Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Fool

Thinking this, I nodded at Fatty, and the two of us fixed our eyes firmly on the legs atop the stairs. Fatty handed me the torch and stepped forward with his right leg. At the same moment, the person above us also stepped forward with his right leg.

"What are you planning?" I whispered in his ear.

"We’re only a little over four meters away—my reach is more than two meters. If I rush up, I’ll definitely grab his leg."

I understood Fatty’s intention; he wanted to exploit a timing gap. If the man’s movements were perfectly synchronized with ours, his pace would match ours. As long as I stayed still, their steps would be identical. If Fatty lunged quickly enough, he could catch him at the exact moment the man's leg was lifted.

Fatty had already stretched out his arm, his knee bent low. I watched tensely, ready to rush up as soon as Fatty made his move.

But just as Fatty was about to leap, the pair of legs in front of us shifted and the leg that had been stepped forward was pulled back.

Fatty froze in his lunge position, and I was startled as well.

Then, those legs slowly turned toward us in the dim torchlight, the gray toes of the work boots now facing us.

"Damn, looks like this thing wants to make a move," Fatty straightened up abruptly. The movements of the legs above were now clearly out of sync with Fatty’s.

This was something we hadn’t anticipated, and for a moment neither of us knew what to do. Yet from the look in Fatty’s eyes, it was clear he had no intention of retreating. As the legs stepped toward us, Fatty had already slipped the knife from his pant leg into his palm.

"Perfect timing. I don’t want to mess around with this ghostly thing either," Fatty muttered, clearly ready for a fight.

I was terrified, and as the figure approached the torchlight, I became more certain—the outfit was identical to Qin Feng’s group.

Soon, two hands hanging limply at the sides appeared, followed by the body, neck… and then the face.

When the figure was only two meters away, Fatty and I could see him clearly. As our eyes met his face, a chill ran down our spines.

His face looked waxy yellow in the firelight, his mouth slightly open as if smiling at us, his eyes narrowed, the expression bizarre. But I noticed his eyelids blinking, and after watching for a while, my fear actually began to subside.

"Is he dead or alive?" Fatty wasn’t so sure now.

I looked at the man, thinking he might be one of Qin Feng’s two companions, but I couldn’t be certain. Along the way, the only one I remembered was Little Hu, who’d been rescued by Peanut. The rest, I hadn’t paid much attention to. Yet the man’s expression felt oddly familiar the longer I stared.

"Why does he look like one of those idiots in a mental hospital?" Fatty suddenly said.

"Ah, you feel that too?" I couldn’t help but think he looked more like a fool.

Just as I was thinking that, the man suddenly began to giggle in front of us. Instantly, both Fatty and I felt relieved—breathing and laughing like a fool, he clearly was one.

"Is this the standard for your family’s workers?" Fatty grinned at me.

"He looks like one of the crew, but I’m not sure. How did he end up here—and like this?" I stepped forward to take a closer look.

Aside from his idiotic demeanor, he didn’t seem to have any injuries.

Fatty said, "With that look, he won’t answer you. Damn, to be scared half to death by a fool—Fatty’s dignity has taken a hit."

I ignored Fatty and asked the man, "Are you one of my father’s workers?"

Still grinning foolishly, he replied, "Found it."

"What did you find?" I asked.

"Eight wives."

Hearing this, I sighed. Fatty laughed, "You can’t talk to him with normal intelligence." He waved me aside, then looked at the worker with a mischievous smile, speaking in a mockingly sweet tone, "Little friend, how did you get here? Tell uncle and uncle will give you candy."

Suddenly, the worker’s smile disappeared; he glared at Fatty and said, "**."

"Goddamn…" I stifled my laughter and stopped Fatty. "Enough, let me try."

Fatty’s face turned red with anger, while the worker resumed his foolish laughing. I continued, "Do you remember me?"

He looked at me and said again, "Found it."

Growing anxious, I pressed, "What did you find?"

Talking to a fool depends on his mood—the more impatient I became, the vaguer his answers were. After several tries, I nearly gave up.

Fatty grew even more impatient, "Forget it, let’s just leave him and keep moving."

"No, we have to take him with us," I insisted.

"No need, he’ll follow on his own," Fatty shook his head at the worker.

Suddenly, the worker pointed diagonally ahead and called out, "Master."

"What?" I was startled.

"Found Master," he repeated.

Excited, I grabbed his shoulder and asked, "What did you say—you found my father?"

Incredibly, the worker nodded and pointed again, "Found Master."

"Where is he? Take us there!" I shouted, almost losing control.

Fatty pulled me back, "Don’t rush—take his words with a grain of salt."

I shook my head and looked at the worker. "No, I think he’s telling the truth."

Fatty sighed, "I hate gut feelings the most. Back in Yanjing, I had a feeling we’d strike it rich, but look—now, even surviving this is uncertain."

My mind raced. "He fell from this path. If we keep going, we’ll only end up back at the main burial chamber. But my father isn’t there. Instead of searching the chamber, let’s take a chance."

Fatty looked at me and smiled suddenly, "I like that idea. But who knows if this fool can lead the way."

I turned to the worker, "Can you take us to your master?"

As soon as I let go, the worker spun around and ran up the stairs. I hurried after him; Fatty cursed and followed behind.