The Underground Fortress of Kwantung Army 1 The Fatty asked me, "Do you have any military common sense? There’s no way there are tanks in here." I replied, "Whether there are or not, let’s go in and see. Even if there were tanks, they’d have broken down long ago. It’s been nearly forty years; even with daily maintenance, they’d be scrap metal by now." The tunnels inside the Genaku were intricate, a genuine maze. To avoid getting lost, we edged along the walls, searching for an exit. The passages and the Genaku all featured high, arched ceilings—a design to prevent water seepage. Shining a flashlight upward, we could see emergency lights mounted periodically, strung along with conduits. If we could locate the generator, we might be able to figure out a way to bring these lights back to life. Not far along, we spotted a floor plan map of the fortress affixed to the wall. It marked the main thoroughfares, communication trenches, depots, troop shelters, washrooms, barracks, rest areas, supply rooms, drainage pipes, and auxiliary facilities like the power station. However, crucial locations such as gun emplacements, ventilation shafts, counter-attack ports, observation posts, the command center, and hidden bunkers were not indicated. Deep inside the hill, the fortress was organized into three levels. The complexity of the structure and its sheer scale revealed the paramount importance the Kwantung Army placed on this military base. I carefully took the map down from the wall. Having served as an engineer and participated in constructing military facilities in the Kunlun Mountains, I no longer worried about finding an exit now that I had the map in hand. The scale of this secret underground fortress surpassed my wildest imagination; its depth reached an astonishing thirty kilometers, and its frontal defensive width spanned over sixty kilometers. It turned out that the hills on both sides of Yeren Gou had been entirely hollowed out, creating two mutually supporting, permanent defensive fortifications. Three main passages traversed Yeren Gou, linking the fortresses beneath both hills into one integrated complex. The underground tunnel through which we broke from the tomb of the Jin Dynasty General was the lowest of these three connecting passages. The fortress was wider at the ends and narrower in the middle. This strategic design, despite the large scale of the side sections, might have been a tactical consideration: if one side fell to the enemy, the connecting tunnels could be cut off, allowing the other end to be held. From our current position, the nearest exit didn't seem too far. The only question was whether the Kwantung Army had intentionally sabotaged the exits during their retreat. Otherwise, returning through the tomb entrance might be our only option. We could also try crawling out through a ventilation shaft. I suddenly recalled the incident from last night on the slope: our horses were disemboweled by a monster emerging from an underground cave. Could that cave be one of the fortress’s ventilation shafts, enlarged by the unseen creature’s claws for shelter? If it was a vent, crawling out was out of the question; the opening was too narrow. I shared my thoughts with Yingzi and the Fatty, asking for their input on the next step for our escape. The Fatty exclaimed, "Hey, Lao Hu, now that you mention it, I almost forgot. That monster that attacked our horses might have made this underground fortress its lair. Wandering around in here, we could easily bump into it. We need to figure out a way to find some weapons for self-defense first." I agreed, "Exactly. Better safe than sorry. If the main exit is indeed destroyed, we’ll have to climb back through the tomb's unauthorized shaft, which means another direct confrontation with the Shi Sha. There should be an armory area in the Genaku; let's check if there are any suitable pieces. We should each grab a few items. Ideally, we should find some Japanese Type 97 'Melon' fragmentation grenades; those things have a very long shelf life and decent explosive power, perfect for dealing with the Shi Sha." The Genaku was piled high with various standard military supplies: greatcoats, blankets, dry-cell batteries, mess kits, and gas masks. Thanks to the unique structure of the fortress, the air here was relatively dry, and some supplies were remarkably well-preserved. I casually tucked a few Japanese Type 99 gas masks into my pack and finally located the weapons storage area on the right side of the Genaku. A row of iron racks held numerous wooden crates of firearms. There were no machine guns, only Type 38 Arisaka rifles—what we commonly called 'Thirty-Eights' or 'Sanbata.' Against the wall stood several 60mm mortars, but not a single round of ammunition was nearby. The Fatty pried open a crate of rifles, grabbed one, worked the bolt with a sharp clack, and shone his flashlight into the action. He said to me, "Lao Hu, this gun still works. They’re all brand new, unopened, the mechanisms are oiled, and they haven't even been loaded yet." Yingzi and I each took a rifle. I raised mine to aim, then tossed it back. "These lousy Japanese pieces only hold five rounds. The bolt rotation is slow, and the recoil is brutal. I can’t get used to them." Yingzi asked, "But Hu Ge, aren't these guns great? They have real punch. My uncle used one just like this when he first joined the Northeast Democratic United Army. Why don't you like using them?" Before I could answer, the Fatty chimed in, "Don’t pay him any mind. He got spoiled playing with semi-automatics in the army. Of course, he looks down on these outdated guns. Later, if we run into any Shi Sha, we’ll stand behind him and watch his 'empty-handed wolf catch' routine." As he spoke, he found an ammunition box on the lowest shelf. He opened it; it was full of bullets wrapped in oilcloth, gleaming a rich golden color under the flashlight. The Fatty’s father doted on him and let him play with guns as soon as he could walk; by middle school, the Fatty was an expert. Rifles follow basic principles, so even though the Fatty had never used a Type 38, he wasn't unfamiliar with it. Seeing the ammunition, he expertly loaded the rounds into the magazine, snapped the bolt shut, raised the rifle, and aimed it squarely at me. I quickly pushed the muzzle away. "With a loaded rifle, stop aiming wildly! You don't point a gun at your own comrades! Only traitors point guns at their own people. I don't like this rifle because the Type 38 is completely unsuitable for close-quarters combat. The bullets have too much penetration; at under thirty meters, one shot can pass through three or four people. Unless you fix a bayonet for melee, you’re bound to hit your own men. Plus, there's so much steel infrastructure in this underground fortress. If a bullet hits a steel plate, it creates unpredictable ricochets. You might end up taking out your own side before you even see the enemy." The Fatty slapped his chest and replied confidently, "With my marksmanship? Don't think I'm just bragging. After all these years, you know my skill—hitting a willow cat from a hundred paces, lighting a lantern on horseback—it’s child’s play. How could I miss or hit a steel plate? If you don't believe me, I’ll balance an egg on your head later to test it…" I cut him off. He was getting carried away again. Is my head easy to grow? My head is for thinking about life, not for balancing eggs for you to use as a target! Can we stop messing around and look for other weapons? I just don’t feel right about these rifles; they’re obsolete. Old rifles are highly prone to accidental discharge. Back when I was on the front lines in Vietnam, a civilian laborer helping transport supplies accidentally fired an old German-made rifle confiscated from Viet Cong militia. While climbing a mountain, it went off and blew the head off one of our regiment's deputy commanders. That’s not a joke. We pried open crate after crate on the racks, hoping to find some Type 97 grenades, but instead, in a wooden box decorated with the Rising Sun Flag, we found over a dozen submachine guns. The design was strange; some looked like British Sten guns, with the magazine inserted sideways on the left. The difference from the British Sten was that these guns had curved magazines and an added wooden stock at the rear. Yingzi asked, "Hu Ge, what kind of gun is this? Why the weird shape? Is it a 'Wai Bazi' [Type 11 LMG]?" I pulled back the charging handle of one submachine gun and examined the magazine after removing it. "This is likely the Japanese Type 100 submachine gun. It was equipped later in the war, production numbers were low, so it’s rare. It was probably meant to counter the Soviets. This gun is much better than the Type 38, especially for close combat. Even if it malfunctions, it’ll probably just jam; it won't misfeed or fire accidentally. You and the Fatty should ditch those rifles and carry these submachine guns for defense." Yingzi had never used a submachine gun and didn’t know how to operate it, so she held two flashlights to illuminate us while the Fatty found a box of ammunition. We started loading the magazines together. Humming a little tune, I pressed the rounds into the magazine one by one. I was in high spirits; this time, we struck gold. I hadn’t touched a submachine gun since leaving the service, and the feeling of using the Type 56 in the military made my palms itch. Just as I was feeling pleased, Yingzi suddenly slapped my shoulder and whispered, "Hu Ge, I think... I just saw a child run past behind you." A child? How was that possible? This area was remote, deep in the mountains, and this secret fortress was incredibly well-hidden. How could a child suddenly appear out of nowhere? We were all squatting on the ground loading ammunition. Yingzi was facing me, holding a flashlight. She had inadvertently swept the beam behind me and caught a fleeting glimpse of a small figure. I spun around and shone my flashlight into the area. Behind me was a T-junction tunnel, pitch black and unnervingly quiet. There wasn't a trace of a child. I asked Yingzi, "What child? Are you seeing things, are you dizzy?" Though brave, Yingzi was a girl from the mountains and held strong superstitious beliefs. Her face paled with fright. "I'm not making it up, I swear... a child really ran past in the tunnel behind you. I couldn't have seen it wrong. There were no footsteps, just a quick flash of a small figure, whoosh, and it was gone... Could it be a ghost?"

