The collective feeling was that something unusual was present here, causing everyone to pause in the middle of the white tunnel. They used the moment to stretch their numb arms, and the atmosphere bred self-preservation, leaving them hesitant, unsure whether to advance or retreat.

I began to suspect that this passage leading to the altar was nothing but a trap. Whatever lay within was constantly interfering with our five senses—sight, hearing, touch, smell, and taste. The fatigue from maintaining a fixed posture would cause limbs to ache and sensations to dull. Furthermore, the fishy, stale stench was confusing our thoughts.

With our eyes taped shut, we had absolutely no sense of direction. If we became too tense and veered even slightly from the tunnel wall, we risked losing our bearings and our point of reference. But this was no trivial matter; no one dared to rip off the tape to see what was in the tunnel. I had no choice but to instruct those ahead of us: First, no matter what happens, everyone must stick to the left wall and not stray; second, no one is allowed to remove the tape from their eyes without authorization, and no one should scare themselves, as that would only lead to self-sabotage.

I heard the Fatty at the very front of the line say to me, “Old Hu, there are snakes in this hole, did you hear them? And quite a few of them, damn it. If we don’t take off these tapes, people are going to die. Are we just going to sit here and wait to be bitten? I’m built thick, so taking the lead isn't a big deal, but this commander, despite having iron skin, can only endure so many nails. I certainly can’t withstand a venomous snake bite.”

Under normal circumstances, we would have ways to deal with poisonous snakes, but now, five people were essentially five blind men. If there truly were venomous snakes in this tunnel, we were basically meat on the chopping block, left only for them to feast upon.

I held an index finger to my lips and told the Fatty, “Shh… keep quiet, listen carefully. First, let’s confirm if there are actually snakes.” Uncle Ming and the others also held their breath, quietly listening to the surrounding movements. Some say that blind people possess hearing twice as sharp as ordinary people; the loss of one bodily function causes another to be used twice as much, thus becoming more developed. However, we had only voluntarily covered our eyes; we weren't truly blind. I didn't know if we were temporarily focusing all our attention on our ears, or if the unique structure of this white tunnel was creating a special acoustic effect. Regardless, even the slightest sound seemed to be invisibly amplified, making us hear everything with unsettling clarity, further disturbing our peace of mind.

Upon listening closely, there was a constant rustling sound both ahead and behind, mixed with the “hiss-hiss-hiss-hiss” sound of snake tongues flicking. The sheer quantity was unimaginable. There was another possibility: perhaps there weren't many snakes, but the tunnel was magnifying their sounds manifold, giving us the illusion of a surging tide. By sound alone, the snake mass seemed to be rapidly closing in on us. I didn't know what the dozens of people ahead of us were feeling, but I could feel Shirley Yang, the closest to me, trembling already. The forceful friction of scales, and the sharp metallic sound unique to snakes flicking their tongues, were unlike any other kind of serpent. This sound was familiar; only those exquisite black snakes possessed it.

Back in the desert, we had encountered a species of short, black snake with a strange, lump-like eye growing on its head. They were extremely aggressive and incomparably venomous; a bite anywhere on the body would lead to death within seconds. Hao Aiguo, the archaeologist who died on the expedition to Xinjiang, succumbed to the fangs of this rare viper. The brutal scene in the Zagelama Valley that day remained vividly etched in my memory—impossible to forget.

At that time, we didn't know its name or species until we reached the temple in the sea of Arogai that we learned about a type of black snake existing in the ancient demon country, known as the "Jingjian Ahan" (Pure Sight Āgama), the guardians of the Ghost Cave.

If encountering the black snake "Jingjian Ahan" in this white tunnel leading to the altar was perhaps expected, we still lacked sufficient mental preparation. Who would have thought that a tunnel requiring one to keep their eyes shut for safety would be infested with so many venomous snakes?

