Ma Xiong patiently explained, "I believe they must be using those parasitic microbes to reproduce viruses inside the corpses. Then, the viruses probably wriggle within the body. I suspect they intend to use the virus's movement to drive the body, allowing the deceased to act according to the microbes' wriggling. To an outsider, it would look exactly like bringing the dead back to life. Isn't that what we call 'rescuing the dying and aiding the injured'?"

Lu Zong tilted his head back to envision it; it made sense. But such high-tech stuff—they shouldn't have possessed that back then. So, without arguing for or against it, he simply said coolly, "Let's just forget about that for now. Let's take a gas mask off one of them and keep moving down. They're still waiting for us..."

Ma Xiong glanced regretfully at the mummies, then snatched one from a face, wiped it casually on his sleeve, and put it on, loudly proclaiming, "Ah, this is comfortable, hehe, this is just..."

Before he could finish his sentence, he abruptly stopped speaking, as if forcibly silenced. Lu Zong saw his throat visibly constricting, his Adam's apple moving, which meant he was still trying to form words. The way his speech cut off carried a choked, almost crying quality, as if he were suffocating. Lu Zong’s immediate thought was: the virus is in the gas mask.

Indeed, Ma Xiong clutched his throat, desperately gulping air, but it seemed impossible to draw a breath. His face flushed deep red. He flailed his arms, pointing frantically at his throat, utterly unable to utter a sound.

Lu Zong panicked, rushing forward to yank the mask off. But for some inexplicable reason, the mask seemed fused to his face, immovable. If he applied any real force, he felt certain he would peel Ma Xiong's facial skin right off. By now, Ma Xiong’s eyes were beginning to bulge.

Anxiety tightened his chest, and his mind went blank. He didn't know what to do, just stood there stupidly watching his friend suffer, feeling an ache for him in his own heart.

Suddenly, he sensed a disturbance behind him, followed by a gust of cold air sweeping past his back. He whipped around just in time, nearly collapsing from shock. The desiccated corpses that had been lying on the ground were now all standing upright, perfectly still, as if newly animated.

Some of the mummies had risen so violently that internal organs were flung loose; limbs scraped off the walls before bouncing back, flying everywhere. About a dozen corpses were lined up neatly in two rows, facing Ma Xiong.

At this moment, Ma Xiong had ceased struggling; he seemed entranced, his body clearly beyond his own control. Lu Zong realized the awful truth: he must have been infected by the microbes. This type of germ was unprecedented; what could he possibly do now?

He hypothesized that if his guess was correct, Ma Xiong was now their leader. Perhaps the mask Ma Xiong had just taken was the leader’s mask. The microbes might be connected through an infinite medium—perhaps air or even brainwaves. Whatever the microbe leader commanded, the others followed. Though the bodies were dead, the microbes were alive, effectively replacing the brain and directing bodily functions. The Japanese devils went to such lengths to invade China, Lu Zong thought bitterly, forcing a strained smile.

The most crucial thing now was how to save Ma Xiong. He looked at him anxiously.

Ma Xiong was staring blankly now, though his face seemed slightly less ashen and red than before. Lu Zong saw his chest rising and falling and figured his breathing must have stabilized. He wasn't in immediate mortal danger.

What to do next? His mind was a chaotic mess.

Just as he stood there helplessly, Lu Zong suddenly turned away. The mummies behind him instantly stiffened, preparing to move out.

Lu Zong offered Ma Xiong a wry look, wondering what state his friend was truly in. Was this a morbid joke, or was he genuinely controlled by the virus? The kid always did things unpredictably.

To assess the situation, he walked in front of Ma Xiong, patted his head, and asked, "Ma Xiong, wake up. It's me."

Ma Xiong gave no reaction whatsoever.

Lu Zong called out again, "Ma Xiong, it's me! What's wrong?"

He felt a cold draft sweep past his ear, followed by a sharp smack that left his cheek stinging hot. He instinctively shielded his face with his hand, blinking back tears as he looked at Ma Xiong. "Ma Xiong, do you even know what you're doing?"

Ma Xiong acted as if he hadn't heard, continuing to search near him for a target. Only when he sensed no living presence nearby did he quiet down and begin shuffling forward.

The mummies behind him followed his lead, confirming Lu Zong’s earlier suspicion.

What were they setting out to do? Lu Zong wondered with a renewed sense of curiosity.

Even though Ma Xiong kept bumping into the mountain wall, slamming his head until it bled, he moved forward with that same unconscious drive. He never imagined those parasites would be this potent—able to control not just a person's thoughts, but their very consciousness.

Though Lu Zong felt a prickle of fear, he edged closer for Ma Xiong’s sake, scrutinizing him intently. He tried to move without making a sound, keeping even his breathing shallow, terrified of disturbing the parasites lodged on Ma Xiong’s face and causing him to enact something truly horrific.

Ma Xiong looked as if he were asleep, eyes tightly shut, arms held stiffly before him, as if he were navigating by touch. The mummies behind him mimicked his posture, ready to proceed to their unknown destination.

"I wonder where these parasites are taking Ma Xiong," he thought, his curiosity overriding his caution. Since he couldn't figure out how to save Ma Xiong right now, he decided he would have to play it by ear and see where they were headed.