The Underground Fortress of Kwantung Army 2 When pressed for details about the child, Yingzi couldn't be precise, only saying it was a momentary flash—it looked like a little girl, though she wasn't sure. She couldn't make out the clothing either, estimating the child was about five or six, maybe six or seven years old. The direction the child ran was exactly where the map indicated an exit was located. The tunnel entrance was less than two meters from me. For a child to run through such a silent place unnoticed, I shouldn't have failed to hear it. It would have to be a phantom. The underground fortress was a world isolated from the outside; decades had passed since anyone entered. Who knew what else was hidden inside? Today’s events had already worn us thin; it’s better to avoid trouble than invite it. If we can’t fight it, we can certainly hide from it. I immediately suggested taking a much longer route to the fortress exit, avoiding the passage where the child had run. Yingzi, who was terrified of ghosts and spirits, readily agreed. "Climbing an extra ten li uphill is better than running into a ghost wall." The Fatty disagreed. "Lao Hu, I notice you’ve changed. Ever since you left the army, you’re not as fearless as you used to be. Hesitating and retreating isn’t your style. Why are you suggesting a detour just because Yingzi saw a child run by? I’m telling you, if you two want to go the long way, go ahead. I can’t handle the extra distance; I’m taking the shortcut. Remember when we were Red Guards during the Down to the Villages movement? What did you ever fear back then? In those years, besides Chairman Mao, who did you ever bow to?" I was momentarily speechless. He was right; I had been fearless before. Since joining the army, through the Sino-Vietnamese Border War, I had seen comrade after comrade fall. I had witnessed bloodshed and death countless times. To be honest, I had become rather fussy now, agonizing over every decision. Had the passage of time truly stolen my courage and nerve? I said to the Fatty, "Look how old we are now; we can’t compare to before. We were certainly belligerent when we were Red Guards, ready to fight anyone we disliked, but that was an absurd era. Looking back now, it’s laughable and pathetic." The Fatty retorted, "But at least in that era, you fought, you charged. I truly hate seeing you so jumpy now. Do you remember the long poem I wrote in the notebook I gave you for your sixteenth birthday?" That notebook was probably long gone—I might have used it to wipe my backside—and the Fatty gave me so many notebooks back then because his mother was an official in the logistics department and always had plenty of stationery. I genuinely couldn't recall any specific long poem. Seeing that I couldn't remember, the Fatty said, "I’ll recite a few lines for you." The Fatty's Mandarin was excellent, and his build gave him a strong voice. When he recited, he sounded almost like an announcer from the Central People's Broadcasting Station. I heard him boom: “In the park we played ‘guerrilla warfare’ together, in class we studied books side by side. On Xianyang Road, we ‘smashed the Four Olds,’ across the land we held grand exchanges at Jinggangshan. On the eve of burying the imperialists, revisionists, and reactionaries, before marching upon that world! Beside the radio, we listened intently, to every word of the Ministry of Defense’s declaration of war…” As the Fatty passionately delivered the first lines, the poem flooded back to me. It was a narrative epic titled, “Salute to the Warriors of the Third World War.” It was hugely popular among Red Guards then. We knew it intimately; during our time as Red Guards, we had recited it together hundreds, perhaps thousands of times. It was our favorite rhythm, our most cherished vocabulary, the grand dream of our youth… My emotions stirred; forgetting where I was, I instinctively clenched my fists and recited the next lines in unison with him: “…On that unforgettable night, the desire for battle coursed through every vein. The passion of our fathers inspired, stirring our heartstrings; we are the descendants of soldiers, destined to ride through the smoke of war. In this Third World War to eliminate the final system of exploitation, we were assigned to the same squad. The origins of our friendship are impossible to calculate, we only know it is higher than mountains, farther than roads. In the trenches, we shared one piece of bread, licked one pinch of salt. Humming the same melody, sharing one military blanket. Word by word, line by line, the Leader’s thought, the great truth, we studied again and again. Beneath the red flag, filled with fervent dedication to the Party, the yearning to sacrifice. We gripped our guns tightly, raised our fists high, and swore an iron vow: We are willing, willing to give everything we have, for the realization of Communism. Amidst the towering explosions, shoulder to shoulder, we pushed through the enemy’s three-hundred-meter defense line, Our submachine guns spat out the bullets of proletarian revenge against the exploiters. Do you remember? We once watered our horses in the River Don, crossed the steppes of Ukraine, traversed the Ural highlands, and relit the Red Star atop the Kremlin. We followed the footsteps of the Commune, cut through the streets and alleys of Paris, marching to the cadence of ‘The Internationale,’ storming every town, village, and harbor in Europa. We used the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem to block the vicious bullets of the Christians, and planted the Red Flag on the banks of the Suez Canal. The lakes of Switzerland, the lights of Pisa, the sunset of Yemen, the Buddha halls of Phnom Penh, the cherry blossoms of Mount Fuji, the cooking smoke of Havana, the red wine of Spain, the clear springs of Black Africa… None of these ever made us linger. Because we held steel rifles in hand, with a heavy mission on our shoulders. So many sleepless days and nights, so many bloody campaigns from south to north. Thus, our invincible ranks followed the Red Sun closely, pressing forward without hesitation. Listen: The calls of our brothers from the five continents surge like monstrous waves. Look: The righteous banners of the slaves of the four seas are spreading like sparks across the plain. Ah, the world is turning red! Only the White House remains! Three red signal flares rose into the night sky, and you patted my shoulder: “Hey, partner, remember? The red hearts of the children on the Sino-American battlefield, the speech of a member of the Politburo. The prospect of joyous liberation for our world friends, the hopeful eyes of the old Soviet Red Army.” “I remember! This is the final struggle, the decisive battle for the fate of humanity is today!” The bugle sounded, our hearts aligned, we surged forward like a gale. In one hand, green leaves; in the other, poison darts. This brass eagle insignia, which had reigned supreme for two centuries, Was thrown into the raging flames amidst the people’s triumphant cheers… Yingzi grew impatient as we two carried on, unable to understand what we were saying. She interrupted, "What are you two talking about? Getting all worked up! When will it end? It’s getting late. No matter which way we go, we should move out. Can you two finish talking after we get out?" The Fatty lifted his Type 100 submachine gun, tucked four or five magazines into his belt, his expression resolute, and waved his hand forward: "Comrades, victory is ahead! Follow me!" And so, the Fatty led the way, Yingzi in the middle, and I brought up the rear, forming a single-file column toward the passage where Yingzi had seen the child run. This path inclined slightly upwards, and after more than a hundred meters, it turned into rising steps, indicating we were entering the interior of the Yeren Gou hill. The passage grew narrower, and the humidity increased significantly compared to below. Breathing became difficult, creating a suffocating feeling akin to being buried alive. The three of us were close together. For some reason, the Fatty, leading the way, suddenly stopped. Since Yingzi was right behind him, she wasn't prepared and bumped right into his back. Yingzi staggered backward, falling off the steps. I quickly steadied her from behind and asked the Fatty, "What happened? Why did you suddenly stop and not keep going?" The Fatty turned around and shouted, "Run back, quick!" He seemed to have seen something terrifying ahead; even his voice had changed, all his recent bravado vanished.

