At this time, among the four-person team, only Old Sheepskin held the single remaining torch for illumination, leading the way in the middle. I noticed he seemed considerably more spirited than before. Perhaps it wasn't just from eating too many fish. I suspected that saving Ding Sitian with a shot in the Incineration Chamber had done it. Though it was a feat accomplished in a mere flick of the wrist—something Fatty and I wouldn't have blinked at—for Old Sheepskin, it meant conquering himself, finally untying the knot in his heart. Back then, it was his cowardice that prevented him from saving his comrade, a shadow he had likely lived under for years.

My thoughts churning, pondering Old Sheepskin’s plight and the anomalies near the crematorium, I followed the others forward, placing one foot after the other in the gloom. Casually glancing at the wall, I saw Fatty leading the way, the Kangxi long saber strapped to his back, followed by Old Sheepskin holding the torch, then Ding Sitian, with me bringing up the rear—the four of us moving in a tight single file. Because the concrete pipe, acting as a gutter, was extremely narrow, the torchlight appeared much brighter here than it had in the basement. Our silhouettes were clearly cast onto the curved concrete wall. As the four of us walked and swayed, the figures on the wall moved and undulated with us. But I realized there were more than four shadows on that wall. At some point, a dark shape had attached itself behind me.

That shadow followed us silently, situated precisely at the edge of the torchlight’s reach. As Old Sheepskin moved, the airflow caused the torch flame to sputter and dim, making the trailing black figure flicker in and out of sight. A prickling dread ran down my scalp; I thought, This is bad—what we feared is coming true. That ghost from the crematorium has followed us out. I dared not speak, slowing my pace slightly, straining my ears for any sound from behind. Yet, apart from a bone-chilling cold that penetrated straight to my core, there was absolute silence.

I spotted an extra shadow on the concrete pipe wall and thought, This is truly inconvenient, like a broken pant leg dragging me down, this spirit just won't leave. Yet, listening behind me yielded no sound at all, as if, besides this phantom figure, nothing else existed behind our group of four.

I refrained from any rash movement, trying to decipher the shadow's intention. It clearly couldn't strike us down directly. Why? Perhaps Old Sheepskin’s Kangxi Saber truly possessed the power to ward off evil. A weapon that has been through battle and taken lives carries an inherent degree of malevolence; the more it slays, the heavier the baleful energy on the blade. Even though Emperor Kangxi personally led campaigns, he might not have engaged in direct combat, but an object from the imperial palace was extraordinary. The ghost might be wary of this very blade, thus resorting to indirect means to attack us.

These thoughts flashed through my mind, but my feet did not stop. I saw that Old Sheepskin’s torch was about to burn out. If we didn't investigate clearly while there was still light, delaying further would be far more detrimental to us. Though fear gripped me, I had to steel myself and turn back for a proper look. Unless we completely rid ourselves of this lingering spirit from the crematorium, we likely wouldn't escape.

Abruptly, I spun around, expecting to see something, intending to call for Fatty to draw his saber and drive the ghost away. Instead, I found nothing. Ahead lay only the long, dark drainage pipe—not a single ghost, not even a water mite or a cockroach. The shadow on the wall had vanished almost the instant I turned, leaving behind only the foul-smelling air in the darkness.

I stared into the depths of the drainage pipe, my heart pounding furiously. I could sense it—in that unseen darkness, there were indeed a pair of venomous eyes. Looking that way gave me instant goosebumps, an icy chill piercing my chest, but with only the light of one torch, we were helpless.

While I hesitated, the other three—Old Sheepskin, Fatty, and Ding Sitian—were severely startled by my sudden turn and jump. They thought something had happened behind us and stopped, turning back to peer intently. Seeing me staring blankly into the dark stretch of the gutter, they assumed I was suffering from residual shock from the crematorium and quickly pulled me aside to ask what was wrong.

I thought to myself, If I tell them a ghost shadow was following us, wouldn't that scare the thing off and let it slip away? Better to keep quiet for now and act based on the situation. So, I only told the group, "We’ve been walking in this stinking gutter for a long time without seeing an exit. I was just getting a little worried, so I stopped to check the terrain."

Ding Sitian reassured me, "This drainage pipe is long and deep. Presumably, apart from the three-story building housing the crematorium, there must be many other structures. In that case, other waterways must connect here; all the sewage eventually converges. If we keep going, we’ll find an exit sooner or later."

I nodded in agreement. Persistence is victory. We started looking for the ox herder that morning, and now it was past midnight. This day had been incredibly difficult and long, but until we found an exit, there was no time for relaxation; we had to remain vigilant and press on. I asked Old Sheepskin to light a new torch, borrowed the Kangxi Saber from Fatty, and the four of us pushed forward with strained spirits. I remained at the rear, constantly watching for any movement behind us, but the rest of the journey passed without further incident.

