At three thousand meters below surface grade, the upright fissure finally ended.
Lin Tao’s boots touched solid bedrock. A vast, underground plain of polished black dark rock that stretched into cavernous gloom beneath a vaulted ceiling lost in swirling vapors. But the silence of the deep pit was shattered by an ear-splitting, nonstop roar that shook the marrow of their bones. Less than fifty paces ahead, a river wider than the mighty Yangtze surged through a giant stone channel carved into the foundation stone of the world.
It was the Yellow Springs—the legendary River of Oblivion.
The water was not the brown silt of surface rivers, nor the clear blue of mountain snowmelt. It was a dense, glowing torrent of pale, glowing-green fluid that glowed with eerie internal soft glow, throwing ghostly, rippling reflections across the towering dark rock cliffs. Wisps of freezing vapor rose from the surface. He carried an intense static-electric charge that raised the short hairs on Lin Tao’s arms. Then he made his heavy wool cloak crackle with tiny blue sparks. Along the river’s stone embankment, deep high-pressure scouring marks scored the dark rock troughs, carved by millions of years of ceaseless, high-speed flow.
Tie Shan stepped up beside him. His massive iron pry-bar was held defensively across his broad chest.
