The "Guanshan Taibao" excavated ancient tombs across various locales, filling the "Dixian Village" with precious artifacts and exotic instruments. These incomplete murals, likely decorative elements from a Tang Dynasty tomb, are perplexing; despite our extensive knowledge of antiquities, neither of the two pieces allows us to pinpoint the exact "mountain tomb" they originated from.

Continuing down the gently sloping tomb passage, fragmented Tang murals appeared incessantly, all depicting voluptuous, listless noblewomen alongside grotesque, goblin-like old men. Regardless of the damp, seeping conditions, the murals' colors remained startlingly fresh. I was anxious to locate Sun Jiuye and dared not linger to examine the tomb's sinister paintings, wading straight ahead, though I remained inwardly vigilant, allowing not a shred of carelessness.

As far as I knew, the lower passages of the "Wuyang King" mausoleum employed an extremely ancient burial structure, from which the later "Golden Wells" found within tombs were derived. In ancient Feng Shui, the concepts of "form, situation, principle, and energy" were secondary; what ancient people valued most was the intuitive "good or evil" nature of the soil itself.

Because a significant portion of the tomb soil is removed, whether it is later backfilled or not, the earth at the "aperture" is extremely precious. Thus, larger burials often featured several vertical shafts at the bottom, into which some of the original soil was placed. This served to maintain the qi within the ancient tomb and simultaneously act as a "drainage channel." The underground lake water that infiltrated the lower tomb passage had almost certainly seeped into these shafts packed with original earth. Constant immersion in groundwater had loosened and crumbled the tomb bricks beneath our feet. Unable to see the terrain through the standing water, we had to probe three times before each step, making the progress agonizingly slow.

To avoid slipping on submerged stones, I was forced to walk close to the tomb wall, the bricks icy and slick under my hand, making even breathing feel constricted. After only a few steps, I thought I heard a sound coming from within the wall. Puzzled, I pressed my ear against the cold masonry and faintly caught the sound of a human voice echoing from deeper within the passage. The sound conducted along the wall, not perfectly clear, but undeniably human—and distinctly a woman's voice.

In our five-person expedition team, only Yaomei'er and Shirley Yang were female, so my immediate thought was that Yaomei'er was at the far end of the passage. I quickly told Shirley Yang and Fatty, "Listen, doesn't that sound like Yaomei'er..."

Fatty knelt and listened against the wall for a moment, nodding. "Right, but she's far off. Can't make out what she’s yelling, but in a situation like this, it’s got to be a cry for help. Let’s hurry over and pull her out. If we delay any longer in this dark place, the fear alone could kill my little sister."

I countered that Yaomei'er was quite brave, having learned real secrets in Fengwoshan and even undergone militia training, so she probably wouldn't die of fright. The fact that she was calling for help suggested she was mostly fine. However, I hadn't heard Sun Jiuye’s voice, and I couldn't tell if the old man was alive or dead.

As I was about to tentatively move forward again, Shirley Yang grabbed me back, saying, "Wait... listen again. Yaomei'er speaks with a Sichuan accent. The sound from the depths doesn't match; it sounds like... a middle-aged woman. I can’t quite make out what she’s calling, but it’s definitely not Yaomei'er."

I knew Shirley Yang’s hearing was far keener than mine or Fatty's, but besides her and Yaomei'er, how could there be a third woman in this ancient tomb? And a "middle-aged woman" at that? Suspicion clouded my mind. If Shirley Yang hadn't misheard, could it be a "person" from the Dixian Village tomb? If so... distinguishing between a person and a ghost would be hard. How could anyone have survived for centuries in this sealed tomb?

I listened again at the wall. The woman’s cries from the passage depths were intermittent, faint, and ethereal. Though indistinct, upon careful listening, it truly didn't match Yaomei'er's accent. Believing someone had survived for hundreds of years in this tomb seemed less plausible than believing we were dealing with a specter. But whether ghost or phantom, we had to proceed and see for ourselves. Steel-nerved, I took a breath and bravely waded into the water, moving forward.

As I took a step forward with a loud splash in the water, a hand suddenly grabbed my shoulder from behind. Shirley Yang and Fatty were both ahead of me, and my attention was entirely focused forward. Being grabbed unexpectedly from behind caught me completely unprepared, startling me badly.

