Chapter 14: Seven Stars: Mute Oil Bottle

That guy coughed and said, "Comrades, I've dragged you into this. Looks like we're going to meet Marx. I, Fatty, have never been afraid of anything, but I really never thought I'd die like this."

He wore a set of black rodent-suit, so in the dark you couldn't see his build. When I looked closer, sure enough, he was a fair-skinned, chubby guy. I really never expected someone this fat could be a grave robber.

Panzi cursed loudly, "Damn it, Fatty, where the hell did you come from? I really want to strangle you!"

I saw the fire striker was almost out and I nearly cried, saying, "Hurry up and think of something, or no matter who strangles who, the bugs win!"

Panzi looked around, handed the short gun to the fat man, then passed the fire striker to me, saying, "Originally we could burn our clothes to buy some time, but the fire striker is too weak—we might die before it even catches. I'll count to three; I'll distract these bugs, and you two sprint to that wall base, make a human ladder, and climb up. There's enough time. I'm fast; once you're up, I'll run over. Not a second can be wasted!"

Before I could refuse, Panzi suddenly leaped, diving straight into the pile of corpse beetles. Immediately, the beetles surged up like a tide, and sure enough a path opened before us. I yelled and tried to save him, but the fat man grabbed me and said, "Go up!"

He dragged me a few steps, boosted me, and I used the momentum to climb up, then reached down and pulled him up too.

I looked down—Panzi was covered in corpse beetles, writhing in pain on the ground. I almost cried. The fat man shouted, "Get up! Just a few steps! Hurry!" But Panzi couldn't get up anymore; beetles were already burrowing into his mouth. Several times he tried to stand, only to be knocked down. I never thought these bugs were so aggressive. Panzi curled up, watching us yelling above, and shook his head in agony.

Finally, his face was completely covered in beetles. I saw him extend a hand, making a gun gesture. That hand was already covered in wounds. I knew he wanted us to shoot him.

The fat man couldn't bear to watch. He gritted his teeth and yelled, "Brother, sorry about this!"

Just then, another mechanism sound came from above, and another person jumped down. Note: he jumped, not fell, so he landed steadily, but the impact was heavy. He crouched to absorb the shock, one hand on the ground, exhaled. The corpse beetles froze for a second, then suddenly went crazy, scattering everywhere, desperately trying to get away from this man. The tide of big bugs that had surged toward us now receded just as quickly, disappearing into several hook holes deep in the wall.

I looked closely and was overjoyed—wasn't that Poker-face? The fat man also gasped, "My god, this guy isn't dead after all!" But when I stared harder, I felt uneasy. The clothes on his upper body were torn to shreds, and he was covered in blood—looked seriously injured. Poker-face spotted Panzi, who was barely breathing on the ground, quickly went over and carried him on his back. We saw there was hope, hurriedly reached down—one grabbed Panzi, the other grabbed Poker-face—and pulled them up.

This was truly a reversal of fortune, a deliverance from despair. Just moments ago it was a hopeless situation, and now suddenly the tables had turned. We hurriedly tried to check Panzi's injuries, but Poker-face waved his hand and said, "Quick, leave. It's coming."

Though I didn't understand what he meant, the fat man had already jumped up, clearly feeling the same way. He hoisted Panzi onto his back. I picked up Panzi's miner's lamp to lead the way, and the four of us ran straight into the depths of the stone passage.

I don't know how long we ran; I lost track of how many turns we took. Poker-face stopped the fat man and said, "That's enough. The design of this stone passage is strange; it shouldn't be able to catch up for a while." We stopped and realized we were drenched in sweat. I quickly asked what that thing was. Poker-face sighed, didn't answer me, and laid Panzi flat on the ground. I thought to myself: right, the most important thing is to check Panzi's injuries. This time Panzi was really badly hurt—almost every inch of him had cuts. If we bandaged him up, even with enough bandages, he'd turn into a mummy. I looked; luckily most wounds weren't deep, but a few on his neck and abdomen were almost fatal. It seemed these bugs were very good at attacking soft spots. I remembered the corpse I'd touched earlier—the abdomen had been bitten the worst.

Poker-face pressed his abdomen with his hand, drew the black-gold ancient knife from his waist, and said, "Help me hold him down."

I was shocked, had a bad feeling, and quickly asked, "What are you going to do?"

He stared at Panzi's belly like a butcher eyeing his victim. Using his two unusually long fingers, he traced around the wound and said to me, "One got inside his stomach."

"No way," I said doubtfully, then looked at the fat man. The fat man had already pinned Panzi's legs: "Judging by your reactions, I trust him more."

I had no choice but to hold down Panzi's hands. Poker-face slashed open the wound on his belly with the knife, then plunged his fingers into the wound with lightning speed. He probed, hooked, and pulled out a green corpse beetle. Those moves were incredibly fast, but Panzi still arched up in pain, his strength so great I could barely hold him.

"This one suffocated inside his stomach," Poker-face tossed the dead beetle away. "The wound is too deep. If not disinfected, it might get infected—very troublesome."

The fat man took the blank bullet from the gun and said, "How about we learn from the Americans' advanced experience and put this blank round to real use? We unscrew the bullet head and burn his wound with gunpowder?"

Panzi grabbed the fat man's foot, gritting his teeth in pain as he cursed, "I'm not shot! You want to... burn my intestines off?" He took a roll of bandage from his pants pocket, still with bloodstains—looked like he'd taken it from the wound on his head—and said, "Good thing I didn't throw it away. Tie it up for me first, tight. This injury is nothing!"

The fat man said, "Individual heroism is out of style, comrade. I can see your intestines already. Stop toughing it out." He was about to go ahead, but me and Poker-face quickly stopped him. I said, "Don't mess around. If the bullet burns his internal organs, it's over. Let's wrap it up first."

The fat man thought about it and agreed. We quickly bandaged Panzi's wounds, then tore a few more strips from my shirt and wrapped another layer around. Panzi was nearly fainting from the pain. I watched him leaning against the wall, gasping, and I was deeply moved. If I hadn't dropped that fire striker, he might not have ended up like this.

At that moment, I remembered something and asked the fat man, "By the way, who the hell are you?"

The fat man was about to speak when Poker-face made a silencing gesture. Immediately I heard a hair-raising clicking sound coming from one end of the corridor.