I grabbed Old Yangpi’s shoulder and roared, "You aren't Old Yangpi at all; you're Yang Erdan!" The moment these words left my mouth, Old Yangpi and Fatty were utterly stunned. Fatty, utterly bewildered, asked, "If this old man is Yang Erdan, then who was that dead person? And where is the real Old Yangpi?"

I feigned righteous indignation and declared, "This so-called Old Yangpi must be an enemy agent in disguise. Think about it: if Old Yangpi was murdered by Yang Erdan back then and fell from the cliff, dangling from a pine branch, nearly having his belly ripped open, why did we see no old scars on him when we loosened his clothes by the lake because he ate too many black fish and we helped him catch his breath? And didn't you notice he also tied a red sash for warding off evil beneath his belt? That's proof he’s set his heart on becoming a bandit for life! Those two old weasels he keeps are probably his too—why else would they be hidden on him?"

I was spewing nonsense and grasping at straws, but these flimsy excuses were enough to bamboozle Fatty. Fatty was dense and could only see things from one angle. Coupled with the fact that Old Yangpi had bitten a chunk of flesh from his neck—which still throbbed with pain, forcing him to gasp for cool air—he readily believed the evidence I presented and flared up, "Old Hu, you truly have eyes that see through everything! You spotted the reactionary gangsters' conspiracy instantly. I felt something was off too; it must be exactly as you say. Should we immediately convene a struggle session to denounce this old thief?"

In reality, I knew perfectly well that Old Yangpi couldn't be Yang Erdan, but the immediate situation demanded that I falsely accuse him. I considered several factors: Firstly, we had struggled on desperately until now, and all of us were injured to varying degrees. Wounds kept reopening, leaving us dizzy, with a sensation like countless small insects crawling and biting inside our heads, our vision darkening intermittently—we were truly at the brink of utter exhaustion, capable of collapsing at any moment. Moreover, the underground facility was a maze of complex terrain; without a period of rest, we wouldn't have the strength to walk back.

Secondly, Old Yangpi had just seen Yang Erdan's corpse and nearly tried to open that bronze chest of the Great Yellow Immortal to summon Yang Erdan’s spirit. His affection for that utterly wicked Yang Erdan was deep, bordering on obsession; such deep emotional ties are not easily altered. If we let our guard down for a moment, or if we succumbed to sleep, who knew what outrageous acts Old Yangpi might commit? Therefore, for everyone’s safety, it was best to tie Old Yangpi up temporarily. We could apologize to him once everyone was safely back. I wouldn't let sentimentality blind me and risk the lives of Fatty and Ding Sitian. While this action was perhaps improper, it was a necessary expedient. Although it was somewhat unfair to Old Yangpi, it was also a form of protection, preventing him from doing something foolish that might endanger us all.

However, I worried that Ding Sitian would blame me when she woke up, so I needed to find a plausible excuse for my actions—if not plausible, I had to make it seem so. Thus, I didn't reveal my true intentions to Fatty, exploiting his simple sense of class struggle. Fanned by my rhetoric, Fatty immediately proposed calling a "Struggle Session" to expose and thoroughly criticize Old Yangpi's reactionary crimes.

I said, "Hold on, this matter requires deliberation, not haste. After fighting continuously for so long, we simply have no strength left for a struggle session right now. We need to find a safe place to rest briefly, then return to the grazing lands and expose his crimes in front of the masses."

Without allowing Old Yangpi to offer any explanation, I had Fatty tie his hands with a leather belt. Then, I went to Iron Gate '0' and retrieved the items I had dropped. We returned to the initial storage room, locked the door, and stumbled in, utterly spent. Our legs felt too heavy to lift, and the exhaustion was so profound our eyes could barely stay open. I first stacked a few flat wooden crates together, letting Ding Sitian lie down on top. Although the greenish tinge on her face hadn't entirely faded, her heavy breathing had stabilized, and she was deeply asleep.

Feeling a touch of relief, I fed Old Yangpi some haphazard food. Bound hand and foot, Old Yangpi made no struggle, seemingly resigned to fate. I told him to rest for a while; Ding Sitian’s condition had stabilized, and we would leave immediately after she regained her strength. When it was Fatty and my turn to eat, we wolfed down our food, but halfway through, with food still in our mouths, we drifted into an exhausted sleep.

