Chapter Forty-Two: Suddenly Awakened Again

I was completely stunned, wanting to call out to Fatty, but I found myself unable to utter a sound.

In truth, Fatty looked absolutely ridiculous, and I even felt a flicker of amusement. Yet, the more he carried on like that, the more unsettling the atmosphere became. I couldn't just stand there watching him, though; I had to try something.

"Fat, fat, Fatty."

I whispered his name. It was as if he heard me, and yet, as if he hadn't. He turned his face toward me, using those chubby hands to mimic a woman’s bashful smile by her chin. It was grotesque and affected, a trace of melancholy lingering in the corners of his eyes.

My head began to throb.

Damn it, what was I supposed to do now? There was no way out, and things that could tear us limb from limb were lurking all around. Fatty had barely escaped death, only to now act like he was possessed or having a gender crisis. I figured I didn't need to worry about my father’s world anymore; just walking through these places, it was only a matter of time before I ended up in a mental institution. Standing in the depths of an ancient tomb, watching a naked man perform opera—I doubt any grave robber in the last hundred years had enjoyed such a privilege.

I suddenly wondered if Fatty was already dead and if I was seeing his ghost. I shone my flashlight; he still had a shadow. Most importantly, although he had lost a lot of blood, his complexion wasn't too bad, and he lacked that pallor of the dead. I called his name a few more times, but his reaction remained as if he were performing on stage.

I managed to endure it at first, but soon, my anxiety got the better of me, and I slowly shuffled toward him. Fatty showed no reaction to my approach, still striking that "pity-me" pose. Once I was close, I wanted to reach out and touch him to see what would happen, but I was terrified, so I used the flashlight to poke him instead. It was like a coward trying to light a powerful firecracker, testing it for ages before finally making contact.

The flashlight touched Fatty’s waist, and he didn't seem to feel it. I poked him harder a couple of times with the same result. Feeling that he wasn't in any immediate danger, I shoved him firmly with the flashlight while calling his name.

The push made him stumble. He swayed forward a few steps, then suddenly, his whole body gave a jolt and went still.

"Fatty, are you alright?" I asked, my heart sinking.

Fatty stared straight at me, his eyes wide. In an instant, all the bizarre expressions vanished. He looked blank, blinking and slightly parting his lips, but making no sound. I was truly panicked now; I didn't care if he was man or ghost. I lunged forward, grabbed his arms, and slapped his face repeatedly. As soon as I touched his skin, I was certain the bastard was still alive. But I slapped him for a long time, and he just kept blinking at me.

"Damn it! You haven't really lost your mind, have you? Fatty, wake up! You weigh as much as an old sow; I can't carry you!" As I spoke, in a fit of desperation, I swung a heavy slap at him.

But just as my hand was about to connect with his face, he suddenly grabbed my wrist in mid-air.

"Stop hitting me, Fatty woke up just now."

"Damn it," I said, "when did you wake up?"

"Right when you pushed me just now." Fatty breathed heavily, looking utterly bewildered. As he spoke, he paced back and forth, as if searching for something.

I pushed him again. "What the hell was wrong with you? Singing and acting like a woman?"

Fatty frowned and scratched his hair. "I don't know what happened to me. Damn, I was just lying there, thinking I was a goner, but then suddenly..."

He paused, and I urged him to go on.

"I saw a woman walking toward me. At first, I thought she was a ghost, but soon she started taking off my clothes—she basically stripped me bare. I thought, 'Damn, is she trying to molest me?' But then, she started treating my wounds."

Fatty looked down at his body. "She pulled out that bone and sprinkled some kind of powder on the wound. Soon, it didn't hurt as much."

"Then why were you singing opera here?"

"I don't know how to explain it. After she bandaged me, she started singing and dancing. I thought it was interesting, so I just copied her for a bit. I don't know when, but the next thing I knew, I saw you, and the woman was gone."

"Are you dreaming?"

