Iron Bull taucht wieder auf

Kapitel 24

Yelan's face turned ashen, and he roared, "That's the mouth of Death! Don't do anything foolish!"

Given the current situation inside the tunnel, Dr. Tang's actions were not surprising; his intention was simply to see what was inside the half-dug hole. After the strong beam of the flashlight shone into the darkness, the camera above his head clearly reflected the situation of the fifty-centimeter-diameter opening onto the monitor in front of us.

Actually, there's nothing particularly strange about it; everywhere are smooth, curved surfaces polished by drill bits, and without exception, they are all a lifeless, dark gray.

Tang turned away in disappointment, waving his arms in frustration: "Don't tell me what to do!" The swear words turned into a low murmur, and he then whispered to his ten assistants.

The blinding white light emitted by the lighting system illuminated everything at the end of the tunnel.

Yelan suddenly called out in a strange low voice, "Mr. Feng, don't you feel that this scene is a bit odd?" He quickly took three big steps back, covered his eyes with his hands, made them into a tube shape, and looked at the monitor from a distance.

"Strange?" I mimicked his posture and stepped back to observe the screen. In less than a second, a sudden sense of fear washed over me, sending cold sweat down my back. Like a "stretching" motion in a movie, as our viewing angle receded, all the figures on the screen appeared eerily distant.

The black hole was abruptly exposed on the screen, like—

“Like the snake eye on the crown of a Pharaoh, isn’t it?” Yelan’s voice trembled violently.

Throughout history, the crowns of pharaohs have always been adorned with a ferocious, enormous black cobra. For reasons unknown, the snake's head is tilted to the side, pointing diagonally forward, so that anyone looking at the crown can only see the outward-facing black eye.

The cobra, as a symbol of the pharaoh's "severity, cruelty, and brutality," has been present in almost all archaeological excavations of pharaohs' tombs.

Yelan lowered his hand, his voice a mixture of a cold laugh and a sob: "The Pharaoh's... curse... curse..."

Ancient Egyptian legal codes record that subjects who committed crimes were taken to a huge, dry well called the "Lower Cave of Serpents." This well was filled with ravenously hungry black cobras. The criminals were thrown in, and the serpents would judge their guilt. If they could survive unharmed in the Lower Cave of Serpents, they were proven innocent and could receive divine forgiveness.

Therefore, in ancient Egyptian legends, the cobra was also known as the "god of punishment".

These legends would certainly have no deterrent effect on a tomb raiding expert of Gu Ye's caliber; otherwise, why would he have dared to come to the vast desert of Egypt with such enthusiasm?

Tang and his assistants inspected the drilling rig, and their faces all showed an indescribable blankness.

The drilling rig wasn't broken or out of control; the real problem was the thickness of the stone wall. However, since the Pyramid of Tulku has been on the private agenda of tomb raiders worldwide, it has been subjected to hundreds of overt and covert investigations almost every year. It's safe to assume that the investigation was already thorough before any attempts were even made to probe it.

The figure of "four meters thickness" is correct, which is why Dr. Tang's drilling rig's effective control distance is set between four and five meters.

The five experts were silent for a moment, then almost simultaneously took out their phones and quickly dialed numbers.

At the same time, I dialed the scalpel's secret number. As soon as the call connected, I heard shouts and yells from at least four or five people on the other end.

“Feng, don’t be surprised. It’s Gu Ye and the other four. They called at the same time, and from five different numbers. I know everything that’s happening at the camp. We’ll talk again later.” Scalpel smiled wryly.

I hung up the phone, suddenly feeling a deep weariness—"All the experts who entered the excavation camp are either friends or partners of Scalpel. I don't have any special privileges. Scalpel's gentle care for me is only because of the entrustment from my elder brother Yang Tian. What will happen in the future? Will I depend on Scalpel for the rest of my life? Will I have to be taken care of like a naive young boy for the rest of my life?"

