slammed their heads into the two scrolls at once, unwilling to perform the sickening act twice. The silver teeth of the scrolls bit deep into the bone, locking the circuit.
Su Ying followed suit, not wanting to be left behind. A young man died in her dainty fingers, his skull crushed against a scroll.
Blood rained. No, the last remains of life rained, splattering across their bodies. Mo Lin let the remains of the two scouts stain him. Blood drenched him, and he did not avoid it. He felt the heat of it on his skin, a physical reminder of the mental burden he would carry into the dark.
A sovereign does what is best for the kingdom. So do the subjects.
Their deaths were needed in this moment to give the clan a chance to thrive beyond what it was. He would be spitting in their faces by avoiding what was left of them.
He dropped to the ground. The gigantic stone gates rumbled, and the stone slabs grinded to the sides. The fresh blood acted as a lubricant for the ancient mechanism, the iron in it speaking to the ore in the walls.
The Shrine gates were finally opened. At a cost.