I've Guarded the Dragon Vein for Eight Hundred Years, and You Call Me Ordinary?

In the seventh year of the Republic, rain poured down, and a grim atmosphere hung over Zhaoling. The old stonemason Li Zhuo huddled in the mausoleum keeper’s hut, listening to the thunder and the faint sound of metal cutting outside the window. His heart ached. He knew that Governor Chen Shufan’s men were targeting the “Six Steeds.” A bolt of lightning tore through the night, bleaching the room white. At that very moment, the door opened silently, and an old man, drenched and pale as paper, stood in the doorway. “The Li Tang... the mausoleum keepers...” The old man’s voice seemed to rise from underground, chilling to the bone. “They have tampered with what they should have left alone. ‘White Hoofed Crow’ is no stone, but a lock and key! If the dragon vein is disturbed, three hundred li around Chang’an will be flooded!” Li Zhuo shuddered and tried to ask more, but the old man thrust a cold, fish-shaped talisman made of black iron into his hand and hissed, “Remember: ‘When the Black Tortoise weeps blood, the secret key will appear!’ If you fail to protect it, disaster will engulf us all!” With that, the old man turned and vanished into the rain, disappearing without a trace as if he had never been there. Li Zhuo looked down at the black iron fish talisman, etched all over with strange cloud patterns. A sense of foreboding clamped around his throat.