Just now, when I opened the secret door, I had a brief encounter with that thing, lasting about half a second. Coupled with the scare from that moment, I couldn’t get a good look at its appearance; all I had in my mind was a vague impression. But now, in this standoff, amidst the flickering flames, that bizarre face was clearly imprinted in front of my uncle’s eyes.

At first glance, my uncle found it terrifying. He had seen all sorts of zongzi, both wet and dry, some without heads, some peaceful and some grotesque. He had a naturally tough disposition and hadn’t been afraid of such things since he was fifteen, but this face was just too eerie.

The monster’s face was bronze-colored, with shriveled flesh and skin that was cracked into scales. One side was peeling away, and its eyes had no pupils, yet somehow, it felt like it was staring right at him.

My uncle pondered that this didn’t resemble a zongzi at all. No matter how ugly a zongzi might be, it at least looked somewhat human. But this thing looked like a snake! Could it be a monster?

What puzzled my uncle even more was that the more he looked at this face, the more he felt an odd sensation in his heart, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what that feeling was, causing beads of cold sweat to form on his neck.

After a moment of being frozen in place and unable to act, his own hand began to feel weaker. The monster’s expressionless face squeezed out a bit more, and my uncle knew he couldn’t keep pondering aimlessly. He quickly threw the fire stick at that face, and flames erupted immediately.

The liquor my uncle liked was a type of green “shaodaozi,” which people from Shanghai seemed to call green bean liquor. He drank the homemade brew from the countryside, which was high-proof and could ignite easily. He still enjoyed this liquor, but for someone his age, it had become like a slow poison.

That strange face was engulfed in flames, becoming indistinguishable. The surrounding objects began to hiss and emit white smoke, and the flesh started to melt, releasing an extremely unpleasant odor.

Most of the burial items in the coffin were covered in damp, rotting silk, which also began to crackle as it burned, though it didn’t ignite directly.

My uncle tried to hold his breath. After about six or seven minutes of burning, the alcohol was consumed, and he noticed that the upward force was slowly dissipating. As the flames grew smaller, the face was almost entirely corroded, revealing a charred skeleton inside.

After burning for another ten minutes or so, the flames finally extinguished, and my uncle relaxed his feet, realizing the force beneath had vanished.

Fearing something might change, he still didn’t loosen his grip. One hand remained braced, while the other pulled out the machete from his waist to poke at the skeleton.

After prodding it a couple of times and finding no reaction, my uncle struck the neck with force, severing the cervical vertebrae, and finally breathed a sigh of relief, confirming that this thing was truly dead.

Once he relaxed, he felt completely drained of strength. The power in his hands quickly vanished, and as his legs weakened, he collapsed inside the coffin, gasping for air. Thankfully, he had been clever enough to have something to boast about when he got back.

But what exactly was this thing? Such a terrifying corpse—could it really be a blood corpse? He had initially thought a blood corpse would be covered in blood, but this didn’t seem to be the case.

Lost in thought, he picked up a flashlight from the side, bit it between his teeth, and once again lifted the stone slab of the secret door beneath the stone coffin.

The headless blood dumpling lay flat under the stone slab; it was the corpse of a burly male, whose clothing had decayed almost completely, leaving only many strips of cloth stuck to his body. His entire body exhibited a bronze rust color, and most terrifyingly, it was covered with numerous skin folds resembling eyes.

My third uncle pressed on its chest and felt it was as hard as iron. He couldn’t help but feel relieved; if he had given in earlier and let it out, even a gun might not have been able to handle it, and he would have surely faced a life-and-death situation.

He jumped into the coffin, stepping on both sides, wanting to pull the blood corpse out for a closer look. At that moment, my third uncle suddenly froze, an extreme chill surged from the soles of his feet to his forehead.

He suddenly noticed that the right arm of this blood dumpling, which was curled up under the stone slab, had only a section left! The part below the elbow had vanished without a trace.

