Tomb raiding live stream: Starting as the mute Zhang

The door opened.

The heavy stone door slowly receded, revealing a bottomless darkness behind it. No dust rose, no musty smell wafted over. There was only a heavy, still air, as if flowing from the depths of time, carrying the coldness of rocks, the dryness of wood, and an extremely faint, indescribable lingering fragrance, like the afterglow of incense that had dissipated over thousands of years.

The beams of flashlight pierced the darkness, like fragile daggers attempting to slice through the thick veil. The beams left trails in the air, revealing tiny specks of dust slowly rising and falling within them. The space behind the door seemed larger than expected; the beams stretched forward, yet failed to illuminate the opposite wall.

"Holy crap..." Fatty Wang exclaimed in a low voice, the first to gasp, "Is this supposed to be a door? It's practically a city gate!"

"Go in." Zhang Qiling said, and was the first to step into the darkness. "Zhang Qiling" followed closely behind, and the two figures were instantly swallowed up by the shadows inside the door, with only the trail of the flashlight beam visible.

The others exchanged glances, took a deep breath, and followed one by one. The levitating live-streaming sphere hovered outside the door for a moment before flying inside. Its green light stood out starkly in the darkness, and the camera struggled to adjust, trying to capture a clear image.

Inside the gate was an extremely wide passageway. The floor was made of huge, perfectly cut bluestone slabs, each several meters square and fitting together seamlessly. On both sides were towering, seemingly endless stone walls, also made of bluestone, their surfaces polished smooth, gleaming with a cold, damp sheen under the flashlight beam. There were no carvings or decorations on the stone walls, only the subtle watermarks left by time and the mottled marks of withered moss.

The passage stretched straight ahead, and the flashlight beams continued into darkness, seemingly without end. The air was still, save for the suppressed breathing of the group and the soft echo of footsteps on the stone slabs.

"How much of the mountain would we have to hollow out..." Wu Xie said in a low voice, his flashlight sweeping across the towering stone walls on both sides. He calculated the amount of work involved and felt a chill run down his spine.

"It's not just hollowing out," Xie Yuchen's voice echoed slightly in the passage. He crouched down, carefully examining the edge joints of a bluestone slab. "Look at the precision of the stone cutting and the splicing technique, and the scale of this passage... It's more like it was carved and constructed entirely within the mountain, relying on a natural, huge cavity or fissure. The purpose of the project was probably not just for living or worship, but more like... defense, or isolation."

"The Zhang family has built their ancestral home like a military fortress," Black Bear said, walking in the middle of the group, his eyes behind his sunglasses scanning the surroundings warily. "Who are they protecting themselves from? Outsiders, or... what's inside?"

"Zhang Qiling" walked half a step behind Zhang Qiling. After entering the passage, his brows were slightly furrowed, and his pace was a little slower than usual. He would occasionally turn his head to look in a certain direction of the stone wall, or stop for a moment, reach out and gently touch the cold stone wall, his fingertips tracing the fine textures, as if reading something.

"I feel," Zhang Qiling suddenly spoke, his voice clear in the empty corridor, "that something is 'looking' at me."

"Hmm." Zhang Qiling stopped as well. He looked up, his flashlight beam sweeping across the darkness above. The beam only reached smooth stone walls that extended upwards, disappearing into deeper darkness. But he could feel that the sensation of being "watched" didn't come from any specific location, but rather permeated the entire passageway, emanating from the stone walls themselves, from the stone slabs beneath his feet, from every movement of the air. It wasn't malicious spying, but more like a silent, persistent "monitoring."

The levitating live-streaming sphere rises, the camera tilts upwards, but only captures a vast expanse of darkness. The live chat scrolls rapidly:

Prophet: This passage is huge! It feels so oppressive.

To silence the so-called experts: What kind of technology is used to carve such a neat passage inside a mountain?

Qi Ling's fan club: Qi Ling said someone's watching? I got goosebumps!

Blackie reveals the truth: Who are we guarding against? It's chilling to think about.