The Underground Fortress of Kwantung Army 3 The Fatty yelled at us to turn back and flee. Because of the limited illumination from the flashlights, blocked by the two people in front of me, I could only see a large open space at the end of about four or five steps ahead. I didn't know what he had actually seen, but if the Fatty said so, he must have his reasons, so I prepared to retreat backward. Simultaneously, I suddenly felt dozens of icy steel needles stab my back. The chill penetrated my bones, and my whole body felt like it was struck by a cold electrical current. Shaking uncontrollably, I leaped forward with a strength I didn't know I possessed, shoving the Fatty and Yingzi ahead of me. The narrow, dark passage, sloping gently upward, sent all three of us tumbling and scrambling into the cavern at the top of the stairs. I felt an inexplicable jolt of electricity, and the current seemed to transfer to the other two. We were all shivering, teeth chattering, none of us knowing what had happened. We wanted to speak but couldn't utter a sound. If we had accidentally touched a live wire, our whole bodies should have gone numb, not this feeling of cold originating deep in the marrow and spreading outward. Fortunately, the three loaded submachine guns did not accidentally fire in the chaos. We lay on the ground, our flashlights still on. Illuminated by the three beams, I finally understood why the Fatty had turned to run. This was a massive chamber, half natural and half artificial. Green moss coated the damp stone walls and ceiling, from which hung countless enormous bats. These bats were vastly larger than ordinary ones we usually see. They clung to the walls densely, wings folded. Startled by the three intruders, they were waking up from their sleep, revealing rows of gleaming white fangs that made one’s scalp tingle.

The bat’s face was bizarre, with two large, diamond-shaped ears standing straight up, a round head, and an equally round nose. Its forelimbs were highly developed, with exceptionally long upper arms, forearms, metacarpals, and phalanges. Its teeth were sharp and its claws vicious. I had seen bats like this once while serving as an engineer in the Kunlun Mountains. Their scientific name is Phyllostomus owenii, also known as the Pig-faced Bat. They are notoriously bloodthirsty, also carnivorous, a rare and ferocious breed among bats. They prefer dwelling in underground caves on pastoral grasslands, emerging at night to prey on livestock like cattle and sheep, particularly on the Mongolian steppes, where they once became a serious pest. These creatures have become quite rare in the last decade or so.

I thought they had gone extinct, never imagining that so many Pig-faced Bats had made the abandoned underground fortress of the Kwantung Army their lair. They were nocturnal, using the ventilation shafts of the subterranean fortress as exits. Truly, there was no safer or more comfortable nest than this.

A few Pig-faced Bats had already flown down from the stone walls. I struggled to get up, but as soon as I pushed off the ground, I stumbled and fell. The floor was covered in bat droppings and animal remains, a stench filling the air—sticky and slick. Bat guano, or yeming sha (night-shining sand), is actually an extremely precious ingredient in traditional Chinese medicine; for an ordinary person to acquire even a couple of ounces is very difficult. Seeing it now, however, filled me with an indescribable revulsion.

I gave up the thought of climbing up from the floor. My fingers tightened on the trigger, and I opened fire with the Type 100 submachine gun at the swooping Pig-faced Bats. The moment I started shooting, the other two men snapped out of their daze, and the three submachine guns unleashed a crossfire. The muzzle flashes and tracer rounds illuminated the entire cavern, flickering between light and dark. The roar of the guns, the clatter of cycling mechanisms, and the sound of spent casings hitting the stone mixed into a cacophony.

