Yet, neither man seemed to hear him, continuing to wrench at the lead strip.

Terrified, Lu Zong stepped forward and threw his arms around Ma Xiong’s body, trying to pull him away. But Ma Xiong’s strength was unbelievable; he didn't budge an inch. With a slight movement of his arm, Ma Xiong flung Lu Zong several meters away. The force felt utterly inhuman. He slammed onto the ground, a rush of blood roaring in his ears, the world blurring as he felt himself about to pass out. The fall was brutal. He lay there, gasping for air, until slowly, consciousness began to return.

He looked back at Ma Xiong and Gan Da. Both were slick with cold sweat, still ceaselessly tearing at the lead strip. That strip was not meant to be broken by human hands. Lu Zong was instantly desperate. Ignoring his own weakness, he staggered to his feet, already scheming how to move them away from the coffin.

Given the situation, they were clearly no longer in control of their own minds; some mysterious power must have seized them. But who controlled them? Did they truly intend to kill Ma Xiong and Gan Da? And why had he, Lu Zong, been so miraculously spared from the beginning? Was there something fundamentally different about him?

Just as they were locked in their fierce struggle, Lu Zong suddenly slapped his own forehead, cursing his stupidity. They were being controlled by the coffin—because their hands had touched the lead that was spreading out from it. This very substance must be what was hijacking their sanity.

He rushed forward, grabbing the lead strip, trying to wrestle it from Ma Xiong’s grip. But Ma Xiong held fast, and Lu Zong couldn't exert any force. Fearing another attack from Ma Xiong, he didn't press the issue, instead hastily backing away.

He stopped a short distance off, then picked up a piece of paving brick from the ground. He walked behind Gan Da and brought the brick down lightly on the back of his head.

Though the blow was meant to be gentle, it was still a brick. The impact made Gan Da’s head bleed profusely, and he immediately slumped unconscious, dropping the lead strip.

With one side suddenly relieved of tension, the coffin lurched violently toward Ma Xiong. For such a heavy object to be dragged across the ground showed the immense power Ma Xiong was exerting.

After being pulled about ten paces, the coffin finally crashed against the inner wall with a thud, wedging itself between the wall and a broken, unidentified pillar, bringing its movement to a halt.

Ma Xiong seemed determined to wrestle the coffin, pulling it forward relentlessly. Wedged between the obstacles, every tug from Ma Xiong caused the back end of the coffin to lift and slam down again, the impact a deafening roar that left Lu Zong terrified.

Finally, under Ma Xiong’s continuous strain, the coffin wrenched free, shattering the thick pillar that was pinning it. Caught off guard by the sudden release, Ma Xiong fell backward with the momentum. The lead strip finally snapped, and as he tumbled back, his head smashed onto a pile of broken porcelain shards on the floor—the same fate as Gan Da’s. Blood streamed down, and he too fell unconscious. Lu Zong rushed forward in anguish, checking his pulse. The breathing was stable enough. Despite the recent violent exertion, his lungs seemed unaffected; Lu Zong couldn't believe a human organ could endure such strain.

He looked at Ma Xiong’s still-bleeding head and was filled with regret. If he had known, he should have knocked Ma Xiong out sooner. Now, looking at Ma Xiong’s self-inflicted injury compared to the wound he’d inflicted on Gan Da, he realized he had shown mercy to Gan Da.

With no time for deeper thought, he pulled a tourniquet and anti-inflammatory powder from his pocket. He sprinkled some powder on the cut on his own head and wrapped the bandage around it. Only then did he tend to Gan Da, staunching the bleeding there.

When he finished treating both men, he was utterly exhausted. He crouched on the ground, panting, his vacant gaze sweeping once more over the mysterious coffin.

What exactly was inside this coffin?

Thinking this, he forgot his fatigue and walked straight toward it. He felt an irresistible pull, as if the coffin were exerting a mysterious force. Whenever he stared at it, only one thought echoed in his mind: Go to it. Go to it.

He found himself standing before the coffin once more.

He muttered aloud, "What is inside this coffin? Is it just a mummy? If so, I'll be bitterly disappointed. I hurt my comrades for this coffin! I’ve sacrificed so much, just for a mummy?"

He stopped deliberating and began racking his brain for a way to pry the lid open.

