A thought struck both Fatty and me: "Serpent skull?" The cranium bore a striking resemblance to that of a python. I couldn't fathom its purpose, or what kind of python would warrant such a precious specimen being stored away. We'd heard snakes could be steeped in wine; perhaps serpent bone could be, too. Holding the candle head up, we examined it from top to bottom. The moment we saw the tailbone, we understood: these were the bones of a Jinlin Fu (Brocade-Scaled Serpent Demon). These were vastly larger than the one we found in the crematorium. It seemed the Hundred-Eyed Cave once housed at least two of them. The one that ended up in the furnace was simply unlucky; venomous snakes and Fu demons are actually terrified of oil smoke, so dying in that hearth was inevitable. Originally, I’d planned that if we could survive this ordeal, I would retrieve the corpse of that venomous Fu and extract its bones. They would fetch an exorbitant price, convertible to foreign currency—a massive contribution to supporting the world revolution. If these bones could offset the loss of the cattle, perhaps Old Sheepskin and Ding Sitian wouldn't face blame.

Fatty asked if this was some kind of antidote wine. I shook my head. "Every creature in this world has something that preys on it, but never itself. Fu bone cannot counteract Fu venom. That's basic common sense…" Saying this, my heart sank. Disappointed, I instinctively reached up to touch the glass bottle holding the Fu bone. As the candlelight hit my hand, I saw my own skin erupt in fine, red rashes. Fatty quickly held up his hand for inspection; he had the same marks. The realization hit us both like a bucket of ice water: we were likely poisoned by the Corpse Ginseng.

But before we could dwell on our misfortune, we noticed something in the flickering candlelight. Reflected on the glass bottle, there were shadows of three hands instead of the two we held up. I initially suspected a trick of the glass reflection, but something felt off. I pressed Fatty’s hand down, yet the shadow of a third hand remained pressed against the glass wall behind it, perfectly still. Fatty and I instinctively stepped back half a pace. Was there a corpse inside the storage cabinet reaching out to us? Or was someone behind us mimicking our movements? I whipped around to look, seeing nothing amiss. Fatty raised his hand again, waving it in front of the glass. The shadow hand on the bottle remained motionless. It seemed there was a dead body inside the Fu bone storage jar after all.

I leaned forward, circling the storage jar to see why a corpse would be inside. Suddenly, Fatty slapped my back. "Stop looking there. That little hand seems to be in the cabinet."

I turned to Fatty. Holding the candle, he pointed toward the abnormally large specimen cabinet. I followed his direction. Though the candlelight was dim, the interior of the massive storage unit was hazy under the weak light. But from our angle, we could clearly make out an outstretched, five-fingered hand pressed against a thick glass container. Fatty and I exchanged a look, then asked in unison, "Is there a human specimen in the cabinet?"

This storage unit was enormous, like a small, sealed shipping container, filled with various complete animal specimens. From what we could see on the outer layer, including the white bones of the Jinlin Fu, they all seemed to be creatures carrying potent venom. I knew human bodies were not poisonous. Why place a preserved corpse specimen alongside these venomous insects and beasts? Were they culturing corpse toxins? That seemed illogical, which is why we instinctively questioned each other—but whom could we ask? Ghosts? In any case, the four of us living souls certainly wouldn't know the answer.

The glass container deeper inside was out of reach from the outside. After a slight hesitation, I took the candle head from Fatty, intending to crawl in and investigate. Fatty tried to dissuade me. "What use is a dead person to us? Let’s hurry and search elsewhere. Maybe we can find a female Fu nearby. Our intimate comrade might still be saved…"

We had heard that the Jinlin Fu was a variant of the Sen Fu (Forest Serpent Demon), existing in a hundred males to one female ratio. The Jinlin Fu was rare enough, but a female Fu covered in brocade scales that could generate the Black Wind was exceptionally rare. Legend held that the female Fu was non-venomous, and that her cranial marrow and bones could counteract the male Fu's poison. If we could find a female Fu, Ding Sitian could certainly be saved. But the Hundred-Eyed Cave didn't produce Sen Fu; finding the original habitat of an almost extinct creature was less than a one-in-a-billion chance. To use a popular adjective of the time, Fatty’s idea was the definition of a pipe dream.

Yet, I still clung to that one-in-a-billion possibility. If the Japanese devils had managed to acquire a female Jinlin Fu and preserved it as a specimen, theoretically, that possibility wasn't zero. Thus, I refused to give up hope yet. I decided I would search every corner of that storage cabinet—in short, I wouldn't quit until the Yellow River ran dry, nor shed tears until I saw the coffin.

So I told Fatty, "Let's just take a look inside first." With that, I bent down and crawled into the massive specimen cabinet. Since all the jars contained bizarrely shaped toxic materials, I dared not be careless, terrified of knocking over a bottle. I slowly, cautiously maneuvered myself inside. A scent akin to miasma-induced brain fog filled the air, stinging my eyes and bringing tears. I dared not breathe, holding my breath as I approached the glass container. That jar, too, was filled with dark yellow fluid. Due to the impurities in the preservative solution, I could only make out a hand pressed against the glass wall from within. That hand was significantly smaller than an adult's, roughly the size of a seven or eight-year-old's palm. There seemed to be a thin, clear plastic film over the palm.

I mused internally, "I’ve heard of toxic fetuses and placentas in folk tales—poisonous ziheche [placenta] used to create toxins. This cabinet is full of poisonous things, so finding a toxic fetus wouldn't be surprising. But based on this hand, what’s in the jar isn't an adult or a fetus, but a child less than ten years old. Could it be a toxic fetus swollen by the preserving fluid?"

At that moment, I couldn't afford to ponder deeply. Seeing it was merely a corpse steeped in liquid, I didn't waste time on it, intending to turn and search elsewhere. But just as I was about to pivot toward the deeper recesses of the storage cabinet, my eye caught something. In the candlelight, I saw the hand against the glass wall again. Though it looked exactly like a human hand, it lacked palm lines. Furthermore, between each finger, there was a small, red dot. A lightning bolt struck my mind—how could I have missed that detail?

I called back to Fatty, urging him to clear away the jars and bottles outside. Ding Sitian could be saved! Fatty paused, seemingly unable to believe a miracle was unfolding. But miracles weren't for emperors or immortals; miracles belonged to the proletariat. He worked against the clock, not asking any more questions, wrestling the large jar containing the Fu bone out of the way and clearing a path near the cabinet door.