The others scrambled up from the ground, ignoring me completely as they cleared away the remains of the centipede-spiders. Immediately, someone demanded, "Where is Captain Hu?" Everyone shook their heads, and one ventured, "Did he fall off the cliff?" With that, they picked up their flashlights and rushed to the edge of the precipice to look over.

Seeing the beams of light, a voice shouted from the mist of the abyss, "Come down quickly! There's a bridge below!

Follow the stone steps along the cliff edge." I recognized the voice of that little mustache and cursed internally, "How is that guy still alive!" We followed the cliff edge and indeed found a set of artificially constructed steps slanting down into the mist. The steps were carved between the sheer rock faces, incredibly narrow—barely wide enough for one person—and completely lacking any railing, making the descent perilous.

Knowing these fellows would force me to go first, I descended onto the steps before they could point their guns at me. I moved cautiously downward, finding the stone steps felt solid underfoot, which somewhat eased my anxiety.

The stairway wasn't excessively long; after descending about ten meters, I rounded a bend and could make out a huge, dark shape spanning the abyss within the fog. When I finally reached the supposed bridge, I realized it was actually composed of countless black strands, clearly not stone, but resembling thick roots instead.

The few men behind me followed me onto the structure and began sweeping their tactical flashlights around. Soon, I spotted the little mustache not far ahead in the mist; he waved us over, saying, "Hurry and look, there's something strange about this bridge!" We gathered around him in a circle as he crouched down, pointing at a cracked section of the bridge floor and announcing, "Look here, this bridge is actually woven from countless strands of hair!" I looked, and it was true; where the surface was broken, innumerable strands of hair were flipping up, swaying slightly in the cold wind.

It seemed the bridge was formed by braiding many hair-ropes, each as thick as a bucket, and then laying dozens of these thick ropes side-by-side across the chasm—it was utterly unbelievable. I mentally calculated how many people and how many years of growth it would take to create such a bridge of hair!

I noticed this hair bridge was deeply anchored into several circular holes drilled into the rock wall behind us, and I couldn't tell how far they extended into the rock. The little mustache explained, "I was blasted by the impact of the * and thrown off the cliff.

I thought I was done for, but I landed right on this bridge, saving my life." Then a soldier asked, "Sir, you threw the *, why didn't you duck?" Hearing this, the little mustache froze, darted a guilty look at me, and stammered, "Oh... well, my movements were too wide at that moment; I couldn't control it." He quickly added with a scowl, "Why so many damn questions?

If I hadn't been wearing body armor, I’d be dead right now; you should be happy." Seeing the little mustache lose his temper, the soldiers immediately fell silent. He gave them a dismissive glance and said, "This bridge looks incredibly bizarre.

Let's move quickly and meet up with the boss." With that, he switched on his flashlight and led the way across. Seeing his strange expression earlier, I felt something was amiss, but I couldn't quite grasp the key detail.

The bridge made of hair was remarkably resilient; walking on it gave no real cause for fear of falling into the abyss. However, I noticed that the closer we got to the far side, the narrower the bridge became, until, just two or three meters from the opposite bank, it was barely wide enough for one person.

At this point, we could clearly see the conditions on the far side, but one look was enough to make us doubt our own eyes. The little mustache looked ahead, then spun back towards us with a look of utter shock, asking, "What...

what is this thing?" At the end of the hair bridge, the cliff face had been carved out to form a platform. In the center of this platform stood a white stone pillar, perhaps five or six meters high, intricately carved with a legless, strange bird resembling a phoenix.

What was most peculiar was that bound to this pillar with iron chains as thick as a wrist was a coffin. The casket itself was black, but painted with five blooming lotus flowers in a vibrant, blood-red pigment.

Each of these crimson lotuses was the size of a human head, the layered petals rendered with extreme, exquisite complexity, seeming on the verge of tearing free from the chains, giving an almost three-dimensional effect. Yet, alongside the exquisite detail was an overwhelming sense of the uncanny, because from both sides of the coffin, countless strands of hair grew out—dense and thick—trailing down to the ground, covering the surface, and extending outwards to form the very bridge we were standing on.

This meant that the bridge beneath our feet was, in fact, woven entirely from the hair of a single person, a truly staggering realization. Judging by the paintwork on the coffin, it must contain a woman, but how could such a woman exist in this world, whose hair alone could weave a bridge dozens of meters long?

My curiosity about the person inside the coffin grew intense. "Oh my god!

Captain Hu, look!" One soldier, his face ashen with fright, shone his flashlight towards something beside the coffin. We followed the light and instantly froze.

Clustered thickly around the coffin were centipede-spiders of all sizes, nearly every one of them encased in a layer of hair. They were motionless, seemingly dead.

Below the stone platform, countless more centipede-spiders lay scattered, but they all maintained a clear distance from the platform, as if held back by some unseen deterrence. "Don't be afraid, it seems these hairs can repel these large insects," the little mustache remarked.

I countered, "That's precisely why I'm scared! Those monstrous bugs are so fierce they die if they approach the coffin, and we have to walk right past it.

Who knows if those hairs won't affect us too?" The little mustache gave me a look and said, "Good point. Why don't you go first and find out, then." In that moment, I desperately wanted to slap myself, thinking, Can you shut up for once?

If some mummy in that coffin swallows me whole, it’ll be your fault. The little mustache grinned, watching my expression change, and pointed his gun toward the opposite side, saying, "What are you waiting for, hostage comrade?" I sighed, took a breath, and carefully stepped across the final stretch of the hair bridge, leaping onto the stone platform.

Although the hair bridge had been sturdy, the sight of the black abyss below and the whistle of the cold wind had left me profoundly unsettled. Now, with solid ground beneath my feet, I felt a surge of relief.

The platform I stood on jutted out from the cliff edge; it might have once been a massive boulder, half-sliced away and suspended here. The entire platform covered about a hundred square meters, entirely carpeted in hair.

The white pillar and the Blood Lotus Coffin were situated toward the back center of the platform. On the rearmost cliff face, some roughly hewn stone steps led upward.

The first thing I noticed was that as soon as I stepped onto the platform, some of the hairs lifted their tips like snakes, seemingly ready to strike at any moment. I was momentarily stunned; these hairs were clearly alive.

Had I not been wearing long trousers, I might have been pierced to death right there, just like those monstrous insects. I trod carefully across the hair, occasionally spotting dried corpses wrapped within the strands—humans, bats, and insects—all seemingly drained of their essence.

I wondered if the ancient corpse in the coffin was using these things to absorb nutrients, perhaps attempting some form of corporeal transformation into a demon. This thought brought a silent shock, increasing my apprehension toward the Blood Lotus Coffin.

I carefully skirted the central pillar and coffin, hurrying toward the stone steps on the side. As I neared the cliff wall, I glanced back and saw the others still standing on the hair bridge, watching my every move.

I thought these guys were too timid; this was the perfect opportunity for me to make a run for it. But taking a closer look, I saw expressions of bewilderment on their faces, and the little mustache was making frantic gestures at me with his eyes, pointing his index finger repeatedly toward what lay ahead of me.

I knew there must be something truly formidable in front of me, which had scared these men pale, instantly stiffening their necks into utter rigidity.