However, this task couldn’t be done alone—it required coordination.
Yi Sa explained the action plan to Zong Hang: “When the clam swarm comes out again, we’ll lure them here. You’ll strike, and I’ll grab, stuff, and detonate. Can you handle that?”
Zong Hang nodded vigorously: “I can, I definitely can.”
He was burning with enthusiasm, just wanting a chance to prove himself.
Yi Sa gave him a doubtful look: “You better think this through carefully.”
While an eager attitude was good, overconfidence would surely cause problems. Success depends on ability, not just slogans and enthusiasm.
Yi Sa calculated the positions and carved about ten grooves in the middle-lower section of the stone wall. She then had Zong Hang help move many stone pillars to block several entrances, preventing the clam swarm from attacking from multiple directions. They also roughly constructed a “cover” to reduce damage from the “clam bombs” when they exploded.
After preparations were complete, they waited by the mud flat. Using the remaining time, she had Zong Hang practice how to handle the clam swarm when they appeared.
Zong Hang was a bit embarrassed at first but quickly took his stance, like an art examination candidate trying to impress the judges. He put full force into every move until his face turned red—though he had never trained, what young man who’d watched martial arts films hadn’t created some ultimate techniques in his mind? His “Zong Family Heaven-Earth Destroying Sword” had, in his imagination, kicked flying Shaolin and knocked down Wudang, so he became increasingly fluid in his practice…
Yi Sa said: “Stop, stop, stop.”
Experts see the essence—though Yi Sa wasn’t professional either, her rough skills could be considered third-rate. In her view, Zong Hang’s stance was unstable, his movements exaggerated, his force wasn’t properly directed, and his mind wasn’t focused. These moves wouldn’t even pass for a professional spirit medium’s dance.
They could only teach what they could in this last-minute training.
Zong Hang watched attentively from the side.
So an old undershirt could be used as a weapon, called a “flag.”
It needed to be held at the edges with both hands to maintain maximum striking surface. When swept out as a “plane,” it struck in three dimensions. His one-handed wild swinging would at most create a “line striking a plane.”
The movements also had specific terms: downward was called “shake,” upward was “raise,” diagonally was “lift,” and downward was “cover.”
Zong Hang practiced these movements while Yi Sa took the opportunity to do some stretching. From injury to the explosion, the flying clams only had a three to four-second interval—completing the “grab,” “stuff,” and “detonate” sequence in such a short time was quite challenging.
Seeing her practicing too, Zong Hang felt a surge of pride, thinking he was truly fighting alongside her this time and practiced even more vigorously—
Yi Sa bluntly stopped him: “Save your strength for when it matters.”
Zong Hang was about to respond when he suddenly noticed movement at the edge of the mud flat.
They’re here!
The atmosphere instantly became tense. Yi Sa gave Zong Hang a look, signaling him to act according to the situation.
Everything was similar to last time. One, two, three—from a room-sized mud flat, they emerged one after another, then in waves, countless clams drilling out, splitting into streams and groups, heading toward the standing or tilted stone pillars everywhere. Soon, the clicking sounds became dense, filling the air.
Earlier, just hearing Zong Hang’s description, Yi Sa hadn’t felt much, perhaps due to his mediocre narrative skills failing to evoke empathy—now seeing it firsthand, her heart truly raced: with thousands of these, if they all rushed forward at once, it would be…
Soon, the clicking transformed into complete silence, followed by one-by-one turning, all facing Yi Sa and Zong Hang’s direction. The buzzing gradually merged into a continuous sound, caused by countless shell wings rapidly flapping together, stirring the air.
It was time. Yi Sa nodded to Zong Hang.
The situation instantly became chaotic. The “blast” location was some distance away—they needed to lure the clam swarm over. This “luring” was like teasing, needed to provoke the swarm’s agitation without actually injuring them. If they exploded halfway there with a pop-pop bang, all their efforts would be wasted.
Sweat appeared on Zong Hang’s forehead as he swung the undershirt, teasing and retreating. Yi Sa moved in sync with him, initially worried he couldn’t handle it and wanting to stay close to give reminders. Later, seeing that although he was flustered, he could still manage, and they were just steps away from the stone wall, it was time to divide tasks…
She darted to the stone wall, about to signal Zong Hang to get serious, when her eyes fell on something that made her mind go blank and her back turn cold.
Where were the grooves she had dug?
On this stone wall, she had strategically carved about ten holes of varying heights based on the rock formation, each about the size of a small fist—where had they gone?
She shouted urgently: “Hold on a bit longer!”
Hearing her speak, Zong Hang gathered his strength, about to forcefully swing the undershirt at the clam swarm, but hearing the unexpected content, he abruptly pulled back. This hesitation allowed the clams flying behind to surge forward, creating a terrifying black mass before him.
Yi Sa was so anxious sweat broke out on her forehead.
Where were the holes?
