At the far end of the tomb passage, they reached the last side chamber. The entrance bore clear signs of damage.
Wan San knew that Wang Cang Hai was obsessed with Qimen Dunjia (an ancient Chinese divination system) and mechanical formations. Unless absolutely necessary, he would never resort to brute force to open a door. This burial chamber of Xi Wang Mu truly lived up to its divine origins—even Wang Cang Hai had failed to open it through conventional means.
Inside, the chamber had been cleared out. The only object remaining was a pitch-black basin sitting squarely on the ground, surrounded by nothing else.
“This is the Treasure Basin?” Wan San frowned in confusion.
“Yes,” Wang Cang Hai replied. “The Treasure Basin has a slight gravitational pull. To prevent anything unnecessary from falling in, I cleared the surrounding space.”
Wan San cautiously stepped closer. Only then did he realize that the basin wasn’t purely black but rather a deep, mysterious shade of xuan (a dark color with a mix of black, red, and ochre). Its surface displayed concentric circular patterns, and near the bottom, a swirling phoenix-cloud motif distorted into strange shapes. The design was eerie, yet oddly captivating—it was impossible to look away. Wang Cang Hai was right. The object exuded a peculiar attraction, making one instinctively want to approach—even step inside—despite its diameter being barely over a foot.
“The Treasure Basin… what does it do?”
“It can replicate anything.”
“Replicate?”
Wang Cang Hai removed a string of Tana East Pearls from his wrist. Each pearl was luminous as the full moon, perfectly round, and of inestimable value. With a flick of his fingers, he tossed the bracelet into the Treasure Basin. A crisp clink echoed.
The material of the basin… judging by the sound, it resembled meteoric iron.
Wan San stared intently at the pearls resting at the bottom of the basin. Within moments, the original pearls began to expand, contorting into something grotesquely bloated and slimy, their form writhing and distorting into an unrecognizable mass. The sight was nauseating.
Then, the white, amorphous lump split apart from the center, slowly reshaping itself until two identical strings of pearls emerged—perfect in every detail.
Wan San collapsed to the ground in shock. “Th-this… this…”
The Treasure Basin—an artifact that could duplicate pearls, precious beyond measure—was undoubtedly an invaluable treasure. Yet the sight of it sent a primal wave of dread and revulsion through his entire body, making his skin crawl.
Wang Cang Hai pulled Wan San up without a word. He neither mocked nor consoled him.
Then, reaching into his sleeve, he retrieved a pair of ivory chopsticks—the same ones they had used during their meal, now wiped clean with silk cloth. Using the chopsticks, he picked up both strings of pearls, placed them in his palm, and held them out to Wan San.
“San-ge,” Wang Cang Hai said, “can you tell which is the original and which is the copy?”
Wan San scrutinized them closely. “They look identical.”
Wang Cang Hai nodded. “Not only do they look identical—I have dismantled objects duplicated by the Treasure Basin before. Their internal structure is also identical. If you burn them, the scent and ashes are the same. If you dissolve them in water, the color and taste remain unchanged. That’s why I believe the Treasure Basin’s replication ability is a perfect copy.”
Wan San’s voice trembled. “This thing is terrifying.”
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