I was slightly distracted by the memory of our desert encounter, and in that brief moment, the coiled snakes seemed to have reached our feet. Everyone's breathing grew heavy; the tension was palpable. Everyone was using every ounce of self-control to suppress their panic because they all remembered the warning on the stone door: under no circumstances should one open their eyes, or something terrifying would happen. This was a tradition of the Arogai priests, likely based on some unknown reason. For now, we had to risk trusting its validity; we could not easily break this ancient taboo unless it was the absolute last resort.

A sudden thought struck me: if someone lost their nerve and ripped off the tape, Uncle Ming would surely be the first. Ah Xiang, though timid, was relatively obedient. So, I reached out, placing one hand on Shirley Yang's shoulder ahead of her and Ah Xiang's shoulder behind her, feeling my way over to Uncle Ming behind the Fatty. I grabbed his arm with one hand; if he made any ill-timed move, I could stop him in advance.

Shirley Yang reminded us from the rear, “If these are truly the black snakes with flesh-eyes on their heads, given their aggression, they would have already lunged and bitten us. But listening to the sound, the movement speed of the snake mass isn't fast. There must be something else going on here. Don't take off the tape yet.”

I replied to Shirley Yang, “There are no non-biting venomous snakes in the world. Perhaps these fellows just finished a snack and aren’t hungry for us right now…” Speaking of venomous snake bites, I suddenly recalled some murals in the ancient city of Jingjue, depicting the brutal scene of venomous snakes biting slaves. The slaves stared helplessly with wide-open eyes… Right, it seemed every slave bitten by a snake died with their eyes wide open, unable to close them in death. All dozens of murals showed the same thing—was it just a coincidence? Or did the information in the murals carry a special meaning? Perhaps my memory was faulty, and I was imposing my own interpretation, that the eyes of the slaves in the murals weren't all wide open. That scene suddenly grew fuzzy in my mind, but I still vaguely felt that perhaps the venomous snakes weren't attacking us precisely because we hadn't opened our eyes. Maybe the lump-like strange eyes on the black snakes' heads sensed the bio-electricity in human eyes, causing them to target their prey. Therefore, in the white tunnel, one absolutely could not open their eyes—was this the secret of the 'Great Dark Thunder Mountain'?

This thought flashed through my mind, bolstering my resolve not to open my eyes. I held Uncle Ming's right arm captive, shoved his other arm to the Fatty, and trapped Uncle Ming between us. Uncle Ming was shocked, thinking the Fatty and I were using him as a shield against the snakes, and he hurriedly asked, “What are you doing? Don’t—don’t joke around, you disrespectful youths. What exactly are you planning?”

The Fatty seized any chance to gain an advantage, even just verbal sparring, and immediately retorted, “Planning to be your grandpa marrying your grandma, having a son who will be your dad. Whoa... a snake just crawled onto my foot…” The sound of the Fatty kicking the snake away came from the darkness. Uncle Ming, stuck in the middle, suddenly felt his body go limp; if the Fatty and I hadn't been bracing him, he might have collapsed in sheer terror.

I, too, felt the writhing body of a snake by my feet. This situation would strike fear into anyone's bones. Entering this white tunnel was like facing an exam filled with multiple-choice questions, demanding continuous correct judgments, often without time to even think. Moreover, one had to score perfectly; even a tiny mistake in choice would result in an immediate life-or-death evaluation, irreversible. The choice we had to make right then was—under siege by a mass of snakes—should we rip off the tape from our eyes? Could we risk shattering that thousand-year-old taboo? I was starting to lose my composure and raised my hand, but in the end, I did not remove the tape.

Just then, Uncle Ming’s voice trembled, “A snake! A venomous snake… a venomous snake is crawling on my neck! Help me, Brother Hu!” As my mind was preoccupied, the arm I was holding of Uncle Ming loosened slightly. I felt Uncle Ming suddenly yank out his right arm, presumably trying to shake off the snake crawling on his neck.

