The female corpse was clad entirely in stark white mourning robes, which, inexplicably, remained visible even in the dark water. As the illumination flare first sputtered out, we only caught a hazy silhouette—she was lying on her back, arms extended horizontally and drooping slightly behind her. The corpse gradually surfaced from the depths, and as the distance between us closed, the facial features of the white-clad woman began to faintly emerge.

A faint blue light enveloped the body, a cold, temperatureless luminescence symbolizing death and frost. A single glance sent a bone-chilling dread through me, like the eerie glow of grave-fire in a graveyard. I couldn't fathom why this female corpse, or perhaps female ghost, had suddenly risen from the bottom of the water.

I tried desperately to slow my hammering heart, but the inexplicable terror gripping my body refused to subside. I thought to myself, "An unwelcome arrival spells trouble. She appears to be wearing ancient attire, not modern dress. Emerging suddenly from the deep water within the tomb of the Immortal King, she is surely no benevolent entity. We must strike first." With that, I reached for the black donkey’s hoof, intending to wait until the corpse approached from below to suddenly move, shove the hoof into her mouth, and if she proved to be a ghost rather than a (Jiangshi, Chinese hopping vampire), I would greet her with glutinous rice dyed with cinnabar.

Shirley Yang and Fatty shared the same sentiment; each readied their respective tools, silently watching the female corpse ascend from the water, poised to act.

Unexpectedly, the corpse, floating up diagonally from below us in a sprawled posture, suddenly vanished into the dark water—gone in the blink of an eye. Looking back down, the depths were pitch black; the eerie blue glow that had enveloped the body also disappeared into the formless darkness, just as the flare had done.

However, that inexplicable sense of dread vanished immediately afterward. I had initially thought I was the only one feeling it, but seeing the expressions on the other two faces told me they felt the exact same way; they had just been seized by a sudden wave of panic. The three of us exchanged glances—what in the world was happening? Whether she was a demon or a ghost, a straightforward, life-or-death confrontation would have been preferable to this silent appearance and silent disappearance. This ambiguity made the female corpse's intentions even more inscrutable.

Our upper bodies floated on the surface, everything below the chest submerged, the water beneath us unfathomably deep. It felt as if we were swimming in a bottomless, dark abyss. Fatty couldn't help but worry, "Old Hu, do you think that corpse is one of those we usually talk about? A river floater (a corpse drifting in the water)?"

I shook my head. "Who knows if it’s a floater or a water spirit? A water spirit seems more likely; otherwise, how could a corpse emit that ghostly blue cold light? I’ve never heard of phosphorescent ghost-fire in the water."

Fatty and I have always been daring, but there was one thing we truly feared, an incident that left too deep an impression on us. The ages of sixteen or seventeen are crucial for forming one’s worldview and values; events from that period often influence a lifetime.

So, the moment I mentioned a female ghost, Fatty and I immediately thought of the legend of the water spirit dragging people down by the feet. Every summer, children loved swimming in rivers or ponds, and to ensure safety, adults often scared them by saying female ghosts lurked in the water, specifically grabbing swimmers by the ankles with spectral claws. Once caught, no amount of strength could break free, leading to drowning and becoming a vengeful spirit in the cold, deep water. However, when Fatty and I were young, we never believed it, as we learned in the first grade that anything snagging a foot in the water was water grass, not a ghost hand.

But later, when we were seventeen or sixteen, serving as Red Guards, constantly stirring up trouble and denouncing the "bull demons and snakes" (enemies of the revolution), one night during the stifling heat of the dog days—the weather felt like fire—we got exhausted from our activities and happened to pass an abandoned small reservoir, located roughly around the area now called Ping (grass radical over three 'lei'). The ground beneath the old reservoir was muddy at night, but the water on top had a functional circulation system and was relatively clean. However, the reservoir was very deep, making it hard to touch the bottom. Some of us, unable to bear the heat, wanted to jump in for a refreshing swim, but a few others hesitated, reserved about getting in the water.

Just then, an old woman dressed in a white padded jacket approached us and called out, "Come swim in the water! This water is a world of coolness; there’s a whole other vista beneath the surface. My grandson swims in here every day."

Hearing that someone played there daily, we assumed it was safe, and everyone jumped in. When we climbed out, the old woman in the white coat was long gone.

Another child with us mentioned that his older brother was missing, but we weren't entirely clear on who that brother was. Most of our group, apart from a few who knew each other, had spontaneously banded together as revolutionary comrades during struggles—that is, during group fights—and since we were numerous, we weren't sure who was who. So, we asked the child what his brother looked like and what he was wearing.

But the child was too young and couldn't articulate clearly after talking for a long time. We didn't take him seriously, assuming no such person existed, or perhaps the child had insufficient revolutionary resolve and had deserted halfway through the swim to go home for dinner. Then we dispersed like birds and beasts, heading home.

Unexpectedly, two days later, we passed that small reservoir again and saw many people draining the water. It turned out the boy had told his parents about his brother going missing after swimming. The boy’s father was a logistics head in the military district and had brought men to search for his son. Fatty and I had a habit of watching any excitement, never shirking the effort to see what happened, so naturally, we stayed to watch this event unfold.

When the reservoir was finally drained, there was indeed the bloated, pale corpse of a youth about our age. His body was entangled by thick clumps of water grass at the bottom. A single hand, reaching out from the grass, was clutching his left leg. But everyone was utterly baffled: where did all that water grass come from?

There shouldn't have been any water grass in the reservoir. After scooping out and clearing the grass, they found a skeleton—the bones of someone long drowned at the bottom—whose hand was grasping the Red Guard’s ankle, causing him to drown there.

