The Corpse Immortal of the Immortal Chant

Two figures halted in front of the cave. The entrance seemed no different from any ordinary mountain cavern—tall enough for a person, about a meter and a half wide, as if formed by nature itself.

“Fatty, let’s go in!” one of the figures called out, heading into the darkness.

“Alright, Master Ya,” replied the one addressed as Fatty, following close behind.

A beam of intense light swept across the smooth walls within the passage; Master Ya, flashlight in hand, waved it back and forth, scrutinizing both the stone walls and the endless darkness ahead. Another beam flickered behind him, casting shadows over his form. Master Ya’s features were illuminated—not handsome, but imbued with a subtle, indefinable air; his spirit was vigorous, eyes sharp and lively, his expression calm and untroubled. Long white hair cascaded down his shoulders, contrasting sharply with his black robe.

This man of about forty, known as Master Ya, was Fatty’s idol. He’d joined the Grave-Robbers’ Guild at twelve, earned the title “Never Leaves a Tomb Empty” in his youth, and as his reputation grew, he became known across the underworld as Master Ya.

Master Ya tapped the ground, walls, and ceiling with his collapsible staff as he walked, each step deliberate, while Fatty followed in his wake.

The tunnel was long—they advanced for over half an hour before reaching its end. There, a stone door blocked their way. Flanking it stood two fierce, demonic guardians, each clutching a steel trident, their gazes fixed menacingly on these uninvited guests.

The two men approa