Zhou Huan tied the gathered clothes and belt together, securing the large stone in the middle of the cloth bundle, then, gripping the belt with one hand while using the other for support, he slowly began lowering the bundle containing the stone toward the bottom of the sarcophagus, tracing circles around the stone coffin as he descended. Long Translator and Cripple watched from above the opening; now and then a spark would erupt, and other times the sound of mechanism-fired arrows would ring out—the sparks came from arrows striking the stone, while those hitting the cloth merely extinguished.

Seeing this, cold sweat broke out on Cripple’s forehead. He slowly turned his head to look at Zhou Huan, an undeniable awe rising within him. He reflected on his decades of tomb raiding; when had he ever possessed the foresight to systematically probe the traps within a shaft like this? Yet, Zhou Huan had accomplished it all. After a while, Zhou Huan felt the belt in his hand no longer carrying the downward pull, suggesting the stone had finally reached the bottom of the shaft.

“Long Translator, Master Huang, here’s the plan: I’ll go down first. Once I reach the bottom, I’ll call out to you both. Also, remember to wrap your hands in cloth when you descend—try not to let your bare skin touch anything inside the sarcophagus,” Zhou Huan instructed. He then slowly reeled in the descending bundle, tore off his own clothes, and meticulously wrapped his hands and feet before heading down into the sarcophagus alone.

Frankly, the cavern beneath the stone coffin was incredibly warm—truly cool in summer and warm in winter, a characteristic of deep shafts. As Zhou Huan descended, sweat streamed down his face, yet he persisted, absolutely refusing to wipe it away with his hands or clothing.

“Master Zhou, have you reached the bottom?” Cripple urged, anxious that if he descended too late, he might miss out on any treasures.

Long Translator shot Cripple a look: “What’s the hurry? Didn't Master Zhou say he wasn't here just for wealth? I’m only after a small fortune, I’m not fighting you for it.”

“You little bastard! I held back while Master Zhou was here, letting you have your way, and now you mistake courtesy for weakness? Believe it or not, I’ll—” Cripple started to draw his knife, but then felt a cold pressure against his lower back. Long Translator had pressed the muzzle of his pistol there.

Long Translator said seriously, “Remember this: let’s not argue. I only worked as a translator for the Japanese because I had no choice; my entire family is held by them. If I don’t secure their freedom with the money, they're done for. So, I’m telling you, I don't need extravagant wealth—just enough will do. Don't push me, or I swear I’ll shoot you dead right here, and you’ll get nothing at all.”

The two men were clashing intensely outside the sarcophagus. Cripple’s knife remained clutched in his hand, but he dared not draw it, fearing that if Long Translator lost his temper, his life might be ended prematurely, making everything worthless.

“Long Translator, stop the fight. Get ready to go down. Master Zhou must be nearing the bottom by now,” Old Cripple conceded first. Long Translator retracted his gun, watched Old Cripple as he crouched down to pick up his own bundled cloth, and securely wrapped his hands.

Cripple also sheathed his knife, grabbed his belt and clothes, and finished his preparations, waiting only for a signal from Zhou Huan. Strangely, the two waited near the sarcophagus for a long time, yet no shout came from Zhou Huan.

“Cripple, what’s going on with Master Zhou? No word yet, what happened?” Long Translator was starting to lose patience. He didn’t understand Zhou Huan’s intentions, nor did Cripple, so Cripple was even more agitated when he voiced his concern.

Cripple didn't reply verbally. He just turned back and said, “Japanese Translator, you wait up here. I’m going down. When I find Master Zhou, I’ll call for you immediately.” Before his words had fully landed, he hopped into the sarcophagus with his limp.

Seeing Cripple leap in, Long Translator became anxious too. Being alone in a tomb, especially after killing so many Japanese soldiers earlier, meant he absolutely had to follow. If the Japanese arrived, he wouldn't escape; he’d be captured. If he stayed behind and something went wrong while Zhou Huan was absent, he’d be left to suffer or die needlessly. With that thought, he also jumped in, grasping the edge of the sarcophagus with both hands, slowly descending inch by inch, relying on feel to find footholds below.

“Cripple, where are you? Wait for me a moment, Cripple!” Long Translator called out as he went down. As he descended, he slowly reached a point where upward movement was impossible. He realized the shaft narrowed the deeper he went. It was wide enough for two people initially, but now it barely accommodated one. This brought a chilling thought to mind: perhaps further down, they would have to crawl?

He reached the end and was about to crouch down to proceed when a figure backed out of the tunnel ahead, their rear facing him. Long Translator quickly scrambled up one level to make room for the person emerging.

He looked down and saw Cripple. He asked casually, “Cripple, why are you coming back?”

“Nonsense! Master Zhou is coming back, so how could I not come out?” To make space for Zhou Huan, the two men climbed back up a considerable distance—a grueling physical effort, made worse by hanging suspended in mid-air.

Soon, Zhou Huan also emerged backward, and then turned around. “The person who designed this tomb was absolutely not ordinary—certainly not Chinese. Look at the brick and tile here; it’s all Loulan stone, that volcanic ash sediment.”

Cripple and Long Translator were utterly confused, like ducks listening to thunder; they had no idea what Zhou Huan was talking about. They spoke in unison: “Master Zhou, we two are exhausted. Just tell us how to get inside.”

“I’ve scouted the path ahead. At the very end, the passage narrows so only one person can crawl forward. When you reach the end, there are two stones, each the size of a person’s head, perfectly positioned above where we pass. When these two stones drop, we’ll either be crushed to death, or we have to push them aside as we move deeper. This demands immense physical strength—I don’t know if you two can manage it?” Zhou Huan first inquired about everyone’s stamina.

Yellow Cripple slapped his chest: “We have no problem. Even if I die here, I accept it, but I’m taking the wealth here.”

“I’m fine too. I’ve undergone superhuman physical conditioning before; the Japanese special agents ordered us accompanying translators to undergo extra training to maintain synchronization,” Long Translator sounded equally confident. Despite the sweat pouring down his face, he showed no outward sign of fatigue.

Zhou Huan pondered for a moment, then turned back: “How about this: I’ll go in first. I’ve entered this section twice now, going both ways, so I’m familiar with it. When I go in, you follow my exact movements. One more thing: you are only allowed to watch my actions; do not speak rashly or interfere. Not a single word.”

“Got it, got it!” Having reached an agreement, the three prepared to enter. Zhou Huan checked his attire again to ensure nothing was exposed, then crouched down and entered the small opening, inching his way inward.

Long Translator and Yellow Cripple followed behind. Along the way, the repulsive tunnel walls were carved with ancient Quranic verses in Persian, each character a masterpiece of calligraphy.

Zhou Huan moved forward relying on memory, reaching a point fifty or sixty meters from the entrance. He stretched out his legs, then used his hands to grip the stone floor ahead, pushing forward with his feet in agonizing steps. The sweat pouring off the three men was like rain, leaving wet imprints on the path they traversed.

Suddenly, Zhou Huan stopped. He slowly drew back his hands, used the tattered Sky-Silkworm glove from his pocket to pad his chin, and stared fixedly ahead. Then, taking a deep breath, he shouted: “Cripple! Long Translator, you two take a break!” His voice possessed such resonance that it shook the entire cavern. At that very moment, all that could be heard was a series of deep rumbling sounds.

Instantly, Yellow Cripple and Long Translator were terrified, their eyeballs nearly popping out; they stood frozen. Only Zhou Huan remained, unblinking, watching what was about to unfold before him. He muttered to himself, “This is the designer’s foolishness—setting up a crude trap that doesn’t kill instantly. What good is blocking the path?”