Thousands of Pig-faced Bats were roused. These creatures, accustomed to darkness, were most afraid of fire and light. Apart from those shot down by bullets and falling to the ground, the rest moved like swarms of black clouds. Some flew directly over our heads, while others fled upward through the ventilation shafts.

The submachine guns quickly ran dry. There was no time to reload. The Pig-faced Bats zipped past us with terrifying speed. Their sharp claws and fangs shredded our clothes into strips. Fortunately, we were wearing relatively thick garments, and while a few swipes managed to break the skin, the wounds were not deep.

The psychological terror at that moment was far more lethal. Fearing for my eyes, I dared not open them. I used one hand to shield my head and face, while swinging the submachine gun like a club, striking wildly into the empty air. My legs kicked desperately, warding off the bats lunging at me.

I don’t know how long it lasted, but the cave gradually grew quiet. Presumably, all the Pig-faced Bats had fled. I managed to feel for the flashlight that had fallen to the ground, about to call out and ask Fatty and the others if they were hurt.

Suddenly, the world went dark before my eyes. The largest Pig-faced Bat silently dove toward my head. It was likely the leader of all the bats in this cave, having hidden deep within the stone chambers, now making its move last, its wingspan vast enough to dwarf the wall when fully extended.

In my hand, I held only an empty gun and a flashlight—hardly enough to defend myself. It was upon me, just inches away. I could clearly see the layers of wrinkles, stiff hair, and tusks on its pig-like face. Just as the great bat was about to bite down, a burst of submachine gun fire erupted from beside me. A full clip struck the Pig-faced Bat squarely. It fell to the ground, flapped a few times, and immediately died.

It turned out that Fatty, seeing the dire situation, had reloaded his magazine and opened fire, saving my life. I let out a long breath and surveyed the surroundings. Aside from a few fatally wounded bats still twitching on the floor, there were no others hiding.

I had several gashes across my body, bleeding profusely, and Yingzi and Fatty had suffered minor injuries, nothing serious. Yingzi tore some scraps from her clothing to bandage me up.

My wounds throbbed fiercely, and I cursed incessantly. Damn it, back on the front lines, I went through barrages of gunfire without so much as scratching my skin, yet today these beasts managed to rake me up so badly… it truly hurt.

Fatty asked me, “Old Hu, I told you guys to run back, so why the hell did you shove us in here?”

I recounted what had happened, claiming I must have accidentally touched a live wire in the back, explaining the resulting shock. I didn't dare tell them the real story, because even I found the truth unbelievable. I asked Yingzi to check my back to see if it was burned by electricity. Yingzi pulled open the back of my shirt, shone the flashlight, and gasped, “Oh my God, Brother Hu, what happened here? It doesn’t look like an electric burn.”

Fatty leaned in for a look too. “You got zapped? You’ve got a black handprint on your back… Hmm… This palm print is quite small, looks like a child’s.”

It’s truly an encounter with the uncanny. Are you telling me that little phantom pushed the three of us into this bat cave? If I ever see it, I’ll skin it alive.

Just as Fatty was about to say something else, the flashlight in his hand slipped and fell to the floor. “My goodness, Old Hu, Yingzi, I didn't believe you back in Ge Naku, but just now… I also saw a child run past.”

Yingzi and I quickly grabbed our flashlights and swept the area. Besides bat guano and corpses, there was no sign of any child.

Fatty swore solemnly, “He ran right past you guys! If I’m lying, may I be struck down! He… he ran further inside. I saw him crystal clear: a little boy, five or six years old, wearing green, with a very pale face… didn't look alive.”

Except for me, the other two had both seen a child in this underground fortress. Why was I the only one who hadn't? However, the child’s handprint on my back made my skin crawl. Fatty claimed to have seen a boy, but Yingzi mentioned seeing a little girl in Ge Naku. Who was mistaken? Or did the Japanese fortress suddenly start running a kindergarten?

We tidied ourselves up slightly, stood up, and reloaded our submachine guns. Fatty pointed to a wall in the stone chamber. “That little brat ran in here.” He scraped away the moss and bat droppings from the stone wall with his rifle stock, revealing half of a rusted iron door, upon which were painted four striking characters in deep red paint: “” (No Entry).

Kwantung Army Secret Fortress 4

“Lì Rù Jìn Zhǐ…” Fatty read the characters aloud, then turned to us. “Do you know what that means? It means don’t stand up to go in; if you want to enter, lie down. This place is definitely a morgue, or maybe even an incinerator.”

Yingzi listened to Fatty’s interpretation and said, “What? Lie down to enter? So it’s for dead people. I’ve heard the old folks in the village talk about the little devils setting up incinerators. This iron door is probably one.”

I knocked twice on the iron door with my knuckles; the door felt incredibly heavy. “Fatty, stop pretending you know things. These four characters roughly mean ‘Prohibited Entry.’ Although I don't understand Japanese, I’m very familiar with military installations. Look at the large recess beneath the door; it has internal hexagonal grooves. This suggests a rotating mechanism. To open this iron door, you need to turn a wheel. The hole underneath is a vent shaft. This is an airtight door. When closed, the vents automatically draw out the air inside, creating a partial vacuum—it’s a place for storing valuables. Our military bases have similar facilities.”

The wheel for the airtight door had long been dismantled. Without the proper tools, opening this iron door would be next to impossible. As for what was stored inside the secret room, it was hard to say. It could potentially be chemical or biological weapons; that was the most likely scenario. To prevent accidents from leaks of such agents, they are usually kept in sealed, airtight rooms like this.

Although Japanese chemical and biological weapons have always been infamous, their destructive power should not be underestimated. Even stored in a natural environment for many years, they remain lethal. I wasn’t interested in what was behind this door; it was more important to check the map and find an exit quickly.

Fatty, however, was filled with curiosity about the door, especially after I mentioned the possibility of valuables being stored inside. He was itching to know more. He and Yingzi began knocking and kicking the door intermittently, acting like they wouldn't stop until they got inside. They muttered amongst themselves, “What good stuff is in here? Ah, it’s driving me crazy not to see it.”

I ignored the two of them and focused on cross-referencing the map to locate the exit position, searching within this stone cave that had recently been inhabited by the Pig-faced Bats. According to the topography drawn on the map, there should be a small passage connecting this cavern to an exit on the mountaintop.

But after searching everywhere, I only found a large collapse of rocks at one end of the cavern. As I had suspected, the Japanese blew up the fortress exits when they retreated.