I reacted immediately. Before Uncle Ming could fully free his arm, I grabbed his hand tightly again: “It’s fine, ignore it. This is all an illusion, it’s not real. A venomous snake couldn’t have just materialized out of nowhere. There are snakes in front and behind us; we didn’t feel any when we walked in…” Before I finished speaking, I felt a snap on my climbing helmet, and something cool and slimy dropped from above, sliding down my back near my shoulder with a faint hiss. That icy terror immediately spread through my body. This could not be an illusion caused by the 'Great Dark Thunder Mountain'; this was a genuine venomous snake, two hundred percent real.

I cast aside my previous assumption—that the black snakes wouldn't attack if we kept our eyes shut—and let go of Uncle Ming's arm. I quickly fumbled for my ice axe to dislodge the snake on my back. Suddenly, I heard the Fatty yell, “Is that you, Hong Kong guy? You old bastard, how dare you throw a snake onto me? Are you looking for trouble because the flesh on my body is wrinkling?” Perhaps Uncle Ming had also seized the opportunity to pull his hand free and shake off the snake on him, only to accidentally fling it onto the Fatty.

Shirley Yang and Ah Xiang were busy batting away snakes near them. We had initially advanced in a single file line close to the tunnel wall, but later, in order to monitor Uncle Ming and prevent him from acting out, we had shifted to a front-three, rear-two formation, advancing in two horizontal rows. Now, disturbed by the snakes, the formation instantly dissolved into chaos.

My eyes were covered, I couldn't see anything, and I didn't know who bumped me, causing me to stumble sideways a few steps. My foot landed on something soft and squishy—no need to look, I knew it was a snake. My head was already spinning. Where were all these snakes coming from? I quickly pulled back my foot and turned around. Once I managed to stand steady, I realized I had completely lost my sense of orientation.

At that moment, I heard the Fatty shouting nearby, “I can’t take it anymore! I’ve been blind long enough! I’m going to open my eyes and see!” I quickly fumbled towards the sound and grabbed his arm, urging, “You absolutely cannot take off the tape! If those snakes really meant to harm us, we would have been dead a long time ago. If you don’t bother them, they don’t sense our presence and won’t attack.”

The others, hearing my shouts and the Fatty’s, also fumbled towards the sound. Everyone gathered back together. Uncle Ming, still shaken, gasped for breath and said, “Brother Hu truly lives up to his reputation as a top master among the Mojin Xiaowei [Grave Robbers’ Officers]. Calm in the face of crisis, you predict things with uncanny accuracy. Everyone must absolutely not open their eyes. From now on, we’ll follow whatever you do.”

Shirley Yang whispered to me, “That’s a possibility, but I feel it might not be that simple. This tunnel is fraught with peril, and everyone has their limits of self-control. Our eyes here are actually a liability. Every extra minute we stay, the more danger we face. We must move forward quickly.”

To advance again, we needed to find the right direction, but we had completely lost our sense of orientation. The only immediate solution was to find a wall to use as a reference point before dealing with anything else. The sounds of the surrounding snakes slithering filled our ears; conservatively, there were at least several hundred. I pulled the others toward one side, fumbling along. If we encountered a snake on the ground, we’d gently kick it aside, and I slanted my path until my hand met the cold tunnel wall.

As soon as we steadied ourselves, we heard a series of footsteps coming from one end of the tunnel, still quite far off. I quickly reached out to check the four people around me: Shirley Yang, Ah Xiang, Uncle Ming, and the Fatty were all there. Who was following us from behind? Or were they coming head-on? I recalled peering into the tunnel from the opening of the stone door earlier. Could that thing have returned?

The footsteps grew from distant to near. Within the white tunnel, the sound was even more soul-stirring. The heavy, echoing steps grew louder and more frequent, each one causing our hearts to tremble. We couldn't run, we couldn't see, and for a moment, we were utterly helpless. The five of us huddled tightly together. I gripped my parachute knife, cold sweat pouring down relentlessly.

The mass of snakes in the tunnel was also disturbed by the sound of the approaching footsteps. With a rustling sound, they suddenly vanished without a trace. I frantically searched along the wall and found small cavities, about the size of a fist, very close to the ground. They were deep, and when I put my hand near the opening, I could feel a faint, cool draft. About eighty percent of those snakes had burrowed into them; we couldn't fit inside to hide.