My third uncle’s heart sank, and his mind became chaotic. He immediately bent down to examine the断口 of the severed hand, only to see that the flesh was indeed like cotton, presenting a burst-like shape. Suddenly, my third uncle’s whole body went limp, and he collapsed to the ground.

I initially thought my third uncle’s narrative was overly verbose, but upon hearing that the blood dumpling only had one hand, I instantly understood why he was being so detailed.

The wound, resembling cotton and exhibiting a burst-like shape, could only be caused by gunfire at close range, meaning that the blood dumpling’s hand had been severed by a gunshot!

Considering these circumstances, combined with the notes in my grandfather’s journal and my third uncle’s expression, I could roughly guess the development of the situation, and I immediately felt a chilling dread creeping up my back.

However, if things had truly developed this way, then the entire matter was simply too incredible, almost like a plot from a supernatural novel; I found it hard to believe.

My third uncle patted his pockets, trying to find a cigarette, but it was clear he had none left. I checked my back pocket and found half a pack that I had gotten from the胖子 while having fun at the bar, and I handed it to my third uncle.

He lit up again, took a deep drag, and then said, “When I saw that blood dumpling, I understood that your grandfather, my old man, might have written something in that old notebook that had some hidden truth. I also suddenly realized why, when I asked him about what happened back then, he didn’t want to talk about it.”

At that time, no matter how we questioned my grandfather about the contents of his notes, he always replied with the same line, saying that it wasn’t a story for children. We had no idea why back then, but now we finally understood—yet the truth was so horrifying.

My third uncle looked at me and said, “Nephew, you’re so smart; believe me, without me saying it, you already know what’s going on.”

I didn’t dare nod, as the things I was thinking were simply too unbelievable.

From my grandfather’s notes, it could be inferred that before he pulled out the severed hand of the Warring States silk manuscript from the tomb, a series of box cannon shots had echoed within the ancient tomb. This meant that my uncle, in the tomb, might have had his right hand severed because of that volley of box cannons.

And the blood dumpling in the dark chamber of the tomb also lacked a right hand, with a wound that appeared cotton-like and burst-like. The conclusion could only be one: that blood dumpling was not an ancient corpse, but rather the transformed body of my uncle!

According to my inference, the sequence of events might have unfolded like this: When they descended into the theft tunnel, they must have discovered the secret chamber beneath the coffin, just like Uncle Three did. Given the personalities of my uncles and aunts as described in the notes, he would have been the one eager to take the lead, likely rushing ahead of everyone else and being the first to reach the secret chamber beneath the coffin.

It was in that chamber that he discovered the scroll of silk from the Warring States period. Just as he was about to take the scroll and exit the chamber, something terrifying suddenly occurred. When the incident arose, he should have had some room to respond, which is why he was able to extend his hand out of the chamber. However, by the time he thought of a way to escape, it might have already been too late. In a desperate situation, either he himself or Great-Grandfather had to shoot to sever his hand.

His severed hand was dragged out of the ancient tomb by Grandfather, while Uncle was trapped inside the secret chamber, ultimately transforming into that horrifying monster. Meanwhile, Great-Grandfather and Great-Great-Grandfather, who were trying to rescue Uncle, also got caught up in the incident and died by the side of the coffin.

However, the blood-red entity that chased out of the tomb and the later giant corpse with a grotesque face remain unexplained. I suspect that the blood-red entity might have been Uncle, who had been affected but still retained some consciousness, but at that moment, Grandfather could never have imagined that, mistaking him for a monster within the ancient tomb.

Of course, whether things happened this way is known only to those involved. Even if this speculation makes sense, it remains just speculation. I tentatively shared my thoughts, and Uncle Three looked at me with a complex expression before nodding.