Our current location was almost directly beneath where we had pitched our tents on the slope of Mount Yeren Gou. With the flashlight, I could see several large holes in the ceiling of the cavern. These large ventilation shafts were not straight up and down; to prevent outside attacks, they were constructed in a winding manner. The bats used these openings to fly out. Unfortunately, we don’t have wings; we were stuck looking up from below, unable to reach them. Even if we got up there, it wouldn’t help—an adult body was just slightly too large for these shafts. The little devils were truly cunning, digging the openings just big enough to be inconvenient, not too small, not too large, to prevent enemies from crawling in.

I called Fatty and Yingzi over and told them the main exit was gone. We either needed to look for another exit or just take our submachine guns back to the ancient tomb area and eliminate the Corpse Fiend. We couldn't just sit here wasting time. We had no rations, and we hadn't found any food in the Japanese fortress. If we kept wandering, we’d soon be too weak to move and would just wait to die.

The situation was clear: this underground fortress was extremely deep, perhaps tens of kilometers. It would take a long time to walk from one exit to another, and searching for others was pointless. The Japanese wouldn't have thoughtfully left an exit open; since they blew up one, they must have destroyed the rest too.

Yingzi kicked a dead bat on the ground. “If all else fails, we can eat these things. They’re all meat.”

Fatty quickly shook his head. “If you want to eat them, go ahead. I’d starve before I eat that disgusting stuff. I bet the meat is rotten, or maybe sour. It won’t be edible. Oh, right, Old Hu, do you think this iron door leads to the exit? There’s a possibility, right? Let’s find a way to open it and check.”

I considered it. “That possibility does exist because the map doesn't mark this secret room, only showing a passage leading to the exit. However, pinpointing the exact location is hard, so we can’t be certain this door leads to the passage. Actually, opening the door isn't difficult. I saw tools in Ge Naku; we can go find a hexagonal wrench of the right size.”

Yingzi chimed in, “Going back to Ge Naku is a good chance to grab some clothes to change into. Look at how filthy the three of us are—we look like a sight that twenty people would stare at for half a month.”

Her reminder made us realize how truly filthy we were. Bat guano, blood, and mud covered every part of our clothes, hair, faces, and hands. We reeked.

So we returned to the lower-level Ge Naku, the journey being short, only a few hundred meters. In Ge Naku, we first found some Kwantung Army uniforms and greatcoats to change into. We roughly wiped the dirt, blood, and grime from our faces and each put on a steel helmet.

Yingzi was naturally pretty, and wearing the military uniform enhanced her charm. Fatty cheered from the side, “Hey, big sister, when you put on that Japanese uniform, you look exactly like Yoshiko Kawashima!”

Yingzi didn't know who Yoshiko Kawashima was and thought Fatty was complimenting her, feeling quite pleased. I told Yingzi, “He’s saying you look like a Japanese female spy.”

Upon hearing this, Yingzi’s eyebrows shot up. Fatty quickly backtracked, “I misspoke, I misspoke! I should have said that seeing Yingzi in uniform holding a gun reminds me of that poem by Chairman Mao: ‘Dawn first lights the drill ground, valiant bearing with a five-foot gun; the daughters of China hold great ambition, loving armament over rouge.’”

I laughed. “Fatty’s turning into a poet lately, reciting verses at the drop of a hat. Look at us now, dressed just like the Japanese devils. It reminds me of a story my father’s old comrade-in-arms told me. I was young then. That uncle served with my father in the Eighth Route Army in Shandong. When the War of Resistance ended, they received orders from the Central Committee to take a boat from the Jiaodong Peninsula to the Northeast to accept the fruits of victory. My father got seasick and couldn’t go; he regretted it terribly because the Northeast was supposedly filled with Western goods—so many fine things were there. Later, I heard my uncle say that after they arrived in the Northeast, they picked up tons of Japanese stuff. Their entire regiment, when they set out, was tattered, barely distinguishable from a group of beggars. Later, they took over a Kwantung Army warehouse from the Russians, and everyone in the regiment changed into new gear. Except for their flag, everything else—from clothes to shoes to weapons—was Japanese, identical to the Kwantung Army. The local people in the Northeast, seeing them from a distance, turned and fled, thinking the devils had returned. I feel like we now have a taste of what our revolutionary predecessors felt when they collected the spoils.”

As I spoke, I found a hexagonal wrench on a rack holding gasoline drums. “Now we’re all set. We’ve got what we need; let’s hurry up and move.”

The three of us, wearing Kwantung Army uniforms and carrying Type 100 submachine guns, returned the way we came, with me still covering the rear. This time, Fatty and the others didn't mention seeing any shadow of a child. I didn't ask out loud, but my mind was racing, filled with lingering suspicions.

I thought to myself, Fatty said that child ran into the iron door. What in the world is that little ghost trying to do? Is he trying to show us the way out? Is there such a thing as an easy favor? Or does he have another agenda? Damn it, I happen to have a bit of sticky rice left. I heard ghosts are afraid of sticky rice. If that little ghost dares to cause trouble, I’ll make sure he retreats in utter defeat. If not, then my skills as Old Hu won't be recognized.

I walked along, spurring myself on. The injury on my back didn't seem to hurt as much. Before long, we arrived for the second time in the stone cavern with the “Airtight Door.”

As a precaution, we all put on our steel helmets and gas masks, charged our weapons, and chambered rounds. Before opening the door, I had Yingzi grab a handful of sticky rice, ready to scatter it, and told Fatty to aim his submachine gun. If there was anything inside the door, regardless of the consequences, we would take him out first. I also instructed Fatty to coordinate with me, firing in turns to leave no gap for reloading magazines.

Once everything was set, I slung the submachine gun over my shoulder and carefully turned the hexagonal wrench onto the door's grooves. This secret door hadn't been opened for decades, and the threads were seized with rust.

I strained with all my might, nearly snapping the wrench, before finally hearing a series of grating sounds: “Gā zhī zhī zhī zhī zhī.” The three rows of ventilation grooves beneath the door hissed: “Chī,” as air rushed into the airtight door. The iron door creaked loudly: “Gē kǎ kǎ kǎ kǎ…”

Kwantung Army Secret Fortress 5

The air channels inside the airtight door filled with air, and the heavy iron door swung open with a crash. I quickly stepped back two paces, pointing my submachine gun and flashlight at the entrance, but the space inside was silent and still.

The situation was unexpected. The interior was pitch black, too dark to discern anything. The beam of the flashlight was swallowed immediately by the darkness within.

I gestured to Yingzi. She understood, taking the large handful of sticky rice and scattering it into the secret chamber like a flower shower. Still, there was no sound from the chamber. All the sounds in the world seemed to have vanished; all I could hear was my own heavy breathing through the gas mask.

