That sigh came too suddenly. Still immersed in the atmosphere conjured by the Tujia love songs, I had absolutely no mental guard up. Hearing that mournful, plaintive sound abruptly, I felt every nerve in my body instantly ripped away, my heart clenched into a ball, my mind buzzing, and a wave of heat spread through my limbs. My consciousness went blank for a moment, a scream lodging itself in my throat, unable to come out.

Clearly, this sigh was not a phantom sound in my ears. The crunching of four people and a dog on the rock slab instantly ceased the moment the sigh faded, as if a movie player had hit the pause button. Only the oil-pine torch burned on, sputtering unconcerned.

Qin Bing'er suddenly clamped onto my waist, her head trying to burrow into my chest, trembling violently all over. Her fingernails dug through my clothes into my flesh, a sharp, heart-wrenching pain. Hua'er, that quick-witted fellow, seemed stunned into stillness for that instant, neither moving nor barking.

Before I could cry out in pain, I heard the man behind me, Man Niaoniao, fall straight onto the ground like a log. Hua'er snapped back to awareness, spun around, ran behind Master Ji, let out two low whines toward the direction of the sigh, crouched low, and began to bark wildly. Hua'er’s barks jolted my soul, which had almost left my body, back into my physical form, and consciousness returned. I spun around sharply, looking down at the prone body of Man Niaoniao, and saw his eyes rolled back, his breathing ragged—sometimes shallow, sometimes deep—white foam bubbling at his mouth, his whole body shaking uncontrollably as if he were having chills.

Flushing with anger, I slapped Man Niaoniao hard across the face several times. He let out a choked sound, his Adam's apple bobbing, and he let out a long breath. His eyes, half-white and half-dark, stared at me, his fingers weakly pointing toward his mouth, utterly speechless.

I was frantic. Had Man Niaoniao been scared mute? I stole a glance at Master Ji and saw that although the old man was forcing himself to remain calm, he was clearly also frozen by fear. His old face was flushed crimson, his beard trembled slightly, and his lips were turning dark and bluish.

Master Ji and I exchanged a look, our minds instantly connecting. We each took an arm, lifting the stiff and rigid Man Niaoniao, called Hua'er back, supported Qin Bing'er, and bolted deep into the dark, shadowy depths of the cave.

After only a few steps, a mass of cold, damp fog rushed toward us, enveloping our heads and shoulders. The flame of the torch suddenly whipped sideways, struggled weakly a couple of times, and with a soft puff, went out.

We couldn't stop ourselves and surged forward several more paces before finally managing to halt. Our bodies were completely swallowed by the thick mist.

That fog was like a tide, several magnitudes thicker than that in the Call Cloud Cave. We stood in the dense fog, unable to see our hands in front of our faces, able only to hear the heavy gasps of the four people and Hua'er. The mist surged into our chests with every breath, cold enough to penetrate the bone.

As the four people and the dog stood there bewildered, a sudden flash of white light erupted from the depths of the cave, tearing through the thick fog, and the environment instantly became chaotic. A shock went through the four of them, quickly followed by a burst of joy—could they have reached the exit? Without time to figure out the source of the white light, we stumbled and rushed toward where it originated.

The closer we got to where the light was emanating, the thinner the mist became, and the light resembled the first faint blush of a winter dawn.

After a short run, the scene suddenly opened up, and we were no longer in the narrow, pitch-black cave but had arrived at an exit.

Before us, thin mist drifted, the gloom unclear, and the humidity was exceptionally severe. As the mist drifted past and we finally saw our surroundings clearly, we immediately cried out in misery, our hearts turning ice-cold.

Ahead of the exit seemed to be yet another sinkhole riddled with strange rocks, with masses of dense fog churning both above and below, making it impossible to see either the top or the bottom. Unlike the sinkhole near the Mosquito King Bee, the visibility here was slightly better; we could see two or three meters ahead without the aid of a torch or flashlight.

I let go of Man Niaoniao, who slumped onto the ground in a heap. I took out my flashlight and shone it forward. The beam created a shaft of light in the ethereal mist, and I was surprised to discover a natural stone bridge spanning the sinkhole. The bridge curved and twisted, leading toward the opposite side where the fog was rising. I shone the light on the ground and found that the bridge was two to three meters wide in some places, and in others, narrow enough for only one person to pass. The flagstones were irregular, jagged, dark, and slick with moisture. Shining the light on either side of the bridge, the beam was swallowed by the fog; we couldn't see the edge of the sinkhole, only clouds and a sea of fog above and below, with piercing humidity.

I, Qin Bing'er, and Master Ji exchanged glances, unable to decide whether to advance or retreat.

“Woof~” Hua’er suddenly barked wildly at the stone bridge. The fog on the bridge seemed to be pulled by Hua'er’s cry, dispersing into wisps that revealed the complete bridge.