At that moment, a question occurred to me, and I asked, “But if Grandfather told us ‘this story is not for children,’ it indicates he knew that he might have shot his own brother. Logically, he shouldn’t have known about this. Did Grandfather go back to that ancient tomb afterward? And is it that the notes didn’t record what happened next because the facts were too horrifying?” Uncle Three furrowed his brow and replied, “I have the same question, but that point can no longer be investigated. The old man has already died, and we will never know what the real situation was at that time.”

I asked, “So what happened next? Did you go down to the secret chamber beneath the coffin?” Uncle Three took a deep drag on his cigarette, nearly finishing one-fifth of it, and said, “If you were me, would you be able to resist going down?”

I smiled wryly to myself, thinking that if I were him, I would have been scared to death when flipping the dark door and wouldn’t have had the chance to ponder whether to go down or not. I shook my head and said, “How can I compare to you? You know very well your nephew’s courage; let’s not dwell on that. Just tell me, what exactly is in that secret chamber?”

Uncle Three sighed and said, “I’ll show you something first, and then I’ll slowly tell you.” With that, he pulled out his backpack from the cabinet beside his hospital bed and took out a small ivory box.

I took it and looked; the box was an original enamel box from the Qing Dynasty, an unpainted blank box that was quite heavy. Upon opening it, I found a black, ugly pebble inside, resembling the kind often seen in piles of yellow sand at construction sites today.

“What’s this?” I asked curiously.
“This stone is what I took from that secret room,” my uncle replied.
I exclaimed, “Is it really this thing?” I looked closely at the stone but saw nothing unusual. Just as I was about to reach for it, my uncle quickly closed the box. “Don’t touch it; it’s a bit dangerous,” he said.
I handed the box back to him, puzzled. “It just looks like an ordinary stone. Is this really what was in that eerie secret room?”
My uncle sighed again, as older people often do. “Don’t underestimate it. I nearly lost my life trying to get this thing.”
After deducing the truth about the blood corpse, my uncle was so shocked that he sat on the ground for a long time, dazed. His mind was in turmoil as he stared at the entrance of the secret room, wondering what mysterious power lay within that darkness to transform a person into such a state.
Like me, my uncle was someone who had a fateful connection to the unknown and could not withstand the torment of curiosity. However, I was too timid, often suffering from both curiosity and fear. My uncle was different; after just a moment of hesitation, he decided to enter the secret room to find out the truth.
Looking back, it was actually a very unwise decision. It was probably only someone like my uncle who would make such a choice in that situation.
The reason my grandfather was reluctant to teach my uncle too many skills was because of his impulsive nature. As it turned out, my grandfather was quite accurate in judging people’s character, but unfortunately, the younger generation often did not heed the wisdom of the elderly.
After resting for a moment, my uncle began to prepare. First, he gathered the bones of our ancestors, removed his outer clothing, tore it, and wrapped the two corpses outside the coffin in the fabric. Then, wearing gloves, he used a binding strap to secure the blood corpse by its armpits and pulled it out of the coffin, respectfully placing it aside. He then returned the severed head to its place and bowed three times to the three corpses, saying, “Your unworthy descendant, Wu Sanxing, is dull-witted and has disturbed your remains. Please forgive me.”
After bowing, he tucked the knife back into his waist and took out a detonator to insert into his belt. He surveyed his entire body, ensuring there were no flaws.
He focused his mind and approached the coffin again, carefully lifting the secret door once more to peek inside.
Beneath the secret door was indeed a dark passage sloping downward. However, unexpectedly, the passage was very low, almost too narrow to crawl through.
The width and length of the passage matched that of the coffin, and the “blood dumpling” had just been lying within the passage. Fortunately, the space below was so cramped that the “blood dumpling,” despite its immense strength, could not exert itself. Otherwise, how could my uncle have managed to keep it subdued?
My uncle first lit a match and tossed it inside. The flame rolled along, falling deep into the passage before finally stopping, becoming a small light source that illuminated the area.
Then he touched the knife at his waist, muttered a prayer for his ancestors’ protection, took a deep breath, and cautiously curled his body, slowly crawling into the dark passage.