I cried out, swinging my entrenching tool and turning back to see Yaomei'er standing behind me, soaked. Gasping, she demanded, "What are you doing? I’ve been yelling my lungs out behind you, why didn't you wait up?"

I was astonished. "Sister, where did you come from? How did you get behind us? Wasn't the shouting from ahead of the passage you?"

Shirley Yang saw that Yaomei'er and I were asking each other nonsensical questions and told her to calm down, explain herself, and confirm if she was injured.

Yaomei'er collected herself and recounted what happened. She had been lying on the coffin lid as it slid downward. Once in the tomb passage, the underground water rushed in violently, carrying the lacquered coffin to an unknown location. She considered jumping into the water to escape but feared the depth of the standing water and drowning. When the coffin was finally swept into the lower passage, everything went black. She let go and plunged into the water, subsequently being carried drowsily into a side chamber by the flood. When she woke, she saw flickering lights outside a tomb door and rushed out to find the source.

At that time, Fatty, Shirley Yang, and I had been traversing the passage with the Tang murals, overlooking the collapsed side chamber as we rushed toward the direction of the surging sewage. Yaomei'er chased from behind, but in this sloping passage, sound only propagated upward; those lower down couldn't hear what was happening above. She trailed us until we stopped, finally catching up. Despite her courage, she was still visibly shaken.

Seeing Yaomei'er was unharmed didn't entirely put me at ease. First, Sun Jiuye was missing, and second, that woman's shouting from the depths was indeed from another person. Initially, I had speculated that perhaps the unique structure of the passage had created a distorted echo, causing an auditory illusion where we mistook Yaomei'er's voice. But the reality quickly negated this possibility, as the woman’s desperate shouts continued to drift from the passage depths.

A thought flashed through my mind: "The woman in the passage? Could she be one of the noblewomen from the Tang murals?" The notion seemed unbelievable, but overthinking was useless. If we delayed, Professor Sun might truly have his life claimed by the female ghost of that Tang tomb. The situation demanded action without hesitation. I told Shirley Yang to keep Yaomei'er behind me and Fatty. The four of us held our breath and advanced through the wading water, illuminated only by the weak beam of our headlamps toward the end of the passage. As if sensing our approach, the woman's cries within the tomb suddenly ceased.

This was a small, stone-built chamber. Beneath the entrance bricks, there were vertical shafts filled with original earth. Although this spot was the lowest point in the entire tomb, the underground water flowed to this point and seeped out through cracks in the bedrock at the chamber entrance. The interior of the chamber was completely dry. Two cinnabar-lacquered coffins, painted with images of Zhong Kui subduing demons, lay stranded, one to the east and one to the west.

The lacquered coffin closer to the doorway showed a faint, flickering light. Sun Jiuye was still slumped over the lid, his hands still clutching the iron chain on the coffin board. The light on his climbing helmet was damaged, blinking faintly like ghostly water.

Seeing Sun Jiuye motionless, I sensed trouble—perhaps the Old Man had passed on. We rushed forward, preparing to check his pulse for any sign of life, when Professor Sun suddenly shot up as if reanimated, sitting bolt upright on the lid with a "Heng!" His pale face was contorted with terror, startling us all.

Before I could ask him anything, Sun Jiuye blurted out, "Did you... did you hear that just now? Was there some strange sound in this ancient tomb?"

I knew the professor had likely heard that "strange" sound, which prompted his question. I didn't reveal my knowledge immediately, instead asking him, "What sound are you referring to?"

Sun Jiuye said distractedly, "It sounded like... a ghost chant. Yes... I am certain it was a ghost chant! I was washed along with the lake water while lying on the coffin, straight into this chamber at the end of the tomb. My head is spinning; I might have even passed out, but I heard it clearly: someone in this chamber was singing a ghost chant..."

Shirley Yang interjected, "Professor, you always preach that ordinary people shouldn't speak of the supernatural. Why are you suddenly saying the sound you heard was... a ghost chant?"

