This old duck-shotgun was a real antique; it misfired frequently. This time, however, it was clearly Ding Sitian's fate to survive, as the blast of the gun saved her life. Although Old Sheepskin worried about the firearm hitting Ding Sitian and thus raised the muzzle significantly when he fired, and furthermore, the shotgun had long since lost any real stopping power, the spectacle of smoke and fire it produced was astonishing. The Jinlin Ju that had her pinned down was startled by the blast, released its grip, and rapidly backed away. In its panic, however, it couldn't discern direction and crashed headlong into the open maw of the incinerator. I happened to be rushing close by, braced my back against the furnace door, and smoothly threw the iron bolt shut.

The four of us, having narrowly escaped death, gasped for breath, none of us able to speak. As soon as we stopped moving, I felt a clammy coldness spread over me, realizing then that my clothes were nearly soaked through with sweat—I couldn't tell if it was the cold sweat of terror or the hot sweat from the fierce struggle. After a brief pause, Fatty, Ding Sitian, and I began to calm down, our racing hearts and ragged breaths finally subsiding. Only Old Sheepskin remained perfectly still, one hand holding the torch, the other clutching the shotgun, his face twisted into a grimace, looking as if even his beard hairs were standing on end.

Fatty went over first and helped pull Ding Sitian up. Seeing she was unharmed brought him immense relief. Then he clapped Old Sheepskin on the shoulder, saying, "Not bad, old man, truly a child of the poor and lower-middle peasants." The clap sent Old Sheepskin stumbling backward onto the ground, his face blank with bewilderment, as if he couldn't quite believe he had just saved Ding Sitian.

The Jinlin Ju, trapped inside the incinerator again, slammed against the door several times. But the door was a good half-meter thick; no matter its strength, it couldn't break out. Yet I dared not relax, keeping my hand firmly on the iron bolt securing the door. I clearly remembered that just moments ago, when all the torches were out and there was no light at all, someone had opened that door. That was a fifth person, separate from me, Ding Sitian, Fatty, and Old Sheepskin—it was this hidden presence who had released the Jinlin Ju. If there were another such incident, we likely wouldn't be so lucky. It was clear that something else was lurking in this building, deliberately ensuring none of us would leave alive. If we couldn't find this individual quickly, our survival was impossible.

I knew there was definitely something hidden in the cremation room, and until we found it, we faced much bigger trouble. So, bracing the furnace door with my back, I swept my gaze across the underground chamber. But the light from the torches held by Ding Sitian and the others was insufficient; the far end of the basement and all the corners remained pitch black. The less we could see lurking in the darkness, the more uneasy I became. While there wasn't a term like "claustrophobia" back then, the four of us had certainly been confined in this concrete coffin long enough, especially given the inexplicable, bizarre phenomena within the building. A moment of careful thought sent chills down my spine.

Fatty proposed a plan: "You two hold the door shut down here, and I'll go up to the second floor to toss a torch into the incinerator to burn that son of a bitch Jinlin Ju to ashes so it won't come out pulling stunts again."

I nodded in agreement. We had to finish the job; if we didn't burn it now, we couldn't climb out through the flue either. Just then, Ding Sitian stopped us. "Don't burn it! The fire in this furnace is too hot; burning it will leave nothing but ash. The Jinlin Ju carries two treasures: the Ruyi Hook on its tailbone and the Fenshui Bead on its skull. I hear they are precious medicinal ingredients capable of reviving the dead. Our ox and horse are probably gone for good, and the loss is irreparable, but if we can bring those two items back, perhaps we can avoid accountability."

Fatty and I doubted whether the Ju's bones, like the Ruyi Hook, were truly that valuable, but it was better than returning empty-handed. As for how to capture a Ju, Ding Sitian recalled her father saying that the Jinlin Ju liked to frequent very high places, like treetops or the tops of towers. Near such locations, there would certainly be Guanyin Vines, and only those vines could capture or kill it. She wondered if such a plant grew near this building. If not, we should focus on escaping first and returning with more manpower to capture it.

