Uncle Three was completely stunned at that moment. His mind buzzed, and the hair on his scalp stood on end. He shouted and let go of his grip, causing the dark door he had lifted to crash down again, making a loud bang as it struck the strange face.

He didn’t care about how hard he had hit it; he instinctively took a few steps back, distancing himself from the stone coffin, his heart nearly leaping out of his throat.

He thought, what on earth is that thing! Could it be that in this ancient tomb that has already leaked its yin energy, there is still a zongzi? Impossible! Those zongzi are lifeless; once the tomb chamber is opened and the tomb’s energy leaks out, the air from the outside will circulate in, and even the most powerful corpse would inevitably collapse and start to decay again in a short time. It makes no sense for a corpse to transform after so many years.

Moreover, the strange face he had glimpsed just a moment ago was too difficult to describe. Uncle Three had never seen such a terrifying visage; it was definitely not an ordinary zongzi.

Could this be the legendary blood zongzi? Uncle Three suddenly thought. But as he pondered, he felt uncertain.

In the Changsha area, there are many legends about blood corpses, generally referring to ancient tombs dug up in red clay soil. Regardless of the conditions within the tomb, they are all referred to as blood corpse tombs.

Red clay is also known as blood soil; when you dig into it, the mud appears to be blood-stained. No one can explain how this soil is formed, but all schools of feng shui agree on one thing regarding burying corpses in blood soil: it is suitable for deep burial. Being buried in such a place carries heavy energy, and descendants are bound to become extremely distinguished, but all relatives will die out. It’s said that one might even become an emperor, but all family members will eventually be cursed to death.

Even with such legends, many wealthy families still seek out this kind of eerie terrain to ensure their descendants become prominent. To avoid the negative energy, they would find a poor family with the same surname before the burial, adopt their child, and then raise them in their own household.

However, throughout the vast world, treasure troves and cursed sites are equally rare, and blood soil is even scarcer, making it harder to find than ordinary dragon veins. Eventually, many half-hearted feng shui masters came to believe that as long as it was red clay, it must be blood soil, leading to the assumption that there must be ancient tombs beneath red clay, and ancient tombs must belong to wealthy families with rich burial goods. This gave rise to legends like “blood corpses protect treasures.”

In modern Chinese history, there was an extremely important figure whose main grave was situated in blood soil. At that time, a master set up a feng shui arrangement to ensure the burial took place at a specific time. It is said that the grandfather of that figure might not have died a natural death.

This figure later held immense power, but as the feng shui principles suggest, the negative energy was too heavy, and his direct relatives basically all died out. It wasn’t until later, when his ancestral grave was disturbed, that things began to improve, but his fortunes also declined.

Because blood soil is a mix of truth and falsehood, with the false being more common, that is why the grandfather’s grandfather dared to take the risk to dig, hoping for a stroke of luck, not expecting that one shovel would unearth a genuine entity.

The true blood corpse tomb is extremely dangerous, as evidenced by the complete lack of any written or oral records about blood corpses in the world. Almost no one who has encountered a blood corpse has managed to leave unscathed; my grandfather is a particularly rare exception. However, his notes are unclear, and he himself does not fully understand what a blood corpse is, nor does he know how to counter it. If what lies beneath is indeed a blood corpse, ignoring why it is still here, figuring out how to escape is already a significant problem.

The old man and his companions entered this tomb last time, undoubtedly carrying black donkey hooves, and at that time, each of them also had 24-shot revolvers. Despite such equipment, not a single one of them managed to come out, indicating just how perilous the situation was at that time. My own situation is even worse; I only have a machete at my waist. Trying to use a machete to deal with a blood corpse is akin to sharpening a knife, which is the most foolish act and utterly useless.

In the second or so that my third uncle retreated, his mind was racing, but he had no clue about the blood corpse and couldn’t come up with a single plan. Just as he was in a state of panic, suddenly a series of grinding sounds came from inside the coffin, and then he saw the stone slab covering the dark chamber being pushed up by something.

His heart sank; this thing was actually trying to come out! He was momentarily stunned, unsure of what to think. In a moment of heated impulse, he felt a surge of murderous intent. He steeled himself, shouted loudly, and actually jumped into the coffin, using all his strength to stomp down on the lifted stone slab.

Looking down, he saw a dark green, shriveled hand stretching out from beneath the slab, with nails twice the length of the fingers. The entire hand looked like a rusted bronze artifact, covered in greenish spots. Now, with his weight pressing down, it got stuck in the gap.

Seeing that hand made my third uncle’s skin crawl, and he tried hard to stomp down to crush it, but the hand was as hard as steel; he stomped several times with no effect. Then, a force from beneath the stone slab pushed up fiercely. My third uncle, already unsteady, nearly fell over; he quickly crouched down to stabilize himself, gripping the sides of the coffin.

This was a struggle between life and death. My third uncle knew that as soon as that thing emerged from the coffin, given the environment here, his death would be inevitable—there was absolutely no chance of escape. However, human strength is limited; after a few pushes, his arms were already at their limit, and he could not muster any more strength. Yet the stone slab continued to rise little by little, and soon, that grotesque face squeezed out from beneath the slab, emotionless as it stared at my third uncle.

Inside the coffin was pitch black, making it hard to see. The ghostly face looked hazy, and in the eerie silence of the dark chamber, not a single sound could be heard. This scene was truly bizarre and inexplicable.

My third uncle’s scalp suddenly felt numb, and every pore in his body seemed to shrink into his flesh. He thought to himself that he was doomed and wondered what to do. He looked down to check his waist, hoping to find some explosives, already contemplating a mutual destruction scenario.

After searching for a while and not finding any explosives, my third uncle noticed the liquor bottle strapped to his waist. The earthy man always kept liquor on him, as it could ward off the cold and bolster his courage.

Uncle Three saw the wine bottle and suddenly had a flash of inspiration, coming up with an idea.

In this world, everything is born from water and destroyed by fire. He had heard a Taoist say that the most direct way to deal with zongzi (sticky rice dumplings) was through a myriad of methods. The black donkey’s hoof, for instance, was a last resort. Generally, when opening a coffin and noticing signs of corpse transformation in the zongzi, one should first pour white liquor over it. Then, using two corpse-lifting straps, one could toss the body out of the coffin and set it ablaze, ensuring that no malevolent spirit could rise.

With this thought in mind, he immediately shifted his weight, pulled the wine bottle from his waist with his left hand, and smashed it against the creature’s grotesque face. The bottle shattered, and the liquor splashed all over the monster’s face. Then, he took out a fire starter and struck it against the side. He then reached toward that strange face, thinking to himself, “Sorry, brother, it’s not that I want to burn you; it’s just that we humans and ghosts are on different paths. You can just rest easy as a candle.”

As the fire starter approached the monster’s face, the flames illuminated the eerie features more clearly. At that moment, Uncle Three suddenly halted his hand; he realized that something about that face seemed a bit off.