Under the dual strain of body and mind, I slept deeply. In my dream, I vaguely returned to when I was fifteen or sixteen, joining a group of Red Guard comrades from various elite schools in our military region for the Grand Linkup in the great capital, Beijing, to be reviewed by Chairman Mao. It was peak linkage season; the Beijing Railway Station was a sea of people, revolutionaries and students from all over the country, speaking in diverse dialects but all brimming with revolutionary fervor. We had never seen so many people; our eyes felt insufficient. Just stepping off the train, we were swept away by the surging crowd, and Fatty and I were separated from our main group. After a brief discussion, we decided it didn't matter that we were separated; a single spark can start a prairie fire. We might as well engage in revolutionary action right here and head straight for Tiananmen Square. We heard Tiananmen was close to the station, and Chairman Mao was on the rostrum receiving Red Guard representatives. We thought we should go directly to see the Chairman and report on the struggle situation in our area.

Having made up our minds, Fatty and I formed a two-person file, slanted our military satchels, snapped into a goose-stepping march, and advanced with high spirits. Because we were in the great capital, our excitement was too high, and we forgot to ask for directions. We just followed the crowds wherever the activity was thickest. Fatty and I wandered the streets with the flow, but the further we went, the fewer people there were. Although Beijing's roads were laid out in a grid, the intricate web of hutongs was truly confusing. I realized continuing like this wouldn't work; it was nearly dark, the sky was overcast, and I couldn't tell east from west. It seemed my hope of seeing Chairman Mao today was dashed. We needed to quickly find a local revolutionary comrade to ask where the nearest school or government office that hosted Red Guards might be.

Just then, we spotted a female student ahead of us, wearing an old yellow military uniform, a belt strapped around her waist, carrying a roll of Dazibao (Big-character posters). I told Fatty we should ask her. So, we quickened our pace, catching up to the girl. Since speaking in those days required quoting the Chairman first, I called out from behind her, "Ask the vast earth, who determines its rise and fall? I say, fellow student, we are from the south and wish to inquire where north lies on this vast earth..."

The event I dreamed of was, in fact, the very first time I encountered Ding Sitian. In the dream, I vaguely felt that girl was Ding Sitian, and I anticipated her turning around momentarily to smile and speak to us. A faint mix of warmth and ache bloomed in my heart.

Dream Ding Sitian suddenly turned, but her face was utterly cold, not the familiar face of my Ding Sitian. Although she wore the yellow uniform and the Red Guard armband, she had a blank metal mask on her face. The eyeholes of the mask were two deep, dark chasms, and as soon as our gazes met, two beams of cold light shot out. Covered by that icy gaze, I instantly felt my heart and lungs freeze as if touched by solid ice, chilling me to the bone.

I broke out in a cold sweat and jolted awake from the dream, my heart pounding. Seeing the absolute darkness of the warehouse, I couldn't tell how long I had slept. I calmed myself, thinking it was just a nightmare, and vowed never to deal with that masked old hag again. After this sleep, my energy had recovered significantly, and I felt strength return to my limbs, though the wound on my shoulder still itched and ached. They say itching means healing is near, but I also felt numbness and itching on the back of my hand. When I touched it, my hand was covered in blisters. I quickly switched on the engineer's flashlight clipped to my chest and discovered the skin on the back of my hand was starting to fester slightly, smelling like sour milk mixed with the foul, rotten scent of fish.

It dawned on me: I had been so preoccupied with detoxifying Ding Sitian that my mind had gone blank, completely forgetting that Fatty and I had been splashed by the corpse-fungus fluid. When we first discovered it, I had suspected poisoning, and now it seemed confirmed. But Ding Sitian had already taken all the Qihongxiang (Umbilical Red Incense); not a single piece was left. Furthermore, the red granules on the Shou Gong Zhua (Gecko Claw) could only counteract poisons like those from insects or snakes. The corpse-fungus from that trip back was neither plant nor animal; its poison derived solely from toxins on decayed corpses. The toxins were bizarre, and although I knew it was poison, I had no idea of its nature, not even what kind of antidote to seek.