It seemed we had worried unnecessarily—doubt breeds phantoms. We had frightened ourselves half to death before anything even happened.

Finally, Fatty couldn't restrain himself and charged in first, taking the lead. Yingzi and I followed closely, filing in one after the other.

The secret room was a solitary space, about forty square meters, with no other exit besides the airtight door.

What was stored inside was neither biological nor chemical weaponry. Before entering, I had considered every possibility except one: the room was filled with over a dozen large coffins. These coffins were stacked haphazardly within the chamber. Aged and time-worn, some of the wood was already rotten. They varied in size and craftsmanship, and there was even one enormous stone sarcophagus. The most luxurious among them were two large coffins made of jinsinanmu (precious nanmu wood). Scattered on the floor were countless shards of pottery and porcelain.

I looked back at Fatty and Yingzi. Both shook their heads at me. Even though they wore gas masks, I could sense their expressions of utter bewilderment.

Fatty asked me, “Old Hu, what’s going on? This place looks like a museum. Where did all these coffins come from?”

I paused for a moment in thought. It wasn't hard to deduce, really; we had just been too preconceived in our assumptions.

Mount Yeren Gou was already an ancient tomb cluster dating back to the Jin and Liao dynasties. When the Kwantung Army constructed this secret underground fortress, especially the three passages connecting the two fortresses, they had to cut directly through the valley of Mount Yeren Gou. During construction, they must have excavated numerous ancient tombs. The burial goods from these tombs, along with the sarcophagi of the Jin and Liao nobility, were treasures to the Japanese. They stored everything excavated from the ancient tombs in this semi-vacuum-sealed room. The Kwantung Army retreated in a great hurry, only taking the bundled ancient artifacts when they left. These remaining coffins were left behind here.

Fatty said, “Those Japanese devils were good at taking what they found. They didn't leave us anything. Let’s see if there’s anything valuable left inside the coffins; it won’t be a wasted trip.” He then kicked the lid of a large coffin. The lid had already been pried open by the Japanese and never re-secured, so with one kick, the lid flew aside.

Yingzi didn't dare come closer. “I’ll wait for you two by the door. I’ll keep watch so no one seals us in here.” With that, she walked to the entrance, standing with one foot inside and one foot outside, guarding the great door.

I said to Yingzi at the door, “My big sister is sharp. I didn't even think of that. I’ve been a soldier for so many years for nothing. This door can only be opened from the outside. If we were all sealed in this secret room, we wouldn't even have a place to cry.”

Fatty was busy rummaging through the coffins, cursing as he went. “Damn it! All just bone dust! Those Japanese devils were truly heartless, practicing scorched earth wherever they went. They didn’t even leave us one intact jar.”

He went through three or four coffins with the same result, cursing non-stop in frustration, then went to push the vermilion-lacquered jinsinanmu coffin.

I paid little attention to the ordinary coffins; my gaze was fixed on that huge stone sarcophagus. My intuition told me there was something inside…

I don't know why I had this thought, but I was suddenly driven by an urge—I had to open this stone coffin and look. I called Fatty over to help. We both strained to push the heavy stone slab on top. The slab was exceptionally thick; after pushing for a long time, we managed to open only a thin crack.

Fatty breathed heavily and waved his hand. “Can’t do it… Let’s rest first. It’s too heavy… Haven't eaten, can’t push.”

My stomach was growling loudly, and the exertion made my vision swim. We had no choice but to sit down and rest. We took off our gas masks and each lit a cigarette.

Fatty exhaled a smoke ring. “Old Hu, do you think ancient people were simple-minded? Why build such a stone coffin? This is the first time I’ve ever seen someone use stone for a coffin.”

I traced the slate slab with my fingers and said, "This isn't a coffin, it's a stone sarcophagus. A shi guo. The wooden coffin is inside this stone box. Anyone treated to this must have been a high-ranking official, maybe even a prince."

Fatty scratched his head. "Oh, so that's how it is. Damn complicated. Both of us are digging in the Wild Man's Gully, but compared to the lord in this stone coffin, who was higher up—him or the general whose tomb we dug up?"

I shook my head. "I don't know, that’s hard to say. Neither of us knows much history, but in the centuries spanning the Jin, Liao, and Yuan dynasties, the northern nomadic peoples were immensely powerful. They conquered the land from horseback, so I'd guess their society valued martial prowess over scholarship. This might be the highest-ranking military noble, interred in the precise center of this auspicious location. Other nobles buried nearby might even have richer grave goods than those in the general's tomb. Since the deceased had different tastes in life, their burial offerings would naturally vary. Take the tomb we just excavated—the owner was a mere soldier, lacking in elegance or artistic appreciation, so his tomb was filled mostly with horses and weaponry."

Fatty sighed. "Those horses must have been magnificent steeds; if they were alive, they'd be worth a fortune. But now we just have bones, which probably wouldn't even sell for scrap. Thank goodness he left us those two jade bi discs. Back home, we can get Da Jinya to find a buyer, and that’ll fetch us ten or twenty thousand at least."

As we spoke, we finished our cigarettes. We put our gas masks back on and, mustering all our strength, pushed the large stone slab again. Yingzi came over to help, and finally, we managed to move the slab aside. Revealed inside the stone sarcophagus was a wooden coffin of pure black lacquer. This coffin was nearly twice the size of an ordinary one, and unusually tall—even without counting the arched lid, it was over waist-high.

The craftsmanship of the coffin was exquisite, clearly no common object. The ends, sides, and lid were decorated with elaborate gilded lacquer paintings depicting auspicious mythical beasts like cranes, qilin, and the tortoise and serpent, meant to ensure the occupant's transcendence into immortality after death. The lid even bore a star map of the twenty-eight constellations. The base was circled with golden patterns of swirling clouds. Through some secret art, the colors remained as vibrant as new after a thousand years, leaving us utterly awestruck.

It was the first time any of us had seen such a grand and magnificent coffin. If we hadn't seen it with our own eyes, we wouldn't have imagined such an artistic, gigantic coffin could exist.

Fatty cheered. "Even if there’s nothing inside, we can haul this coffin back and sell it for a huge profit!" He rolled up his sleeves and shoved the lid open.

Even Yingzi couldn't resist looking inside the large coffin. The three of us huddled together, shining our flashlights in. The satin lining spread within the coffin had long since decayed; it would probably turn to dust with the slightest touch. Layered upon the decaying silk lay a skeleton. After a millennium, the clothes and flesh were gone, leaving only the skull somewhat intact, its mouth agape, revealing two rows of blackened, rotten teeth. Much of the skeletal structure had decomposed into the air. Without the skull, one might not even

At this moment of confrontation, my mind raced. The layout of the underground fortress, dealing with wild beasts—these things felt unfamiliar. Should I strike first? The submachine gun was close at hand, but the Type 100’s stopping power was severely limited. The tough hide of the Prairie Earth Giant seemed capable of resisting it. I couldn't risk provoking it further only to be bitten myself, not when I wasn't sure I could escape if angered.

