Ding Sitian suddenly spat out a mouthful of black blood and collapsed onto the ground. Fatty and I panicked, scrambling to prop her up against the wall. We had assumed the viper venom she suffered from was suppressed by the Shou Gong Xiang (House Lizard Essence), but seeing her vomit blood again unsettled us deeply. A sense of dread washed over me; had we given her an overdose? Or had the medicine simply delayed the onset of the poison?

Yet, Ding Sitian struggled to rise, intent on continuing the search for Old Sheepskin. "It's nothing... just a tightness in my chest. Vomiting this blood actually made me feel a bit better. I just need a moment to rest. Ba Yi, what exactly did you and Little Fatty give me for the antidote? I feel like the taste in my mouth..." As she spoke, she staggered to her feet, ready to move forward.

Seeing her strain, and unable to accurately gauge her condition, I knew vomiting black blood was anything but a good sign. But Ding Sitian was notoriously stubborn. I resigned myself to supporting her as we proceeded. When she asked about the antidote, I naturally dared not tell her it was the flesh from the protuberances on the great house lizard itself. I simply replied, "Good medicine tastes bitter but heals the disease. All medicine has a touch of poison. Naturally, medicine isn't as tasty as candy, and this research station has been abandoned for years. While the medications stored in the warehouse haven't spoiled, they might have an odd flavor. When we get back to the pastoral area, I'll tell you the story of this antidote; I promise you'll find it interesting."

Fatty chimed in, "That's right! I swear on Chairman Mao's name you'll find it interesting, so before Old Hu finishes explaining the medicine's story, you'd best review Ostrovsky's How the Steel Was Tempered to be fully prepared spiritually."

I shot Fatty a glare. Fortunately, Ding Sitian didn't grasp the full implication, mistaking Fatty’s comment as an encouragement to emulate Paul Korchagin's tenacious spirit in facing illness. She dropped the matter. Seeing her face the color of pale gold and her steps labored, I knew trying to persuade her to wait outside the cave was futile; this girl was too willful. Once she set her mind on something, she rarely turned back. So, I told Fatty to carry her, and the three of us pressed deeper into the cavern, searching for the missing Old Sheepskin.

Flickering lights dotted the belly of the mountain—some like will-o'-the-wisps, others like mineral deposits. Guided by this constellation of dim lights, we could vaguely make out the contours of this massive excavation site. The ground, dug away in successive layers, formed a stepped formation. From the outside, it was impossible to see what lay at the deepest point, but on every upper terrace of yellow earth, limbs of corpses were exposed—some showing half a head, others an arm. They hadn't been fully unearthed, almost entirely yuhua (feathered/desiccated), their bodily hairs seemingly stirring, as if they might crawl out of the soil at any moment. Just looking at one corner suggested this excavation site had once been a mass grave for ten thousand people, filled with ancient dead.

Perhaps this was what geomancers called a "sleeping tortoise ground." The unique soil composition had induced a state of yuhua in the bodies. But what good was that? If yuhua didn't lead to ascension, then to sincerely bury so many people in this corpse-hiding cave must have stemmed from ancient understandings and fears regarding the cycle of life and death. They couldn't accept that life was singular, hoping for continuation in some other form after death—hence the legends of the underworld and the netherworld. If spirits truly existed after death, what would they think upon seeing their remains in such a strange state, being dug up and treated without respect?

The bodies comprised men, women, and children of all ages, clad in bizarre attire we had never seen before. We had already witnessed so many grotesque corpses today that our nerves were somewhat numbed, but standing before this excavated site of ten thousand buried dead, looking at the countless tiers of desiccated bodies, we couldn't help but feel a chill. No wonder they said this 'Ghost Bureau' was the eighteen levels of hell; a living person could be scared to death just by being here.

In this vast cavern filled only with the dead, there wasn't a single shadow of a living soul besides the three of us. Heaven knew why Old Sheepskin dragged that bronze chest here. We reasoned that heading into the depths of the mass grave held little purpose for him; he must have continued deeper into the cave system. So, we followed the passage along the edge of the excavation, moving inward, anxiously scanning our surroundings, calling out for Old Sheepskin, urging him to return quickly.