My heart sank, but fortunately, I was always rather philosophical about my own life and death. Realizing the hour was late, I decided it was time to get moving; if I was to die, I wouldn't die in this damned place.

I shone the engineer's light on the others. Fatty was snoring thunderously, muttering fierce dreams: "***... Dare to scare me? Hmph hmph hmph hmph, I'll send you... your soul... and your body... all sweeping into the great... great trash heap of history..."

Ding Sitian's condition seemed to have improved; her chest rose and fell in broken murmurs. Seeing her haggard face, I thought how lucky it was that in my rashness, I had dared to give her that Qihongxiang based on limited past experience. If it had worsened her poisoning or proved ineffective, wouldn't I have killed her? If I had to choose again now, I might not have possessed the decisive courage to gamble her life. At the time, I was just flustered with urgency, and by sheer accident, I had saved her. It seemed the proletariat truly possessed a great power to create miracles. Hand-typed by Feng of Wenxinge.

I was unconcerned about the corpse poison afflicting me and was even a little pleased with my actions today. But then, I suddenly felt something was wrong. The transition from deep sleep, through the nightmare, to awakening was finally complete, and only then did I realize that Old Yangpi, who had been bound, was gone. All that remained on the floor were severed leather belts, with the Kangxi Treasure Sword tossed beside them. It turned out Old Yangpi had seized the opportunity while we slept too deeply, stealing the long blade from beside Fatty with his hands behind his back, using the blade's edge to sever the belts, and escaping.

I quickly woke Fatty and explained the situation, emphasizing that we had to chase down Old Yangpi immediately. Ding Sitian was also roused by our voices. Although her mind was clear and the greenish tint on her face was gone, her complexion was ashen, and she asked vaguely what had happened.

I couldn't hide anything and briefly recounted the events after she passed out. Fatty added that Old Yangpi was a class enemy who had infiltrated our ranks. Ding Sitian protested, asking how that could be. Fatty pointed at me and said, "He said it! We're going to hold a struggle session later to expose Old Yangpi's gangster face."

I had no choice but to tell the truth: "We haven't slept for two days and a night. I was worried that once everyone was too exhausted to stay awake, Old Yangpi might do something foolish, so I found an excuse to tie him up. But despite being extremely careful, something went wrong. Don't let his usual silence fool you; Old Yangpi is incredibly resolute. Once he sets his mind on something, not even nine oxen can pull him back. I suspect he is deeply superstitious and intends to return to the secret chamber to summon the spirit of his brother, Yang Erdan." Hand-typed by Feng of Wenxinge.

Based on our interactions, I was certain Old Yangpi had woken up earlier and sneaked back to that underground chamber to find the mysterious bronze chest. But we slept too soundly; we didn't know how long he’d been gone. Pursuing him now would likely be too late.

Fatty exclaimed, "Good, Old Hu, you luckless devil, you used me as a razor blade again! I thought you were highly vigilant, spotting a new development in class struggle, but it turns out Old Yangpi is still Old Yangpi! What now? Should we rush back to that secret chamber to find him? I... I was asleep just now, and I dreamed of that female corpse in the secret chamber. That cold, ghostly face was truly damn evil. But my heavenly soldiers' rage soared to the firmament, sweeping away a thousand armies like a tempest, kicking it—soul and body—into the great trash heap of historical dust!"

Hearing Fatty, Ding Sitian gasped softly, "Ah... Little Fatty, you also dreamed of that female corpse? I... I just dreamed of her too. I don't know if you felt it, but I felt... that female corpse... she... she's still alive..."

When I heard Fatty’s mutterings earlier, I knew he had dreamed of that Great Xianbei Shamaness. I hadn't expected Ding Sitian to have the same dream. It might have been a coincidence for two people, but for three of us to share the same dream—that was truly bizarre. And that feeling Ding Sitian mentioned, I had definitely experienced it myself. But it didn't feel like the sensation of a living person; it wasn't direct, hard to articulate, just a powerful, spine-chilling feeling.