The dark passage was filled with an indescribable stench. Uncle San had to crawl down and hold his breath as he moved deeper inside. Once his body was fully in, he kicked the dark door above with his feet, and it flipped shut again.

Suddenly, the surroundings fell eerily silent, with only the crackling sound of the burning fire stick ahead. Uncle San felt a strange sense of tension; he was already drenched in cold sweat. He forced himself to calm down, took out his flashlight, and shone it forward.

The beam of the flashlight was much stronger than the fire stick, illuminating a considerable distance ahead. He saw that the secret passage was made up of black stone slabs, each about three meters long, connected end to end, extending deep into the darkness. The entire passage was very clean, and the surrounding black stone slabs were polished smooth, without any decorations. At first glance, it resembled an old-fashioned central air conditioning duct.

The size and color of the flame from the fire stick looked normal, suggesting that the air in the passage was connected to the outside and breathing should not be a problem.

Uncle San steadied his nerves, bit down on the flashlight, and began to crawl deeper into the passage.

I also had experience crawling through narrow passages and knew it was never easy. Although Uncle San was in much better shape than I was, after just a few steps, he felt his breath quickening. Plus, he had to remain vigilant of his surroundings, making it even more exhausting.

After about ten minutes of crawling, he reached a turn in the passage. Uncle San turned the corner, thinking the passage continued the same way, but upon turning, he found himself facing a black stone wall intricately carved with reliefs.

He was momentarily stunned, realizing after a long pause that the passage had come to an end.

What was going on? He felt dizzy, having initially thought there would be an exit at the end of the passage, leading to a secret chamber where all the secrets would be contained.

But now there was nothing; the passage extended only a little before a solid black stone wall blocked the way.

Could it be that his uncles triggered some mechanism when they entered, sealing off the passage?

Uncle San tapped the stone wall and found it seemed solid behind it. He examined the surrounding joints and concluded that this wall was permanently sealed here, meaning it wasn’t a mechanism; this must be the end of the passage. His uncles must have crawled to this point back then.

That was strange. If this was the end of the passage, then it had to be where his uncles had stolen the silk book. But there was nothing here. Where had the silk book been placed back then? Had it just been left on the ground?

Uncle San turned around, looking at the surroundings at the end of the passage, and then examined the stone wall that blocked the way.

At that moment, the reliefs on the stone wall caught his attention.

It depicted a deity with a human face and a bird’s body, resembling an owl. The human face was very peculiar, exaggeratedly carved, with a face the size of a basin, mouth open, flowing clouds for hair, expressionless, and indeterminate in gender.

(I gasped upon hearing this.)

Uncle San noticed a slight indentation at the mouth of the relief. He sketched it out and realized that the silk book might have been rolled up and placed inside the relief’s mouth.

However, the mouth of the relief was solid, meaning that after retrieving the silk book, no mechanism would be triggered.

He looked up again at other parts of the relief face: the nose, ears, and eyes. Finally, his gaze met the double eyes of the relief. The relief depicted a human face with a bird’s body and had four eyes, each carved with round pupils. Strangely, the pupils of the upper two eyes protruded outward, while those of the lower two eyes were sunken inward. In other words, it employed both intaglio and relief carving techniques.

This was something my uncle had never encountered before. Not to mention him, even I knew this was absolutely impossible. All reliefs are either entirely intaglio or entirely relief; they cannot be mixed together haphazardly.

My uncle leaned in closer to take a look and couldn’t help but exclaim, “Ah!” He discovered that the stone in the pupil area of the relief was not part of the whole but instead contained an ugly black pebble embedded within. Strangely, the pebbles in the upper two eyes were still intact, while the two in the lower eyes had been removed, leaving behind two spherical depressions.

As my uncle stared at those two eyes, clarity gradually dawned on him, and a bold hypothesis began to form in his mind.