However, a bizarre and terrifying scene froze us in place—

On a relatively large stone slab in the middle of the bridge, a solitary grave had materialized out of thin air, inconveniently blocking our path. The head of the grave faced us. The soil, black as pitch, looked freshly piled, as if the person who built it had been extremely impatient, sloppily mounding a few piles of dirt and stacking a few rocks, so much so that we could clearly see the pale, white coffin lid protruding from the mound.

A bamboo pole was slanted into the grave, from which hung a white banner about a foot long. The mist threaded through the banner, making it flutter weakly. Even more unsettling, a white candle stood planted before the grave, its soft flame flickering uncertainly. Behind the candle, a grayish-white stone tablet leaned against the grave mound. There seemed to be writing on the tablet, but due to the distance, the characters were illegible.

Seeing the stone tablet, my heart pounded like thunder. Could this be the Token Stele we were searching for?

I quickly dismissed the thought. The color, shape, and size of this stone tablet differed vastly from the Token Stele in my dream. If there truly was the stele from my dream in Anle Cave, it would absolutely not be this one. This was my intuition, strange as it was.

Although I didn't understand Feng Shui for graves, I had been exposed to it since childhood and knew that the location of this fresh grave was absolutely disastrous. The Tujia people placed immense importance on burials, believing that the quality of the Yin dwelling Feng Shui directly affected the safety of their descendants. In my memory, every normal grave, without exception, had a green mountain behind it and faced a hill—the principle being, "A grave must face a protective mound; a house must face a depression"—it was impossible for a grave to be situated alone like this on a stone bridge, especially one buried over a bottomless sinkhole in Anle Cave, known for its extreme wickedness.

Before entering Anle Cave, I could imagine scenes of poisonous insects and perilous terrain—everything imaginable—but I never expected to see a fresh grave inside the cave. Given its placement, this new grave was certainly no simple matter. Could it be the "Soul Fiend" that Master Ji spoke of?

Master Ji's face looked grave. He reached his right hand behind his woven basket, staring fixedly at the new grave on the stone bridge, silent, his thoughts unknown. Although Qin Bing'er was pale, her mind seemed clear. Leaning on my shoulder, she gazed at the grave with a distant, entranced look.

Man Niaoniao, who had sobered up slightly from my slapping, suddenly saw the new grave on the bridge and fainted again, collapsing to the ground, his limbs convulsing. Fortunately, Master Ji knelt beside him, supporting him with his left hand, preventing Man Niaoniao from collapsing like a pile of mud.

I felt both contempt and pity for Niaoniao. Scared stiff by a nameless woman's sigh—and he boasted of having "a whole body of courage"? —That phrase shouldn't be wasted on him!

However, I was also extremely puzzled. How could there be a woman in Anle Cave, which had been silent and desolate for many years? Was this woman a living person or one of the so-called Half-Puppets? If she was real, wouldn't her fate be similar to that of the White-Haired Girl? If she was one of the legendary Half-Puppets, why had she never shown herself until Master Ji finished singing the love song and then let out that soul-stirring sigh? What was the intention? —As Master Ji put it, Anle Cave truly was not peaceful!

What my eyes could perceive caused my consciousness to blur: Had we already walked the legendary Yellow Springs Road, and was this stone bridge the legendary Naihe Bridge? Would an old woman with silver hair and a face full of ravines soon appear to offer us a bowl of Soul-Forgetting Soup?

Fortunately, Hua'er's harsh barking pulled my thoughts back. Despite the bizarre and strange nature of this new grave, a stubborn voice inside me resisted: It's just a grave; there's no Yellow Springs Road or Naihe Bridge. Having built a fresh grave myself, I felt indifferent.

It seemed that to reach the other side, we had to step over the head of the grave. If it were just Master Ji and me, two men, stepping over the grave mound wouldn't cause too much worry. Even if Man Niaoniao was timid, he was still a man; three men full of Yang energy shouldn't fear legendary Half-Puppets. The key was Qin Bing'er. In the old days, women were considered "Yin folk," and just sitting on a "three-legged stool" in the nitre cave caused such a stir. If she now had to ride across the grave, what kind of bizarre "Rizizi" would happen?

Weighing the options, I decided to retreat back into the cave first. Although the sound of the woman's sigh still left me shaken, it was only a sound, not a spirit seen. Even if it was a Half-Puppet, with Master Ji's skill and my own courage, at worst, it would be a clash of "Yin Qi" and "Yang Qi," and the outcome would truly be uncertain.

Having made up my mind, I looked down at Master Ji and said, "Let's retreat back into the cave first, shall we?"

Master Ji retracted his gaze, his eyes unfocused, and nodded, saying in a low voice, "Alright... then!"

Seeing Master Ji agree with my suggestion, I handed him the flashlight, picked up Man Niaoniao onto my back, and was about to step back into the cave when, taking one forward step, I glanced in the flashlight beam and was instantly scared out of my wits—there was no sign of the cave before me! It was an endless sea of rolling clouds, nothing but empty space. My forward-stepping foot was hanging precariously over the edge of the broken bridge!

