I couldn't see clearly what was happening ahead at first, because as I squeezed out from the thicket of wisteria vines, a rolling cloud of black smoke rushed straight at my face.

This smoke was intensely thick, laced with flying sparks, and the surging wave of heat scorched my face painfully.

Mingled within this dense black smoke was the overpowering stench of burning animal fat, foul enough to make one retch.

I thought I had been transported through time, perhaps landing on a WWII battlefield, and instinctively shielded my nose and mouth with my sleeve while staggering back two paces.

Filled with all sorts of speculation and astonishment, I stood frozen for a few seconds, and then I saw something fiery red lunging toward me out of the black haze.

I was unarmed, having lost even my defensive silver-fish shortsword, and at a loss, could only continue retreating.

But whatever that red object was, it was clearly moving much faster than I was, arriving right before my eyes in an instant.

When I finally recognized what it was, I momentarily forgot my fear; all that remained was sheer astonishment.

Because the thing rushing at me was none other than a living human being completely engulfed in flames.

I saw that his entire face, head, and clothing were ablaze; swathes of his skin had already been burned away and curled up, and his bones were beginning to carbonize.

His mouth was open, his limbs flailed wildly, and flames even licked out from the sockets of his eyes, displaying an image of absolute agony.

I figured he couldn't see me—it was merely the death throes of a final struggle—and I was powerless to help him; given the extent of his burns, even if the raging fire could be extinguished immediately, it would only leave him to suffer agonizingly in this world.

And so, despite a desperate desire to save this life, I sidestepped and let him pass.

The man, entirely on fire, plunged into the wisteria thicket behind me, thrashed a few times, and finally fell still.

The dry wisteria stalks caught fire from the flames consuming him, sending billows of thick smoke churning upward.

I pinched my nose, trying to block the stench of scorched human flesh, sighed, and then, regardless of whatever danger lay ahead, hurried forward to see what had actually transpired.

The further I walked, the more smoking corpses I encountered; the wisteria plants were burned to ash, yet their prickles and thorns remained sharp, looking like macabre decorations in some Asura's purgatory.

Seeing these bodies contorted in various positions of suffering gave me a painful pang in my chest.

From the fire-damaged pockets and backpacks of these incinerated individuals, hints of smoke-blackened gold and silver jewelry peeked out. It seemed these people had all come seeking these treasures—perhaps they were members of Boss Wu's crew.

I noticed one tall man sprawled awkwardly on the ground, about ninety percent of his body reduced to charcoal, with only the outer side of his right leg retaining a hint of flesh tone.

It seemed the canteen strapped to his waist had somehow shielded that right leg. I knelt and rifled through his sodden trouser pocket, extracting a notebook half-burned away.

Scrawled on it in English were the words, "Singaporescience..." and other fragments. Apparently, this man belonged to the team of Singaporean scientists.

Opening the singed cover, I found a photograph of the man—it was indeed the leader of that Singaporean scientific contingent.

A strange thought struck me then: Could it be that Boss Wu discovered some secret and silenced them here, incinerating the scientists?

With this suspicion growing, I quickened my pace.

Although my right leg was severely injured, the bone was untouched; now that the bleeding had stopped, I could bear weight on it, though I still limped badly.

Pushing through the smoke, I saw more bodies, still emitting faint plumes of black smoke. The ground was a dark expanse, feeling slightly hot underfoot, suggesting the incident had occurred very recently, and that I was likely nearing the epicenter of the disaster.

I advanced another few dozen meters and faintly discerned a gleaming, golden light ahead—it must be a wall constructed entirely of gold. It seemed I had reached a corner near the main hall's golden structure.

However, the section of the golden wall facing me featured a large, irregularly shaped black circle, possibly the entrance to a cavern.

I hurried my steps out from the obscuring fog and finally saw clearly: it was indeed a massive hole carved into the wall surface.

The opening was about five meters in diameter, clearly not man-made, as the edges of the hole showed numerous jagged, uplifted flecks of gold foil. It looked as if the wall had been blown open from the inside by immense concussive force.

Thick, rolling smoke was still billowing out of this hole.

I frowned slightly, wondering what could have happened. Did Boss Wu and the scientists try to blast open this wall, but overestimated the gunpowder dosage, causing the accident and killing so many people?

That couldn't be right. Boss Wu came from a family of tomb raiders; his associates should all be skilled professionals. Such a catastrophic error seemed impossible.

As I pondered this, I walked closer and spotted a tall, slender figure crouching near the lower side of the massive opening.

This person wore a black trench coat, half-leather gloves, and had a cigarette dangling from his lips, staring downwards as he smoked.

I noticed his right little finger and ring finger were blackened, apparently badly burned, causing his hand to tremble slightly as he smoked, lending the entire figure an air of weary dejection.

Seeing another living person, my heart leaped with excitement, and I quickly walked over, intending to address him.

Unexpectedly, upon hearing my footsteps approach, the person stood up in a jerky, nervous fashion, pulled a handgun from his waist, and aimed it at me.

I immediately raised both hands, saying, "Don't be agitated, I mean no harm."

The person sized me up, then slowly lowered the gun, speaking in a deep baritone: "It's you. What are you doing here?"

I took the opportunity to examine him: about six feet one, long hair with bangs obscuring half his face, a heavy stubble, and hollowed cheeks, looking severely sleep-deprived.

Even so, through his eyes, I recognized him—it was Boss Wu.

So, I ventured tentatively, "Boss Wu?"

The man retrieved the cigarette that had fallen to the ground, placed it back between his lips, moved to a corner of the wall, hunkered down, took a few puffs, and said nothing.

I just watched him; his gaze shifted restlessly, occasionally darting toward the hole in the wall, occasionally toward me. After a long silence, he finally spoke, "You shouldn't have come here."

"Why?" I asked.

Boss Wu took a deep breath, turned his head away, and said, "No why. You just shouldn't be here, at least you shouldn't get tangled up in my business."

Hearing this, I countered, "We've just met; that doesn't count as getting involved in your business, does it? Besides, I have no desire to get involved in your affairs."

Boss Wu remained silent for a moment, then used his right thumb to gesture toward the hole behind him, saying, "You plan on going in?"