Chapter Eighteen: Hezi Village (Ten)

When I finally regained consciousness, it felt as though my head were about to split open. My mind had not yet fully returned to itself when I heard Wu Xiaomei’s terrified scream: “The female corpse is alive! She’s touching my face!”

In the cramped, sealed space, her scream nearly pierced my eardrums, jolting me awake in an instant.

“Where are you?” I shouted into the pitch-black coffin.

“Help, please help me! These female corpses want to kill me, save me!” Wu Xiaomei’s voice was already trembling with sobs, clearly scared out of her wits. The darkness before my eyes was absolute; I could only grope blindly toward the direction her voice came from. After several tries, I realized my body was entirely wedged in by the corpses, my arms limited in reach. Her cries thundered in my ears, making it impossible to distinguish where the sound was coming from. After a moment’s thought, I reached into my pocket, pulled out a lighter, and flicked it twice until a small flame finally sprang to life.

“Damn!”

As the flame leapt into the darkness, the faces of the female corpses appeared before me, impossibly close. I could see the veins beneath their skin with disturbing clarity; pale, cold, lifeless. Without exception, all three opened their eyes and stared at me, their expressions void.

It felt as if a wad of cotton had lodged in my throat. My mouth hung open, wanting to scream, but no sound came. Staring at the three corpses, my bones seemed to soften. We gazed at each other for several seconds before I heard a soft “puff,” as if someone blew gently beside my ear, and the lighter’s flame was extinguished.

Once again plunged into darkness, my mind instinctively conjured all sorts of inappropriate fantasies. I tried not to dwell on them, but my limbs shivered uncontrollably. Aside from the shrill, incessant screams of Wu Xiaomei echoing in my ears, I could barely sense my own body.

The black coffin had been thrown into the river and was now likely resting on the bottom. In this sealed environment, our time was short. Even without these jade corpses, once the air was gone, suffocation would be our fate.

I no longer expected Wu Xiaomei, in her current state, to break the coffin lid with the pickaxe. With trembling hands, I reached for the knife at my waist, found it, but couldn’t manage to pull it free.

Yet after a while, the corpses made no move. I flicked the lighter again, and fortunately, it lit up. But the moment those three faces appeared once more, another “puff” extinguished the flame.

In the darkness, I waited a while longer. When I finally managed to strike the lighter again, the result was the same. But then a phrase from the ancient ‘Bao Suppression Manual’ came to mind:

Golden and silver children, jade maidens, pearl sisters, strange tools, ugly lads.

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All things under heaven are like brine curdling tofu—one thing subdues another. Just as man-eating tigers fear wolves, and agile snakes fear vultures, so too does every creature have its nemesis. Since Wu Xiaomei called these female corpses “jade corpses,” at heart they bear the character jade. When it comes to jade, there are three fears: fire, ice, impact, and ginger.

Long-term exposure to cold causes jade’s color and luster to fade, creating a “dead hue.” When heated, jade’s surface dims, transparency decreases, and cracks appear. Jade’s fragile body cannot withstand any blow, and even ginger water can cause eczema-like spots to mar its surface.

I silently prayed the book was not mistaken, for there was no other way out. Pocketing the lighter, I said to Wu Xiaomei, “Stop screaming. I’ll help you get out!”

After several shouts, she finally heard me through her hysterics, her voice trembling. “Really?”

I took a deep breath, reached toward her voice, and as my arm slipped between the corpses’ cold skin, my body shuddered. Yet I managed to grab a warm, smooth arm and whispered, “Don’t be afraid, I’m taking you out now.”

The moment my hand touched her, Wu Xiaomei reflexively screamed, but hearing my voice, she quieted immediately.

“Can you really get me out?” she asked anxiously.

“Yes.”

I pulled her close with great effort, feeling her body still trembling. Crawling through the corpses would test anyone’s nerves.

“Where’s the pickaxe?”

My breathing grew short; I sensed the air in the coffin was nearly depleted. Urging her, she handed me the pickaxe. With my other hand, I groped along the coffin board for the seam between lid and box. The coffin, made of ancient sunken wood, was heavy and nailed shut. Forcing the pickaxe into the gap was no easy task.

I thought for a moment, then drew a short knife from my waist. Before setting out, I’d sensed trouble brewing; even Jin Zhenbang and the Thieves’ Guild wouldn’t touch this affair, so it was up to me, a mere nobody, to take the risk. Were it not for the law, I’d have brought a submachine gun.

I pressed the blade into the seam and twisted my wrist, carving out a small hole.

Sunken wood comes from ancient forests, buried by earthquakes, floods, and landslides—carbonized timber, worth its weight in gold. A fine piece fetches more than gold on the market, but expensive things often share one trait: they’re not sturdy.

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Despite its tough exterior, sunken wood is carbonized within. Carbonized material is strong on the outside, brittle inside. Focusing force on one spot, I quickly carved a thumb-sized hole.

I took several breaths, feeling dizzy—signs of oxygen deprivation. I bit my tongue to stay alert, then hooked the pickaxe in the hole, gripped it tightly, and pulled with all my strength.

“Crack!”

Splinters of wood burst from the hole and struck my face like knives. Wu Xiaomei, crouched beside me, reached out to help. I told her not to interfere, but she whispered, “What if the hole breaks through to the outside?”

I froze, gripping the pickaxe. As the handle sank, a sudden clunk sounded in the darkness, followed by a rush of water.

“This is bad, help me!”

No time to explain. I shouted, and water began spraying into the coffin through the hole, hitting my face like a fountain. The roaring water quickly soaked us both.

With every ounce of strength, I pulled down on the pickaxe. Wu Xiaomei grabbed on as well, both of us desperate to escape. But the water pressure was overwhelming. The hole burst open, no longer a fountain but a waterfall. A huge wave crashed in, drenching us and slamming me to the other side of the coffin; I could barely breathe!

Wu Xiaomei clung to the pickaxe, grabbed my arm, and pulled me over. I hadn’t expected such strength from her in this moment. As I steadied myself, a loud explosion rang out in the darkness, followed by something smashing violently against the coffin lid. Water surged, carrying broken wood, crashing over us as if the world were collapsing.

“Get ready to go!”

As the water flooded the coffin, I took a deep breath and submerged my head. Opening my eyes, I saw eerie green lights drifting outside at the river’s bottom. There was no time to wonder; I pushed Wu Xiaomei out first, then followed the current out. As I swam, something tightened around my ankle—a hand, gripping me firmly.

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