The Japanese Arisaka rifle had excellent penetration; it should be able to kill the Prairie Earth Giant. The problem was, we only had a few on hand, bayonets fixed. The two rifles previously loaded were twenty or thirty meters away. Someone needed to draw the Prairie Earth Giant's attention so I could run and grab them. This maneuver would take a crucial few seconds, and the beast was already too close to us…

Several ideas flashed through my head, none of which inspired confidence. Then, Fatty stood his ground and whispered to me, "Old Hu, I remember this thing only eats warm-blooded and cold-blooded animals; it doesn't eat people. I think we’re safe." He then nudged the dead bat lightly with his foot toward the Prairie Earth Giant, as if to say, "Here, take this, eat up, and leave us alone."

Who knew, the Prairie Earth Giant didn't even spare the dead bat a glance. Instead, it kept drooling at us.

Fatty turned to me, asking, "Why isn't it eating the bat? It keeps staring at us, like it means us harm."

I dared not be distracted speaking to Fatty, keeping my eyes glued to every twitch of the Prairie Earth Giant. If it showed any intention to attack, my only move would be to snatch the submachine gun from the ground before it and let loose a full burst.

Yingzi spoke up, "We've all eaten quite a bit of roasted bat meat. Maybe it thinks… we are bat—"

Before she could finish, the Prairie Earth Giant, unable to resist the aroma of the roasted bat meat, began stalking toward us, step by slow step. All wild animals subsist on raw meat; having never tasted cooked flesh, a single bite of it becomes their greatest temptation.

I noticed its movements were sluggish and thought fighting it might not be necessary; running seemed the better option. I called out to the other two, and the three of us turned to flee. After just two steps, I tripped over something hard underfoot. The fall nearly shattered my knees, and Fatty and Yingzi went down simultaneously.

I wondered what had tripped me. As I fell, I glanced at the ground. It was flat; there was nothing visible that could have caused a trip. A thought struck me: "Focused only on escaping, I forgot about the bodies of the boy and girl. Could it be ghosts tripping me?"

Kanto Army Secret Fortress 8

The Prairie Earth Giant had likely never seen a bipedal creature like a human before. Smelling the roasted bat meat on our bodies, it had mistaken us for bats, though perhaps it couldn't immediately accept bats that looked like us. Furthermore, it feared the firelight and hesitated to advance easily. It was still calculating how to swallow these delicious morsels that had come so close when it saw the three of us fall. With a whoosh, it sprang forward.

Its hind legs were thick and powerful, allowing it to leap right in front of Fatty. Perhaps it judged Fatty to be the plumpest and decided to feast on him first.

Seeing this, Fatty could only struggle desperately, scrabbling at the ground with his hands, trying to find a weapon. Luckily, there was a bayonet used for roasting bats nearby. Fatty snatched it up and drove it into the Prairie Earth Giant's arm, handle-deep.

The bayonet had been near the fire for so long it resembled a glowing red iron rod. When it pierced the Prairie Earth Giant, the only scent was a foul, burnt stench. This beast, unchallenged in the underground caverns, had never suffered such injury. Pained and enraged, it dared not bite Fatty again, slowly retreating a few steps to look for another opportunity.

After the searing stab, the temperature of the bayonet immediately dropped. Wisps of white vapor rose from the blade as it met the beast's blood. Fatty’s successful strike relied entirely on the bayonet's heat; otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to penetrate its hide at all.

Using the momentary reprieve while Fatty held back the Prairie Earth Giant, Yingzi and I each hoisted one end of the military greatcoat bundle containing the boy and girl onto our backs. Hopefully, these two little ones wouldn't cause more trouble.

With the sacrificial children’s bodies on my back, I bent down and grasped the submachine gun. I knew the Type 100's firepower was nowhere near enough to kill the Prairie Earth Giant, but at a critical moment, I hoped it could serve for some brief resistance.

Before I could even chamber a round, a claw shot out from the wall behind me, aiming straight for the top of my head. The claw moved too fast, its force tremendous. I didn't have time to duck and could only use the submachine gun in my hand to block. The claw struck the gun, and I lost my grip; the weapon flew out of my hand, landing far beyond the reach of the firelight.

It turned out that four more Prairie Earth Giants had silently crawled down the wall—two large ones and two small ones. Even the smallest was about the size of an adult human. Clearly, like the first one, they had all been drawn by the scent of roasted bat meat and had come to feed.

Five Prairie Earth Giants now completely encircled the three of us. If just one charged, the rest would surely follow, tearing us to shreds.

Our only defense was the dwindling fire. The three of us stood back-to-back, Fatty armed with a bayonet, Yingzi with the submachine gun, and I completely empty-handed.

The fire fueled by the wood scraps was visibly dying down and would soon be extinguished. If that happened, we would become the Prairie Earth Giants' dinner. I inwardly lamented: "One was already hellishly hard to handle, and now the entire family of Prairie Earth Giants residing in this fortress has shown up! Trapped in this dire situation, how can we possibly fight our way out?"

Wasting more time wasn't an option. I snatched a burning piece of wood from the fire pit and swung it toward the smallest Prairie Earth Giant blocking our path. It flinched, scared off by the flame, and shrank aside, opening a gap in the encirclement.

The fire on the wood scrap was small, and the swing nearly extinguished it. We didn't dare hesitate and charged out together. The drooling Prairie Earth Giants paused for a fraction of a second before pouncing on us simultaneously.

Yingzi’s submachine gun spat out bursts of fire. The lead Prairie Earth Giant was hit, spraying blood, but their bodies were covered in thick calluses. Though the bullets penetrated their hide, they couldn't reach the bone armor underneath. If anything, it only enraged them, driving them forward relentlessly until they secured these three human meals.

Only Yingzi had a working firearm. Whenever she stopped to change magazines, Fatty and I would wave the flaming wood scraps to keep the Prairie Earth Giants at bay, preventing them from closing in. Fighting and retreating, since our breakout direction was somewhat haphazard, we were actually driven further away from where we left our weapons, ending up pressed against GnaKu's large iron door.