I said to Shirley Yang, “Is this really just natural movement within the crystal rock? I don't think that sounds right.” Blindly adhering to scientific principles is fundamentally no different from blindly adhering to ancient superstitions—both lead to blind obedience and rigid thinking. I wasn't disbelieving Shirley Yang, but from our current perspective, it seemed far removed from her hypothesis.

As we spoke, the sound was right beside us. I could still hear the Fatty grinding his teeth, showing how tense everyone was. But then, the booming sound of the footsteps suddenly stopped. Because of the unique geography of the white tunnel, and the unexpected nature of the sound, we couldn't discern where the thing had stopped. It could be front, back, left, or right. It was as if something had stopped in a nearby corner, staring at us. No one knew what it intended to do. This moment of profound stillness was far more terrifying than if something had directly lunged at us.

Our nerves were stretched tight, in a state of high alert. After a long while with no movement, we listened carefully. Apart from our own heartbeats and breathing, there was no other sound. Only then did everyone relax slightly, thinking that Shirley Yang was right; we shouldn't let suspicion create phantoms. That sudden downpour of footsteps had, at least, scared away the venomous snakes.

I fumbled around and recounted the headcount once more. Ah Xiang was crying, asking me if she could take off the tape. Her tears were trapped inside, making her feel miserable.

I flatly refused her request, telling her she could cry after leaving the tunnel. Then, I began discussing the direction to proceed with the Fatty and Shirley Yang. Since we couldn't tell which side the tunnel wall was on, we first needed a way to confirm direction.

Although the white tunnel wasn't wide, it wasn't perfectly straight. Given the small area our hands could cover, groping little by little made it impossible to judge where it curved. Even if there were no forks, following one wall would at least lead us back to the start. But in these mysterious places beneath the Arogai sea, where ancient rites were performed, what danger might descend if we entered the altar tunnel, circled around without doing anything, and then returned? None of us knew, and we dared not guarantee safety. However, this potential danger could not be ignored. If possible, it was best not to backtrack.

The Fatty offered his opinion: “In this commander’s humble view, we need to figure out a way to move upward. Because when we entered from the dormant volcano, the stone door opened to the west. This means we traveled from the bottom of the second underground lake up toward the bottom of the first underground lake. The altar must be directly beneath the ruins of the ancient city. The further west we go, the higher the terrain. The high side is west.”

I considered this and suddenly had an idea. I told the Fatty, “You know it’s a humble opinion, so you shouldn’t have said it. Moving west is certainly correct, but don't forget the biggest characteristic of the Arogai Sea from the Dragon’s Peak Glacier to this white tunnel: these people worship the abyss. We have been continuously moving downward, and the deeper we go, the closer we are to our goal. Therefore, I can stake my life on this: although this tunnel leads west towards the bottom of the first underground lake, it is inclined downward. We should go down.”

Shirley Yang countered, “The premise of moving downward is certain, but we can’t use our eyes to see, and even if the white tunnel extends downward, the slope must be extremely slight—difficult to sense. How can we judge which side is higher and which is lower?”

I replied, “That’s easy enough. We’ll use the old method: ‘Find the middle path where water flows.’ I took out my water canteen and slowly poured the water onto the ground. We’ll see which way the water flows to know which side is lower.”

In a short while, the direction problem was solved. The group re-formed, and as before, we continued moving forward by groping. Progress here was agonizingly slow; we could only inch forward one step at a time. The mysterious footsteps in the tunnel appeared sporadically, seeming to follow us closely. I cursed silently in my heart but could do nothing about it. Who knew what ghostly thing it was? For now, we had to adopt an optimistic spirit and think positively—perhaps it was just the natural sounds from the 'Sound-Moving Stone' acting up.

After walking another three or four hundred paces, we still hadn't reached the end, but at least it confirmed our direction of travel was correct; otherwise, we would have returned to the exit within a hundred steps. This white tunnel was very long. After walking for a long time, we still couldn't get accustomed to the environment. Prolonged exposure to this darkness was a test of anyone’s psychological endurance, especially with a ghostly entity shadowing us nearby.