Professor Sun replied, "What? You don't know? Guiyin is a style of singing from the Tang Dynasty. Sung a cappella on a quiet night by a woman's clear voice, the melody is exquisitely bizarre and ethereal, imitating the wailing and lamentation of departed souls. Guiyin is completely lost in China today, but it was imported into Japan and preserved there. I heard a Guiyin performance when I attended an academic exchange in Japan two years ago, so I recognized it instantly."

Only then did I understand what Professor Sun meant by "Guiyin." But whether the "ghost chant" was an ancient musical piece imitating the lament of a spirit or not, it shouldn't be occurring in this tomb—otherwise, it truly would be a legitimate "ghost chant."

The terrifying Tang Dynasty murals we had seen, the Guiyin lost for a thousand years, and the empty "Wuyang King" tomb, with the vanished "Dixian Village"—only the first half of the "Guanshan Zhimifou" seemed real. Innumerable questions tangled together, offering no clear path forward. How could we even attempt to steal the "Elixir Cauldron Heavenly Tome" hidden in the tomb? It was impossible without finding a new "breakthrough point" to unravel these mysteries.

With this thought, Fatty and I scanned the surroundings, trying to locate the source of the "Guiyin." But the chamber at the end of the passage, like the entire tomb, was bare-walled. There was only a mess of broken bricks, tiles, and pottery, and those two cinnabar coffins.

The coffin beneath Professor Sun remained sealed, but the other lacquered coffin had slammed against the wall, its front end cracked open widely and overturned on the floor. From the fissure in the wood, a dry, rigid arm of a female corpse dangled out, still adorned with jade bracelets and rings. When the beam of the "wolf-eye flashlight" hit them, the jewelry glittered enticingly.

Fatty stared, swallowing hard, and whispered to me, "Old Hu, old Hu, it’s said—'In a barren village, the date palm casts shadows, the woods are sparse and ghosts sing.' Could this be a zongzi singing from the coffin? We should just light the candles, open the coffin right now, and drag it out to see clearly, lest we let suspicion breed fear and become terrified by our own thoughts."

I shook my head. "Our purpose in entering this Coffin Gorge is for the Elixir Cauldron and the Heavenly Diagram. Doing the proper business is what matters. It’s best not to invite side issues. No matter what kind of ghost sound or bird sound it is, it has nothing to do with us. If anything makes you uneasy, we can just set fire to these two lacquered coffins."

I decided to act decisively. I suspected that ethereal, faint "Guiyin" was dangerous, not auspicious, so it was better to eliminate this hidden threat immediately. I started to move toward the coffins to set them ablaze, but as I approached, I noticed some script carved on the bottom plank of the coffin. I quickly moved closer to examine it intently.

Shirley Yang noticed my unusual behavior and followed, studying the inscription on the coffin base for a moment before reading aloud word by word: "A woman's body brings ill fortune..." Professor Sun, lying on the other coffin, heard this clearly and exclaimed, "Is this the continuation of the Guanshan Zhimifou?" He was about to ask more when Shirley Yang put up a hand for silence. "Hush... there's a sound inside the lacquered coffin!"

As Shirley Yang spoke, I also heard a disturbance from within the coffin. That mournful, weeping "Guiyin" reappeared. I quickly pulled her back a step. The faint, elusive sound felt like a specter, chilling the blood, but how could there be a sound inside a coffin?

Professor Sun trembled uncontrollably, stunned by this phenomenon that defied physical laws. His worldview, built over many years, was shattered in an instant. He scrambled off the lacquered coffin and huddled behind me, stammering, "What... what is in the coffin?"

Initially, I felt a pang of panic, but then my blood surged. I reasoned that if a person was speaking inside the coffin, there were only three possibilities: first, it was genuinely haunted; second, the person inside wasn't dead and was alive; or third, there was a recording device inside. I, Hu Ye, had seen every strange thing imaginable in my life, except those three things. Today, I was finally going to witness them, gaining some unique anecdotes for future discussions with my peers. Moreover, I couldn't show fear now, lest I transmit it to Yaomei'er and Professor Sun. So I told them, "I think there’s a very old recording player inside that burial coffin. Hear how it whines and moans... it’s probably playing some opera about a young widow crying at a grave."