Xuan Qing’s Party

Victor raised his hand and gently pushed his palm against the stone. Then he applied a bit of strength.

Crack.

The surface gave in. Crumbles of dust fell, followed by the dull sound of air slicing in.

His eyes widened.

With a grunt, he drove his palm harder—and the wall caved in entirely.

Behind it… was a passage.

An old one. Narrow. Dusted with centuries of sediment and cobwebs. A faint breeze brushed his face, carrying with it the scent of open air.

Victor stared with a look of shock.

"There's been a damn tunnel here this whole time?"

It was almost ridiculous. He'd been on the brink of death for days, and salvation had been right behind him. An ancient, forgotten exit.

He moved forward and stepped into the dark corridor and spat a small burning flame onto his palm to illuminate the way.

The walls were carved in rough strokes, barely more than a crawlspace in some places, but the slope was upward.