The fat man fell silent: Was he scared because he didn't say anything?

The group continued forward. The passage seemed to have no end; after walking for about ten minutes, the scenery ahead remained the same. Just as Fatty Wang began to mutter again, "How long will this take?", Zhang Qiling, who was walking at the front, suddenly stopped.

The flashlight beam shone directly ahead. The passage didn't end here; instead, three paths branched off.

The three paths were identical, of the same width, made of the same bluestone, and all stretched endlessly into the darkness. There were no signs, no distinctions whatsoever.

"Which way?" Wu Xie asked.

Zhang Qiling and "Zhang Qiling" did not make a choice immediately. They walked to the fork in the road, each standing in front of one of the passages, closing their eyes as if sensing something. This time, the connection of their bloodlines became somewhat blurred, and each of the three passages seemed to emanate a faint, directional sensation.

Zhang Qiling opened his eyes first and pointed to the middle one: "There's a breeze here. It's weak, but it's flowing."

Zhang Qiling opened his eyes as well. He walked to the left entrance of the passage, squatted down, ran his fingers along the extremely fine cracks in the stone slabs, and then brought them close to his nose to smell. "Over here, there's... the smell of old blood. It's been there for a long time."

"What about the right side?" Xie Yuchen asked.

Zhang Qiling walked to the right-hand entrance, stood still for a few seconds, and shook his head: "Dead end. It's solid at the end."

"Is that the way out?" Fatty Wang looked at the dark passage in the middle.

"Not necessarily," Zhang Qiling stood up. "The wind could be a trap. The blood could be a mark."

"Choose one," Black Bear spread his hands, "Mute Zhangs, which way do you think is more like the road 'home'?"

Zhang Qiling and "Zhang Qiling" exchanged a glance. There was no verbal communication, but their eyes quickly conveyed information. Zhang Qiling slightly raised his chin, pointing to the passage on the left with old bloodstains. "Zhang Qiling" nodded.

"Go to the left," Zhang Qiling said.

"Why?" Wu Xie asked instinctively.

A brief explanation of "Zhang Qiling": "Blood is a mark, left for those who follow. Wind may be bait, or... an exhaust vent."

Without another word, the group turned to the left passage. This passage was just as wide as the main one, but after walking for a short while, the terrain began to slope slightly downwards. The air grew colder, and the faint, lingering smell of old blood seemed to intensify, mingling with the scent of rocks and dust. It wasn't pungent, but it weighed heavily on the heart.

After walking for a few more minutes, a door appeared on the stone wall on one side of the passage ahead.

It wasn't a stone door, but a heavy, dark-colored wooden door. The door was tightly shut, its surface covered in a thick layer of dust, but the wood itself seemed unrotted, its grain still clearly visible. There were no decorations on the door, only a simple, rusted iron knocker.

On the stone wall next to the wooden door, about a person's height off the ground, there is a clear, dark red handprint. The handprint is small, as if someone had once stood against the wall, their injured hand pressed against the stone, blood seeping into the stone, not completely fading even after the passage of time. The shape of the handprint vaguely reveals that a little finger is missing.

The moment they saw the handprint, Zhang Qiling and "Zhang Qiling" stopped in their tracks. They stared at the handprint, their eyes sharpening, as if it were not a simple bloodstain, but a silent scream, a moment sealed away in this place, filled with pain and struggle.

"It's a bloodstain," Zhang Qiling's voice was soft, carrying a barely perceptible fluctuation, "It's urgent, it hurts a lot. The person left behind... didn't try to call for help, it's... a mark, or... a warning."

Zhang Qiling walked up to the handprint, extended his right hand, and compared it in mid-air. The size and outline were surprisingly similar, about seven or eight points. He slowly lowered his hand and looked at the tightly closed wooden door.

"What's behind the door?" he said, not as a question.

"Shall we open it and see?" Fatty Wang was eager to try, but also a little timid. "What if... it's the zombies' lair?"

"It doesn't seem like it," Zhang Qiling shook his head. "There's no sign of 'living things' here. Only... old things."