Qin Bing'er and Master Ji also noticed this and gasped softly, pulling my trailing leg back several steps. I set Man Niaoniao down, wiped the cold sweat from my brow, patted my chest, and cursed inwardly: Damn it, what kind of trick is this? Could this bridge have moved without us noticing? Damned ghosts!

"Could that woman be playing tricks?" I scanned the area, but besides the four people and the dog, there wasn't a single human figure. Since that sigh, the woman had neither shown herself nor made a sound. I suspiciously glanced at the new grave again, wondering if it was causing this "Riyawa'er" (strange occurrence).

I snatched the flashlight back and shone it fiercely onto the mist-shrouded new grave, cursing nonstop, "You bastard, I don't care if you're weird or not, I refuse to believe in it! This time, I'm stepping right over you!" I wished the flashlight beam could split the mound in two and tear out whatever was inside to grind it to dust.

As my curses erupted, the flame of the white candle before the grave flared up violently and suddenly extinguished. The white banner fluttered, whoosh, whoosh, seeming to mock me chillingly...

My anger flared further, and I started to rush toward the new grave when Master Ji grabbed me, saying urgently, "Don't panic, that grave is not simple!"

Nonsense, I knew that grave wasn't simple—it was like a lazy woman laying out ducks (meaning: something complicated or tricky). Simple or not, what could we do? Wait here to die? I was dissatisfied with Master Ji's timid attitude and roared, "How can a living person let themselves die from holding their pee? Wait for me to go shovel away that mound of dirt first!"

"Let's figure out the situation of that grave first! If you rush off recklessly and something happens to you, how will I explain it to your parents? What about Miss Qin and Niaoniao?" Master Ji's tone was authoritative, and he wouldn't let go of my arm. I found his elderly advice completely unwarranted. It's just a grave for a dead person; what is there to fear? If we wait here, not only might something happen to us, but if we accidentally fall into the sinkhole, we might end up with 'seven long and eight short' calamities!

"What's buried in that new grave is a small child!" Master Ji said with absolute certainty, noticing my dissatisfaction.

I was stunned; this was a new point. Generally, it was believed that the smaller the person, the more potent the ghost; in all ghost legends, it was universally held that the ghost of a child who died young was the most powerful—the younger the child, the more potent the spirit. Even my own grandfather had said this many times when he was alive.

"You can tell from the length of the 'Wangshan Qian' (mountain-gazing money/banner)!" Master Ji continued. "Generally, the 'Wangshan Qian' is divided into several sections, each representing ten years. Look, the one on this grave is less than a foot long, what does that tell you?" The "Wangshan Qian" was the white banner on the grave. Experienced people could accurately state the age of the deceased based on the segments of the banner.

Seeing Master Ji speak with such seriousness, my heart was in turmoil, and I hesitated even more.

Master Ji noticed my expression, reached into his basket, pulled out the piece of fresh pork, and his face instantly darkened. He exclaimed, his face red with anxiety, "It's here, it's here, it really came!" I was bewildered and looked at the fresh pork, letting out a sharp gasp—the piece of pork, which had been white and tender, now looked like a lump of charcoal, pitch black.

"Believe it or not, those things might really appear later," Master Ji said, his face grave and his tone serious. "We must be extremely careful and absolutely must not act rashly, or the lightest consequence is losing one's soul, and the worst is losing one's life. This pork turning jet black proves everything!"

Those things? Aren't they the Half-Puppets?

"Then... what do we do?" I asked anxiously. The crucial issue now was the next step; the reason the pork turned black could wait until we saved our lives. "If what's buried here was an old person, I wouldn't be too worried, but the key is that it's a small child who died violently. I don't have the confidence to suppress it!" Master Ji's expression was extremely unnatural.

I glanced at him, and a surge of anger rose again. When would this constant fear of the wolf ahead and the tiger behind ever end? Thinking of this, I grabbed the wine gourd from Master Ji's basket, took a few long gulps, patted Hua'er, wound the red cloth around Qin Bing'er's neck, and carefully led her onto the slick stone bridge toward the new grave. Master Ji had no choice but to follow, supporting Man Niaoniao.

The closer we walked toward the new grave, the faster my heart beat. I forced myself to remain calm, daring not to shine the flashlight anywhere else, yet I couldn't help but tremble, influenced by the shaking of Qin Bing'er beside me.

It was a struggle to reach the grave mound, where I could vividly see the pale, white wood of the small coffin box sticking out from the dirt pile like exposed bones. Accompanied by the white banner swaying in the mist, the new grave seemed to squat in the center of the stone bridge like a giant beast. As I moved closer, I realized the dark soil wasn't new mud; it looked unusually moist and sticky. The white banner wasn't ordinary white paper either, but strips torn from a piece of white cloth tied together.

I wondered to myself. Seeing that the white cloth looked relatively new, and since it wasn't the Qingming Festival, why would someone be "hanging the green" (a local tradition of visiting graves during the Qingming period)?

"Tomb of Ah Ke Bi Zhi!" Master Ji leaned over and read the inscription on the grayish-white stone tablet leaning against the mound.