"There wasn't even a Russia back then," I snapped back, "This person's name sounds distinctly Chinese. What 'Russian devil' are you talking about?"

Searching my memory carefully, I couldn't recall any historical figure named Wang Yang. Relying solely on a single plaque, further contemplation was useless.

Daxiong asked me, "Scientist, how much is this thing worth?"

This object was a crucial clue; I couldn't let him sell it. So I said, "Stop obsessing over money all the time. This thing is important; its research value far outweighs any monetary worth."

Daxiong wouldn't have it, lunging to snatch the plaque from my hand, protesting, "Hey, how can you do that? I found it, so the right to dispose of it is mine. I permit you to take a photo for research."

However, after struggling for a moment, he suddenly flinched, his face instantly paling, and he frantically reached for the pistol holstered at his waist.

I was startled by his reaction and quickly twisted my head to look behind me, but I saw nothing.

Holding the gun steady, Daxiong said to me with grave seriousness, "A man just walked past you."

If this were before, I would have suspected Daxiong had mistaken something. But just now, I distinctly felt a rush of cold air behind me, like someone opening a refrigerator door right behind my back. The goosebumps on my arms hadn't even subsided yet.

Daxiong was impatient; he immediately urged me to go investigate with him.

He took the lead, gun raised, while I followed behind, using my phone to cast light for him. We moved past rows of jars containing preserved specimens, the glass reflecting an eerie white glare. In the deepest shadows, it seemed something was waiting for us.

We advanced cautiously, our breathing measured and deliberate, terrified that something might suddenly emerge.

Just as the tension reached its peak, that indistinct, low murmuring voice sounded again.

This time, it was unnervingly clear, seemingly right beside our ears, yet we still couldn't make out what the man was muttering—only that it certainly wasn't Chinese.

The spectral whispers echoed through the vast laboratory, drilling into our ears like a demonic overture; I felt on the verge of suffocation.

Gathering my resolve, we continued forward, and the voice grew ever more distinct, sounding closer with every step.

Finally, at the far end of the laboratory, we found a wooden door. The sound appeared to be emanating directly from within.

But upon seeing the door, both of us frowned. It was bound shut by iron chains, and both the chains and the lock were rusted beyond measure, clearly indicating no one could have entered or exited recently.

This meant the man inside was either a phantom or a ghost, as no human could have survived locked in a sealed room for decades.

Daxiong and I exchanged a look. Though the underground air was frigid, a bead of cold sweat broke out on both our foreheads.

The distinct muttering circled our ears, sounding like the grim music of the underworld beckoning death, yet we both froze.

After several seconds, Daxiong swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper, "Are we really going in?"

I wiped my own sweat away, feeling my legs go weak, and asked him, "If we don't go in, is there another way out?"

Daxiong glanced left and right before admitting, "Probably not."

"Damn it," I muttered, "Do you have anything to ward off evil?"

Daxiong patted his clothes all over and replied, "Nothing. The abbot at Fahua Temple touched my head last month—does that count as having been blessed? Maybe I should stick my head in first?"

I knew cracking a joke might boost our courage, so I retorted, "Even if your pig-headed skull has been blessed, only Chinese ghosts would fear you. I'm not so sure about this foreign devil."

I paused, then added, "Can you try to make out what this foreign devil is saying? I heard that vengeful spirits always have unfinished business. If he needs something, maybe we can help him get it, and then he’ll move on to reincarnation?"

Daxiong let out a cynical chuckle. "Look what you came up with. What if he needs a beautiful young woman? Where are we going to find one? Are you going to put on a wig and perform some spectral romance for him? There's an old saying: people fear ghosts by three parts, but ghosts fear people by seven. If ghosts were really that formidable, they’d be scaring people all over the streets already. I say we just charge in; I doubt he'll dare do much!"

Saying this, he rubbed his hands together, lit a cigarette, and stepped back two paces.

He took a running start, kicked out with explosive force against the door. With a deafening CRASH, the wooden door splintered, wood chips scattering everywhere, and it burst open instantly.

The sound was as loud as a cannon firing; in the cavernous underground space, it roared like thunder. Grains of sand rained down from the ceiling. I instinctively covered my head, convinced the building was collapsing.

After a moment, confirming the ceiling was stable, I let out a breath and immediately cursed, "Why are you kicking the door like a stupid ox? Must you demolish the whole structure just to get through!"

Daxiong peered into the dark doorway and said, "You know nothing, I just wanted to scare that foreign devil, to teach him some manners for playing spooky games!"

I thought to myself, He is the ghost, what is he pretending to be?

Then it occurred to me: such a tremendous racket had certainly bolstered our own courage. Even if a living person were inside, seeing someone kick down a door like that would likely terrify them into hiding.

Seizing the moment of bravery, we both switched on our phones and filed in one after the other. Daxiong marched forward, chest puffed out, gun held ready, practically ready to declare, "Hands up, drop your weapon, or die!"

But after only a few steps, the man's low muttering grew clear again, and this time it was right beside our ears.

I felt a sudden wave of fear, scanning the surroundings. It appeared to be a conference room. The side walls were lined with chalkboards, some still bearing faint traces of chalk dust. The room held numerous folding wooden chairs, most of which were ruined beyond repair and thickly covered in grime.

I strained to locate the source of the sound but couldn't pinpoint it; it seemed to be drilling into our ears from every direction simultaneously.

Walking forward a few more paces, Daxiong abruptly stopped. I nearly collided with him and asked what the matter was.

Daxiong shone his phone forward, shaking it slightly, and told me with stark seriousness, "The main event is up ahead!"

My heart rate spiked instantly. I craned my neck nervously to look ahead. After watching for a moment, I finally saw, at the far end of the cone of light from Daxiong's phone, in the front row of seats in the meeting room—a person was sitting there!

Under normal circumstances in this underground world, finding a person would usually lead one to assume it was a corpse. I had seen plenty of dead bodies before and shouldn't have been so terrified.

But first, all the whispering sounds swirling in my ears, upon my spotting this figure, converged entirely upon him; the noises were undeniably issuing from this person. Second, the way he was seated was utterly bizarre. He sat bolt upright, feet pressed together, hands resting on his knees, head staring straight ahead—a posture only a living person could maintain.

If this person were dead, his head would certainly have lolled to one side or slumped forward; otherwise, it defied natural law.

Daxiong clearly sensed the strangeness of the figure as well. He looked back at me, his expression grim.

Then he shouted, "Hey! You there! Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

Hearing him, I almost found it amusing. We were the intruders, bursting into someone else's space, yet we were questioning their presence—what an absurdity.

But the atmosphere here allowed no room for laughter; I simply stared fixedly at the back of the figure.

For a fleeting moment, I almost expected the person to answer or turn around.

But the figure remained utterly unresponsive, the sound still low and continuous, as if we simply did not exist.

I said to Daxiong, "This must be a foreigner. Try asking him in Russian."

Daxiong waved his hand dismissively. "This guy must be deaf. Even if he can't understand, he should at least turn around to check. Let's go take a look."

We carefully stepped over the dilapidated wooden chairs, navigating toward the person's back.

Indeed, the low voice grew clearer. Daxiong made a gesture to me, signaling me to stay put while he approached first.

I watched with bated breath as Daxiong slowly walked forward, until he rounded the seated figure.