A thought flashed through my mind: this plan was absolutely untenable. I told Ding Sitian, "No, indecision invites future trouble. We must burn it now. This creature moves like the wind; men cannot stop it. If it manages to crawl out of the incinerator again, we'll truly be meeting Marx. Besides, what other exit is there from this building besides the smoke flue?" There was one crucial point I didn't mention: this building was almost certainly haunted, and based on everything that had happened tonight, the vengeful spirits within definitely wanted us dead. Looking at the air quality in the basement, the iron gate at the cremation room exit might not have been closed all along; perhaps it was sealed only after we entered. With a few torches lighting the way now, it was manageable, but once everything flammable was gone, if the spirits in the building reopened the incinerator, that would be playing right into their hands—enough to scare anyone to death. I truly didn't want to articulate this fear to Ding Sitian and the others because their mental strain was already near its breaking point. Yet, even without my saying it, everyone else could grasp the danger; they abandoned the idea of killing the Ju for its treasures. In our dire situation, surviving immediately was the priority. While we live, we have hope.

I instructed Fatty to take a torch up to the second floor and told Ding Sitian to accompany him to act as backup, instructing them to return to the basement immediately after setting the fire to regroup with us. Fatty then found the Kangxi saber, which had fallen on the floor, tucked it into his belt, and swaggered toward the staircase with his torch held high.

Ding Sitian followed, but as they both raised their feet to pass me, Ding Sitian's expression suddenly changed. She thrust out both hands and yanked Fatty and me away from the incinerator door. I felt puzzled, about to ask why she pulled me, but in that instant, I understood the sudden turn of events. Thick plumes of yellow mist were seeping out from the cracks in the furnace door. The Jinlin Ju was known to spew poison at the hours of Zi and Wu; it must have been the stroke of midnight. This toxic haze was potent and dense, accumulating in the stagnant air of the basement. Since the furnace pit wasn't far from the staircase entrance, the area was instantly obscured by the poisonous smoke.

Seeing the yellow fog so thick it seemed impenetrable, I suddenly remembered changing clothes in this cremation room earlier. The incinerator worker's uniform was a full jumpsuit, and the hat had a simple filtering mask to prevent inhaling smoke and the stench of decay. Because clothing was precious at the time, they wouldn't discard it unless absolutely necessary, so Fatty and the others hadn't changed. Moreover, only two protective suits hung in the corner of the basement; the third one, hanging near the staircase, was already hidden by the toxic gas.

I thought that now, only I, wearing a filtering mask, could break through the poison fog to set the fire upstairs. But the moment I touched my uniform, my heart sank. The chaotic struggle with the Jinlin Ju had been intense. The filtering mask attached to my protective suit had long since detached and vanished.

The Ju's poison attacks the five senses and penetrates the seven orifices, its toxicity even worse than snake venom. Seeing the exit blocked by the toxic fog, I knew all was lost. The other three of us quickly covered our mouths and noses with our hands and retreated rapidly toward the far end of the cremation chamber. This move was clearly desperation; the further we moved from the staircase, the more dangerous it became.

The basement had no ventilation. Although the mist formed by the Ju poison, after emanating from the incinerator, mostly condensed near the door, slowing its spread deeper into the chamber, the toxic cloud was still gradually closing in on us.

Trapped in the oppressive basement with no way up and no way down, the oxygen inside dwindled. The flames of the torches grew dimmer. With no solution in sight, the four of us could only continue backing into the corner. Suddenly, Fatty remembered something and blurted out to Ding Sitian, "Say, Sitian, before we go meet Marx, there's one thing I didn't get a chance to ask you. Between Old Hu and me, which of us do you think has the potential to elevate our pure revolutionary friendship?"

Ding Sitian was behind me. In the darkness, I couldn't see her expression—whether she was frightened or blushing at such a question in this desperate situation. Thinking we were about to die in this gloomy cremation chamber, I also longed to hear Ding Sitian's true feelings before the end. But Ding Sitian replied, "I... water... you all quickly, look at the sewage flowing from the pipes!"

Her voice held both shock and joy, as if she had spotted a sliver of light in the darkness. Old Sheepskin held his torch and shone it where she pointed. Unbeknownst to us, we had retreated to the corner where the pipes were laid. The water pipe, ruptured by the Jinlin Ju's impact, had discharged a large volume of foul water, which had now mostly drained away. A considerable amount of black water still pooled on the ground, and in the standing water, there were a dozen tiny whirlpools. The water inside the room was seeping away through these spots. Because the drains hadn't been cleared for years, the water seeped out slowly; had the pipe not burst, we might never have noticed their existence.