In an instant, a pyramid of ideas about home and family crumbled in my heart—

"For so many years, I've treated the scalpel like family, but that's just wishful thinking. I'm still an orphan. After my older brother disappeared, I'm like any other planet in the universe, isolated. I can't rely on anyone but myself to save myself!"

My face must have looked terrible, so much so that Yelan looked at me with utter pity and sorrow.

I sat down at the table, took out paper and a pencil, and after a moment's thought, quickly sketched a three-dimensional cross-section of the shaft and tunnel on the paper. At the end of the tunnel, I added a wall four meters behind, painting it a light gray.

Now, everyone is on this side of the stone wall, separated from the mysterious world inside by only one wall.

I hesitated, then drew a Go board on the other side of the stone wall, actually simulating the layout of the burial chambers inside the pyramid. As my pen landed on the very center of the board, a sudden thought struck me: "In such a planar structure, what does this central point represent?"

The pyramid's pointed structure dictates a top-to-bottom area distribution. Therefore, the total area of each level decreases progressively downwards. If the total number of burial chambers remains constant, the individual area of each chamber will decrease accordingly. This raises a crucial question about "gravity support"—if the upper chambers were to detach from the support of the vertical load-bearing walls, would an unpredictable chain reaction of collapses occur under the influence of Earth's gravity?

I painted the very center black because, assuming the burial chamber of the Turkham Pyramid is a Go board, the most important "point" is at the "center point," which is the intersection of the centers of all the areas.

I scratched my head vigorously, racking my brains to think.

In the video, four of the people have put away their phones, leaving only Cheney communicating with the scalpel.

He was a master among masters of pyramid architecture, and the most qualified to speak on these strange burial chamber structures. I heard him speaking rapidly in heavily accented, Scottish-accented English: “I bet there’s something wrong with the X-rays on the stone walls. The construction of these walls is not fundamentally different from dozens of other pyramids. So, I need your surveying team to conduct a thorough, end-to-end measurement of the pyramids, from top to bottom, leaving no stone unturned, not even a single square centimeter exposed in the desert!”

His words "from head to toe" inspired me. I slammed my pencil down, jumped up, and yelled, "Yes! From head to toe! From head to toe!"

The "head" I'm referring to is the spire of the Turkham Pyramid. During my brief period of amnesia, I felt that the top of the pyramid could be stepped on, and I even imagined that if I stomped my feet hard, I would enter the interior of the pyramid from that position.

Therefore, we can completely abandon our original plan to enter through the tunnel and instead, in a rather whimsical way, enter through the opening at the top of the pyramid.

I was stunned by my own crazy new idea. For a moment, I stood there dumbfounded, afraid to move, lest this inspiration suddenly disappear and be lost forever.

On the monitor, Tang was directing his assistant to adjust the drilling rig's working height, preparing to drill again to the lower left of the opening. His "gas explosive" theory was not performing as expected, because there was no sign of a "flexible barrier" in the rock face.

I gave Yelan a stiff smile and gestured for the technicians to get back to their posts.

At this moment, everyone needs to remain calm, even calmer than the experts underground, and be prepared to deal with any emergencies.

As I walked towards the tent entrance, Yelan followed, pleading urgently and exasperatedly, "Mr. Feng, I wish to go down into the well. I am considered the highest authority in all of Egypt regarding underground drilling; perhaps I can—"

I interrupted him, patting him on the shoulder: "Yelan, get back to your post. I'm in charge of the camp now. Trust them, trust the experts' power and insight, which far surpasses that of ordinary people."

He grew utterly despondent, his eyes vacant and lost as he stared at the fading twilight outside, muttering to himself, "You don't know, the Pharaoh's curses only fall upon foreigners, while I am immune to these immeasurable punishments... The gates of the Cave of a Thousand Serpents have been opened, and every foreigner who offends the Pharaoh's majesty will be chosen by the 'God of Punishment'..."

