Chapter 163

In the dark, sticky eye sockets, I stepped on Xian King's inner coffin, scrambling upward with all my might, while Pangzi and Shirley Yang's anxious urging came from above without cease; whether due to my overly impatient mindset or the influence of the melted substances in the "Black Head Flesh Coffin," everything around me seemed pitch black, and even the faint beam on my miner's helmet appeared to have dissolved into the coffin's boundless darkness, nearly negligible.

During this upward climb, I felt something below also climbing up with me; upon noticing it, my heart turned half-cold—inside this flesh coffin's eye sockets, aside from Xian King's headless corpse, what else could there be? Surely it was that old zongzi chasing up to snatch his head.

This thought flashed through my mind, and I felt my left foot seized by a powerful hand; having almost crawled out, my body was now pulled back into the coffin's center. I gripped the head with one hand and drove the entrenching shovel into the flesh-like wall, temporarily anchoring myself to avoid falling straight to the bottom.

Looking down in the hazy light, I saw only a grimy headless corpse struggling out of the inner coffin; the headless body seemed coated in a black mucous membrane, nearly fused with the "Black Head Flesh Coffin" eye socket, as a pitch-black large hand grabbed my ankle and pulled downward.

Those peachwood nails seemed ineffective on this corpse, indicating only one possibility: the corpse had merged with the "corpse hole" attached within the flesh coffin, making Xian King's corpse the core of the corpse hole. Thinking this, I felt a chill and trembling; hearing Shirley Yang speak of the underground catacombs in Paris, France—no one knows how deep it goes, its scale, or how many types of desiccated corpses lie within. A widespread claim says the Paris catacombs' scale rivals Beijing's underground civil air defense projects; though not absolutely certain, it shows this tomb is immensely vast.

Due to some unknown reason, the deep parts of the Paris catacombs produced a supernatural "corpse hole"—a fissure zone between matter and energy. The French "corpse hole" is said to be only two or three meters in diameter, while Xian King's flesh coffin spans over twenty meters; if truly formed into a corpse hole devouring all things, escaping would be nearly impossible.

But now, in dire straits, I had no time for much else—only to first shake off this headless corpse's entanglement. I shouted upward at Pangzi: "Pangzi, get the detonators—quick, get the detonators!" As I spoke, I hurled Xian King's head upward.

Pangzi saw a round object thrown down, didn't look closely, reached up and caught it, then lowered his head to see—under the helmet's searchlight, he could clearly see it was a strange head with features seemingly melted. Though bold, he instinctively jerked his hand back, dropping Xian King's head to the ground, then ignored it and immediately fumbled for the detonators.

Below, I strained to support myself, having thrown the head up, no time to check if Pangzi and Shirley Yang recognized it as Xian King's skull. I freed one hand, immediately drew the entrenching shovel, and struck downward at the black headless corpse—"thud, thud" dull sounds, like hitting rotten leather, yet it jarred my own tiger's mouth sore and numb.

Suddenly, I felt my foot loosen—the iron hoop's grip vanished; the headless corpse abandoned me, silently climbing up from the side, seemingly targeting only the head.

Seeing an opening, I dared not relent; I urgently kicked with my feet against the corpse's cavity, shoving it back to the hole's bottom, then used the recoil to leap upward and grab the slippery edge of the eye socket.

Shirley Yang above immediately seized my arm, helping me climb up. Having jumped down earlier on a surge of blood and courage, I now felt fear as I climbed—my legs trembled slightly; I hurriedly stomped my feet.

But before I could even recall the process, a "hiss-hiss" spark flared before my eyes—Pangzi had already ignited a set of three detonators, cursed, aimed, and tossed them into the eye socket I had just climbed out of.

My mind eased slightly; I thought this detonator blast would shatter even copper skin and iron bones into bone fragments and minced meat. The flesh coffin had already completely deformed, resembling cattle and sheep entrails, with countless limbs writhing incessantly. In no more than ten seconds, this place would fully become a "corpse hole." Fortunately, our entrance remained, though also coated in black mucous membrane. I picked up the head Pangzi had discarded, clamped it tightly under my arm, and shouted to Shirley Yang and Pangzi: "Still waiting for heavenly thunder? Look well and retreat!" (Look well: from inside to outside; retreat: escape)

The three then rushed outward; Pangzi, in his haste, still asked me: "Is that thing a head or a burial object?"

As I ran, I told Pangzi: "This Xian King's head is likely the lifesaving pearl we seek." Shirley Yang, hearing she had obtained the "Hui Chen Pearl," felt revitalized; together with me and Pangzi, we took three steps as two, rushed to the entrance, swiftly swung the entrenching shovel, and cut through the flesh-like membrane blocking the entrance.

Just as we were about to leap out, a dark object descended with white smoke, landing squarely in Pangzi's hand. He wondered aloud: "What's this for work?" Looking closely, it was the bundle of detonators he had just thrown into the eye socket—the headless corpse's eye socket was now generating large amounts of mucous membrane, which, before the detonators exploded, had ejected them; the fuse had burned to the end. Pangzi startled, hastily flung the detonators backward; under the blast's air wave, the three of us, smoking and aflame, tumbled and crawled out of the flesh coffin.