Seeing no sign of him, Fatty grew increasingly agitated. Subjectively, he remained convinced Old Sheepskin had defected. This cave ran north-south, and past a plateau to the north lay the border. Fatty asked if I thought we should launch a political offensive, using shouting propaganda to break down Old Sheepskin's resolve. I considered that the cave was immense; searching blindly was no way to proceed. It was better to follow Fatty's suggestion and shout first. If Old Sheepskin was nearby, perhaps we could persuade him to change his mind and come out of the cave. I nodded in agreement.

Fatty immediately shouted toward the depths of the cavern: "Hey, Old Sheepskin! Grave robbing is honest work, we're all in the same boat, internal contradictions, you see! You must not think of defecting to the Soviet revisionists and committing the folly of cutting yourself off from the people—that's a dead end! Brezhnev betrayed Marxism, betrayed Leninism, and betrayed the October Revolution! Moscow is weeping in sorrow, and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier is weeping too... Don't let two cream buns lead you astray for good. It’s not too late to switch sides; just step back over here..."

I truly couldn't listen anymore and quickly stopped Fatty. What nonsensical garbage was that? His pitch was abysmal. Just as I was about to take over the policy lecture for Old Sheepskin, Ding Sitian grabbed my arm, pointing downward. "Look, there's a path leading down here. There are fresh drag marks, suggesting something heavy was pulled along. Did Grandpa Sheepskin go down into the deeper part of the excavation this way?"

I looked down, and indeed, as Ding Sitian said, there were gentle stone slopes leading windingly into the depths from every corner of the excavation. The slopes were paved with fitted stones, probably buried under the earth and exposed each time a layer of bodies was laid down, then later uncovered by the Japanese. Loose soil and debris from the disturbed earth filled the slope, and clear drag marks scarred the surface. A cold wind howled through the cave, the air remarkably clear. If the marks on the slope had been left long ago, they wouldn't be so distinct now. This implied Old Sheepskin hadn't been gone long.

The three of us were eager to find Old Sheepskin and escape this nightmarish Hundred-Eyed Grotto as soon as possible. Finally seeing a lead, we rallied our spirits and followed the stone path downward. The feeling here was different from viewing the corpse-hiding cave from the outside. Descending lower, we moved almost brushing against the exposed skeletons embedded in the yellow earth. The stone path was quite narrow, forcing our bodies to occasionally scrape against the cold, lifeless arms and legs sticking out of the soil, which heightened our already tense nerves.

Despite the fear and exhaustion, no one suggested turning back. We pushed forward grimly. Fatty led the way, his engineer's lamp swinging, while the three of us walked hand-in-hand, slowly shuffling down the serpentine stone path. As we went deeper, the light waned; the lowest point looked like the gaping maw of some colossal beast, a hazy, indistinct gray mass, yet not utterly black—highly unusual. Fatty spoke to us: "How can this pit of dead bodies go so deep? What do you think is at the very bottom?"

Ding Sitian replied, "It’s not just a pit. With this many bodies here, there must be countless more below. This is fundamentally a massive tomb holding tens of thousands of people. I wonder what Grandpa Sheepskin is doing at the bottom of this great grave..." Worried for him, she tried to quicken her pace, but her legs felt weak and unresponsive. If I hadn't held onto her with Fatty, she would have stumbled again.

I felt the cold sweat on her palm, knowing her fear was mingled with anxiety. I thought: The Japanese devils clearly kept digging deeper. Is there something important beneath these layers of corpses? Could it be... I worried the base of this ancient mass grave concealed the legendary hell that unleashed the scorching winds, demanding caution. I told Fatty and Ding Sitian not to rush; even a rat leaving its hole checks its surroundings first. We too needed to be careful, proceed slowly, use our brains, examine everything clearly, so we could advance or retreat appropriately if danger arose.

Ding Sitian strongly agreed with my point. She asked me, "Your grandfather seemed to be a geomancer; you learned quite a bit of miscellaneous knowledge from him. The fact that these corpses in the great tomb haven't decayed—is that due to the feng shui reasons you mentioned? They... won't suddenly come back to life, will they?"