Seeing a gutter was like grasping a lifeline. Fatty plunged his hand into the sewage and exclaimed happily, "It doesn't feel like a drain opening; it's a goddamn iron cover! Let me try to lift it..."

I saw the Ju poison advancing; we couldn't afford a moment's delay, so I urged Fatty to hurry. Fatty scraped the mud off the iron covers of the drainage holes, inserted his fingers, and pulled upwards. He strained with all his might, pulling upward several times, but the iron cover seemed rooted to the spot, unmoving.

The dim yellow Ju poison, like smoke and mist, would envelop our position completely in moments. We were already struggling to breathe, feeling a churning sensation in our chests, wanting to vomit. We were staring at a sewer opening but couldn't escape into it no matter what, causing everyone to stomp their feet in frustration. A thought sparked in my mind. This building was constructed strangely—every doorway and passage was either sealed or opened outward, just like the lid of the cremator. Could this sewer drain be the same?

Ding Sitian reached the same conclusion. Her fingers were slender enough to reach into the drainage hole. She quickly crouched down and fumbled inside. Sure enough, through the hole, she found an internal cross-bar pin. Though rusted, it was slightly loose. Ignoring the pain as her skin chafed raw, she yanked the iron pin several times until it finally tore loose. The drainage covers on both sides immediately dropped open.

Beneath the drainage covers was a deep trench made of large cement pipes connected together. We didn't care that it was damp and foul; we immediately filed in. The height of the drainage ditch was just over two meters. I jumped in last, splashing myself with stinking water. I wanted to close the open drainage covers, but in the chaos, Ding Sitian had already thrown the extracted iron pin somewhere. I was reluctant, but urged on by Old Sheepskin and the others, I had no choice but to let it go.

The sewage in the underground channel wasn't deep, but the bottom of the cement pipes was layered with black, foul-smelling sludge—extremely muddy. Many water bugs, startled by our intrusion, were scurrying rapidly back and forth. Although the environment was harsh, there was at least water movement, meaning no fatal gas buildup. The only danger was easily slipping in the muck. We couldn't see the ends of the waterway in either direction, making it impossible to judge orientation. Logically, an area bordering the desolate northern wastes should have scarce water; why was this abandoned cement pipe still draining? This was an unfathomable mystery, but we couldn't afford to dwell on it; we had to take things one step at a time.

Pointing toward the direction the water flowed from, I told the group, "I figure all roads lead to Beijing; let's just pick a direction and go. No matter what, at least we're out of that building. I'd rather be suffocated by mud down here than go back to that haunted place." Although there was no absolute barrier between the sewer and the cremation chamber, the Ju poison had its limits. As long as the space was deep enough, we shouldn't worry about poisoning. Moving along the narrow cement pipeline, the four of us advanced. Though the future was uncertain and vague, we were finally far from that furnace filled with resentment, and the pressure on our minds eased somewhat. Fatty, Old Sheepskin, and I ceaselessly praised Ding Sitian. If not for her brave actions just now, we would all have died from the poison—a death akin to the Jews in the Nazi gas chambers, only without anyone left to collect the bodies; it would have been too tragic.

Ding Sitian replied, "I most admire the contemporary Soviet hero Ostrovsky. I only hope to live as he described: when a person looks back on their life, they won't regret having wasted their years, nor feel ashamed for having achieved nothing."

Adopting a dramatic radio announcer's cadence, I joked to Ding Sitian, "When I look back on my life, I won't regret not climbing out of the incinerator chimney, nor feel that crawling through a stinking sewer was a waste of effort." Then, growing serious, I told everyone, "Our path ahead is unknown, and we don't know what awaits us. Everyone must keep their spirits up. This Long March has only just taken its first step..."

Fatty continued my thought with a sigh, "The road ahead will be longer..." Ding Sitian added, "That's why we must be economical in our revolution. Lighting two torches is too wasteful. Can we use just one?"

As soon as Ding Sitian finished speaking, she extinguished the torch in her hand. We had only bound about ten simple torches in total, and now only four or five remained. Furthermore, the burn time for each was extremely limited—even adding them up, they might not last half an hour. We truly didn't know if they would last until we could climb out of the ditch.