Chapter Forty-Six: Curiosity (Can't Resist Any Longer, Begging for Votes)

I thought for a moment, “But all we have are entrenching tools. If we try to break through the wall, it’s going to be tough.”
Fatty pointed behind us. “We’ve got everything back there. Let’s dig out some big iron hammers, pick a spot, and give it a good beating. The breach doesn’t have to be that big, just enough for us to crawl through.”
I silently thought, if the hole is big enough for him to squeeze through, it probably won’t be small.
With that, Fatty led us into a side chamber behind us. As we hung up our torches, I was startled by the sight before me. The floor of the burial chamber was strewn with armor, helmets, and ancient weapons, most of them iron. The moment we stepped inside, a pungent smell of rust rushed into my nose, making me cough repeatedly.
Though everything was encrusted with rust, much of it seemed still usable. Fatty rummaged for a suitable weapon to smash the wall, and casually pressed a helmet onto his own head. Remembering how he’d said these armors were stripped from corpses, I felt a wave of nausea. I turned away, just as Peanut headed toward a corner. He moved aside some armor, and suddenly pulled out something from beneath.
As soon as Peanut lifted it, a cold gleam flashed in his hand.
He seemed to have found a blade, an odd one—rectangular, about half a meter long. It took me a moment to realize the handle was gone. Despite the missing grip, the blade itself was entirely free of rust, save for a layer of dust—it was nearly pristine. What chilled me was that the coldness emanating from the blade was identical to the murderous intent that occasionally flickered in Peanut’s eyes. Perhaps it was a case of like attracting like; Peanut seemed rather fond of it, wrapped it in cloth, and tucked it into his backpack.
A few seconds later, it occurred to me that his action amounted to stealing a national relic. But then I reconsidered—the two guys before me were grave robbers, after all. Coming into an ancient tomb and not taking a few things would seem odd. My thoughts were shaped by the education I’d received, but deep down, I knew that no matter the reason for this trip, I was now part of a tomb-robbing gang, and if caught, there’d be no good outcome.
Lost in these musings, Fatty had already found two short-handled war hammers. Seeing him heft them, I couldn’t help but recall Li Yuanba from television.
“There’s only two—what about mine?” I asked, watching Fatty hand one hammer to Peanut.
Fatty gave me a once-over and laughed, “You’re the lady here. Just grab a little iron rod and do your part. We men won’t judge.”
I cursed inwardly, but looking at the weapons scattered on the ground, I had no better option.
The three of us entered the side chamber before the iron door. In the torchlight, I saw chaos everywhere, piles of clothing littering the floor. Unlike the opposite room, most garments here were reduced to tattered strips. These seemed to be women’s clothes; some still showed traces of color. As I stared, Fatty suddenly began undressing before the wall.
“What are you doing?” My mind instantly raced, conjuring inappropriate thoughts for such a moment.
Fatty ignored me and relieved himself against the wall. Afterward, he turned to us and grinned, “Target marked. We can start now.”
Damn it, he was using his own urine to mark the spot for demolition. The idea was sound, but surely there were better ways to mark a spot—I was speechless.
Fatty told Peanut, “I’ll go first. Each of us swings once, two seconds per hit, two seconds rest. Sound good?”
Peanut just laughed, and Fatty wasted no more words. He swung the war hammer fiercely at the wall. The violent impact thundered in my ears, and for a moment, the entire burial chamber seemed to tremble. The blows were deeply muffled, proof of the wall’s immense thickness. But Peanut had said, as long as we broke through the surface stone, they could use threaded steel pipes from our gear as wedges, hammering them into the four corners of the marked spot, then target the center for the final breakthrough.
It was a solid plan, but seeing the wall’s hardness, I knew this would take a while. All I could do now was stand behind them, suddenly wondering if I should be offering them water as they worked. But after thinking it over, that would make me little more than an errand girl.
The deafening sounds of hammering made my head feel like it would split.
“Go check the other chambers for clues,” Peanut said suddenly.
I murmured agreement and prepared to leave. As I moved, my foot kicked a piece of clothing. Looking down, I realized my foot had slipped into a tear in the garment. With a nudge, the garment was pushed to the doorway. I was about to kick it aside, when I suddenly felt that it looked familiar, almost glaring.
The lighting was better at the entrance. I crouched, examined it carefully, and memories of earlier murals flooded my mind. Yes, these garments were… the same as those worn by the attendant maidens in the huge mural above our heads back in the mountain cave.
A cold sweat broke out across my back. The feeling was eerie, as if those maidens in the paintings had come alive in my mind, and touching the decaying fabric made me feel as though I’d witnessed their deaths one by one. I recalled the mural of the city gate, the maidens whispering among themselves, the proud figure, and the spider-patterned arm.
For a moment, it felt as if I’d stepped straight into a terrifying history, the loess stretching endlessly, unsure if the souls of those maidens haunted the tomb passages.
I exited the side chamber. My ears felt relief, but standing alone in the torch-lit corridor, even knowing my companions were not far away, I was gripped by chills. I picked up my flashlight and stood at the entrance to the side chamber opposite the iron door, shining light inside.
It was filled with dusty, ruined garments. Though Fatty and Peanut’s hammering echoed behind me, the gloomy shadows before me seemed like another world. I didn’t dare enter, only shining my flashlight toward the corner, barely taking stock.
Just then, a deep sound came from beside me.
It was not quiet; it carried a weighty resonance. The moment I heard it, a sense of unease crept into my heart. The sound was heavy and lingering, and I turned my head slowly, as if a voice in my mind kept repeating: “Don’t turn around, don’t turn around…”
But in the end, I did look toward the source of the sound.
I nearly screamed in terror, but my throat felt blocked. I stared, frozen for ages, unable to move.
Not far from me, the black iron door had opened a crack, wide enough for half a person. I stared, incredulous, trying to convince myself it was just a trick of light and shadow. But after half a minute, I was certain—the iron door was truly open.
Through that gap, I glimpsed a dim patch of white behind the door. I didn’t dare blink, stiffly edging closer. I felt I should shout, but the coldness in my throat stifled my voice.
Standing close to the iron door, I paused. The white patch in my vision was strange, and after a moment, a foolish thought popped into my head—I wanted to crouch at the doorway and see what was inside.
If I’d been rational, I would have run to fetch Peanut and Fatty. But a bizarre compulsion seized me, and under its intense force, I approached, pressed my face to the gap, and peered inside.
It wasn’t dark in there, though I couldn’t tell where the light came from. With the iron door ajar, I could only see a portion of the wall inside.
Looking closely at the dim white patch, I initially thought it was cotton. But gradually, I realized that what clung to the wall was not cotton, but layer upon layer, countless fine strands woven together—spider webs.