"Impossible. If I were dreaming, how do you explain these wounds?" Fatty’s eyes shifted. "Could it really be that a female ghost helped me?"

He looked regretful. "Damn, if you’d come a bit later, I might have been able to get her contact information."

"Go to hell! If I’d come later, you’d probably have had your life force drained by that ghost." I cursed, but I still felt the whole thing was too suspicious. The woman Fatty described was strange, and if he was mimicking her performance, it meant the voice I’d heard in the King of Yelang’s tomb wasn't a hallucination—someone really was nearby.

However, thinking over the events and looking at Fatty, the "female ghost" theory, as ridiculous as it sounded, was the only logical explanation.

"Hey, Fatty, do you know what opera you were singing?" I asked.

"I don't know the specific title, but judging by the accent, it was definitely Yue Opera. I spent some time in the South when I was younger, which is how I learned it."

"Yue Opera? Yue... Yue..." A thought suddenly struck me. "Yue Opera! Isn't that the same kind from the video Wei Lin mentioned? Could that woman..."

"What are you talking about?" Fatty asked.

I remained silent for a moment, then recounted what I had experienced on the other side. Fatty gasped, immediately wanting to lean over to see the corpse of the giant rat. As he moved, he let out an "Eh?"

"What is this?" Fatty pointed to the stone slab between our feet.

I looked down and noticed a faint, blurry pattern beneath us. We both crouched down and realized it was a totem drawn in cyan pigment. It was incredibly complex; at first glance, it had no discernible shape, but the longer you looked, the more it seemed to resemble a human face.

"Hey, Fatty, you were standing on this thing the whole time. Do you think this pattern affected your mind?"

I realized my assessment was too simple, because Fatty really had been bandaged, which meant someone—or something—had been there.

Fatty was noncommittal. "Why don't you stand on it and see?"

Stand on it? Ha! I wasn't that stupid. If my theory was right, would I end up stripping and dancing too? And knowing Fatty, he would certainly enjoy watching that. I told him as much, and he rolled his eyes at me. "Damn, if you're a coward, just say so. Don't question your Fatty's character. Do you think I'm that kind of person?"

I couldn't be bothered to argue and kept studying the pattern. Fatty's wounds were serious; after a few words, he seemed unable to hold on anymore. I helped him to the brick wall to rest and handed him some water and food from my pack.

As he chewed on a compressed biscuit, he sighed, "Someone like you, it’s a total waste that you're a man. If you were a woman, I guarantee every nobleman in Beijing would be chasing after you, and I’d be the one leading the pack."

"Damn you, be careful you don't choke." I couldn't stand the sight of all that white flab on him, so, remembering I had a tank top underneath, I took off my work shirt and handed it to him.

Fatty took the shirt and laughed, "See? You won't even admit it."

"Damn, you..." I was about to curse again, but suddenly, something fell out of my shirt pocket.

Fatty picked it up. "Isn't this the envelope you brought out from the blood-cedar? By the way, what does it say?" He reached to open it.

I snatched the envelope back. "None of your business."

Fatty squinted at me. "If it's none of my business, then it's your business. Hmm, this thing appearing in a place like that—it couldn't have been left for you by your family, could it?"

The bastard was too sharp. In the time it took me to speak, he had guessed most of it.

"Damn, it's complicated. I'll figure it out and then tell you."

Actually, it wouldn't have mattered if Fatty read the contents, but I felt there were too many issues involved, especially the part mentioning my father. Under the pressure, I didn't dare show it to anyone. Fatty didn't have the energy to argue, so he just put on the shirt and kept eating.

I walked back to the pattern on the floor, preparing to put the envelope into my pants pocket. As the front of the envelope flickered before my eyes, I suddenly noticed a mark where the postage stamp should have been. I hadn't paid it any mind before, but now, as I looked at that mark, my eyelids began to twitch violently.

"This..." My gaze shifted back and forth between the floor and the envelope. After comparing them dozens of times, I finally realized that, aside from the size, the two patterns were exactly the same.