His eyes scanned the surface of the coffin.

He suddenly noticed a large hole right in the center of the lid—where the lead strip had been torn away by Ma Xiong.

Excited, he approached and peered into the opening, but could see nothing; it was pitch black inside. Although he wore night-vision goggles, the interior remained somewhat obscured.

He immediately lit a chemical light stick and held it to the opening, looking inside again.

He suddenly perceived something undulating within, moving with a distinct rhythm. Frightened, he pulled his gaze back, rubbing his eyes, steadying himself, then peered in once more.

Indeed, he saw the undulation again. Deep inside him, he cried out: What could possibly be moving in there after three thousand years?

His curiosity intensifying, he observed more closely. He realized the rising and falling matched the frequency of human respiration. Was the person inside breathing? No, wait—was the corpse inside breathing? Had this person achieved immortality, living until this moment?

Confused, he rubbed his eyes again and looked closer. This time, he saw clearly: the movement was rhythmic and undeniably real.

He stood there, dumbfounded, staring at the coffin for a long time, speechless. What lay inside was astonishing. What was that rhythmic movement?

His curiosity swelled, and finally, he decided he had to open it.

Since Ma Xiong had already managed to shift the lid slightly, Lu Zong only needed to provide a little extra leverage to push it further. He found an iron rod nearby—it looked like a heavy steel poker the Japanese military might have used for tending a furnace, now rusted through. It felt substantial in his grip. Dragging his weary body to the coffin, he jammed the steel rod into the hole where the lead had broken and pushed.

After all, the lid hadn't been opened in ages, and forcing it open was no easy feat. Moreover, the lead seal was only about one-third compromised, and the surrounding ornamentation, studded with jewels, only added to the coffin’s overall solidity.

He wondered why the Japanese military had placed this coffin in the laboratory.

Lu Zong supposed the Japanese must have accidentally unearthed it during their excavations. Perhaps they considered it an ancient artifact, but lacking the means to open it without damaging the contents, they left it untouched. This suggested the coffin possessed an even deeper history. He quickly surveyed the carvings and, based on the wood's composition, estimated its age to be at least two millennia. The dense hardwood used for such coffins was from an exceedingly rare tree species, found only in the area surrounding the Qaidam Basin when Xinjiang was still an oasis. Given the labor and technology of that ancient era, transporting such timber from elsewhere would have been impossible; the wood must have been sourced locally. Thus, the coffin predated the disappearance of that oasis, making it at least two thousand years old.

But then, why was there still evidence of breathing inside?

He prepared to press on. He spat into his palms, flexed his hands, and reinserted the steel rod into the opening. For some reason, he felt a rush of blood, his cheeks flushing, intensely excited. He cursed inwardly, "Seriously, what hormones are activating right now?"

Perhaps it was a female corpse inside, he tried to console himself.

He leaned his entire weight onto the steel rod, his feet leaving the ground. Finally, the gap in the coffin lid widened slightly, and the cracks around the lead seal began to spread outward.

The steel rod, unable to withstand Lu Zong's full weight, began to bend, its rust flaking off in chunks onto the floor, creating a small mound of red residue quickly.

When the rod bent to a forty-five-degree angle, Lu Zong could endure no more. He planted his feet back on the ground and leaned heavily on the rod, panting loudly.

In that moment of gasping breath, he distinctly felt the rod vibrate. He knew that tremor originated from inside the coffin, as if something were striking it. He quickly pulled his head away from the rod, fearing that whatever controlled the interior might suddenly seize the metal and strike him.

He stared at the rod for a long time, but it remained silent. Lu Zong let out a huge sigh of relief and reached out to place his hands back on the rod, intending to apply more force.

But the moment his hands touched the steel, he felt that tremor again—a vibration at an extremely high frequency. He could even hear the faint whirring sound the rod made as it sliced through the air. A torrent of excitement surged through him again.

After a brief pause, the vibration ceased. Lu Zong waited a long time, but the shaking never returned.

He placed his hands back on the rod. Still no vibration. He picked up a brick from the floor and tapped the steel rod a few times. Sure enough, a tapping sound came back from the coffin end, matching the frequency and number of Lu Zong’s own blows.

Lu Zong froze, dropping the brick. It was clear that the corpse inside the coffin retained a remarkably coherent awareness.