Outside that iron door lay the Corpse Fiend. We had intended to regroup after eating our fill and plan our exit through the passage outside the door. But the sudden assault by the Prairie Earth Giants caught us completely off guard. In our haste, we were pushed back here. The fire on the wood scraps weakened until only charred stumps remained, sputtering a few sparks overhead. Our ammunition was also running low.

The Prairie Earth Giants were massive; several clustered together formed an impassable wall. A blow from their claws meant broken bones at best. Their circle tightened, pressing us against the iron door with no room left to maneuver forward or back.

At this point, we had to risk everything. Fatty and I hurled the smoldering wood scraps at the Prairie Earth Giants. Yingzi unleashed a final volley from the Type 100, using their last reserves of combat strength to force the beasts back a few paces. Fatty spun around and shoved open the iron door that had been securely bolted shut. I pulled out the Black Donkey Hoof Charm and hurled it outside.

Unexpectedly, the Corpse Fiend wasn't standing right by the door. We didn't have time to consider why as we tumbled into the passage behind the iron door. Fatty tried to slam the heavy door shut, but an immense force slammed against it from the outside. The multi-ton brute strength of the Prairie Earth Giant was formidable. The three of us pushed with all our might, but we couldn't secure the door.

Suddenly, a blast of cold, foul wind hit my face. I dodged quickly. It turned out the ancient corpse of the Jin Dynasty General, possessed by the malevolent spirit, hadn't left the entrance area at all; it had been circling nearby. The Corpse Fiend lacked intellect, merely obeying the sorcerer’s spell after death, acting like a zombie that lunged at any living thing it saw.

The Corpse Fiend struck with the silent speed of lightning. If I hadn't been battle-hardened with extensive combat experience, it would have knocked me down already. I rolled to the ground, just as I was getting up to evade, the iron door was smashed inward, and the largest Prairie Earth Giant shot through first.

The Prairie Earth Giant used its thick hind legs like a giant frog, leaping through the doorway, knocking the Corpse Fiend down. The Corpse Fiend landed, its rigid body unable to bend, and immediately sprang up. Its ten steel-knife-like fingers plunged deep into the Prairie Earth Giant’s chest.

The Prairie Earth Giant shrieked and lunged to bite, while the other Giants, large and small, poured out of the cavern. Seeing their companion injured, they rushed to tear at the Corpse Fiend.

The smallest Prairie Earth Giant had its head ripped off by the Corpse Fiend. Two other Giants managed to clamp onto the Fiend’s body. Their immense strength was evenly matched, and for a moment, they became locked in a savage struggle. In an instant, the walls, floor, and iron door were splattered with large patches of the Prairie Earth Giant's blood. Flesh and gore flew everywhere, and the Corpse Fiend lost one of its arms.

Witnessing this horrifying spectacle, we were secretly chilled. Had the Corpse Fiend and the Prairie Earth Giants launched a pincer attack, the three of us would certainly have met a terrible end. Our accidental blundering had, miraculously, provoked a fight between two tigers. What sheer luck.

Seizing the opportunity, we hoisted the bodies of the boy and girl onto our backs and fled toward the breach in the back wall of the tomb chamber. We cursed our parents for only giving us two legs, scrambling like hunted dogs, desperate like fish escaping a net. There's no need to dwell further on our wretched state.

The large hole in the collapsed tomb wall was the same as when we first escaped. We had fled out this way before, only to flee back in now, having made a complete circle. We gained nothing valuable, only accumulating endless trouble and acquiring these two child corpses filled with mercury—it was enough to make one laugh and cry. However, though the underground fortress lacked treasures, it held plenty of clothing and equipment. Perhaps we could find a few simple generators somewhere; we could report this to the villagers. It wouldn't have been a useless, life-threatening foray into the fortress.

All that mattered now was climbing out into the vertical shaft above the grave tunnel. At this point, everyone’s spirit and strength were at their absolute limit. But necessity breeds desperation; when facing utter ruin, human potential is often unleashed. Yingzi sprayed two full magazines from the submachine gun, sealing the coffin plank blocking the tunnel. The bullets shredded the wood, splintering the middle of the lid, which was already wedged into the wall. Fatty charged, slamming his shoulder into the coffin plank, splitting it in two. The tunnel was exposed again. I pushed Yingzi up into the shaft first, then Fatty and I lifted the corpses of the boy and girl we were carrying and passed them up. Yingzi caught them above and then reached down to pull me up.

Fatty was last. He needed us both to pull him up from the shaft. Just as he began to climb, two blood-soaked Prairie Earth Giants charged into the tomb chamber. They were completely frenzied, roaring like thunder. Perhaps the rest of their family had been killed by the Corpse Fiend. Even the powerful Fiend likely couldn't withstand such massive beasts, and must have been torn to pieces.

The remaining two severely wounded Prairie Earth Giants, eyes blazing red, pursued us relentlessly, following us into the tomb chamber. Fatty glanced back, his face paling, and scrambled desperately up the shaft. The more he rushed, the harder it was to climb. The Prairie Earth Giants reached the entrance of the tunnel, but luckily, the narrow opening prevented them from squeezing through. They began furiously digging at the dirt with their massive claws, trying to widen the tunnel entrance. Seeing the urgency, I grabbed Yingzi’s submachine gun and threw it to Fatty. Fatty understood immediately: he fired a few shots to force back the Giants crowding the tunnel entrance, then immediately targeted the Tianbao Dragon Fire Glazed Roof on the chamber ceiling. The glazed tiles shattered, and bags of Western Regions Fire Dragon Oil poured down. The entire tomb, including the two Prairie Earth Giants, was engulfed in flames ignited by the oil.

At the same time, Yingzi and I used our final strength to haul Fatty out of the shaft. Even so, a large patch of Fatty’s trousers caught fire from the flames erupting from the tunnel. He began slapping frantically at the fire on his backside, screaming like a butchered pig. Yingzi quickly poured her water canteen over him, extinguishing the flames. His trousers were burned away, exposing his rear end.

The loyal hunting dogs squatted faithfully nearby, watching their three masters emerge from the hole. It was high noon; the sunlight was blindingly bright. I rubbed my eyes—compared to the dark underground fortress, this felt like another world.

Fatty, clutching his burned rear with one hand, held up the two jade bi discs he'd retrieved from the tomb, examining them in the light. He couldn't resist a burst of poetic sentimentality, reciting famous lines from an epic poem about the Great War:

The fighting has ceased, the smoke has cleared. The sun, never before so warm; The sky, never before so blue; The smiles on the children’s faces, never before so sweet.

Yingzi and I couldn't help but burst into laughter at Fatty’s display—a poet reciting verses while clutching his backside? But then, a sudden event froze our smiles...