Old Man Sheepskin’s command of language was limited, and his rambling delivery left Fatty and me completely bewildered. Still, we managed to grasp the general meaning: in Old Man Sheepskin’s hometown, there was a patch of sandy land. This area was arid and water-scarce, yet the soil in the center of the sandy expanse was strangely damp and eerie. Legend held that it was a place for nurturing corpses—burying the dead there would prevent decay. In reality, peculiar plants grew in that very earth.

The legend claimed these plants were introduced from Yuanguo, the Round Sand City of the Western Regions, thousands of miles away. This species was intensely poisonous. Its entire structure resembled a human form, somewhat like an oversized ginseng root, though exponentially larger—dozens, even hundreds of times bigger. It bore no actual relation to ginseng. In the central plains, there was no precise name for it, only the generic terms Shishen (Corpse Ginseng) or Guishin (Ghost Ginseng). The ancient Yuanguo called it "Yabulou."

This thing thrived in dark, putrid soil, flourishing in tombs eroded by moisture or the silt beds of ancient river channels. Its root system could plunge several zhang deep into the earth. Though described as a plant, it could extend its roots to strangle humans and livestock, acting like a giant, carnivorous herb. If one were to excavate the ground to unearth this plant, anyone or any animal coming into contact with its toxic gas would surely perish.

The common method of extraction involved first locating the Yabulou's growth site, then digging four trenches around it, each deep enough to accommodate a large rural water vat. Starting from the trench bottom, they would construct a kiln-like structure using grave bricks, completely sealing the top as well. Before the final seal, several vicious dogs would be locked inside. Then, the entire structure would be definitively blocked with bricks, creating an airtight chamber.

The confined dogs, suffering from lack of air, would instinctively begin digging with their paws to escape the trench after an initial bout of howling. Should they unearth the highly toxic Yabulou plant, the dogs would immediately succumb to the poison gas.

Another method involved directly binding a dog's leg to the poisonous root system with leather straps. People would hide far upwind, setting off firecrackers. Startled, the dog would bolt, yanking the root free. While this approach saved time and effort, it was notoriously unreliable, often resulting in the diggers being poisoned and dying. Consequently, it wasn't as widely adopted as the first method.

Once the Yuanguo's "Yabulou" was unearthed, it would lose its potency soon after being separated from the earth. At this point, people would retrieve the poisoned dog carcasses and bury them together with the highly venomous "Yabulou" back into the pit. Dug up a year later, the dog corpses would have fused with the Yabulou's root network. Though the remains were rotten and foul-smelling, in the absence of sunlight, they would appear to writhe as if alive. Slicing them open, drying them in the sun, they could then be sold as incredibly valuable medicinal material.

A small amount ground with wine could induce full-body paralysis in a person, simulating a near-death state. Even if their limbs were severed with blades or axes, they would feel nothing. A few days later, an antidote would be administered, and they would resume normal activity. Legend claimed that the ancient physician Hua Tuo used this anesthetic for internal surgeries, and records show it was still in use by the Imperial Medical Academy even during the Song Dynasty.

In his old home in the Northwest, Old Man Sheepskin had witnessed people unearth this humanoid poison while clearing wasteland or digging graves. That time, a single excavation yielded a long chain of corpses—villagers who had unwittingly passed by at night. After coiling around its victims, the plant’s toxins transferred into the bodies. Though the victims were dead, the corpses continued to grow, much like nurtured mummies; sustained by Yin energy, they would react to Yang energy, becoming part of the monstrous ginseng’s nourishment by poisoning whatever living creature they caught.

We contemplated the situation in the brick chamber, realizing it must have been a place specifically built by the Japanese devils to cultivate the paralyzing nerve-agent drugs. Rumor held that the flesh of zombies buried in that corpse-nurturing ground was called "Mèn Xiāng" (Stifled Fragrance) and could be used medicinally. These corpses, almost fully integrated with the plant life, represented another bizarre pharmaceutical commodity, yet their cultivation method was utterly appalling.

I was about to ask Old Man Sheepskin if there was any way to completely destroy the monster, as its presence blocking the doorway was an untenable situation, when a chilling thought struck me just as the words reached my lips. I instantly felt a cold dread creep over me. Fatty and I had wrestled with those decaying bodies for a long time, splashing ourselves with foul, putrid fluids. We might have been poisoned.