I have no interest in these mysterious and strange spells. If we’re talking about the viciousness, cruelty, and madness of spells, the first choice would be the witchcraft tribes of the Central American jungles or the gang rules passed down through the ages in China. The spells of the Pharaohs, after being beautifully translated by European invaders, have become poetic, with elegant syllables and melodies, and their terrifying nature has been greatly reduced.

I solemnly ordered Yelan, "Go back to your post, Mr. Yelan, you're meddling too much!"

Regardless of whether his purpose in going down the well was to "save innocent lives" or to try and get a large share of the ancient tomb's treasure, I don't want him to disrupt Tanino's original excavation plan.

Dusk had fallen over the camp, but thanks to hundreds of lights, the entire camp was brightly lit, like a carnival night. However, the camp was very quiet; no one spoke loudly or made any noise. The thirty-odd people surrounding the derrick stood silently and solemnly, their hands hanging down and their bodies stiff.

After taking a dozen long, deep breaths, I twisted my waist and legs to relax my incredibly tense nerves. Only when the body is relaxed can the mind work freely.

My crazy idea just now needs further careful consideration, and the only person I can communicate well with is Suren.

The Second Underground Horror

— Chapter 22 — A Bizarre Match —

I know that, based on the working habits of the five experts at the end of the tunnel, they would try at least three times on the rock wall before giving up, so I can talk to Suren first.

She was standing at the entrance of Elder Sahan's tent, next to the embroidered carpet, positioned slightly to the side and slightly in front of Elder Sahan. Sahan and Youlian remained in the same position, one sitting cross-legged facing west, the other with her head bowed, holding a ceramic bowl.

"Why would such a ceremony pique Su Lun's interest so much?" I thought to myself as I walked forward, glancing unconsciously at Tang Xin's tent. The tent flap was drawn low, and there was no sound. These three seemed to be enjoying the peace and quiet, hiding inside the tent and completely oblivious to everything happening outside.

Imagine the focused look on the tiger's face as it played chess with Song Jiu. I'm afraid the chess pieces would be placed slower than a tortoise crawling, and a single game would take three to five days.

Go is a profound and complex game. In Japan, the second largest Go-playing country in Asia, the Honinbo tournament used to see a single game last for ten or even a hundred days.

In my memory, the ancients said: "Diligence leads to mastery, while idleness leads to ruin."

I've always believed that wasting precious life on endless games like Go is a form of invisible murder of human existence. Perhaps the ancient Chinese invented Go because they had nothing better to do, and thus became even more idle, ultimately falling prey to the superior ships and cannons of Western powers…

Forget it, I don't want to bring up those dark histories anymore. This time, I'm determined to bring glory to the Chinese people and vindicate myself.

When I was about ten steps away from Suren, she suddenly waved her hand behind her back, signaling me not to come any closer.

I was taken aback, unsure of her intentions, but I still obediently pretended to yawn and quietly changed direction, heading towards Tang Xin's tent.

“If Elder Sahan’s ceremony is not open to outsiders, then why was Suren allowed to stand next to the carpet without being expelled?” I flicked my nails with a hint of unease, and my brows furrowed unconsciously.

I didn't want to go into Tang Xin's tent to see these three people. The pyramid hadn't been opened yet, the "millennial corpse worm" couldn't be found, and we had no common topics to discuss.

"Mr. Feng, please wait." Tang Xin's voice came from behind the tent. Soon after, she appeared gracefully, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her fox fur coat, her shoulders hunched.

Although the north wind in the desert is cold, it shouldn't be this cold at this time of year, right?

Meeting my suspicious gaze, Tang Xin smiled shyly: "I'm sorry, Mr. Feng, in recent years I have been practicing the 'Hundred Deaths Divine Skill', so my body's resistance has dropped to the extreme, which is why I have become so afraid of the cold."

