The iron door, marked with a "Zero," featured a rotating handle. Old Sheepskin and Fatty braced their backs against it, straining with their legs and waists to force the heavy door, unopened for over two decades, shut. A grating, squeaking sound filled the air. I gripped the rotating lock, intending to throw my weight against it the moment the door closed, using gravity to secure the portal.

Just as the iron door was about to seal, several deathly white arms had already snaked out from the brick chamber, jamming themselves into the gap. The fingers of the dead scraped against the iron, the sound of nail against metal echoing loudly in the vast tunnel, a noise so piercing it made one’s scalp tingle, desperate to cover one’s ears and block the marrow-chilling sound from penetrating the mind.

Fatty snatched the long knife from Old Sheepskin and swung it casually, severing several arms and a rotting head that had poked through the gap. Dark, viscous ** oozed from the severed limbs, carrying a stench so foul it threatened nausea. Fatty hacked a few times, but more and more limbs reached out from the brick room. The iron door, which had nearly closed, was forcibly propped open several inches once more. Behind the iron door, there seemed to be an endless, mysterious force that surpassed anything humans could possibly contend with. Seeing the three of us struggling, Ding Sitian also fought her way over to help. The four of us gritted our teeth and exerted every ounce of strength, but the door wouldn't budge back; instead, the gap was pushed wider and wider. Finally, under the impact of a wave-like, colossal force, we were thrown to the ground. The Zero door was completely blown open from the inside.

The "Zero" iron door burst open with a deafening roar from the power emanating from the brick chamber. It felt as if a mountain was stirring behind the door. Although the rotting corpses we encountered in that secret room were strong, their movements were slow and stiff. Those maggot-infested zombies alone could not possibly create such a commotion. There must be something extraordinary buried beneath that mysterious brick kiln.

But there was no way we could remain at the iron door, waiting to see what would crawl out. Seeing that Plan for using the door as a defense had failed, I quickly told Fatty to carry the weakened Ding Sitian on his back. The four of us, enduring the pain, retreated toward the entrance of the tunnel. I smelled the noxious stench closing in from behind, and in the midst of the chaos, I raised the engineer’s illumination flare and glanced back. In that split second, I saw countless stark white limbs surging from the iron door. These corpses seemed bound together by some kind of vegetation, all merging into one entity, wriggling out of the brick chamber in great pulsing waves.

Intertwined with these pale, dead bodies were countless plant roots, thick as hair, matted with dirt and flesh-eating maggots. I was secretly shocked. After encountering one rotting corpse in the brick chamber, I initially thought it was a reanimated dead body, but the method of subduing it by staring it down proved ineffective. Back then, I began to suspect it wasn't a zombie, but what it was, remained hard to determine. When I glanced back in haste just now, I realized all the corpses seemed to be growing out of some whitish root stalk. That whitish-yellow thing actually resembled a rare, giant ginseng root. The upper half looked like an old woman, her face wrinkled, her figure bloated. The lower half, like ginseng, was composed of branching rootlets, long and short, resembling tentacles. Each root was covered in stiff hairs and barbs. Dozens of desiccated, rotting corpses were fused with its root system. Heaven knows what monster the Japanese devils were cultivating in that brick kiln.

Yet, even an ancient, thousand-year-old ginseng wouldn't be this large. If this truly were an ancient root spanning millennia, it would have to be a demon ginseng. Fatty also turned for a clear look and exclaimed, "Old Hu, look! Why are there radishes growing out of the dead bodies?" As I helped Old Sheepskin move forward, I retorted to Fatty, "What are you looking at? Look closely. That's a giant ginseng with a pile of dead bodies growing on it, not radishes growing on corpses! Do you still have any of that Russian liquor? Quick, throw a bottle and light it to stop it..."

However, in our hasty retreat, we had carelessly tossed the bundle we’d snatched from the Russian room near the iron door. Going back for it was impossible. We could only quicken our steps to escape. But the four of us were utterly exhausted; our legs felt as if they were filled with lead. Though anxious, our feet simply refused to move faster. Meanwhile, the bizarre plant, encased in those rotting corpses, was closing in behind us. We could hear the sound of its dry bark scraping against the concrete walls right behind our heads, and the foul stench was almost choking us into unconsciousness.