The torches were consuming fuel faster than we anticipated. If we didn't climb out of this stinking gutter soon, once the light was gone, our hope of leaving would diminish further. We had to quicken our pace. Not long after, we saw that about several meters ahead, the concrete pipe wall they had repaired was blocked by an iron grate. The bottom of the grate was secured with a heavy lock, a loop of chain dangling halfway into the water. The bars were as thick as eggs, and above us was a rectangular iron cover riddled with drainage holes, but it was far too narrow to squeeze through. Moreover, since it was locked from above, there was no way to push it open from below. Seeing this, our hearts immediately sank. It was over; there was no path forward.

Old Sheepskin squatted down and fumbled in the black water beneath the grate. Suddenly, he exclaimed happily, "Don't worry! My saber is an imperial weapon; even after all these years, the edge is still sharp. The section of the chain held by the lock is submerged in the muddy water and has rusted through already. Cutting it with the saber will be no problem!"

Hearing this, my heart stirred, and I went to inspect the chain held by the lock. There was no place for a lock on the grate itself; there was only a movable iron shackle on the outside. Perhaps the chain was attached temporarily, causing it to slip to the bottom. The submerged part had rusted completely, and the chain was much thinner than the grate bars. The Kangxi Saber was modeled after a Mongolian long saber—a heavy, thick-spined battlefield weapon. While it couldn't cut through iron like mud, severing a rusted chain was certainly manageable. I quickly told Fatty and Ding Sitian to hold the chain steady while I swung the saber down. The finger-thick rusted chain broke instantly. Looking at the blade, there wasn't even a chip.

Everyone praised the swiftness of the blade. Working together, we pushed the grate open. A few steps beyond, there was a T-junction. One path was too narrow, while the other two sides each had an iron sluice gate for drainage. Crucially, the one on our side could be opened. It seemed we had entered a completely different section. After opening the largest iron gate, I didn't rush inside. Recalling the feeling of being locked in the cremation room earlier—with no way up or down—still sent shivers down my spine. Thankfully, it was a furnace room and not a jail cell, otherwise, even if there was a drain, a person couldn't fit through. Learn from past mistakes. This time, we immediately sabotaged the gate mechanism before entering, ensuring that if we couldn't proceed forward, we wouldn't be completely cut off from retreat.

After confirming multiple times that we absolutely could not be locked in again, we stepped inside. However, what followed was still a winding maze of sewage channels that seemed endless. We felt the pipes stretched on without end. In reality, this was likely an illusion caused by the repulsive, cramped environment and our extreme exhaustion, making our progress agonizingly slow, thus creating the sensation of endlessness.

After walking some distance, narrower tributary pipes finally began to appear along the sides of the main channel. But these branches were only about the diameter of a basketball—small enough only for rats and cockroaches to pass through. There were also several narrow, rectangular water inlets, too small for people, and the areas outside the pipes were pitch black; we couldn't discern where we were. It seemed not all sections had drainage covers as large as those for the incinerators.

I walked at the very back of the group and didn't pay much attention to the subtle changes in the sewer landscape; that was enough for Ding Sitian and the others to handle. I concentrated solely on the rear to guard against any sudden threats. Just then, Ding Sitian, ahead of me, suddenly stopped. Unprepared, I nearly ran into her. Composing myself, I saw that Fatty and Old Sheepskin ahead of her had also halted. As I was about to ask what the matter was, the light from the team’s torch revealed the reason.

Very close to Fatty, on the concrete pipe wall, was a pitch-black ring, about the diameter of a water vat. The circumference of the circle was uneven, bulging in and out, not perfectly regular. Against the pale gray concrete wall illuminated by the flickering torchlight, this black circle stood out strikingly. As the torchlight dimmed and brightened, the black ring on the wall seemed to writhe slightly. Fatty saw it instantly and assumed it was a black water snake coiled against the wall, so he stopped immediately.

I thought that whether a water snake was black or not was hard to say, and more importantly, how could a water snake coil up against a wall like that? Even if a snake were that long, it wouldn't be that thin. There were definitely no earthworms here. But we weren't mistaken. The black ring on the wall was not just a smear of mud; it was actually moving. Although the movement was minuscule, it could easily be overlooked if one wasn't looking closely, making one think it was merely a circular marking painted with black dirt.

This black ring drew our attention. Once we clearly saw it was not a coiled snake or centipede, the four of us stepped closer, examining the wall intently. We all felt a jolt, and our scalps tingled. There was a circle of cracks in the concrete wall, and crawling in and out were cockroaches—the small ones no bigger than sesame seeds, newly hatched nymphs. They had made this circular fissure their nest, perfectly encircling the area. In the dim light, if you were slightly further away, you would definitely mistake it for a writhing black ring on the wall.

Ding Sitian felt nauseous and wanted to leave immediately and continue searching for an exit. I held her back, saying, "This underground waterway is like a labyrinth; we can't even tell direction, and the torch is almost gone. If we keep walking, who knows where we’ll end up? This circular crack in the wall is too strange; maybe it's a hidden passage."

Fatty chimed in, "That's got to be it. Even a fool could figure that out. How could such a perfectly shaped hole appear on a concrete pipe?" He was already utterly miserable from being cooped up in the stinking sewer. With that, he stopped studying it, lifted his foot, and slammed it repeatedly into the center of the circular crack, shaking the countless small cockroaches out of the fissure.

