NOVEL WEB Chapter 43 - The Ancestor of the Mountain Movers!
Chapter 43: The Ancestor of the Mountain Movers!
As he walked further down the corridor, Yang Yi noticed more burial sites. These pits, of course, were far smaller than the ones he himself had dug. Still, not one of them bore marks of tools. That fact alone caused his expression to grow heavier with each step. Along the way, he hadn’t encountered a single living soul. No corpses, no signs of battle—not even the usual splatters of blood remained.
“This person is definitely a formidable cultivator,” he muttered. “And it seems likely he’s also a practitioner of the arcane arts. He was doing the same thing I’ve been doing—burying the corpses to prevent the starving from turning on one another. That’s the only way to preserve a shred of dignity for the dead.”
Yang Yi’s voice faded into a sigh, his heart weighed down by helplessness. He had just lost nearly a hundred years’ worth of cultivation time and a thousand years of extracted life force. It was painful—achingly painful.
“I only hope that your techniques will help me recover those losses,” he whispered, quickening his pace. At last, near the end of the corridor, he finally laid eyes on the mysterious man. It was a middle-aged figure—sturdy, barrel-chested, draped in long, unkempt hair and a thick, wild beard. His clothing was tattered and stained with blood. Both hands were large and calloused, showing the hardened wear of labor. He sat cross-legged in the centre of the corridor, eyes closed in a meditative stillness.
“Is he already dead?” Yang Yi knelt cautiously, extending his senses. The man’s body bore no trace of vitality—no breath, no heartbeat. “Died from exhaustion?” Yang Yi muttered, stepping closer. Not far from the corpse, he found several other bodies. Their necks bore deep strangulation marks. Their eyes bulged in horror. Their leg bones had been snapped—clearly immobilised before death, then strangled by hand. From this, Yang Yi inferred that after killing these final few, the man no longer had the strength to bury them. If he had, judging by the patterns left behind, he certainly would have given them a proper resting place. Even killing them must have taken the last of his strength. “For your deeds, you deserve your own resting place within the First Emperor’s mausoleum,” Yang Yi said solemnly, bowing before the man’s lifeless form.
He then moved closer and gently placed a hand on the man’s body. It was already stiff and cold. By his estimation, death had occurred less than twenty-four hours ago. Had he arrived earlier, perhaps he could have saved this soul.
Ding!
[Congratulations, Host. Corpse loot successful.
Host has acquired the Mountain-Mover’s Breathing Technique.]
The system’s voice rang out just as Yang Yi’s hand withdrew. His heart skipped a beat.
Mountain-Mover’s Breathing Technique? Is this from one of the lesser-known philosophies of the Hundred Schools? He had never heard of it before. Then again, among the many teachings of the Hundred Schools, only a dozen were widely known. The rest were either lost to time or buried in obscurity.
[Congratulations, Host. You have obtained the skill: Mountain-Mover’s Technique.]
[Congratulations, Host. You have obtained the art: Mountain Shifting Art.]
The system continued to deliver surprises, and moments later, an intricate stream of mystical knowledge surged into Yang Yi’s consciousness.
“Holy sh*t!”
“Breathing technique, skill set, and arcane art—all three?! And this guy is the ancestor of the entire Mountain-Mover lineage?”
Yang Yi couldn’t help but curse in awe. This—this was the real Mountain-Mover school. This was the original art, the genuine legacy. The Mountain Shifting Art was no weaker than any of the orthodox Daoist techniques. If one could master it, there was no need to study Daoist incantations or talismans. The Mountain Movers didn’t rely on spells—they relied on sheer force. The philosophy was simple: “Strength above all—one force to subdue a hundred techniques.” A doctrine both tyrannical and absolute.
Moreover, the original Mountain Shifting Art had nothing to do with grave-robbing. The tomb-plundering ways of later generations had merely inherited a fragment of its legacy—an echo of what had once been.
“Those descendants in the future really narrowed the path,” Yang Yi murmured. “But perhaps that was inevitable, considering the loss of the original teachings. To even begin cultivating this path, one must possess strange bones—a unique skeletal structure. Without such a foundation, entry into the art is impossible.”
He now understood why the line had nearly died out. Just the requirement of a rare bone structure would have prevented most from ever starting.
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After fully digesting the inherited knowledge, Yang Yi’s eyes lit up. So that’s how those burial pits were created—the man had used the Mountain Shifting Art to reshape the stone beneath his feet. “Such mastery… it’s truly terrifying.” He couldn’t hide his admiration. Finally, the heavens had rewarded him for his perseverance. After clearing out so many corridors and quelling countless vengeful spirits, this was the gift that made it all worthwhile.
With the Mountain Shifting Art in hand, Yang Yi would find it far easier to breach the Inner Palace—and perhaps even the First Emperor’s main burial chamber. He began carefully examining the middle-aged man’s body for further loot.
Ding!
[Congratulations, Host. You have obtained one year of bitter cultivation time and twenty years of life force.]
The system chimed again, then went silent. “That’s it?” Yang Yi frowned slightly. “What about his tools? Surely he had more on him.” He resumed his search, this time probing the man’s skeletal frame directly. Moments later, Yang Yi froze.
“There’s no strange bone!”
“What?! No unique bone structure?”
“This man… he wasn’t even naturally suited to this art?”
Yet, despite that, he had forged the Mountain Shifting Art through sheer determination. Yang Yi was stunned. The man before him had accomplished the impossible—mastering a technique that should have been biologically inaccessible. Staring at the corpse, Yang Yi felt his reverence deepen. This was not just a practitioner—this was a once-in-a-century prodigy.
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Exhaling slowly to calm his racing heart, Yang Yi moved toward the other bodies nearby. “Maybe my luck isn’t done yet,” he whispered. He had always believed in fate. Ever since becoming a tomb raider, he had come to understand that fortune often followed faith. “Hmm?” Just then, something gleamed in the hand of one of the corpses—a pendant.
A subtle grin tugged at the corner of Yang Yi’s lips.