Most of the underground passage was lined with sealed iron doors, but some were locked and impassable. In desperation, we spotted an iron door with bars at a corner that wasn't locked. We rushed through, supporting each other, but we were half a beat too late in slamming it shut. A tentacle from the ginseng-like entity had already snaked in. Fatty was about to push against the door when he was instantly ensnared by the corpses clinging to that root-tentacle.

Old Sheepskin and I were holding the door shut with all our might, unable to spare a hand to save him. Fatty’s arm and both legs were seized by the corpses; only one arm remained free. He swung his blade, severing the demon ginseng's root-tentacle. Juice as thick as spilled ink, reeking hideously, splashed all over him. When the root was cut, it recoiled violently, as if in pain. Old Sheepskin and I seized the moment to shove the door shut. The airlock on this door had long since seized up from disuse. I grabbed a chair and wedged it against the door. Outside, the sound of scratching nails continued, accompanied by heavy impacts against the iron.

We leaned our backs against the door, our hearts hammering wildly. Only one thought remained: "May the Chairman bless us, I pray this door and these walls are built strong and sturdy, and may that monster not break through." Although the noises outside were incessant, this basement was constructed to military bunker standards; it likely wouldn't yield even to a bomb. By retreating here, we had finally found temporary safety.

Fatty quickly patted himself down, relieved to find all his parts intact. He then looked at the severed ginseng root, nearly two meters long and as thick as a large bowl. Where the knife had struck, much of that viscous, foul-smelling sap was still oozing, intensely pungent. Though cut, half the root writhed and twitched like a lizard’s severed tail. However, the three rotting corpses fused with it had completely lost any sign of life. Dark fluid leaked from their eyes, and they only convulsed rhythmically with the thrashing root, posing no further threat.

Old Sheepskin and Fatty were drained and slumped against the iron door. I forced myself to illuminate our surroundings with the engineer’s flare. The room was a mess—scattered tables, chairs, and cabinets. The ventilation pipes seemed blocked. The air from the floor was bone-chillingly cold. Worried about Ding Sitian’s condition, I had no patience to examine further. I helped her lean against a corner.

Ding Sitian’s face was so pale it looked as if water could drip from it. Though still conscious, her breathing was faint, her in-breath barely managing to follow the out-breath, as if she might drift off forever. I comforted her, urging her to hold on, to catch her breath and rest, promising that we would tear this research institute apart to find the antidote.

Ding Sitian seemed to sense her end was near. Grief-stricken, she labored to speak to me and Fatty, "I know I won't make it this time... Don't ever tell my mother. I truly cherish the days we spent organizing across the country together. Don't grieve for me. You must find a way to get out alive. Remember, death does not belong to the working class."

Fatty and I gripped Ding Sitian’s icy hands, replying tearfully and solemnly, "Low taste is not a crime..." Thinking of our impending separation, we choked up, unable to speak further. Then Old Sheepskin came over and said, "This girl has lived a hard life. We can’t let her die in this dark room." Fatty, face crestfallen, lamented, "Given Sitian’s complexion, the venom of the Jinlin Scorpion has already reached her marrow. We are like a clever housewife with no rice to cook. This neurotoxin has no antidote; there's simply no way to save her."

The wound on my shoulder throbbed so painfully that veins bulged on my forehead. If not for the immediate danger, I would have collapsed and slept for three days and nights. Seeing everyone so dejected and hopeless, a fierce, defiant emotion surged from my core, invigorating my spirit. I recalled a saying from a Russian philosopher: "The suffering of life will constantly crush you. If you do not resist, but merely submit to the dictates of fate, you will only sink deeper into adversity until you lose everything in the end."

Gritting my teeth, I told the group, "If there is rice... even a clumsy housewife can cook. I absolutely cannot stand by and watch our most important comrade sacrifice herself before our eyes. If there’s no medicine, we find medicine; if there’s no medicine, we find medicine. It is not yet time to hold a memorial service for her. As long as there is one breath left, never give up easily."

