Chapter Fifty-Three: Life and Death?

"Peanut!" I lunged from the ground to the iron door, frantically trying to force it open with my shoulder. Yet the black iron door didn't budge an inch, blocking my way with the finality of death. I couldn't accept this outcome; I felt that even if I died inside, I might feel a little better. So I started ramming the door.

"Stop banging," Fatty said softly, leaning against the back wall in the corner. "We've already tried everything. It was that kid who wanted us to get out."

"If you're not going to help, then shut up!" I snapped, continuing to hurl myself against the door I couldn't possibly break through.

"Fine, fine." Fatty slowly stood up, bracing himself against the wall, but then grimaced in pain, probably from the wound on his back. "Damn... All right, suppose you're a noble soul, but if you keep making all that noise, and that kid inside wants to say his last words to us, we won't hear a thing."

I shot him a glare and, drained of strength, slumped back. With a door this thick, even if Peanut had a megaphone inside, we'd never hear him. I was exhausted, my back throbbed with pain, so like Fatty, I leaned against the wall, staring blankly at the door, willing it to open as it had before.

I didn't want to admit Peanut was done for, but remembering his last look and that red thing, I knew his chances were grim. To be saved by someone, only to watch that person die for you—that feeling is hellish. To me, Peanut was both a stranger and, in some way, a friend. Especially when he saved me from Tan Wei’s hands, I started to believe he was someone I could trust.

Ironically, the first person I trusted, I never even knew his real identity. The second one I trusted—he ended up dead. Thinking about it, I realized how naive I was; maybe relationships between people should be more detached. That way, I might be able to calm down, light a cigarette like Fatty, and laugh bitterly with each drag.

But I couldn’t manage it; I was still miserable, deeply miserable.

Fatty suddenly spoke. "In our line of work, you expect times like this. Either you die in the tomb or at someone else's hand. I get it, you're a sensitive type, but you need to learn to let things go. Anyway, it won't be long before we see that kid again on the other side."

He finished and chuckled to himself. After all that's happened, it seemed he'd given up on ever leaving this place.

My mind was a tangled mess; I didn't even know what to think anymore. At this point, rescuing my father was becoming unrealistic—I could only hope Qin Feng and the others had better luck than us. With that thought, I felt strangely relaxed, not even bothering with the doubts that had plagued me along the way.

Fatty and I waited by the iron door for five or six hours, but it never opened again. Eventually, hunger forced us to sit face to face and eat.

Though Fatty talked about waiting to die, he was careful with our food, giving me a few strips of beef jerky and taking only one for himself.

I asked him, "Aren't you hungry, eating so little?" Fatty said he was used to it; sometimes, when they explored tombs, they ran out of food. With his extra padding, he could go without eating longer than me.

That got me worrying. "Damn it, if I starve first, you better not get any funny ideas about my corpse."

Fatty spat. "With that skinny meat of yours, I wouldn't touch you anyway. Don't worry, if you die, I'll wrap you in armor and stash you in the jars outside, bit by bit."

I managed a wry smile, but the thought that this might actually be my fate sent a chill through me.

We ate and chatted idly, and I gradually calmed down. But just then, the iron door behind us gave a thunderous crash.

Fatty and I both jumped up. My heart leaped—I thought Peanut had miraculously escaped again. But the door didn't open, and Peanut didn't appear. Instead, the banging grew louder and more frenzied.

Staring at the door, listening carefully, my initial hope gave way to unease. We couldn’t see behind the door, but it was obvious—no single person could make such a racket. Even a Shaolin monk couldn't make an iron door shake like that without breaking every bone in his body.

Gradually, the iron door, immovable until now, began to tremble. Fatty and I edged backward; if it was that red monster from before, we'd be joining Peanut in no time.

The pounding grew more violent, the door shuddering under the assault. Retreating, we suddenly realized we were pressed against the stone wall at the end of the passage.

"Fatty, tell me… who do you think will die first this time?" I couldn't help but think about the end.

Fatty swallowed hard. "Doesn’t matter who goes first, I'll fight to the last breath."

With our backs against the wall, we stared wide-eyed at the iron door. But then, unexpectedly, the banging inside gradually weakened until the tomb passage was silent again.

Neither of us dared to move. Fatty whispered, "Maybe that thing decided to take a nap?"

"Even if it naps, it’d want a full belly first."

Fatty sighed. "Damn, if that kid was built like me, that monster could feast for three to five days."

"Watch your mouth," I snapped, but realized there was truly no sound from the other side anymore.

It was half an hour before we finally let out the breath we’d been holding. Convinced the noise was over, our knees buckled and we slid down the rock wall, sitting together at the end of the passage.

"Damn, if this keeps up, we’ll either starve or die of fright," Fatty muttered, lighting another cigarette.

I kept my eyes on the door, wondering if it might have opened from the shaking just now. But for now, neither of us dared approach, so we just sat there, chain-smoking.

After a few drags, I suddenly felt an itch on my wounded back—sharp, tingling, as if a bug was crawling there. It was so itchy I wanted to scratch, but afraid of infection, I asked Fatty to check if something had gotten into the wound.

But turning to look, I saw Fatty wearing the same uncomfortable expression.

"Hey, Yuan Jie, take a look—do I have something on my back? Damn, it's driving me crazy," Fatty said, reaching to scratch.

I grabbed his hand. "Don't scratch, it'll get infected. I'm itching like hell too. Turn around, let me see."

I wondered if the poison gas was still in the wound. But looking at Fatty’s back, I saw only a layer of skin peeled away—no sign of infection. Then he checked mine and said the same: nothing out of the ordinary.

"Looks like we'll have to find a way to clean the wounds," I said.

"Clean them? Hell, we barely have enough water to drink. But if you insist, I could help. Not just your wounds—I could give you a warm bath if you like."

"Save it for yourself," I retorted, shooting him a glare.

Fatty grinned, but then his expression changed, and he stared at the stone wall behind us with a puzzled look.

"What is it?" I asked, not knowing what he'd noticed.

Fatty stared at the spot we'd just been leaning on, then curled his lip. "There's something wrong with this wall."

Something wrong? I stepped up to inspect the rock, but saw nothing suspicious. "Can you be more specific?" I prompted.

Fatty slapped the stone, then held out his hand for me to see. "We leaned against this wall for half an hour. Look—there’s not a single bloodstain on the rock."

Only then did I understand. Our wounds were deep, not likely to stop bleeding so quickly. Even if the bleeding stopped, our clothes should have left some blood behind. Yet the rock we’d leaned on showed no trace at all—odd, to say the least.

"Hey, maybe there's something on the rock that reacts with our blood, which is why there’s no stain?" I ventured.

Fatty rolled his eyes. "Come on, don't make everything so complicated. Chemical reaction? Damn, can’t you come up with something useful?"

"It’s a possibility," I insisted, thinking my deduction was reasonable. "What do you think it is then?"

"Not saying you’re wrong, just that you always overthink things," Fatty grunted, giving the rock a kick. "Whatever’s going on, let's try something and see what happens."