I knew she was trying indirectly to find reasons for her to stop being afraid. I told her, "My grandfather's theories are all 'Four Olds.' While I've found some merit in what he said in recent years, one shouldn't blindly believe everything." As far as I knew, besides feng shui, there were many other factors. After death, bodies usually decompose due to bacterial action. These decomposing bacteria need a suitably warm and humid environment to thrive. Cold climates, or extremely dry heat like deserts or snowy mountains, inhibit their existence, which is why desert mummies and ice corpses on snowy peaks do not rot.

There were also human factors, such as careful burial in thick, well-crafted, airtight coffins, with lime and charcoal placed inside to absorb moisture, creating a dry, sealed environment where bacteria couldn't function. In such cases, the body might become a mummy, or even retain its moisture as a 'wet corpse.' Beyond that, there were special cases. For instance, those who died of cholera, or those severely debilitated by illness who lost most of their body water before death, would quickly become desiccated mummies that resist decay. Dried corpses are shriveled, weighing over half as much as a newly deceased person, with wrinkled, contracted skin, usually black or dark brown. Hair and nails might even continue to grow.

The rarest were adipocere formations, or 'corpse wax.' Fatty or highly adipose bodies thrown into rivers or buried in saline soil could develop a waxy layer on the surface, preventing decomposition. In running water, the body's corrosive byproducts and the corrupting bacteria would be washed away, causing the body fat to turn into something slick and greasy, like soap—this is 'corpse wax.' If salts infiltrated the body, similar unctuous grease could form, encasing the corpse and inhibiting rot.

When I was in middle school, I visited a forensic specimen exhibition organized by the Public Security Bureau. It was presented as popular science to debunk superstition, and I went with my grandfather, Hu Guohua. He said the exhibition was educational and logical, but incomplete. There were too many reasons for bodies not to decay worldwide for a small exhibition to cover. However, I dared not share the more peculiar things my grandfather mentioned with Ding Sitian. I simply recounted the parts of that (science popularization) exhibition, mimicking its structure, to reassure her that the dead in the tomb wouldn't suddenly rise.

But a person with a normal imagination easily connects what they hear to superstitious legends, especially since Fatty kept shouting "ghosts" at inappropriate times, muttering how strange the 'Ghost Bureau' was rumored to be, yet now, deep inside, we felt nothing different—just a pile of hairy dead bodies. What was the big deal? We were so jumpy in the crematorium, thinking a phantom was trapped there, but it was just Old Yellowskin playing tricks. It seems ghosts are born from the mind; the mediocre only trouble themselves. Our minds, armed with Marxism-Leninism-Mao Zedong Thought, should never believe in that idealist doctrine. It is a disgrace—a disgrace to all materialists in the world! But why have we been fooled again and again? It seems historical lessons are not always heeded by posterity. This is the objective law of class struggle, not something that shifts according to human will...

Amidst Fatty’s verbose self-justifications, we had circled around to the end of the spiraling stone path. Here was an opening blocked by a wall of white, rounded rubble, plastered with numerous indecipherable Japanese characters. The Japanese devils suspected the Hundred-Eyed Grotto was haunted, and many places had similar talismans meant to suppress spirits, as did the peculiar structure of the incinerator—all for the purpose of warding off evil. But perhaps the supposed haunting was just the mischief of the yellow-skinned weasels.

The rubble wall before us had been pulled apart, revealing a large opening. A hazy, grayish light emanated from within. We had assumed this vast mausoleum was the lowest level, never expecting there was a space even deeper below. We didn't dare enter immediately. We called out for Old Sheepskin a few times at the entrance, but receiving no reply, we decided to venture further in. We refused to believe this cavern had no bottom.

Fatty again took the lead, gripping the Kangxi Precious Saber, calling out Old Sheepskin's name as he stepped carefully into the darkness. I supported Ding Sitian as we followed close behind. After walking about twenty paces, Fatty suddenly stopped, his expression panicked, and he whispered to us, "Old Hu, Sitian, which one of you just said there were no ghosts? That was irresponsible! Look ahead... what are those things?"

I moved up a few steps and looked ahead. Goosebumps immediately rose on my skin. A bad feeling struck me. Such a vast expanse of ancient towers and pavilions—where on earth had we arrived? And within those ancient structures, something seemed to be moving. Had we mistakenly stumbled into the Palace of Yama?