Fortunately, she still remembered roughly where she had carved them. Calming herself to look again: they weren’t gone completely, some traces were still visible, but they seemed to have become just shallow dents.
Who had filled them?
If someone had taken advantage while she and Zong Hang were away, carrying a cement bucket and filling them one scoop at a time, she might barely accept that—but clearly, that wasn’t it: the filling was perfectly natural, with color and hardness indistinguishable from the surroundings.
There was no time to wonder why—Zong Hang clearly couldn’t hold them back anymore. Yi Sa drew her Black Ghost dagger and rapidly carved at one of the deeper dents while shouting back: “Now!”
This was what Zong Hang had been waiting for. His body tensed as he gripped the undershirt with both hands and shook it down hard, instantly knocking down more than ten clams. Without looking closely, he ducked and rolled to the side. Almost simultaneously, Yi Sa flew over, swept, and gathered with both hands from the ground, not counting how many, quickly rushed to the stone wall, pressed them into the freshly carved dent, and then dove behind the cover.
BOOM!
Though not large-scale, this “blast” was effective. The dent became soccer-ball-sized after the explosion. Yi Sa had a flash of insight—she didn’t need to worry about blast point positioning: concentrate force in one spot, keep blasting this same hole bigger and bigger, and quantity would transform into quality, eventually breaking through.
She shouted: “Again!”
Hearing her tone, Zong Hang knew they were on the right track. His spirit lifted, ignoring his aching back from the roll, he nimbly got up, performed another lift and shake, then hugged the ground to avoid.
Yi Sa’s timing matched his perfectly. This time, with the dent larger, she didn’t even need to stuff them in—throwing them in from a distance worked. Over ten clams exploded together, dust rolled from the dent, and even the stone wall seemed to shake.
Yi Sa sensed they were onto something: “Again, more this time!”
More wasn’t difficult. Zong Hang charged out again, now experienced and bolder, heading straight for the densest part of the swarm, using all the moves—lift, shake, raise, and cover. This was also the most dangerous attempt, with many clams landing on him, which he shook off with a combination of slapping and jumping.
This round knocked down truly many. Yi Sa almost had to use her arms to gather them, with no time to run back and forth, directly repeatedly grabbing and throwing them into the blasted hole. In her hurry, she couldn’t distinguish between sand and clams. Seeing she couldn’t delay any longer, she rolled behind the cover.
Another BOOM!
This time, the walls shook violently, and the blast wasn’t as muffled. Yi Sa’s mind sparked, and she immediately rejoiced, rushing out before the stone dust settled.
Sure enough, at the limit of vision, this stone wall had been blasted through!
Before she could look closer, suddenly Zong Hang’s voice changed pitch: “Yi Sa, watch out!”
Yi Sa also sensed the light change above her head and quickly looked up.
On the limestone ceiling, there was a large irregular shape, like the shadow of a quickly swimming whale seen from underwater, but not black—it was luminescent, rapidly cascading down the wall.
Yi Sa’s scalp tingled, initially thinking it was coming for her. She instinctively stepped aside, but surprisingly, it wasn’t. The light shadow moved extremely fast, as if being absorbed, swooshing into the blast hole.
Originally they could vaguely see through to the other side, but in an instant, it was all gone. Yi Sa knew something was wrong and rushed up to look, almost freezing in place.
The hole was growing.
Self-repairing.
Right before her eyes, under her gaze, at a visible speed, it grew back. In just seconds, it was restored to its original state.
All traces of digging and carving were gone.
Yi Sa reached out to touch it—just stone, cold, hard, solid, her fingernails couldn’t even scratch it.
Her mind was pounding.
What was this thing? Human? Ghost? Stone? Animal?
While she was stunned, suddenly her back stung. When she turned around, she realized the clam swarm had already pounced.
Zong Hang seemed to know there was no hope for the hole anymore, shaking the undershirt in final resistance, wanting to strike hard but afraid the clams would self-detonate and harm him. Struggling left and right, he was almost surrounded by the swarm. She was also targeted, and her situation was worse—she didn’t even have an undershirt, and could only swing her dagger up and down…
The clam swarm was densely packed, pressing against each other, those behind constantly pushing forward, compressed until there were almost no gaps.
Yi Sa suddenly shouted: “Throw me the shirt!”
Zong Hang’s position was closer to the main force of clams, already covered in blood marks from clam bites. With the clicking sounds in his ears, his nerves were about to break. Suddenly hearing this request, his heart sank.
This shirt was all he had left—throwing it to her would leave him with nothing.
But he only hesitated briefly before raising his hand to throw it.
However, that feeling was the same as when he was at Duck Head Mountain—coming out of the hiding cave, and being knocked down by Jiang Xiaoguang’s men.
He saw Yi Sa catch the undershirt, fully spread it with a shake, charging toward the densest part of the swarm, netting countless clams, perhaps hundreds or thousands, quickly tying the four corners, then swinging it up with a murderous expression, violently smashing it against the ground and stone wall.