Zhang Qiling reached out and grasped the rusted iron door knocker. He didn't pull it, just held it. The knocker was icy cold. He closed his eyes, seemingly trying to sense the information behind the door through the cold touch.

A few seconds later, he opened his eyes and applied slight pressure to his hands.

"Squeak—"

A sickening, tooth-grinding scraping sound, as if it had rusted for centuries, rang out. The wooden door was slowly pulled open.

An even thicker, more concentrated air, a mixture of dust, decaying wood, old fabrics, and a faint scent of herbs, wafted out. A flashlight beam shone into the room.

Behind the door was a stone chamber that wasn't very large.

The stone chamber was square, with smooth bluestone walls on all four sides. There were no superfluous furnishings inside, only a few simple stone beds against the walls. The animal hides and fabrics that had covered them had long since rotted into ash, leaving only traces. In the center of the chamber was a small, extinguished hearth made of stacked stones, filled with thick layers of ash.

In the innermost corner of the stone chamber, a person sat against the wall.

Or rather, a skeleton.

The skeleton, dressed in tattered, ancient-style dark clothing, leaned against the stone wall, its head bowed, its posture relaxed, as if it were merely asleep. To the skeleton's right, several small items lay scattered: a heavily rusted dagger, a ruptured leather water pouch, and several pieces of dark-colored tortoise shell engraved with symbols.

The skeleton's left hand rested on the ground beside it. The little finger was conspicuously missing from the hand's bones.

All eyes were fixed on the skeleton and the dark red bloody handprint on the wall.

The air seemed to freeze.

The levitating live-streaming sphere flew into the stone chamber, the camera slowly panning across the dusty scene, finally settling on the seated skeleton. The live-stream chat instantly emptied by more than half; even the viewers seemed to hold their breath.

Zhang Qiling slowly walked into the stone chamber and stopped in front of the skeleton. He squatted down, his gaze sweeping over the relics before finally settling on the skeleton's lowered head.

Zhang Qiling also walked in, stood beside him, and watched silently.

After a long while, Zhang Qiling reached out, not to touch the skeleton, but gently picked up the largest piece of tortoise shell on the ground. The symbols on the tortoise shell were ancient and twisted, but he seemed to be able to understand them.

He looked at it for a few seconds, then handed the tortoise shell to Xie Yuchen behind him.

Xie Yuchen took the flashlight and, together with Huo Xiuxiu, carefully examined it by its beam. Their faces gradually turned pale and grave.

"What...is written on it?" Wu Xie couldn't help but ask.

Xie Yuchen raised his head, his voice hoarse, and slowly read out the desperate words carved into the tortoise shell with a sharp tool:

"If the clan precepts are wrong, the gate cannot be guarded; it can only be broken off."

"We have been ordered to come here with the 'key' and the 'guide' to cut off the root cause and prevent future troubles."

"However, the 'nucleus' has changed, infecting my body, and I will lose my mind."

"I am powerless to reverse the situation and ashamed before my ancestors. Therefore, I seal this room, commit suicide here, and guard it with my frail body to prevent the defilement from leaking out."

"If any descendants of the clan come here and see this letter, they must never search for the location of the 'core' again. They should quickly take the 'key' and the 'guide' and leave, never to return."

"A sinner, Zhang Qiling, his final words."

The name "Zhang Qiling" exploded like a thunderclap in the silent stone chamber.

Wu Xie's eyes widened suddenly as he looked at the skeleton, then at Zhang Qiling, who was squatting in front of it and still alive.

Fatty Wang's mouth gaped open, and Black Bear's eyes behind his sunglasses narrowed into slits. A Ning and Jiang Xun Gu gripped their weapons tightly. Xie Yuchen and Huo Xiuxiu's hands, holding the tortoise shell, trembled slightly.

The camera on the floating live-streaming sphere slowly moved between the skeletons, the tortoise shell, and the silent, crouching young man in black.

The live stream room was deathly silent.

Then, the barrage of comments exploded.