Fatty and I quickly examined our exposed hands. They were caked with so much grime that their original state was unrecognizable, but a fine rash of tiny bumps seemed to have formed on the back of our hands, accompanied by a faint itching and numbness. While we couldn't confirm it as a sign of poisoning, it was hardly a good omen.

There was still no cure for the Rong poison that afflicted Ding Sitian, and now Fatty and I had also been compromised. My feelings were complicated, but I thought: one catastrophe is the same as two; if you’re already burdened by lice, more won't bite any harder. Our situation was already a chaotic mess; adding a bit more trouble wasn't the end of the world. At worst, the three of us would meet Marx together.

Young people of our era didn't harbor complex emotional baggage. The education we received since childhood taught us nothing of the word "difficulty." What obstacle in this world could truly stump a revolutionary soldier? Therefore, I quickly dismissed worries about my potential poisoning and asked Old Man Sheepskin if there was any solution.

Old Man Sheepskin shook his head, sighing. "What solution is there? That Yuanguo poison dies the moment it leaves the soil. Once the Yin energy dissipates in a while, it will probably stop moving. For now, all we can do is squat here like the Earth God and wait. But who knows how long that thing's roots run? If any part of it is still drawing energy from the earth, the moment we step out, we'll be strangled and poisoned."

Just as we felt helpless, we suddenly heard movement directly above us. Fatty and I raised our engineer's flares and looked up. At the junction of the wall and ceiling, there were several narrow windows connecting to the corridor. The root tendrils of the demonic ginseng from outside the basement door were snaking through the windows, attempting a stealthy entry. Fatty swung his blade to chop at the root that had already slipped into the basement. A sound like tearing leather was heard; where the blade struck, corrosive fluid splattered, and the root tentacles of the Corpse Ginseng quickly retracted.

It was then we realized that while the basement doors and walls were solid, they were far from airtight. There were numerous vents and windows, making it easy for the enemy to find an opening. This basement seemed to have been a data storage room, filled with metal cabinets and wooden crates containing items resembling archives. Fatty and I shoved the cabinets to block the gaps on the outer side.

At the very back of the room stood an extremely thick metal cabinet—the best potential barricade. Yet, no matter how hard Fatty and I pushed, it wouldn't budge an inch, as if it were rooted to the floor. I adjusted the beam of my engineer's flare and illuminated the cabinet closely, suspecting a hidden door requiring a mechanism to open—a common trope in the anti-spy films we watched back then.

Fatty and I guessed wildly, and this time, we hit the mark. When I traced the cabinet's edge with the light, I suddenly spotted a human hand jammed in the narrow gap between the cabinet and the wall. The hand was withered and purplish-black, covered in coarse hair. Like most corpses in this research facility, this one had died due to some sudden, unknown cause, only for the peculiar environment near the Hundred-Eyed Cave to induce this anomalous sign of reanimation.

There appeared to be a considerable space behind the gap where the body was wedged, but even after scrutinizing it with the flare, I couldn't see clearly. With the basement door blocked by the Corpse Ginseng fused with the zombie, if there was a passage behind this cabinet, it might offer an escape route. Moreover, the secret passage seemed oddly constructed—perhaps it held precisely what we needed.

Fatty and I became utterly convinced by this exciting hypothesis. Fatty immediately began feeling around under a table for the mechanism to open the cabinet. I held back, sensing something was off about this cabinet-door setup, though I couldn't pinpoint what. I took a breath, forcing myself to calm down, my mind racing. I theorized that the corpse jammed in the crack had attempted to escape into the secret chamber during an emergency, but died suddenly just as he opened the disguised cabinet to enter the passageway. He hadn't been crushed by the cabinet; rather, the cabinet had automatically reset, trapping his body.

Furthermore, given the high level of security in this research facility, manufacturing such a covert secondary door within an already concealed underground facility seemed unnecessary. Unless the space behind this door was the utmost secret—a secret known perhaps only to the facility’s top leadership, not the majority of the Japanese researchers. The body trapped there should have been the leader of this den of evil. But why was the corpse's arm sticking out? Was this a normal death posture? Was he trying to escape from the inner room, not fleeing into it? A secret room within a secret room...

