I hadn't expected that the flesh on this person's neck had been carbonized by the high-intensity current; it crumbled at the slightest touch, causing the entire neck to snap. The head fell off, rolled a few times on the ground, and finally lodged itself in a crevice between some stones.

Wu Laoban and I were visibly startled, our hands freezing mid-action.

Then, an even stranger scene unfolded.

There the severed head lay, wedged in the rock gap, yet its hollow eyes were fixed directly on our position. And from the mouth, showing only two rows of white teeth, a black tongue slowly emerged!

Wu Laoban and I watched this spectacle, struck by inexplicable terror, unable to utter a word.

But soon, we realized that the inky black object wasn't a tongue at all, but a centipede as wide as one, stretching over twenty centimeters long. It crawled slowly out of the dead man's mouth, then settled itself on a protruding stone, tilting its head back, its antennae twitching as if sampling the air for our scent.

Wu Laoban, clearly disgusted by the sight, stamped his feet hard on the ground a couple of times.

Startled, the giant centipede quickly recoiled and vanished into the labyrinth of stone fissures.

However, Wu Laoban's stomp agitated many more black beetles, which began crawling out from the sockets of the dead man's eyes, resembling streams of black tears weeping from the corpse—a truly bizarre sight.

Wu Laoban sighed and murmured, "It seems there's no need to investigate further. This man has been dead here for at least a week, but no more than a month."

At least a week, but not yet a month.

I considered this, and a dreadful premonition quickly took hold. Because I recalled that during that time frame, it seemed only * had visited this island! Could it be that * had also traveled back in time to this very spot? Connecting this with the victim's attire—clearly winter clothing—it aligned perfectly with the heavy snow that was falling in the Chukotka Peninsula back then. With that realization, all the clues seemed to lock into place.

At that thought, I went nearly mad, scrambling past Wu Laoban and ignoring the insects crawling over the headless corpse to search through the dead man’s clothes. Soon enough, deep within the garment of the headless body, I found an ornament made from a piece of polished, obsidian-black shell casing. Engraved on one side of this casing were small characters: October 1987, Vietnam.

Seeing those tiny characters, tears immediately flooded my eyes. I clutched the shell casing so tightly that the veins in my neck bulged with distress. Because this was indeed *’s corpse; this shell casing held a story he had shared with me.

He had told me that in '87, while serving as a special forces soldier in Vietnam, they were tracking drug traffickers. His entire squad had ventured deep into the primal jungle to set up an ambush, remaining hidden for a full month. Their food supply had long been exhausted, and everyone was starving. Yet, military regulations strictly controlled ammunition usage; every bullet fired required justification, or the individual would face severe punishment for wasting state resources. Thus, the squad members preferred to starve rather than shoot any wild game.

At that time, *—as the team leader—saw that they were utterly desperate and that continuing under these conditions jeopardized their mission. Coincidentally, one night, a wild boar wandered near their camp looking for scraps. * raised his rifle and aimed at the animal. The boar was still dozens of meters away, hidden behind a thicket of dense undergrowth, and the dim night light made shooting extremely difficult. * knew that a missed shot would not only waste precious ammunition but could also alert nearby drug traffickers, leading to disastrous consequences. His heart wrestled with the decision, but in the end, he gritted his teeth and fired. Miraculously, the shot was flawless, striking the boar directly between the eyes. The surrounding soldiers erupted in cheers. That night, they roasted and ate the boar; * still recalled the delicious taste of that meat.

After successfully completing their mission, * saved the shell casing to present during his debriefing. Surprisingly, upon his return, he faced no reprimand from his superiors; instead, he was awarded a Second-Class Merit citation and given the title of Sharpshooter. Therefore, * considered this particular shell casing immensely meaningful, engraving it and wearing it as a memento. This casing was absolutely unique in the world, and it could only have been worn by *, confirming that the body before me was unequivocally his.

How * died, and exactly when, I had no means to determine now. Lingering in grief was useless. After weeping for a while, I carefully pocketed the shell casing. Seeing my hands trembling, Wu Laoban sighed and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

I remained silent, retrieved *’s head, and carefully placed it back onto the neck. Although Da Xiong and Liang Qian were dead, and I hadn't seen their bodies, leaving their fate uncertain, *’s corpse lay directly before me now. I knew with certainty that I would never see him again. When he last left us, the snow was falling heavily; we parted without exchanging a single word, just a quick wave across the blizzard.

was a tomb raider, and together we had descended into countless ancient tombs and ruins. Though each of us always had our own objectives, I held deep gratitude for his constant care. Had it not been for him, I might have died long ago. *’s expedition into this ruin island, while perhaps motivated by seeking treasure, was largely undertaken to help me. Therefore, *’s death was largely my responsibility. Realizing this, a wave of pain washed over my chest, and I knelt on the ground, bowing respectfully to him several times.

Then, Wu Laoban and I gently laid *’s body flat, preparing to gather nearby stones to bury him. But just then, I noticed something clutched tightly in *’s hand. Prying open his fingers, I found a walkie-talkie.

I was instantly stunned, thinking, Could the sound I heard earlier not have been a hallucination, but a real walkie-talkie? Except it wasn't Wu Laoban holding it; it was in *’s hand. But * had come to the ruin island alone; who would he have been communicating with?

Battling these confusing thoughts, I wiped the surface of the walkie-talkie clean and saw that its power light was still blinking—it was definitely still operational. I held the device to my ear, hearing only static interference, no discernible voices or unusual sounds. Then, I spoke into it: "Hello!"

To the surprise of both Wu Laoban and myself, an identical "Hello" echoed back from a specific spot within the stone wall beside us. This confirmed it: there truly was a hidden door in the wall! And there was another walkie-talkie waiting behind it.