This was the age of materialism; no one dared to believe in ghosts, and even if they did, no one dared speak of it, attributing everything to coincidence. The half-grown boy must have accidentally jammed his foot into the water grass while swimming, which happened to entangle him with someone who had drowned long ago, struggling together.

But as for the five deep bruises on his leg, precisely where the dead man gripped his ankle, no one could offer a plausible explanation. And the white-clad old woman who lured us into swimming was denounced as a lurking subversive agent. This incident circulated widely in our area, with many versions, but Fatty and I were among the few who witnessed it firsthand. Although we didn't believe in ghosts back then, the sight of that water-logged, decaying corpse made me so nauseated that I couldn't eat properly for three months.

That was an indelible memory. Seeing a female corpse suddenly surface from the water again, only to vanish eerily, naturally left a bad impression. Although the corpse disappeared underwater, we all knew clearly it was only because the light was gone, beyond the reach of our sight. That bizarre female body was still lurking in the cold, dark depths and was bound to reappear sooner or later; what would happen then, only the spirits knew.

These thoughts flashed through my mind, and the more I considered it, the more uneasy I became. We had to get through this eerie, dark stretch of water as quickly as possible, so I paddled forward with all my might.

Following the slow current, we passed through vast expanses of fossilized forest and finally spotted a semi-circular cave entrance ahead, barely large enough for one person to pass through. Half of the opening was exposed above the water surface, with the underground stream flowing through it into another cavern.

I told Shirley Yang, "These underground caves are one after another; I don't know how much further we are from the Immortal King's Tomb. But since we’re already in, we might as well push straight through to the end and rest once we get out."

Shirley Yang nodded. "Judging by the mountain ranges between the Lancang and Nu Rivers, the depth of the Worm Valley shouldn't exceed thirty or forty miles. I estimated the distance we’ve already covered; it’s more than two-thirds of the way, so we shouldn't be too far."

The inner walls of the cave entrance were as smooth as ice; when illuminated by the spotlights, the stone surface reflected a shimmering red. The entire cavern was funnel-shaped, growing wider the deeper we went. Many plant roots also hung down from above, dangling in the air. The fossils formed by the ancient forest were denser here, and their shapes were extremely bizarre. These elements combined to create an extremely complex terrain within the cave.

Fatty and I tightened our air bladders and backpacks again, preparing to pass quickly through this area. The air here seemed far less fresh than in the outer cave; the damp, stifling humidity was heavy, and insects were multiplying. The water lost its cool feeling, making our breathing noticeably labored.

An incredibly dense plant life existed even in this underground cavern. Water seeping down from the ravine dripped incessantly along the vines and roots, falling into the water. In the entire fossil forest, it seemed to be perpetually raining; the sound of water droplets hitting the river was everywhere. Due to the arched structure of the cave, the sound of dripping water resonated eerily, resembling the sound of a monk striking a wooden fish in a temple, adding a layer of mysterious atmosphere to the otherwise silent cavern.

We had to endure the oppressive heat and pushed forward another few hundred meters, our speed forced to slow down. Because the fossilized trees in this cave were growing thicker, we had to swim around them. In the pitch-black cave, the current was fractured by these massive fossilized trunks, creating numerous whirlpools and eddies. We could no longer rely entirely on the direction of the flow to navigate; if we drifted off course, we had to use the compass to reorient ourselves, which was quite troublesome.

Ahead, floating aquatic plants obstructed our progress on the surface, forcing us to pull out our trench shovels and constantly push aside the buoyant weeds. Mosquitos, water spiders, and leeches infested the duckweed and grass, constantly flying or crawling toward our faces.

Just as we were growing thoroughly annoyed, we heard a buzzing sound ahead—the vibration of countless insect wings. Instinctively, I pulled my submachine gun from its waterproof bag. To see what they were, Fatty had to fire another flare. In the bright light, we saw the area ahead, completely obscured by dangling roots and vines, was swarming with countless massive black flying insects, resembling dragonflies but lacking eyes. They moved in swarms of thousands, circling the mass of root tendrils like a passing black cloud.

None of us had ever seen such insects; perhaps they only existed in this specific humid, underground environment. Insects form the largest group on Earth, with about a third of the species still unknown to humanity.

However, these flying insects, looking like giant black dragonflies, didn't seem to attack people directly. But such a massive aggregation was enough to make one’s scalp prickle.

Sensing the situation was precarious—the air was stifling, charged with a restless danger—I asked Shirley Yang what kind of insects they were.

Shirley Yang replied, "I think I’ve seen something like this before, some kind of black mosquito found near a source of stagnant heat and moisture, but those insects are at most the size of a fingernail. These flying insects opposite us are as large as the giant dragonflies found in mountain valleys..."

Shirley Yang stopped mid-sentence because the three of us spotted a water spider the size of a fist crawling by just ahead. The common water spiders we were familiar with were tiny, able to walk on the water’s surface without breaking through, but this one was enormous.

Seeing such a large water spider filled us with dread and made our skin crawl. Before we could process it, two more fist-sized water spiders drifted past ahead and crawled onto the fossil of a fallen, broken ancient tree resting on the water surface nearby.

Fatty exclaimed in surprise, "Why are the bugs here getting bigger and bigger? There aren't any water spiders this large outside."

I suddenly seemed to realize something and said to Shirley Yang and Fatty, "Haven't you noticed how unnaturally smooth the stone walls of this cave are, and how large the curve is? And they’re red, very much like the gourd we saw at the Mountain God Temple. Could we have fallen inside a gourd..."

Shirley Yang looked around at the nearby plants and insects and then turned to Fatty and me, saying, "We need to clarify one thing: Are the bugs and fossilized trees in this cave getting larger, or are the three of us shrinking?"