While my mind spun through these wild conjectures, Fatty found a raised floor tile beneath a table. It was extremely well-hidden and unremarkable; one would never discover it without systematically tapping every tile. He tried prying it a few times—no movement. Then he stomped down hard with his foot. The pressure was significant, and the tile sank about two centimeters. With a resounding rumble, the metal cabinet slid sideways into the wall, revealing a narrow passage. Perhaps due to the excessive force, or maybe over-activating the mechanism, the movable cabinet retracted into the wall but did not automatically return as I expected.

Within this passage was a hidden door, standing wide open, revealing a larger basement chamber beyond. Fatty, assuming this chamber stored medicine and food, eagerly started to step inside. I rushed to block the entrance, telling Fatty and Old Man Sheepskin, "Look at the zombie crushed in the passageway. His head and arm are facing outward. This posture strongly suggests that in his final moment, he was trying to escape out of the secret room, not hide in it. Inside that place..."

Before I could finish, there was a tremendous crash. The wooden chair propping the main door suddenly splintered. Old Man Sheepskin, who was sitting behind the door, jumped in alarm and dragged Ding Sitian back quickly. I raised the flare and looked. The iron door was ajar, and a grotesque, aged, crone-like face peered in from outside. This mutated plant resembled ginseng, but its form was ten thousand times more terrifying. Now I saw it clearly: the demonic ginseng's face was riddled with wrinkles, its two massive eye bags particularly prominent. I felt it was less a pure plant and more a semi-sentient organism living in the mud, subsisting on the juices of corpses.

Forget facing its hideous visage; just inhaling the damp, fetid smell of grave soil emanating from it made my scalp tingle and threatened to make me faint. At this juncture, we had no choice but to retreat step by step. Old Man Sheepskin and I supported Ding Sitian while Fatty hacked at the constantly advancing tentacles with his long knife. Forced back, the four of us gradually withdrew into the secret chamber behind the metal cabinet.

Fearing Fatty might be left behind, I didn't take time to survey the surroundings upon entering the chamber. I handed Ding Sitian to Old Man Sheepskin, then spun around to cover the secret doorway for Fatty, hoping to close it and hold back the advance of the demonic ginseng. But in the panic, I couldn't find the internal mechanism to seal the door.

In desperation, Fatty shoved the corpse blocking the passageway outward. A tentacle from the demonic ginseng immediately coiled around it, enveloping it in its dense root mass. I used this opportunity to slam the inner door of the secret chamber shut and, with Fatty, used everything we could find to barricade it. Only then did I notice that this vast, hidden chamber was filled with cabinets displaying specimen jars. We knocked over many glass bottles, spilling human organs and bizarrely shaped animal carcasses everywhere. The basement was instantly flooded with the strong odor of preservative chemicals.

In our near-hysterical frenzy of activity, our bodies were nearing collapse. Seeing that the doorway was temporarily secured, the tension in our minds eased slightly, and suddenly, my legs felt weak. The pain in my shoulder wound became unbearable, so I staggered back a few steps, looking for a place to sit and catch my breath. Behind me was a stone slab. In the darkness, I sat down without examining it closely. Once settled, I felt an intense, unnatural coldness behind me. I reached back and my fingers brushed against a cold, bumpy metal object. As I touched it, I realized it was a metal mask shaped like a human face. Startled, I instantly recalled the masked Xianbei female corpse from the mural. I quickly turned and shone my engineer's flare. On the dissection-table-like stone slab lay an ancient female corpse wearing a golden face mask. In the dim yellow light of the flare, the metal mask emitted a faint, eerie glow.

Fatty and Old Man Sheepskin also sensed something amiss and came over to look. The intangible pressure of death caused us all to tremble. The engineer's flare dangling from my chest rose and fell with the rhythm of our ragged breathing. Perhaps I was momentarily hallucinating, but as the flare’s beam shifted, the light reflected off the corpse’s mask in such a way that it seemed to come alive. The expression on the mask, previously calm, solemn, and utterly blank, appeared to twitch as if convulsing towards us.