Panzi noticed that I looked unwell and suggested I take a break. I was indeed feeling a bit overwhelmed, so I sat down on a wine vat to catch my breath. The others tidied up their gear again, while Shunzi, who had never been to such a place, picked up a cold firecracker and curiously looked around. He said, “I really had no idea that there was such a place buried in Changbai Mountain. This time, I’ve really learned something new.”

“There’s more down there that you haven’t seen,” Panzi said. “I suspect that the treasures the Jin Dynasty plundered from the Northern and Southern Song Dynasties, along with the tributes from the Southern Song, either fell into Genghis Khan’s hands or are definitely in this place.”

“Don’t think too optimistically,” the Fatty said. “Most of the tributes from the Southern Song were silks and satins. These things don’t keep well and are hard to sell. Even if there are some left, they’re probably mostly rotten by now. We shouldn’t always be fixated on the treasures in the tomb; it’s better to consider the immediate benefits.”

As he spoke, he started to examine the wine vats, trying to move one to see what was written on the bottom.

I told him, “These vats are too crude; don’t bother. Even if you gave them away, no one would want them for selling sheep offal or pickled vegetables.”

The Fatty said, “Who said I was interested in this vat? Don’t think your Fat Grandpa only likes valuable items.” He used a dagger to break the seal on one vat of wine, and a peculiar smell immediately wafted out. It wasn’t exactly fragrant, nor was it foul; after smelling it for a while, it became quite intriguing, though I had no idea what kind of wine it was.

I had read about ancient tomb wines in many texts, but this was the first time I had seen it in person, so I was curious and leaned in to take a look. The wine was black and very pure, with almost all the moisture gone, leaving only half a vat. Anyone who knows wine would recognize this as a characteristic of aged wine; this half vat contained the essence of the wine, which was indeed tempting. However, considering how long it had been stored, I wondered what its shelf life had been at the time.

I remembered that the oldest wine in China was unearthed from a tomb dating back to the late Shang Dynasty in Henan in 1980 and is currently housed in the Palace Museum, with an estimated history of over 3,000 years. I heard that when it was opened, the aroma immediately overwhelmed several people; I wondered if those people had tasted it at the time, as that would have been a good reference.

The Fatty dipped his knife into it, wanting to take a sip, but I grabbed his arm. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? It’s expired food; be careful of food poisoning.”

The Fatty replied, “You don’t understand. Cave-aged wine can last for thousands of years without going bad. I’ve heard that the dregs from a thousand-year-old wine can even grant immortality. Our ancestors used to dig for treasures, and some even went for that wine. Tasting it won’t be a problem; the worst that can happen is a stomachache.”

Before he could finish, Panzi came over and kicked over the vat of wine with a ‘thud’, spilling the black liquid and the dregs all over the ground. A rich, strange aroma immediately filled the air. The Fatty was about to explode with anger when Panzi said to him, “Hold on, don’t get mad just yet. Look at what’s in the dregs!”

The Fatty and I turned to see that inside the black, mud-like dregs, there were many dark red, fluffy substances that looked like scraps of low-quality blankets—something we often see in waterlogged coffins.

The Fatty poked at it with his dagger, and his expression changed. I leaned in to take a closer look, and suddenly, my scalp tingled, and I felt a wave of intense nausea, almost ready to throw up.

The red, fluffy substance is the body of an infant that hasn’t fully decomposed; the flesh has completely dissolved into the alcohol, but the skin and bones remain, forming a clump that looks like shredded cotton.

Panzi looked at us, who were dumbfounded, squatted down, and said, “This kind of liquor is called ‘Monkey Head Wine.’ This isn’t human; it’s an underdeveloped monkey. It’s a type of wine from Guangxi, possibly a stored wine that was offered as tribute during the heyday of the Jurchens in the Jin Dynasty to the Southern Song.” As he spoke, he patted the fat man and, using a dagger, poked at the clump of ‘cotton,’ making a gesture as if to invite someone to partake. “I don’t know if it can grant you immortality, but I’ve heard it has great effects on enhancing virility, so don’t hold back.”

The fat man disgustedly swatted it away with his knife, cursed, and asked Panzi, “How do you know so much? Have you drunk this wine before?”

“I’ve seen this kind of jar in Nanguo, Shanxi. At that time, Dakuai and another buddy of ours took out a jar. I always thought it was inappropriate, so I didn’t touch it, but they didn’t care. In the end, they drank it down to the bottom before discovering what was underneath. Later, Dakuai ended up in the hospital for two months because of it.” Speaking of Dakuai, Panzi became somewhat sentimental: “I’ve actually been quite nice to you guys. If I really wanted to harm you, I would wait for you to take a sip before knocking over the jar. You’d have a real show to watch.”

The fat man’s face twitched; he wanted to explode but had no excuse, looking quite comical.

At that moment, the cold flames gradually extinguished, and darkness enveloped us. We turned on our flashlights again, and the atmosphere around us suddenly became oppressive.

After resting for a moment, we resumed our journey. The fat man wanted his beloved rifle back and pulled the bolt, which is actually a habitual action for those with guns to boost their courage. He glanced at the two sides of the tomb passage and quietly asked, “Which way should we go?”

We all paused, and at that moment, Shunzi pointed to the left. “This way seems a bit safer.”

In situations like this, it would usually be Panzi and me responding, but now Shunzi popped up with a remark, leaving the fat man confused. “Why?”

Shunzi shone the flashlight on the ground at the entrance of the left passage, and we saw that in a very discreet spot, there was an inscription of a foreign character. “I just happened to see this. I think someone is trying to guide you,” he said to us.