The movement was large, the clam swarm scattered like disturbed bees. In that split second, Yi Sa swung hard, throwing the knotted shirt bundle away, then rushed several steps toward Zong Hang, forcefully tackling him down.
As they hit the ground, Zong Hang heard a tremendous explosion. He immediately understood, seeing they were still several steps from the cover, quickly hugged Yi Sa and rolled over there, then turned to cover her.
After the huge explosion, it was like a chain of firecrackers going off, with continuous explosions.
Zong Hang understood—Yi Sa had cleverly used the flying clams’ characteristics.
Their self-detonation when injured was both an advantage and a disadvantage.
The knotted undershirt “bundle” was like a giant “bomb.” Thrown into the clam swarm, its power was immense. Those inside the bundle would surely die, those outside would be instantly injured in large numbers, and the injured would self-detonate within seconds, creating a chain reaction—one kills two, two kills three, three kills countless—possibly enough to break the entire swarm.
He felt ashamed of himself.
Just moments ago, he had doubted Yi Sa for that instant.
The explosion sounds changed from dense to sparse.
Finally, just scattered pops, like the wheezing little firecrackers left after a fireworks show, popping for their amusement.
The swarm, if not completely destroyed, must have been severely weakened—they couldn’t organize any counterattack for a while.
Yi Sa shifted her head, her cheek brushing against Zong Hang’s shoulder, feeling some warmth—unknown if his skin was warm or her face was warm.
She uncomfortably shifted again, this time his soft hair swept past her nose.
Yi Sa discovered for the first time that Zong Hang’s scent was very clean, even mixed with mud, sand, and stone dust, it remained unpolluted.
She pushed him: “Alright, get up.”
Zong Hang rose, countless shell fragments and stone dust sliding from his head to his back.
The recent chain explosion’s power was evident. Feeling himself quite dirty, Zong Hang quickly stood and moved aside, patting and dusting himself off.
Yi Sa looked up—truly a mess everywhere, with some lucky surviving clams scattered around, now lifeless, moving their bodies like elderly creatures.
She walked to the stone wall where they had blasted a hole that had now healed, pushed and rubbed with her hand, and then stubbornly slashed with her dagger.
Hearing the sound, Zong Hang came over. Though he hadn’t seen how the hole was filled, he was certain there had been a large hole here: “Where’s the hole… we blasted?”
Yi Sa said: “Have you heard of earth and stone that can grow by itself?”
Yes.
Zong Hang remembered when he was young, Tong Hong told him Chinese ancient mythology stories. In the section about Yu the Great controlling floods, it mentioned Breathing Soil—”breathing” meaning growing. This soil could grow by itself, endlessly, so in “Huainanzi” there was a line: Yu used breathing soil to fill the floods.
Yi Sa pointed at the brownish-black stone wall: “Breathing soil.”
Then pointed at the luminescent limestone above: “Breathing soil.”
Finally pointed at the scattered shell fragments and meat pieces on the ground, still those two words: “Breathing soil.”
Zong Hang was confused. Setting aside the rest, how could clams be breathing soil?
Yi Sa explained: “People in the past didn’t understand the principle of cordyceps, saying it was both plant and animal. I don’t know what breathing soil is, but feel it’s similar to cordyceps—both like unconscious earth and sand, yet also like conscious animals.”
She pointed at the wall: “Earlier when I told you to ‘hold on,’ it was because the grooves I had carved had disappeared, leaving only shallow dents, showing this wall can self-repair and grow, just slowly.”
“But later, when we blasted through the hole, something moved down from above, and the hole was filled almost instantly. That thing looked like light and shadow, but should have been a layer of thin soil particles, repairing and growing very quickly.”
Zong Hang half-understood: “One slow, one fast—could they be two different things?”
Yi Sa shook her head: “The repair result is the same, more like the same thing. I tend to think: one is elderly, one is young or in its prime.”
This analogy was strange; it took Zong Hang a while to grasp it.
She meant they were all breathing soil, but what made up the wall had aged many years, so its activity was poor; what was above was in its prime, so the repair was fast.
He suddenly thought of something: “Then the light above…”
Yi Sa nodded: “Unused, brand new breathing soil might be luminescent, becoming non-luminescent after aging or use. When you warned me to be careful, we saw glowing light come down the wall, that brightness higher than surroundings—maybe its brightness increases when moving or active…”
Brightness?
Zong Hang blurted out: “Then at the lake bottom, we also saw white light!”
His heart was beating hard.
It must be this—the white light at the lake bottom, huge, twisting, rolling, stirring up whirlpools, perhaps was violently active breathing soil. When he tried to cut it with the dagger, he cut nothing; when he tried to grab it, he only got some fine sand…
And these self-detonating clams—clams contain sand, but what if the sand they swallowed was breathing soil? When stimulated, the breathing soil grows rapidly, volume instantly expanding—how could thin, brittle shells withstand such rapid growth force?
Self-detonation would then make perfect sense.