Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Art of the Human Body

“Cheng Che, whatever you do, don’t touch anything else—otherwise, you won’t even know how you’ll die the next second!” Zhang Qinglin, panting, leaned against the stone wall as he spoke.

“I know, but who could’ve thought there was a person hidden inside the mural? And how did he even get in there? It’s terrifying…”

The man inside the mural was probably one of Boss Ma’s men. As for how he ended up there, Zhang Qinglin surmised he must have triggered some mechanism and gotten wedged into the stone wall, with only his head protruding.

“The hands, feet, and eyes depicted in the mural—none of them are shown whole. And at the very front, there’s a scene of a special kind of ritual,” Zhang Qinglin explained as he walked ahead.

Cheng Che glanced warily at the stone walls on either side. These walls were bare except for a few lines, so he relaxed a little and asked, “A ritual? The one with the flames painted on the left as soon as we entered? How can you tell it’s a ritual and not something else?”

“Ordinarily, flames on their own aren’t surrounded by any decorative elements. But here, the flames are encircled by small dots. Those dots likely represent people, as if they’re performing some ceremony to worship the heavens. I think the tomb’s owner set up mechanisms in the passageway to force intruders to pay tribute to the sky,” Zhang Qinglin said, stopping at the end of the passage.

The passageway ended at a stone archway. The stone door was raised halfway, suspended in mid-air. Cheng Che looked around but saw no other exit, so the two of them slipped inside.

This must be the entrance to the burial chamber. As they reached the fifth step, Zhang Qinglin stopped and shone his flashlight into the center of the chamber. There stood two figures, one behind the other, frozen in mid-stride, as if running. He aimed the beam at them again: their clothes and skin were gone, exposing muscle tissue that was not red or dark, but an inky green.

These two had become statues. In front of them was a row of five wooden coffins. Most of the lids had been pried open, and on either side of the stone platform holding the coffins were two more passageways.

Clearly, someone else had triggered a trap here, and these two hadn’t managed to escape in time.

Zhang Qinglin first shone his light over the stone steps at their feet and then up to the domed ceiling above. The ceiling gleamed, while below, just under the sixth step, there was a layer of black liquid, occasionally bubbling with tiny gas pockets. The black liquid spread out beneath the stone platform that held the coffins.

Cheng Che stared down at the black fluid, hesitant to touch it. He pulled a coin from his pocket and skimmed it across the surface. The coin corroded instantly, and he hurriedly tossed away the half that remained.

Was it a strong acid or a strong base?

Potassium permanganate, perhaps?

He couldn’t determine exactly what the corrosive was, only that anything touching it would be eaten away—yet it didn’t dissolve human bodies completely, which was deeply perplexing.

Just then, a shadow flitted past the right passageway, making them jump. Suddenly, the stone door behind them crashed shut.

Ahead, the black corrosive liquid blocked their path; behind, the exit was sealed. They were trapped.

For a long moment, they just stared at the two-meter gap between the steps and the stone platform with the coffins. There was no way to cross directly, and no ropes or anything of the sort on either side.

They had to find a way out, as the black liquid was emitting an acrid, overpowering stench.

Covering his nose and mouth with his arm, Zhang Qinglin climbed to the top step, searching for a hidden button. After a fruitless search, he returned and shook his head at Cheng Che in disappointment.

Cheng Che pointed at the nearest of the greenish statues. “It seems there’s only one way—knock it over, step on it, and rush across!”

“No, it’s too risky…” Zhang Qinglin took a deep breath.

“Do you have a better idea? If we don’t move, we’ll end up just like them!” Cheng Che shouted, his eyes wide with fear as he glanced down at the black liquid.

In desperation, Cheng Che grabbed Zhang Qinglin’s flashlight and threw it at the statue before him. The statue toppled into the black liquid, the flashlight vanishing with it.

“Go!”

Cheng Che leaped, landing on the statue’s thigh, then stepped onto its shoulder. With a third stride, he kicked down the other statue, stepped onto it, and with two more quick bounds, reached the stone platform.

Zhang Qinglin sprinted after him, dashing over the statues to the coffins.

Though they’d made it to the stone platform, the passageways on either side were too far away to move the toppled statues over, even if the remains were still intact.

They examined the coffins. Three lids had been lifted, and the interiors were empty. The other two showed signs of having been disturbed. The two men exchanged a glance—one of these must conceal a trap.

Then Zhang Qinglin noticed a cross painted on the lid of the second coffin from the left. He called Cheng Che over, and together they pushed the lid aside. There was no bottom; only darkness. They pushed it further, revealing a stone staircase.

Zhang Qinglin went down first, with Cheng Che following. To keep the fumes from following, they pulled the coffin lid shut behind them and proceeded in pitch darkness.

Once the acrid stench faded, they finally dared to breathe deeply. They walked for a long time down the shadowy tunnel until a dim yellow light gradually appeared ahead.

A stone door stood half open. From the other side came agitated shouts. They hurried forward, hiding behind the door to observe.

“Brother Kangen, we all came here for the money, not to die here. Now Da Zhuang’s run off, and several brothers are dead. What should we do?” The speaker, Lord Wu, glared fiercely at Boss Ma, who stood before him.

Ma Seke held an unlit cigar, glancing at Lord Wu and then at Old Seven, who was wounded and resting against the wall. “Kangen, calm down. Look, Old Seven’s hurt, so someone else needs to scout ahead. How about this—you send one of your more agile men to check the way. Once we catch Da Zhuang, we’ll let the others rest. How does that sound?”

Lord Wu scratched his head and paced back and forth.

“Kangen, I warned you before we came down that the Gourd Mountain tomb isn’t to be trifled with. I told you to keep an eye on that kid, and now he’s gone. But with your skill, I’m sure we’ll find the treasure…”