Dawn broke over the mountains as Cheng Fusheng and Shiao Zhen stood at the base of a rugged hill, looking up at the long-abandoned estate nestled on its summit. The estate, which had once been a grand symbol of the Shiao family's wealth and influence, now appeared nothing more than a shadow of its former self. The roofs were sagging, the walls crumbled in places, and vines crawled over the once-majestic stonework. The estate had been deserted for decades, yet it still held an air of untold stories, secrets buried deep within its walls.
"We're here," Shiao Zhen said quietly, his eyes scanning the derelict structure with a mixture of nostalgia and unease. He had not been here in years, not since his father's passing. In his memory, this place was a symbol of what his family once was—a reminder of their long history and their fall from grace.
Cheng Fusheng, who had been quiet during the journey, surveyed the scene with a critical eye. He could sense the history that hung in the air like a thick fog. He had seen many old estates in his time, but this one felt different. There was something unsettling about it, as though it was holding its breath, waiting for someone to uncover its secrets.
"Let's go," Shiao Zhen said, breaking the silence. He began to climb the narrow stone path that led to the front entrance, his footsteps light but purposeful. Cheng followed close behind, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of the dagger tucked into his belt. The journey to this remote estate had been long, and they had taken precautions to avoid any unwanted attention. But Cheng couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. The mountains surrounding them were vast and silent, but something in the air seemed off.
As they reached the front gate, Shiao Zhen hesitated for a moment before pushing it open. The gate creaked, its hinges protesting against the years of neglect. On the other side, the once-grand courtyard stretched out before them, overgrown with weeds and wild plants. The stone statues that had once adorned the pathways were now worn and broken, their faces indistinguishable from the stone they had once been carved from.
"This place is even worse than I remember," Shiao Zhen muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness. "It's hard to believe it used to be the pride of the Shiao family."
Cheng Fusheng didn't respond immediately. He was scanning the area, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. "Who exactly was your great-grandfather?" he asked, his curiosity piqued. "Why did this estate hold such importance?"
Shiao Zhen turned to face him, his expression thoughtful. "My great-grandfather, Shiao Ming, was a man of vision. He built this estate as a symbol of the family's power, both politically and economically. He was well-connected, respected, and feared in equal measure. The Shiao family was a dynasty in its own right, with influence that stretched across the country."
Cheng Fusheng nodded, impressed despite himself. "So this place was not just a home, but a statement."
"Exactly," Shiao Zhen said, his eyes distant. "But after my great-grandfather's death, things started to fall apart. My grandfather wasn't as capable, and my father… Well, you already know about him. He became obsessed with something he believed was hidden here—something that could restore the Shiao family to its former glory."
Cheng Fusheng's eyes narrowed. "The 'Bronze Dragon'?"
"Yes," Shiao Zhen replied, his voice low. "That's what my father believed. He thought that my great-grandfather had hidden it somewhere on this estate, that it was the key to everything. He spent years trying to find it, but after his death, no one really knew what he was looking for anymore. The estate fell into disrepair, and with it, the Shiao family's power."
"So, the legacy your father was chasing was tied to this place?" Cheng Fusheng asked.
Shiao Zhen nodded. "Yes, but I'm not sure how. The only thing my father left behind was a few notes, a map, and his obsession with the idea that the 'Bronze Dragon' was somewhere here—waiting to be uncovered."
"And now you're here to finish what he started," Cheng Fusheng said, his tone flat. "To find whatever it was that your father thought could restore the Shiao family."
"Yes," Shiao Zhen replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I don't know if I'm ready to discover what that is."
Cheng Fusheng gave him a sidelong glance. "You won't know until you search."
The two men walked toward the main building of the estate, passing the overgrown courtyard and the crumbling structures that once had life and purpose. The once-pristine stone steps leading to the entrance were now chipped and uneven, as if nature itself had been reclaiming what was once a symbol of man's power.
Inside, the mansion was even worse than the exterior suggested. The grand hall was dim, the only light filtering in through broken windows. Dust danced in the air, disturbed by their footsteps. The silence inside was overwhelming, as though the house had not seen a living soul in years. The floors creaked under their weight, and the walls seemed to moan in response to the intrusion.
"This place is a tomb," Cheng Fusheng remarked, his voice echoing in the silence.
Shiao Zhen didn't respond, his eyes scanning the room for anything that might give them a clue. He walked slowly toward the far wall, where a massive fireplace loomed. It had once been the heart of the home, a place for family gatherings and warmth, but now it was cold and empty. Above the fireplace, a large portrait hung crookedly—an image of a man in ornate robes, his eyes sharp and commanding.
"My great-grandfather," Shiao Zhen murmured, his gaze fixed on the portrait. "He was the one who built this estate. The one who set the Shiao family on its path to greatness. He was the first to believe in the power of the 'Bronze Dragon.'"
Cheng Fusheng studied the painting with interest. The man in the portrait was imposing, his features proud, his eyes filled with confidence. He had the look of someone who believed in his destiny.
"Your great-grandfather must have been quite a man," Cheng Fusheng said, his voice quiet.
"He was," Shiao Zhen replied, his tone distant. "But in the end, even he was lost to his ambition. My father thought he was the one who would unlock the secrets of the past, but now… now it's my turn."
As they moved deeper into the house, they came to a staircase leading down into what appeared to be a cellar. Shiao Zhen hesitated for a moment, then made his way down the steps, his footsteps echoing in the stillness.
Cheng Fusheng followed, his eyes scanning the shadows. The air grew colder as they descended, the scent of damp stone and earth growing stronger with each step. At the bottom of the stairs, they found a small room—dark, musty, and filled with old crates and forgotten relics. The walls were lined with shelves of books and scrolls, many of which appeared to be centuries old. On one side of the room, a large wooden chest stood, its surface carved with intricate patterns that seemed almost familiar to Cheng Fusheng.
Shiao Zhen approached the chest, his hand hovering over the lid. "This is it," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is what my father believed would lead us to the 'Bronze Dragon.'"
He carefully opened the chest, revealing a collection of ancient scrolls and maps, each carefully preserved in linen wrappings. At the very top, however, was a strange object—a small, intricately carved statue of a dragon, made of bronze. Its surface was covered in ancient inscriptions, some of which were barely legible.
Cheng Fusheng's heart skipped a beat. This was it. The 'Bronze Dragon.'
"Is this it?" he asked, his voice tight with anticipation.
Shiao Zhen nodded slowly. "I believe so. But… what now?"
Cheng Fusheng reached out and gently picked up the statue. As his fingers brushed the cold surface, a strange feeling washed over him—a sense of recognition, as though he had seen this object before in another life. The inscriptions on the statue seemed to pulse with an energy of their own, drawing him in.
"This… this is just the beginning," Cheng Fusheng said, his mind racing. "This is the key, but we need to understand the meaning behind these markings. They're not just decorative. They're part of something much larger."
Shiao Zhen's eyes narrowed. "Then we'll find out what it means. Whatever it takes."
As the two men stood in the dimly lit cellar, the weight of their discovery hung heavy in the air. They had found the key to the Shiao family's lost legacy—but the question now was what price they would have to pay to unlock its secrets. The past had finally caught up with them, and there was no turning back now.