At this moment, Ding Sitian's face was ashen, her teeth clamped tight. Fatty and Old Sheepskin forced her mouth open, and I stuffed eight pellets of Qi Hong Xiang down her throat, pinching her nose to force water after it. The three of us stood vigil by the candlelight, eyes unblinking, our hearts lodged in our throats. I couldn't say how long it was, but only when the last stub of the candle sputtered out did we see that while the greenish pallor on Ding Sitian's brow hadn't completely receded, thank heavens, her breathing was much steadier than before—finally showing a glimmer of improvement.

I let out a small breath. Logically, this was the moment to hold on a bit longer, to leave this grim, foul-smelling secret chamber. But the moment that taut string snapped, my spirit and physical strength gave out. For an instant, the world spun, and the thought of collapsing to the floor in a dead sleep was overwhelming. Yet, this was far from a time for rest. We had to leave quickly—even if it meant passing out in the hallway of the basement, anywhere but losing consciousness next to the corpse of that Xianbei sorceress. I bit down hard on my tongue, forcing some energy, and worked with Fatty to clear the Shi Can obstructing the secret door. Old Sheepskin seemed to have regained some strength too; he knew this place was not safe for long, and he came over to help, swaying with every step.

Fatty and I, along with Old Sheepskin, worked through quite a bit. Though we knew little about this Yabu Lu corpse-plant, we analyzed it based on biological knowledge gleaned from our time in Fujian. It likely behaved like a crinoid, a creature rooted underground and immobile, its range confined to the longest roots, unable to leave the soil necessary for its growth. Considering the distance from that brick cellar to this inner chamber, its length was simply unbelievable. We began cutting away sections of the corpse-plant, now killed by the preservative fluid, only to discover that not only were the roots intertwined with many semi-decomposed corpses, but the main body was wrapped around even more bodies. The corpses entangled in the roots were mostly pale and slightly decayed, while those within the main body were almost entirely dissolved beyond recognition.

Just as I kicked a severed root section cut by Fatty far away, we suddenly heard a mournful howl like a lone wolf from Old Sheepskin. He dropped to his knees, clutching a corpse attached to one of the corpse-plant's tentacles, and began to wail: "Er Dan! Brother, you died so tragically..."

Fatty and I exchanged confused glances and walked over to look. The corpse fused with the tentacle was deathly pale, with a few maggots crawling lazily across its forehead. From Old Sheepskin's reaction, this seemed to be his own younger brother, Yang Erdan. Although we barely knew the man, having weathered life-and-death trials alongside Old Sheepskin gave us a touch of empathy, and a pang of shared sorrow struck us.

We didn't know how to comfort Old Sheepskin, so I took the lead, starting to sing the revolutionary tune about remembering class suffering and bearing the blood-and-tears grudge to amplify the tragic atmosphere. Before I was halfway through the first verse, I suddenly noticed the attire of Yang Erdan’s corpse: it was also a black uniform, cinched at the waist with a crimson sash. It turned out the scoundrel was a member of the Ni’er Hui, colluding with the Japanese devils. I reached out to grab Old Sheepskin’s tunic, intending to ask him if this was fraternity or aggression. But in that moment of stunned hesitation, Old Sheepskin silently turned and took several steps, lifting the bronze casket that resembled a small sarcophagus. He began muttering incantations as he raised the lid: "Erdan, I've come to guide your soul..."

Whether it was due to extreme fatigue or the sheer suddenness of the event, Fatty’s and my minds simply could not keep pace with the situation. We froze for a beat, but instinct kicked in immediately: that bronze box Old Sheepskin held absolutely could not be opened; if it was, none of us would survive.

Whether it was premeditated or sheer madness, Fatty and I yelled out, dropping what we held, and lunged forward. Fatty had only injured his neck and was brimming with energy; summoning his last reserves, he took the lead, shoving aside all the clutter blocking his path. Just as Old Sheepskin was about to lift the lid, Fatty threw himself forward, slamming heavily onto Old Sheepskin and pinning him to the ground.

Although Fatty was only eighteen then and his body still immature, the sheer bulk of him was quite imposing at the time. Coupled with the intense re-education he’d received in the Daxing'anling mountains for over half a year from the poor and lower-middle peasants, it had truly hardened him. Every bit of him was solid; when he charged, he cut through the air with a rushing sound, shouting as he dove and smashed, instantly pressing Old Sheepskin until his eyes rolled back white.

If Old Sheepskin’s brother, Yang Erdan, was a bandit from the Ni’er Hui, then this was no longer an internal conflict among the people—it was absolutely an enemy-versus-us situation. However, the discovery was so utterly unexpected that I feared we might cause a death before grasping the truth. I quickly told Fatty to take it easy on the pressure, advocating for a verbal confrontation over a physical fight—just subdue him.

Hearing my shout, Fatty twisted, rolling with Old Sheepskin and dragging him deep into the secret chamber, far away from the bronze box. I first checked on Ding Sitian; she was still soundly asleep. Then I went to help Old Sheepskin pat his back and rub his chest.

After a long moment, Old Sheepskin cried out with a gasp. The stagnant blood in his chest, suppressed by Fatty’s weight, finally began to circulate. He wheezed a few deep breaths and grumbled at Fatty, "Hmph... you brat, you were trying to take my old life..."

Seeing that Old Sheepskin’s mind was steadier, I knew I could question him. But this chamber was no place to linger. I hoisted Ding Sitian onto my back, escorted Old Sheepskin, stepping over the shredded remains of the corpse-plant, and made our way back to the outer room. We lit a candle in a relatively clean and safe spot, then I turned to him and said, "Just now, you almost killed us all. Now, you need to explain yourself clearly: what is the deal with your brother Yang Erdan? Why is he dressed like those grave-robbing bandits? Didn't you say the bandits forced him to guide them to the Hundred-Eye Cave? I suspected something was off from the very beginning! The Ni’er Hui collaborators going to the Japanese devils' secret research facility—would they really rely on a shepherd boy who’d never been inside the Hundred-Eye Cave to guide them? You’ve been lying to us from the start!"

Old Sheepskin lowered his head, silent under my accusations. I couldn't tell if his silence stemmed from a guilty conscience or some other reason, but this issue had to be clarified; nothing else could move forward until we understood this. However, prying the truth out required strategy. I instructed Fatty to use a gentle approach and release Old Sheepskin. Fatty then began to lecture Old Sheepskin, moving from the international situation to the domestic one, and emphasizing the inevitability of the proletarian revolution. He also pointed out the trend that all reactionaries are destined to move from one demise toward another, urging Old Sheepskin not to separate himself from the people. Fatty also declared his own stance: for the revolution and for the people, he would gladly be crushed to pieces while keeping his heart eternally devoted to Chairman Mao, absolutely refusing to allow former bandits and traitors to infiltrate the ranks of the poor and lower-middle peasants, and vowing to defend the Proletarian Cultural Revolution personally launched by Chairman Mao with bloodshed and sacrifice.