As we walked, I suddenly remembered a crucial detail, and my whole body began to tremble slightly. I quickly said to Shirley Yang ahead of me, “Since entering the tunnel, I’ve overlooked one detail. The stone door had a prohibition concerning this tunnel: one must enter with eyes closed. But Ming Shu and I… before we all came in together, we had already stuck our heads out from behind the stone door to look into the tunnel. That definitely crossed the boundary of the entrance; we broke the rule right at the beginning, no doubt. Of course, Ming Shu led the way.”

Shirley Yang paused slightly upon hearing this. So, everything we thought might be wrong. If there were any evil spirits or harmful substances in the white tunnel, wouldn’t they have been unleashed already? Why hadn't we been truly attacked?

Shirley Yang’s thoughts raced quickly, and she provided her own answer to her question almost immediately: “We are… sacrifices. The black snakes not attacking us might indeed be related to our eyes being closed, or perhaps it's because we all bear the mark of the sacrifice.”

I sighed. To walk willingly toward an evil god’s altar as a demon’s sacrifice—what kind of feeling would that be? It truly sucked.

While I was silently agonizing, the Fatty ahead of me stopped. I heard him ask, “Commander Hu, is that altar square or round? I think I’ve reached the end. Come feel these stones; they’re very strange.”

I fumbled my way over to the Fatty and then felt the stone wall in front of him. It felt like twisted strands of rope. With only two hands, it was impossible to discern the layout. I wanted to rip off the tape to see—after all, we were sacrifices, and I’d already stuck my head out to look. If I was going to die, I would have died at the tunnel entrance. But a sudden thought struck me, and I decided to play a trick on Uncle Ming.

I recalled that when we encountered the snakes, I worried Uncle Ming couldn't maintain control and would tear off his tape, so the Fatty and I had pinned his arms. But now, I felt that action had been somewhat superfluous. Based on my understanding of Uncle Ming, he was a suspicious, somewhat calculating, and deeply calculating businessman. Of course, in a place fraught with danger, his less-developed side showed through, making him seem affected. But he absolutely understood the stakes. If one of the five of us couldn't withstand the pressure and ripped off the tape first, it definitely wouldn't be Uncle Ming. But if it had to be someone second, it would undoubtedly be him. If I didn't play a trick on him this time, then my surname wouldn't be Hu.

I quietly retrieved an unused strip of tape, tore off a length in secret, and gently affixed it across my forehead. Then, I repeated to the assembled group the exact explanation I had just given Shirley Yang. Now, whether or not to remove the tape held little consequence; at least Ming Shu and I had already violated the tunnel’s unspoken taboo. Since we had reached the end of the line anyway, I decided to take the lead, open my eyes to check for any lurking danger. Saying this, I moved closer to Ming Shu, gripping the tape on my forehead and ripping it off with force. The sudden pain made me wince—a sound deliberately calculated for Ming Shu to hear clearly.

Hearing me tear the tape away with no immediate danger manifesting, Ming Shu followed suit. I heard the sound of him pulling the tape from his own eyes, and after another short pause, presumably once his vision had recovered from the darkness and adjusted to the surroundings, I heard him exclaim in astonishment, “Are you kidding me? You already took the tape off! Hu Bayi, you rotten kid, scamming the old and the young alike! Even a fox spirit couldn’t conjure up such a low trick.”

I chuckled inwardly, then removed my own tape. For a moment, my vision was blurry, the surrounding objects indistinct. But then, Ming Shu’s complaints ceased abruptly, replaced by a sharp intake of breath. “Wait a minute,” he said urgently. “Didn’t Miss Yang say that the footsteps were coming from the sound-moving crystal deposits? Then… then… what is that behind us?”

My eyes still hadn't fully adjusted, but I perceived a faint, pale luminescence surrounding us. I strained to peer behind us, squinting hard. Several meters away, I thought I could vaguely make out a dark, shadowy silhouette.