Chapter 42: The Ancient Tower

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As I stood there dazed, one of the men in our group suddenly pulled out a dagger, speared a chunk of beef, and was about to shove it into his mouth. Old Han hurriedly shouted, “Don’t eat that!”

But he was too late—before the words had fully escaped his lips, the man had already bitten into the meat, chewing noisily and clearly enjoying it. “Damn, this is delicious. It’s incredible,” he exclaimed, and stuffed the rest of the beef into his mouth.

To be honest, I was tempted by the pot of beef myself, but the whole situation felt too strange, too unsettling, and I dared not try it. Yet for some reason, the others began to grow restless, eager to taste the food. A chubby fellow stepped forward and grabbed some beef, muttering, “Whatever, let’s just give it a try first.”

Apart from those two, the rest of us held back, still rational and cautious. Soon, though, the pair had eaten quite a bit without any apparent ill effects, and the others began to follow suit, one after another. Someone said as he ate, “I’ve heard there are liquors sealed for a thousand years that are still good to drink, and taste amazing.”

Old Han was furious. “You idiot! How can you compare that? Those are sealed jars of wine. This is boiled beef! And you fools actually dare eat it!”

But no one paid him any mind. The five men seemed half-starved and began fighting over the meat. Soon, nothing was left in the pot but steaming broth.

“Give it to me!”

One man even tried to snatch beef from another’s hands, and the two of them started tussling—really coming to blows. At that moment, I glanced at Old Han, and he looked back at me. It dawned on me that something was truly wrong.

All five of them began brawling, each snatching at the beef in each other’s hands. One of them ran to the pot and started gulping down the broth.

“I knew something was off. Damn it, they’re possessed or something.”

Before long, someone cried out for water and began chugging mineral water from his backpack. I was at a loss—after eating so much beef and draining a big pot of broth, they were now guzzling water like mad. The situation had become extremely abnormal.

Then, suddenly, someone dashed out into the courtyard. There was a well at the gate, with a bucket nearby. The man grabbed the bucket and began drawing water. Under the flashlight’s beam, the water looked crystal clear. He raised the bucket and drank directly from it. I saw, with horrifying clarity, that his belly swelled as if it were about to burst.

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At this point, Old Han’s usual calm was gone. The usual smile on his face had vanished, replaced by a grim expression. His large frame lunged toward the nearest man, who was frantically gulping water from his canteen, his stomach grotesquely distended. Old Han punched him hard in the gut, doubling him over and causing him to vomit violently.

He followed with a flurry of punches. The man retched even more, at first expelling water in torrents, then vomiting up the beef he’d eaten earlier. The sight was revolting, but what shocked me most was that the beef coming out was pitch black, nothing like the tender meat it had been before.

When the man had emptied the contents of his stomach, he began to scream in pain, rolling on the ground. Old Han used the same brutal method on the others, pummeling their stomachs. Soon, he was drenched in sweat and panting heavily, while the five men lay on the ground, wailing in agony. But after a while, their pain seemed to subside, and their groans grew weaker, though they didn’t recover immediately.

I asked Old Han what was going on. He pointed to the vomit and said, “They ate what shouldn’t be eaten. I can’t explain the specifics, but this place is too strange. We need to get out, now.”

Once the men had regained some strength, they supported each other and left the courtyard. Old Han began hurrying toward the central area. As I walked, I kept looking around, constantly feeling as if countless eyes were watching me. The sensation was deeply unpleasant and oppressive.

It was hard to describe—my chest felt tight, especially after witnessing that bizarre episode. My anxiety grew.

We hadn’t gone far when Old Han suddenly stopped. I halted behind him. He said, “Listen—do you hear that?”

I listened closely. It was the sound of footsteps. Clear and deliberate, step by step, echoing through the silent underground town, sending chills down my spine.

“This place is haunted, I swear,”

One of the burly men in the group shouted, pulling a shotgun from his back. “I’ve been in plenty of places underground—never been afraid of ghosts. If something evil shows up, I’ll blast it to hell!”

I noticed that the others, too, were wearing fierce expressions, scanning the surroundings. Rather than being afraid, they seemed almost exhilarated. Old Han said nothing, just waved for everyone to pick up the pace.

The central area was marked by an old building, different from any I had seen before. Unlike the other well-preserved structures, this one was dilapidated, an abandoned relic. What made it even stranger was the faint, mournful singing that drifted from within—a woman’s lament, or perhaps weeping—its sorrowful tone chilling to the bone.

“Han, you don’t think there are corpses here, do you?”

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I paid little mind to their coded talk, but when I saw Old Han remain silent, I asked, “Old friend, we’re here now. Can I leave?”

“Leave? Not so fast. You go in first!” The reply came not from Old Han, but from a scrawny man standing nearby.

I frowned, shot him a sidelong glance, then looked at Old Han. He said nothing, clearly acquiescing. It was obvious they wanted me to take the risk first. I forced myself to calm down and surveyed the situation. Three guns were trained on me. If I refused, the bullets would fly. I could probably take one of them down instantly, but only one—the others would shoot before I could react. I could sense that these men were all hardened criminals, more than willing to kill.

I was left with no choice. After a deep breath, I said evenly, “Fine, I’ll go in and have a look around.”

With that, I walked slowly toward the building, surveying my surroundings. The place was thick with a bleak, desolate atmosphere. As I pushed open the rotting door, the singing stopped abruptly and the world fell silent.

Strangely, I felt no fear at all. Inside, everything was draped in dust and cobwebs. I wondered why the buildings outside were so well preserved and clean, while this one was so neglected. The floorboards creaked loudly underfoot.

I swept my flashlight around. There was nothing but dust everywhere. As I prepared to climb to the second floor, my foot broke through a stair step. The next step crumbled as well. I had no choice but to balance my weight as lightly as possible, distributing it across my body—a technique akin to the “lightness skill” from martial arts novels.

Stepping lightly from point to point, I soon reached the second floor, which consisted of a single hall filled with countless earthenware jars. I didn’t touch them at first, thinking they might be jars of preserved wine. I picked one up—it was very light, sealed with a layer of clay. I paid it no further attention.

The building didn’t seem to hold any secrets, but as my flashlight swept around, I noticed something odd. There was a third floor, but no staircase leading up—not a ruined or rotten one, but as if none had ever been built. How was one supposed to reach the third floor?

As I pondered this, I heard footsteps approaching and voices outside. “This staircase is so rotten, it breaks with every step. How are we supposed to get up there?”

It was Old Han and the others—they must have become uneasy after I’d been inside so long without a sound. I ignored them, but soon they managed to climb up after me. I turned to look: they had actually climbed up by hand. Old Han, despite his size, was surprisingly agile.

They asked me, “What’s going on?”