Old Yangpi said, "I'm already an old man, what the hell do I have to be afraid of? I'm worried about this girl. Alas... I've lived my life honestly, keeping to a vegetarian diet. Though I've never shaved my head, I’m just a monk without the tonsure, so why must all the bad luck fall on me..." He trailed off mid-sentence. I knew he was probably thinking about how, even if they returned to the pasture, he couldn't account for the massive loss of cattle, sheep, and horses. Old Yangpi was filled with bitterness, and I wondered what I could do to help him and Ding Sitian shirk responsibility.

While we were talking, Fatty had completely demolished the brick wall. What remained was the part mortared and sealed with brick and cement. I asked Fatty, "Can this iron cover be pulled open?" Fatty reached out and felt it. "Eighty percent chance it can be pulled open. There's an iron latch, but it’s not locked or welded shut."

I drew my knife and told Ding Sitian to prepare a match to light the way so we could see exactly what lay behind the iron cover. Seeing everything was ready, I reached out and patted Fatty’s shoulder. Fatty got the signal, braced his feet against the brick wall for leverage, and used both hands to pull the heavy handle on the edge of the iron door. A grating "kacha-chichi" sound echoed in the darkness, immediately followed by a choking stench wafting out from behind the cover. The smell was nauseating, foul beyond description, like a noxious mix of acrid coal smoke and grease. We quickly covered our noses.

Listening to the noise, I whispered to Ding Sitian, "Light it up." Ding Sitian immediately struck a match, and a flame sprang to life. Beyond the open iron cover was a layer of pitch-black stonework, over a meter thick. Further inside was a cylindrical vertical shaft, rising upwards—no view of the sky above, no bottom to see below. The inner walls of the shaft were coated with thick black carbon deposits, looking as if they had formed from years of smoke and fire. I wrapped Ding Sitian's scarf around my nose and squeezed in to investigate. It was dark below, impossible to see the bottom, while above, there was a faint glimmer of starlight, suggesting a circular skylight on the roof. The vertical shaft was narrow; supporting myself with my hands and feet against the walls, I might be able to inch my way up to the skylight.

I backed out and Fatty squeezed in for a look. Old Yangpi and Ding Sitian asked me what was behind the iron cover. I said uncertainly, "It looks like... a large chimney flue." Old Yangpi had never seen such a massive chimney. He was somewhat skeptical, so I explained to him: "Back when Fatty, Sitian, and I were engaging in revolutionary activities, we once got so caught up in touring the revolutionary base areas and experiencing the revolutionary spirit that we forgot to eat all day. By the time we got back, it was long past dinner. But we had revolutionary work to do the next day, and we couldn't starve overnight. So, Fatty stole a small pig from a villager’s sty. I was in charge of holding the pig, and we planned to roast it in the burning brick kiln to eat suckling pig. Unfortunately, we misjudged the heat; the temperature inside was too high, and we completely incinerated the rather plump little pig. Later, when the villager and others came looking for us, we executed the enemy advances, we retreat maneuver, and fled into the abandoned brick kiln’s chimney to hide until dawn, thus escaping the revolutionary masses who wanted to hold us accountable for stealing socialist snacks."

That experience gave us a profound, intuitive understanding of chimneys that we would never forget. I had just smeared my hand inside the flue behind the iron cover. It was covered in soot, and when I rubbed it, it felt sticky, like grease. This flue must lead down to a fire kiln or furnace. Why would it still be so greasy after being unused for so long? Plus, there was that revolting smell...

An ominous thought surfaced in my mind: this was an incineration flue used for cremations. Even if it hadn't burned bodies, it had certainly incinerated vast amounts of animals, leaving behind the grease carried into the flue by high temperatures and thick smoke. Even after cooling and solidifying, this thick layer of oil hadn't vanished. The iron cover behind the second-floor brick wall didn't seem like a furnace opening, but rather an access point for maintenance to clear blockages in the flue. Only old-style crematorium furnaces required such a setup, as the residue in the flue had to be manually cleared. I’d heard that after the German Nazis massacred Jews using gas chambers, they used crematoria to dispose of the bodies. Had the Japanese also adopted this German equipment for disposing of evidence? The most pressing issue was that we couldn't figure out why, if this was just a large chimney, it needed such tight sealing and camouflage. I suspected it was more than just hiding something.

The thought that this might be a crematorium flue that had burned countless corpses nearly made me vomit up the grilled sea bass I'd eaten earlier that night. I quickly wiped the black grease off my hands onto my clothes. However, to escape this predicament, someone had to climb up the incineration flue. But this process couldn't use matches for light, lest the smoke ignite any residual combustibles in the flue and set us on fire. Another option was to grope our way down to the basement in the dark, but that area probably housed a large iron stove and might not have an exit. Relying on the few remaining matches to navigate the basement wasn't very realistic either.

I shared this plan with my companions, and Fatty immediately objected. "No way, this is pure adventurism. Old Hu, you’re aiming for high difficulty here. While we have to get out through this chimney eventually, being burned into smoke is vastly different from climbing out alive. This passage clearly wasn't designed for living people. Besides, with such a thick layer of grease coating the flue, climbing it will definitely be slippery. You might think it doesn't matter—at worst, you fall into the furnace, die, or get crippled, and there’s no shame in that. But what if the shaft narrows above and I get stuck midway, unable to go up or down, and suffocate? I can’t accept dying in such a stifling manner; I doubt there’s any precedent for it in history, and I certainly don't want to set that world record."

I said, "We near-sighted people need glasses—we must solve the immediate problem. There's no other way now. It’s not personal heroism; I think at this point, taking a risk is the only option. You all wait here for me. I’ll climb out alone, then figure out a way to open the iron grate from the outside to let you out. If I fall... consider me gone first. We’ll meet in the next life."

Ding Sitian grabbed my arm and pleaded earnestly, "Don't go! Is a cremation flue something you climb for fun? Even if you don't die from the fall, the coal ash and fumes inside could choke a person to death. Let’s think of another way."

I was relying on a surge of desperate courage; I feared that if I hesitated for even a moment, I wouldn't dare risk climbing the flue. A strong man needs an extra measure of fierceness, a sturdy horse needs eighteen more lashes; I couldn't soften my resolve at this critical juncture. Thus, ignoring Ding Sitian’s dissuasion, I once again slipped into the flue behind the iron cover, wrapping the scarf tightly over my mouth and nose. I looked up toward the chimney opening; from where I was to the exit was only about a story and a half—not very far. Coupled with my confidence in my climbing skills, I gritted my teeth and pushed my body into the flue.