Descendants of the False Gods

Chapter 8: Escape to Survival (1)

The Xìn clan’s family name is Yán. The three visitors are the eldest brother, Yán Tiě; his younger brother, Yán Bó; and their cousin, Yán Yú. Yán Tiě and Yán Bó’s father is the clan leader, and he has been grooming them to manage the clan’s affairs.

After the Empire’s unification war, the Xìn clan requested to withdraw from active involvement. With approval, they gifted the Star-Moon Valley to the Shényì clan and chose a small valley at the border of the Iron, Wood, and Capital Provinces to settle — a place with both mountains and water.

Even after their retreat, the shops, clubs, and residences that served as the clan’s contact points across the land required oversight. They left the younger, stronger members to manage these, while the elderly retired to the new settlement.

Every year, these contact points contributed finances and resources to support the elders. The clan leader coordinated the allocation and transportation of these resources, while the mundane issues of the settlement became insignificant matters.

Before reaching adulthood, Yán Tiě and Yán Bó were sent to the Iron and Wood clans to learn skills. After returning, they couldn’t settle at home and began taking over responsibilities across various regions. The old clan leader, content with a simpler life, managed the minor affairs among the elders.

Yán Yú, the son of the Xìn clan’s contact in the Imperial Capital, was close in age to Yán Tiě and Yán Bó. Living nearby, they often spent time together. With the clan’s relatively loose structure, the three wandered freely across the land.

For three or four years, the trio had been delivering supplies to Star-Moon City, familiar with the journey above ground, but this was their first time navigating the underground route, which was utterly unknown.

The “nanny” trailing behind them was technically an outsider in Star-Moon City. She had been rescued during a raid by the Shényì clan on a mountain bandit’s hideout.

Her family, small-scale merchants, had been attacked while travelling. Everyone was killed except her, spared for her appearance and taken up the mountain. Fortunately, a nearby provincial authority reported the incident, leading to the timely intervention of the Shényì clan, who annihilated the bandits and rescued her.

Alone and with nowhere to go, she was cared for by a junior captain from the Shényì military, and out of gratitude, she chose to marry him.

The Shényì clan never discriminated against outsiders, though they rarely interacted with the outside world. Her marriage to a local was an exception, a rare case of an “outsider bride.”

After over three years of marriage, although those around her were kind, the limited time and her unique situation left her with a fragile sense of belonging. Thus, she chose not to stay in Star-Moon City to share its fate.

Now, having lost everything except her child, she clung to survival with the determination to raise the child — her entire world.

The four of them entered the dark passageway behind the wine cellar. As the path closed behind them, the world they left behind seemed to fade into irrelevance.

Glowing stones embedded along the corridor’s walls emitted a faint light, preventing the passage from descending into total darkness.

A metal rack in the corner held a few unlit torches, their tips still oily, suggesting regular maintenance. Not knowing how far they had to go, they chose to conserve resources and did not light the torches immediately.

After about ten metres, the path turned sharply to the right, ending five metres further. A handle jutted from the wall — an unfamiliar mechanism. Yán Tiě tested it, pushing down one end of the handle, and the door creaked open. Inside, it was pitch dark, with the sound of flowing water echoing — a reassuring sign that they had taken the correct path.

Yán Bó lit a torch and handed it to Yán Tiě. They decided to light only one torch at a time. Yán Tiě handed his unlit torch to Yán Bó and waved the lit one into the room to inspect it.

The room was small, just under fifteen square metres, with a three-tiered stone trough. The upper trough connected to an outlet in the ceiling, likely the drainage from above. A narrow, one-metre-wide path ran along the troughs, likely for maintenance.

At the bottom, water flowed out through a channel, leading to a wall with a hole about a metre and a half high — just large enough for a person to crouch through.

Yán Tiě decided to investigate, while Yán Bó took the large basket carrying the child.

Crawling through the stone tunnel, Yán Tiě found the water channel sloping down. Moss coated the slippery stones, and he almost slipped. Regaining his footing, he noticed metal handles embedded in the walls, likely hammered in when the outlet was first created.

Gripping the handles, he cautiously moved forward about twenty metres until the tunnel expanded — merging with an underground waterway.

It was the dry season, so the water flow was modest. However, the exit from the tunnel to the riverbank was over three metres high. The damp, slippery rocks below meant a reckless leap could result in serious injury.

Retracing his steps, Yán Tiě returned to the room, exhaling heavily.

“There’s a bit of a slippery slope ahead, but there are handles on the wall. If we’re careful, it should be fine. Did anyone bring a rope?” he asked.

Yán Yú quickly replied, “I’ve got one! Second Brother thought we might need it along the way.”

Yán Tiě nodded. “The drop is over three metres. With a rope, we can safely descend. Otherwise, a fall here could leave us stranded.” He ended with a light-hearted tease.

Yán Bó, more practical, reminded everyone, “From now on, be careful. If anyone gets hurt, there’s no one to help.” He adjusted the child’s basket on Yán Tiě’s back, ensuring it was secure.

Leading the way, Yán Tiě was followed by Yán Yú and the cautious nanny. They stumbled through the channel, reaching the underground river’s edge.

Yán Tiě tied the rope to a wall handle, tested its strength, and began the descent, warning, “The rocks and the riverbank are slippery. Watch your steps.”

Yán Yú followed, but the nanny hesitated. Lacking experience, she was frightened by the challenge. Noticing her struggle, Yán Bó and Yán Yú helped her down. Even so, she almost fell into the underground river — a close call.

“Be bolder, but move carefully. Here, help is limited. If you get hurt, there’s no treatment — it’s just the reality,” Yán Tiě warned sternly. The nanny lowered her head silently; she had promised not to be a burden before embarking on this journey. For her child, she had to endure.

Gritting her teeth, she clung tightly to the rope as Yán Bó slowly guided her down. Though the rope dug painfully into her wrists, she eventually reached the ground safely.

After Yán Bó descended, he cut the rope and reassured her, “Don’t mind my brother’s words. This place is treacherous, and a slip could be dangerous. Stay cautious — I’ll watch out from the back.”

The group advanced, the dim light from the lone torch their only guide. For nearly two hours, they pressed on, supporting each other through the rugged, slippery path. Finally, they stopped to rest, having covered about five or six miles, heading eastward.

After a brief rest, they resumed their journey. The road grew harsher, but hope glimmered as the air began to circulate. Yán Tiě realised they were approaching a path that led to the outside world. The promise of escape fuelled their weary steps.