The great hollow's condition remained unchanged, only with more corpse moths fluttering nearby. Shirley Yang fired the last illumination flare into the corner, drawing the scattered corpse moths away; then the three of us ran downward along our original path. Just as we neared the bottom level of the great hollow, we heard a "click-click-scratch" of fingernails scraping the wall from above.

At this moment, we had no long-range lighting tools left; we couldn't see what was above, but we knew without looking: the "corpse hole effect" had begun spreading outward from the Black Head Flesh Coffin—and it was coming straight for us.

We dared not linger; following our path back, we leapt into the middle tomb chamber. I told Pangzi and Shirley Yang: "This Xian King's head cannot be returned under any circumstances, but doing so means we cannot escape the corpse hole's entanglement."

Xian King's Yin Palace consists of three coffin layers: the lowest wooden coffin, the middle stone coffin, and the uppermost flesh coffin. Outside is a circular corridor; viewed from above, it forms a "回" character, though the surroundings are round. Adding that the three coffin layers differ in size, it could even be said to resemble a vortex or an eyeball. This Yin Palace is built deep in the mountain cliff, with only one exit—no weak points to breach; we must exit the way we entered.

As the three fled outward, we discussed: endless flight is no solution; current time estimates suggest it's past midnight—we've gone a full day and night without sleep. Moreover, since eating randomly on the Lingyun Heavenly Palace's glazed top, we've had neither water nor grain. We must find a way to completely resolve this massive corpse hole, or there will be no hope of survival.

In this frantic escape, I could devise no good strategy; my only thought was to exhaust the enemy during our rapid retreat, fully expose its weakness, then act opportunistically—but how far we can still flee with our current strength and energy depends on the corpse hole's consumption speed.

After running nonstop, we had passed the Three Worlds Bridge before the Yin Palace gate and the long tomb passage, arriving before the massive, heavy stone door. We climbed the copper eave latticework heavenly gate; behind us, the corpse hole's noise had diminished considerably—it seemed we had shaken off some distance, yet it clung like bone-attached maggots, tightly following behind.

Pangzi straddled the frame of the copper heavenly gate and said: "Still have a few ingots of explosives? Better blast this heavenly gate to pieces and seal him inside."

Shirley Yang said: "This stone door can't truly block the corpse hole's consumption, but it might hinder it somewhat…" Speaking, she suddenly felt something wrong below: "Why has the water in the嵌道 risen so high?"

I lowered my gaze—one-third of the stone door was already submerged, indicating the external spring was blocked. I hurriedly told Pangzi to quickly load the explosives; it seemed the ten-thousand-year-old meat lingzhi was this place's feng shui convergence point; once disturbed, the earth qi accumulated here for two thousand years would likely gush forth in this very moment, possibly flooding the entire Insect Valley. If we don't escape before then, we'll surely feed the carp and soft-shelled turtles at the pond's bottom—until the earth's qi returns to normal, the floodwaters will recede. Since only the narrow heavenly gate needs destroying, Pangzi finished loading the explosives in moments. I peered through the gate's crack into the dark Yin Palace, gritted my teeth, and thought: thirty-six defeats have already been suffered—only this final hesitation remains. No matter what, I must bring this head out. I waved; the three of us descended from beneath the heavenly gate into the water and retreated backward along our original path.

Swimming near the spring, sure enough, the vortex's suction had vanished, and the water flowed upward in reverse surge. We rode the upward-rolling current, swimming back to the external pond; here, the water level kept rising, but due to the funnel-shaped surrounding wall, many large and small fissure caves existed, usually covered by vines and silt. Now, as the water rose, they seeped in, so the surface rise wasn't as bad as we'd feared.

We found a stone plank "Plank Road" near the water's surface and climbed up. Though already far from that gloomy, dark underground royal tomb, we felt no sense of seeing daylight again—the outside sky was still as black as a pot's bottom; in the darkness, the Waterfall Group's roar sounded like thunder, dark clouds pressing down, making breathing feel constantly difficult.

At about halfway up, I felt the rumbling water sound gradually fade, and we could hear each other speak. I told Pangzi and Shirley Yang: "First climb back to Lingyun Palace, then find a way to escape the Insect Valley; the Toad Palace in the Gourd Cave can wait."

Shirley Yang also understood our situation—the corpse hole would catch up in an instant; we ourselves could barely cope, other matters must be postponed. Thus, she followed me and Pangzi, continuing along the Plank Road, winding upward—suddenly her footing gave way, and she knelt to the ground.

I hurried to help her up, but discovered Shirley Yang could no longer stand; I exclaimed in alarm: "Are your thighs cramping?"

Shirley Yang covered her knees and said: "It feels like my lower leg… has lost sensation." Her voice trembled, full of dread.

Pangzi shone his flashlight; I examined Shirley Yang's leg and found a palm-sized black bruise on her snow-white calf, as dark as if soaked in ink. Pangzi and I cried out simultaneously: "Corpse rot!"