This section of concrete wall wasn't very large. The circular gap had been chiseled open from the inside, which explained why the rather imperfect seam was filled with cockroaches. The piece of concrete broke loose under Fatty’s pounding, scattering cockroaches of all sizes across the wall. Old Sheepskin quickly waved his torch to keep them away. Behind the concrete was a low tunnel excavated by human effort, its interior uneven and bumpy. One could only crawl in by bending their knees tightly. Driven by curiosity, I wanted to explore its depths, so I took the torch and crawled in to investigate. The tunnel was only seven or eight meters long, ending in an upward exit covered by a floor tile. Pushing it up would reveal the way out. I stuck my head out and looked: the exit was under a bed in a room cluttered with various items.

Ding Sitian and the others called out from behind, urging me to come out quickly. Fearing they would worry, I couldn't examine things closely, so I backed out of the tunnel and described what I had seen to everyone. After walking so long in the foul gutter, everyone felt suffocated and nauseous, almost literally choked to death. Even if there was a passage leading into a room, it was better to get some fresh air first. Moreover, the room seemed to contain many useful articles; perhaps we could find food and lighting tools there, increasing our chances of survival.

Everyone unanimously agreed. I was still the first to crawl in. At first, I thought this was a prison cell and that the opening in the sewer was an escape route used by someone incarcerated there. However, when I peeked out from under the bed, I dismissed my judgment. A prison cell would never look like this. I lifted the floor tile and the bed above it, then pulled the other three up one by one. Holding the torch, the four of us looked around and were filled with surprise. Although this was a basement, it clearly had complete ventilation shafts, allowing air to circulate freely; there was none of the suffocating feeling in the chest. The room had typical European-style furnishings, even a decorative fireplace. Despite being a small space, it gave the illusion of being in a foreign land. Daily necessities were all present, and there was a bookshelf against the wall lined with books, but the power lines had long been cut, making the electric lights unusable.

Ding Sitian spotted a decorative candlestick in the room, with several intact candles still stuck in it. She picked it up, lit it from the torch, and began looking around curiously with the candlestick in hand. Without realizing it, she walked into the outer room. Seeing several bottles of foreign liquor on a shelf, Fatty, who was terribly thirsty, grabbed one and took several swigs. Old Sheepskin, having never seen such things, didn't know what Fatty was drinking and asked me what was in the glass bottles.

Just as I was about to answer, we heard a startled cry from Ding Sitian, who had reached the outer room. The three of us rushed over to assist her. Seeing us arrive, Ding Sitian quickly ducked behind me in terror. We knew without asking that she had seen something terrifying. Taking the candlestick, I illuminated the room, and we too were instantly terrified.

Fatty, who still had half a mouth of liquor he hadn't swallowed, spat it out with a "Pfft! What is this dead monkey?" Old Sheepskin stammered, "Huanwa, don't talk nonsense. This isn't a monkey. Where I come from in Shaanxi, that's the most common thing in desolate graves. This is... this is... this is..." In his panic, he couldn't finish the word.

I spoke for Old Sheepskin: "It’s a corpse, a jiangshi (vampire/zombie). No one touch it; if the living don't touch it, it won't rise." Fatty didn't believe it. "How do you know it's a jiangshi? Will it jump up if you touch it? Are you just making things up to scare me again?"

I focused only on the bizarre corpse before me, ignoring Fatty. I had never seen a jiangshi in person before, but I heard they looked just like this. In the candlelight, I saw several yellowed, written pages on the desk in front of the corpse. Perhaps these papers were written by the deceased before death; perhaps they held information that could help us escape this place. I handed the candlestick to Fatty to hold for light, covered my mouth and nose, and cautiously approached the corpse, reaching out to pick up those few sheets of paper, then quickly retreated.

I told Fatty and Old Sheepskin to watch the corpse and the candle. If anything moved, they were to retreat immediately back into the sewer. Then, holding up the yellowed pages, I saw they were densely covered in Russian script. My Russian proficiency was too low, so I asked Ding Sitian to look and see what was written and whether there was any useful information.

Ding Sitian quickly flipped through a few pages and casually translated a few sentences for us. The more I listened, the more horrifying it became. It turned out this was the last testament of a Russian scientist secretly imprisoned by the Japanese in this deep location, forced to participate in an operation within this secret facility. The letters mentioned many unimaginable facts: the Japanese military had excavated something extraordinary from this place called the Hundred-Eyed Cave.

Ding Sitian hadn't used her Russian in a long time, and learning it on the fly was a bit difficult for her as she read the will. I told her not to rush, to sit in the inner room and read slowly, and to tell us the detailed contents once she made sense of it. Then, Fatty, Old Sheepskin, and I conferred. The post-mortem condition of this jiangshi was too strange. Leaving it behind would surely cause future trouble. If we were to rest here temporarily, keeping watch over a dead body would make us uneasy and jumpy. We might as well be thorough: get rid of the body first.