Stirred by my words, Fatty became fierce and was about to rush out. I stopped him and analyzed our situation for everyone. If there was medication for the scorpion venom in the institute, it would likely be stored in a relatively sealed warehouse or laboratory. But the scale of this underground facility was unexpectedly vast. Being inside, let alone locating a specific place, would make it difficult just to avoid getting lost and disoriented. However, the first priority now was figuring out how to leave this area.

I listened closely. The activity in the corridor outside the basement had lessened considerably compared to before, but the ginseng spirit that resembled an old woman still seemed to be lurking outside. That thing was covered in mud and maggots, and its roots were entwined with rotting corpses. Its sheer bulk almost completely blocked the passage outside. Forget about finding a way to deal with it; we didn't even know what it was.

I wet a section of my collar with the last bit of cool water from my canteen and placed it on Ding Sitian’s forehead to cool her. Then I paced back and forth in the room, racking my brain for a way to escape. After several laps, my eyes fell upon the half-severed ginseng root that Fatty had cut when we slammed the basement door shut. Several pale corpses were still attached to the root. I nudged one of the corpses with my foot, trying to determine if it was plant matter or a body.

The white corpse was covered in a thick layer of fat maggots, and beneath the maggots was something black. Seeing a potential clue, I hastily brought the engineer’s illumination flare closer. Under the focused beam, I realized the corpse was wearing a black garment, cinched at the waist with a red sash. Below the legs, it was absorbed into the thick root, merging with it, making its lower garment indistinguishable. Looking at the other corpses, they were all completely unclothed, suggesting they had likely died naked.

A thought struck me. I quickly told Fatty and the others, "The Russian’s last testament explicitly stated that this institute also held many prisoners of war from various nations for use in live experimentation. But look at this rotting corpse in the black clothing—this black outfit and red sash look extremely familiar. Haven't we seen it somewhere before? It looks like the attire of the tomb-robbing bandits from the Xing’anling mountain region—this is definitely someone from the Ni’er Society."

Fatty nodded repeatedly at my observation. This wasn't hard to imagine: it was likely that members of the Ni’er Society had stolen some classified items from the Yellow Immortal Temple, only to be betrayed by the Japanese devils who tossed them into the brick room to feed that monstrous ginseng. However, one detail was noteworthy: while the other corpses shared the same manner of death, they were all completely naked. Clearly, this Ni’er Society bandit died in a hurry, unlike a premeditated act by the Japanese devils. Perhaps this bandit, like others in the institute, was affected by the sudden catastrophe, fleeing into that brick room in panic, only to... end up like this. If Old Sheepskin’s Kangxi Precious Saber hadn't been so sharp just now, Fatty and I would likely have shared his fate.

Fatty reached into the dead man’s clothing to search for anything useful and pulled out a pair of black donkey hooves, several lengths of rope, and some cinnabar used for warding off evil. This further confirmed the deceased's identity: 100% a Ni’er Society bandit. Examining the desiccated body, the limbs and bones were stiff as rotten wood, yet the hair and nails were still growing, just like a zombie. It was hard to fathom how it had transformed into such a state.

In seeking a way to escape, Fatty and I thought long and hard. Suddenly, we recalled the strange nature of the kiln-like secret room. Back when we were sent down to the countryside, we participated in changing customs by dismantling many ancient tombs and graves, scraping and refining the tomb bricks for reuse. Though the shape of those tomb bricks differed from those in this underground kiln, they all carried a chilling, icy aura. Even under the midday sun, holding a tomb brick, one could feel not the slightest warmth; those bricks always felt as if they had just been pulled from an ice cellar—Fatty and I knew this feeling intimately. The chilling sensation upon entering the brick kiln was unmistakable. Perhaps the secret chamber codenamed "Zero" was actually the chamber of an ancient underground tomb. And why would a fully formed giant ginseng be buried beneath the soil of that tomb chamber?

At this point, Old Sheepskin, who had been silent, interjected upon hearing our discussion. "I thought you educated youths would know what that 'spirit' was. But you say it's ginseng? You’re wrong. Back in my hometown, they also had a place where they cultivated corpses. If I'm not too old and senile to remember correctly, that treasure was dug up on the journey back from the Western Regions."

I hadn't expected Old Sheepskin to recognize anything related to the Western Regions. I quickly urged him to clarify: what exactly was this ginseng root with many corpses attached to it?