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墨書 Inktalez
Upon hearing my words, Fat Ma's previously cheerful expression froze.
I repeated what I had just said, and Fat Ma stared at me with wide eyes, curiosity etched on his face.
I asked, "What are you looking at?"
Fat Ma fell silent for a moment before replying, "I'm wondering if you've been possessed by a ghost. What's so interesting about these coffins?"
"It's not that," I quickly explained. "I just think there might be something we need inside these coffins."
Fat Ma glanced at me again, and as if he understood my words, he smiled and patted my shoulder, saying, "Old Sun, you're right."
His words left me confused; I hadn't fully processed what he said when Fat Ma's hands were already resting on one of the coffins.
Feeling a bit anxious, I quickly asked, "Fat Ma, what are you doing?"
Fat Ma looked at me in surprise and replied, "Of course I'm going to open the coffin! Do you want to come help?"
I instinctively nodded.
Ten coffins stood before us; except for the one at the edge that had already been opened, the other nine were tightly sealed.
Having not been this close before, I couldn't sense anything unusual. But now, standing so near, a deep-seated terror began to ripple within me.
I asked, "Which one should we open first?"
Fat Ma rounded his eyes and surveyed the coffins before finally saying, "Let's open the one next to the empty coffin!"
In the dim light, I glanced at Fat Ma; his expression was also tense. Perhaps these coffins truly held an ominous presence.
After hesitating for a moment, I said, "Maybe we shouldn't open it after all."
Fat Ma glanced at me and sighed, "Let's open it."
I nodded in response but didn't say anything.
The exterior of the coffin was entirely painted black, and two large characters were inscribed on both the front and back. I recognized them at a glance; this was Ghostly Script.
However, the strokes of these characters were numerous, and I struggled to recall what I had learned about them, but my mind felt blank regarding those two words.
"Coffin Nail is still good," Fat Ma suddenly said. "It might take some effort."
Since we couldn't directly damage the coffin, we could only loosen one nail at a time.
Fat Ma pulled a crowbar from the pocket of his old military uniform. He slowly inserted it into the gap of the coffin and began to apply force gradually.
The coffin lid creaked loudly, but there was no noticeable sign of loosening.
Fat Ma instructed me, "Old Sun, when I pry it open a bit, use your dagger to pull out the loosened nails."
I nodded in agreement.
Fat Ma started working on one corner of the coffin. As the crowbar went in again, that corner clearly began to loosen, and the nail that had already been loosened resembled an elderly person's tooth about to fall out.
With my dagger assisting the force, I managed to pull the nail out easily; after all, this coffin had seen better days.
Fat Ma then moved to the middle. As expected, the nails came loose until he reached the second corner, where the last nail fell away.
Fat Ma gestured for me to step back a bit. With gritted teeth and a strong push, the coffin lid was suddenly lifted with a loud bang.
I hurriedly leaned forward; Fat Ma was already pressed against the edge of the coffin.
When I saw the scene inside the coffin, my heart, which had been hanging in my throat, sank into my stomach—it was empty! This confirmed that my previous speculation was correct.
Fat Ma wiped the sweat from his forehead, sighed, and cursed, "Damn, there’s nothing here. I was all worked up for nothing."
I didn’t respond; in this environment, I didn’t know what to say.
We exchanged glances, silently agreeing to check the second coffin. After reaching a consensus, we moved toward the second one.
The exterior of the second coffin was identical to the first, with the only difference being the two large characters at either end were different.
I suppressed my anxiety as Fat Ma's crowbar forcefully pried open a gap in the coffin. We repeated this process until the second coffin was finally opened.
Once again, it was empty inside.
My earlier assumptions were becoming increasingly accurate.
Aside from one coffin that had been dismantled for firewood and the two we had opened, there were only three coffins in total—all empty.
I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Fat Ma’s mood visibly lightened as he began humming a revolutionary song.
Fat Ma handed me a cigarette from his pocket, but I declined. He took a puff himself. I didn’t know when it happened, but the coffin board was nearly burnt through and started emitting thick smoke, causing both Fat Ma and me to cough uncontrollably.
I said, "Fat Ma, why are you still smoking? This smoke is enough for you." Fat Ma coughed a few times and retorted, "Old Sun, stop with the sarcastic remarks."
At that moment, the light grew dimmer. In this not-so-large yet not-so-small tomb chamber, visibility had become pitifully low.
I turned on my flashlight, but Fat Ma told me to turn it off. He picked up the coffin board and used his weight to apply pressure; it quickly crumbled apart.
The flames reignited once more.
However, we overlooked one problem: in this narrow space, the oxygen was limited, and combustion required oxygen. Suddenly, I realized this issue and said to Fat Ma.
Fat Ma told me I was overthinking it; this tomb chamber was not sealed but completely open, so that situation wouldn’t occur.
After Fat Ma finished his cigarette, we prepared to work on the third coffin.
I stepped on the still-burning cigarette butt of Fat Ma, and he cursed, “Damn it! If this one is empty too, I’ll set them all on fire.”
Just as we were about to act, a voice suddenly rang out, “You can’t open it.”
I immediately reacted and looked toward the source of the voice—it was the mud man from earlier.
Both Fat Ma and I held our breath as the mud man approached us, his features completely indistinguishable. Before we could respond, he casually said, “Comrade, got a smoke? Let me have a puff.”
Hearing him speak calmed us down a bit. Fat Ma handed him a cigarette, which he took and placed in his mouth. Then he asked, “Comrade, can I borrow a light?”
Fat Ma struck a match and lit it for the mud man.
He took a deep drag and then sniffed vigorously, saying, “What’s that strange smell?” He quickly walked over to the fire and then said something that left both me and Fat Ma stunned: “Comrade, who’s burning the Coffin Board?” He then muttered to himself, “Could it be someone from the same line of work?” He gave us both an odd look.
Upon hearing this, Fat Ma no longer hesitated. He stepped forward and shook the mud man’s hand, exclaiming, “Comrade, you’ve worked hard.”
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