Han Yu dropped to sit on a low rock, sighing heavily. The echoes of his breath sounded too loud in the cavern.
His last bit of rations—some jerky he had crammed into a side pouch—had long since dried out into something resembling salty bark. He chewed it now anyway, more for morale than nourishment. He swallowed it down with a grimace, then reached into his pouch again.
Empty.
"Great. Starvation in a labyrinth of dead stone. Just what every great cultivator dreams of."
He had scouted for anything remotely edible—fungus, moss, even mineral veins that could hold spiritual energy—but there was nothing. Not a single patch of mold or even a hint of condensation. The walls pulsed with dying energy, the veins of what was possibly fire-elemental rock having long since exhausted whatever heat they once had. It was a tomb, not a tunnel.
