Chapter Twenty-Seven: Disappearance

"Kid, you don't mind taking the lead, do you?" Qin Feng spoke softly to Peanut, who was walking ahead, after they'd taken just a few steps.

Peanut smiled, saying nothing, and continued forward. In this line of work, taking the lead meant being the vanguard, the one who ventured first. But among grave robbers, only those with true skill could handle this role. Experience was paramount, but vigilance was essential; the lead had to spot every anomaly, make the sharpest judgments, and respond correctly. Beyond that, the lead needed to know a host of hand signals, because in ancient tombs, spoken communication was often impossible.

Peanut seemed entirely at ease, his hands empty yet his demeanor calm, his pace steady and unhurried, unaffected by the clusters of spider cocoons hanging all around.

As for me, my attention was riveted to the shadows within those cocoons. Each corpse maintained its last pose—twisted, grotesque. When the flashlight swept over them, it felt as if they swayed within their silken shrouds. Qin Feng would tap my shoulder from time to time, urging me to stay focused, but within seconds my gaze would drift back to those grim figures.

We moved slowly, and the path shrouded in silk seemed endless. Checking the time, we’d been walking for almost an hour, yet in every direction lay only more cocoons and unfathomable darkness.

"Peanut, are we sure we're not lost?" I couldn't help but ask. "Shouldn't we call out? Maybe Second Uncle and Old Tan could hear us."

We’d fallen in somewhere different from Old Tan, since he'd never mentioned seeing cocoons like these. If this road led elsewhere, and time dragged on, would Old Tan even survive?

Peanut paused, apparently sensing something amiss.

"We've been at this for a while, and this chamber seems unnaturally large," Qin Feng remarked.

"Exactly," another man said behind us. "If this room really was so big, there ought to be at least a few beams or pillars. It's a Han tomb—after a thousand years, with all these cocoons hanging from the ceiling, it should have collapsed without support!"

He was right, but we'd been walking in a straight line, so it couldn’t be that we were wandering in circles.

Another man spoke up, "Maybe these cocoons are messing with our sense of direction. Peanut, maybe you should bring up the rear and let Feng lead us."

I understood immediately—the others didn’t fully trust Peanut and suspected he’d led us astray. He laughed awkwardly. "No offense, we’re just used to following Feng."

Clearly, Qin Feng held authority among them; likely, my father had been the lead on his own expeditions.

Peanut took no offense, scanning the ceiling and walls as he spoke, "Fine by me, but we should pause and take a look around. Something isn't right here."

His tone suggested he’d noticed more than the others. Qin Feng turned to the men, his voice low, "No more fussing—do as the young man says."

With that, everyone complied, shining their flashlights about. I stayed put, again peering at the cocoons nearby. In one, the silhouette was curled small—perhaps a child. My heart ached; how had so many ended up here, in this ancient tomb?

As I stared, the cocoon suddenly shuddered violently before my eyes. Startled, I stumbled back, bumping into another cocoon. To my horror, the jolt sent it crashing down from the ceiling, landing atop me.

I flailed, shrieking, and scrambled to my feet, tossing the cocoon aside. Turning, I aimed my light at the cocoon containing the child and shouted, "Look—it's moving!"

The moment my words echoed, I sensed something was wrong. The silence was unnatural, as if no one were nearby. Cold sweat burst from every pore. I spun around—utterly alone.

"Peanut, Qin Feng..." I meant to cry out, but my voice emerged as a trembling whimper.

What had happened? Just seconds ago, they'd all been beside me—how could they vanish so suddenly? Had they discovered something and gone to investigate? I called out several times, but the pervasive darkness and deathly stillness made it clear: I was alone.

My whole body trembled uncontrollably. I wanted to move forward, but feared that if they returned, they’d be unable to find me. Glancing around, the cocoons appeared even more terrifying, their indistinct shadows seeming to stir.

So many cocoons, so many corpses—could any be alive? If they heard me, would they tear free and crawl toward me?

"No, it won't happen. Stop imagining things, stay calm." Drenched in sweat, I swallowed hard several times, forcing myself to stand tall. Lowering my flashlight to avoid seeing the cocoons, I spotted the one I'd knocked to the ground.

It had landed on me, but I'd pushed it off easily—like shifting a pile of foam. Looking down, the cocoon retained its original shape, dull and revolting. I stared for a while, then noticed it was empty—no shadow within.

That’s odd. If there was no prey inside, why would a spider spin a cocoon? The thought sent chills racing through me.

Could the corpse inside have crawled out?

I was about to shine my light around when a faint murmur drifted to my ear. At first, I thought Peanut and the others had returned, but the voice was wrong—fragmented, drifting, as if carried by the wind, inching closer.

"Old Yuan..."

It was calling me. "Tan Wei," flashed through my mind. I called out, "Old Tan, is that you?"

No answer. The silence felt so absolute, I wondered if I’d imagined the voice. After a long pause, it came again: "Old Yuan..."

Something was off. Though it sounded like Tan Wei, there was a mournful, resentful timbre that chilled my heart.

"Old Yuan." Suddenly, the voice was right beside me. Reflexively, I turned—and nearly died of fright.

A figure stood five or six meters away, hunched, arms dangling as if broken. In the flashlight's beam, I saw he had only half a face; the other half had been crushed by something, hanging from a scrap of skin at his neck, flopped onto his shoulder. The intact side bore a vague resemblance to Tan Wei, but his skin was deathly pale, even his eyes were white as snow.

He advanced toward me, shuffling awkwardly, as if walking was a struggle. Paralyzed by terror, I simply stared. At every step, clumps of sticky matter dropped from the wound in his skull—brain, tongue... I nearly lost my mind, convulsing until the flashlight slipped from my grasp.

Instantly, darkness closed in. I waited hopelessly for the half-faced figure to draw near, faintly hearing my name called again.

"Young master..."

That drifting voice again. I thought, enough—if I must die, let it happen now. Anything was better than seeing that monstrous head again.

Then, in the dark, an arm reached for me. Before I could see clearly, fingers clamped tightly around my throat.

Instinctively, I grabbed the wrist, struggling to break free. But the grip was like iron pincers—immovable.

Soon, breathless and weak, I sensed death approaching. Strangely, I felt that dying this way was a mercy. At least I wouldn't have to face that half-faced horror again. I surrendered, ceasing to fight.

Looking at the hand choking me, I thought how pale it was, though streaked with blood—perhaps from the torments of hell. Suddenly, I realized something odd: the hand seemed familiar, uncannily like Peanut’s injured right hand.

"No, this is Peanut’s hand." Light flooded my vision, faces swam before me.

"Young master, young master."

It was Qin Feng, and the men calling out to me.