My heart burned with urgency; I told Shirley Yang: "My grandaunt, your leg was bitten by corpse moths—this could be fatal… Do we still have glutinous rice?"

Suddenly, from the cliff beneath our feet came a series of sounds like fingernails scratching the wall—that enormous meat-cabinet-like corpse hole had silently caught up to us, and the distance was now within ten meters.

If caught here on this cliff, as sheer as carved, where even apes and birds sigh in despair, escape would be utterly impossible. Pangzi and I exchanged a glance; we both knew the final moment had come. Weighing pros and cons, we had to abandon this head—but even sacrificing the pawn to save the king might not see us through this crisis.

But at this moment, I saw a blood-red fissure appear in the black sky—our time estimate was off; outside, it was already daylight, merely obscured by the "Black Pig Crossing the River" cloud layer, which was truly thick; viewed from within the funnel, it still seemed night. But now, the rising earth qi split a rift in the black clouds; the celestial spectacle made us stare agape—was this not exactly the scene of heavenly collapse depicted in Xian King's Heavenly Stem Diagram?

I have never seen what a true "Hui Chen Pearl" looks like; I only saw a fake one in the Jingjue Relics of the Sand Sea—made of rare ancient jade, slightly smaller than a human head, with patterns and texture indistinguishable from a human eye, but I do not know its true size, nor whether it could truly be held in hand.

Yet now there was no time for careful discernment; I immediately took out the corpse-binding rope, looped it around Xian King's corpse's neck, intending to drag him from the inner coffin and have Pangzi pull him up—but after I set the corpse-binding rope and pulled backward twice, jerked twice, the corpse remained utterly unmoved.

I puzzled in my heart—where had the strangeness come from again? I could only raise my hand and slap Xian King's corpse several times, then pull outward again—still no movement at all.

Having no better option and no time to investigate, I resolved to solve it on the spot: from my carrying bag, I took out a peachwood nail and drove it straight into the corpse's heart; then, with both hands outstretched, I palpated from head to toe over Xian King's corpse. When I reached his left hand, I saw it, like the right, tightly clenched into a fist—clearly something was held within.

I immediately took out two more peachwood nails, secured the corpse's elbow joints, and forced his fingers open, silently praying that the "Phoenix Gallbladder" would be here—but upon opening, it felt as if a basin of cold water had been poured over my head.

In Xian King's left hand, he gripped a deteriorated peach pit—unexpected, yet not strange; Chinese people hold special feelings for peaches, regarding them as divine objects that ward off evil, avert disaster, and prolong life; thus, ancient handicrafts often feature peach-shaped items. It is said Emperor Wu of Han reigned longest in the Western Han; after ruling long, he wished to become an immortal, so he frequently mobilized masses to worship the Five Great Mountains, and sent people nationwide to seek the elixir of immortality. This devotion finally moved the Queen Mother of the West on Kunlun Mountain; on the Qixi night of the Yuanfeng Era's first year, she rode a purple cloud carriage to the Weiyang Palace to meet Emperor Wu of Han. At the feast, the Queen Mother gave Emperor Liu Che four immortal peaches; he found them sweetly delicious, fragrant beyond compare, utterly unlike mundane things, and resolved to plant the peach pits in the human world—but learned such divine things could not survive in the human realm, and was deeply disappointed. Later, Emperor Wu of Han never achieved immortality, but those who lived to seventy in ancient times were rare—perhaps it was because they ate immortal peaches that they reached seventy; of course, this is merely a folk legend, yet the custom of emperors holding peach pits in hand at burial, originating long ago, was already widespread during the Eastern Zhou Warring States period—though peach pits, being plant matter, decompose easily, so later coffin openings rarely reveal them.

I dazed for a moment, then recalled this legend, and inwardly groaned; I had no choice but to try prying open Xian King's right hand—inside were many black jade finger rings, mixed with some black impurities; in the hurry, I had no time to consider what they were, and simply shoved them all into my carrying bag.

Pangzi shouted from above: "Commander Hu, no time left—hurry up, hurry up!"

I knew Pangzi's shout meant we had reached the point of no delay, yet the life-or-death "Hui Chen Pearl" still had no trace—perhaps it was because Xian King held that pearl in his mouth, causing his skull to turn so strange; without further ado, I might as well take this Xian King's head back for research.

Thus I shouted to Pangzi: "Throw down the entrenching shovel—I'll hold on for another ten damn seconds!" After catching the shovel Pangzi tossed down, I felt Xian King's neck—unlike his face, it had not petrified; I aimed and, with the American-style entrenching shovel's fully serrated side, I sawed wildly; upon encountering tough spots, I switched to the paratrooper knife to cut.

This was the corpse about to have its head severed by me—it suddenly shuddered violently; I sensed danger, broke out in a cold sweat, hastily seized the head, and scrambled upward. The bottom's cold smoke fire had already extinguished; without lowering my head, I could feel it: Xian King's headless corpse was now pursuing me.