Chapter Forty-Nine: A Change in Attitude

“Huh?” I was stunned for two seconds.

“This iron door opened by itself. Maybe something wants us to come inside. If we don’t open it, we’ll have no clues at all,” Peanut said.

Hearing this, I began to suspect that the suddenly opened iron door was a trap, and we were the prey drawn in by it. An ominous feeling crept over me; once this coffin was opened, perhaps something extraordinary would happen.

Fatty walked over, glanced at the coffin made of blood-red cedar, scratched his head, and said, “Hiss... I’d like to see what’s inside, but I’ve never opened a coffin before. If there’s nothing inside, fine—but if there is, all three of us are done for.”

I immediately recalled what Mouse had told me before. The higher the specifications of a tomb, the more likely it is that the coffin hides traps: arrows, flying knives, those are minor. The worst case is, once the coffin lid is moved, the entire chamber could collapse. For grave robbers, if the tomb owner is determined to protect their corpse, opening the coffin is the most dangerous act.

Peanut’s gaze remained resolute. “This isn’t the main burial chamber. Even if there’s a trap, the range of danger shouldn’t be too great.”

At first, Peanut’s words sounded reassuring, but his expression betrayed the truth: this coffin was anything but ordinary.

“Sounds reasonable,” Fatty tilted his chin. “Hell, we’ve come all this way—if we don’t open the coffin and see what burial artifacts are inside, where will I put my reputation when I get back?”

The two seemed determined. I thought it over and agreed it should be opened. At that moment, an eerie atmosphere seemed to linger between us. In the gloomy chamber, it felt as if a whisper echoed at our ears: “Open it...open it.”

For the first time, I understood why people would take up grave robbing.

When you leave the bustling city, step away from the noise, and enter the silent depths beneath the earth, into the world of the dead, you’re compelled to glimpse centuries-old corpses, to see what death truly looks like. Ancient tombs are the perfect witnesses to death. Perhaps, at the instant the coffin lid is lifted, every grave robber’s mind is flooded with extreme terror—a living person’s fear of death. And as I tasted that fear, I realized it was also an intense temptation.

Once the three of us reached the same decision, the temptation swirling around me grew stronger. We all stared at the coffin, silent.

Peanut placed his hand atop the lid and pushed hard. My heart pounded—I instinctively expected the coffin to open and a corpse to appear before us, so I shrank back. Yet after Peanut pushed, the blood-red cedar didn’t budge.

Fatty glanced at Peanut, then tried pushing the lid himself, with the same result. With Peanut’s strength, even if the lid were sealed, he should have been able to shift it. But the coffin seemed rooted to the ground; they tried several times, but it didn’t move at all.

“I’ve never heard of blood-red cedar sealing so tightly,” Fatty frowned, “and the seal doesn’t look unusual. Why won’t it move?”

I went forward to try myself, and found the texture of the cedar was remarkably strange—it didn’t feel like wood, but rather a metal shaped like wood, extremely heavy.

“If it won’t budge, we’ll have to use force,” Peanut said, then suddenly took off his backpack. I saw him pull out the short knife without a handle he’d found in the opposite side chamber. Peanut pressed the blade against the seam of the coffin lid, then slapped it hard. Instantly, the short knife was wedged into the seam where the lid met the coffin. When I looked, Peanut’s palm was cut open by the knife, proving how much strength he’d used.

But I didn’t understand what he was trying to do. At that moment, Fatty said, “Are you trying to pry the lid off? Ha, I doubt that little knife is strong enough.”

Yet Peanut didn’t make any further move. I thought he’d press down on the blade to wedge open the seam, but after watching for a while, I realized something was off.

After the knife embedded itself in the narrow seam, a stream of red liquid began to flow down the blade. As the fluid ran, the fragrance in the air grew stronger. The liquid was eerily similar to blood, and when it dripped to the floor, it released a pungent, bloody scent.

“Damn, are you letting it ‘bleed’?” Fatty exclaimed.

Peanut stared at the coffin without moving. “If it really is blood-red cedar, then after one or two thousand years, the corpse and coffin should have fused together. If you drain what’s inside, both the person and the coffin will decay together.”

Fatty frowned. “But this thing is a treasure; if you kill it like this, isn’t that a waste?”

Peanut didn’t reply, and I knew this wasn’t the time to argue. Only by opening the coffin could we discover anything.

The three of us silently watched the blade stained red. Five minutes passed, yet the red liquid inside the coffin showed no sign of stopping, and at our feet, a pool of “blood” had formed, nearly reaching my toes.

Fatty grew impatient, reaching for a cigarette, when suddenly the coffin gave a violent shake. Caught off guard, I jumped back three steps; Fatty and Peanut braced themselves as well.

I thought, could it be a corpse coming to life? But after a moment, the coffin calmed. We waited, but nothing stirred inside. Peanut slowly lowered his raised left hand, though his brow remained tightly furrowed.

I was about to speak when I saw the knife embedded in the coffin twitch, and the “woo woo” sound of metal scraping wood echoed.

This time, even Peanut and Fatty stepped back. I was certain something was about to happen, and my mind raced, imagining what might burst out from within.

Just as I was thinking this, the coffin lid suddenly opened a crack, and the knife flew inside with a “whoosh,” disappearing as the lid snapped shut again. Fatty and I exchanged bewildered looks.

The red liquid instantly stopped flowing, and we all realized this coffin was hiding something uncanny.

Peanut’s knife had clearly been pulled inside by something—most likely the corpse itself. At this thought, my hair stood on end. The urge to open the coffin vanished immediately.

Fatty’s face was grim, but he grunted, “Heh, the corpse in there is pretty mischievous.”

The joke was so cold I didn’t respond; instead, I looked at Peanut. But I noticed his face had suddenly become calm—contrasted with his earlier tension, it seemed he’d understood something.

He stared at the coffin, changed his expression, then turned toward the doorway and said, “Let’s go. We can’t open this coffin.”

I was stunned, then thought, his attitude sure changed fast. “Did you realize something just now?” I pressed.

By then, Peanut was already heading out. Hearing my question, he turned and smiled at me. “I just suddenly felt this coffin has nothing to do with the path we need to take upwards.”

“But... besides this, we don’t have any other options right now.” Truthfully, the coffin unsettled me, but Peanut’s evasive attitude irritated me even more. Everyone knows the feeling: when someone annoys you, you instinctively take the opposite stance, regardless of who’s right.

I was certain Peanut had discovered something. There were many things I didn’t understand, and his silence only made me more desperate to know what was going on.

Peanut sighed with a smile. “This coffin isn’t something I can open.”

Damn, so you’re saying if you can’t open it, neither can I? The more I dealt with Peanut, the harder it was to get along with him. He never cared about others’ feelings, and he cared even less about their opinions of him. Even if you’re furious with him, there’s almost nothing you can do.

“Why bother with him?” Fatty suddenly spoke up from behind.