I chuckled wryly and scratched the back of my head, almost doubting my hearing: "What? You practice the 'Hundred Deaths Divine Skill'? At such a young age, you're already qualified to practice that kind of skill? Your Tang Clan in Sichuan... isn't it always said that only the most senior and talented disciples can... can..."

After the advent of the 20th century and the era of individual firearms, the various martial arts, witchcraft, secret arts, and combat techniques passed down in Chinese history did not disappear overnight, but instead went underground in a more secretive and mysterious way.

In an era where a single bullet can outweigh thirty years of martial arts training, those masters who still diligently hone their skills often either fade into obscurity or achieve sudden fame—those who achieve sudden fame have long transcended the realm of "gunfights and one-on-one killings." Their targets often lose the ability to breathe freely before they even see the assassin's shadow.

Here, I can only give a brief overview of my superficial understanding of the "Hundred Deaths Divine Skill" of the Tang Clan in Sichuan.

The term "hundred deaths" can be understood literally. To master this martial art, every practitioner must undergo one hundred near-death training procedures. As far as I know, the three entry-level procedures among these "one hundred procedures" are "slashing with a knife, stabbing with a spear, and taking poison."

He suffered dozens of knife wounds, his tendons and ligaments were severed all over his body, and he was abandoned in the wild. He survived entirely thanks to his own survival skills.

He was pierced by a spear more than fifty times, and was not allowed to take any medicine. He recovered entirely through the regulation of his own physiological functions.

He drank a poisoned wine made from seven highly toxic substances, and for three days and three nights, he used his internal energy to fight against the poison until he finally suppressed the toxins in his stomach and vomited them all out...

I am not a member of the Tang Clan, so I can only describe this skill based on rumors and hearsay circulating in the martial arts world. This further illustrates the extreme secrecy surrounding this martial art.

Speaking of seniority and talent, I don't think Tang Xin can meet these two conditions.

In other words, the most advanced martial arts in a martial arts sect can only be practiced by the sect leader or the designated successor. Could Tang Xin be the next generation leader of the Tang Sect?

She only said a few words, but I took two big steps back and was still thinking about it in my mind at least dozens of times. I was clearly at a disadvantage in terms of momentum.

Tang Xin smiled, a hint of flawless charm suddenly emanating from her cold demeanor.

A loud "thud" suddenly came from inside the tent as a chess piece slammed onto the chessboard, followed by a sharp roar from the tiger: "Song Jiu, hello—"

The commotion startled me again. It was just a normal Go match; why was Tiger making such a fuss? This was completely out of character for him—really tenacious, calm, and resourceful. "Sigh, could it really be... really the power of the 'Emperor's Gu'?" Facing Tang Xin, who was as beautiful as the moon and a piece of jade, I really didn't want to accept this established "fact."

"Mr. Feng, would you like to come inside and talk?" She shook her hands and breathed on them.

I looked at her gleaming ten fingernails with a sense of dejection; each and every one of them could be a deadly weapon.

"Please, Mr. Feng. Although our Tang Clan of Sichuan has a notorious reputation, we are by no means the kind of scoundrels who can't distinguish friend from foe. At the very least, I have no ill intentions towards you, Mr. Feng." Tang Xin reached out and lifted the curtain, adopting a "let the man into the trap" stance.

Upon entering the tent, they found the two chess players already in a tense standoff. Song Jiu's soft sword was smoothly wrapped around the tiger's neck, while the tiger's right fist was still two inches away from striking Song Jiu's Adam's apple.

I know that the blue ring on the tiger's middle finger is actually a deadly weapon. Once it makes contact with an enemy's body, a sharp spike a third of an inch long will pop out from the ring. This is not an ordinary embroidery needle, but a deadly weapon that can automatically find its way into the enemy's blood vessels and travel up the bloodstream to the heart.

If such a sharp spike were inserted into the heart of any animal in the world, it would certainly not survive more than 24 hours.

A chivalrous outlaw like Tiger disdains the use of firearms. He has always looked down on common, conventional weapons.

The fine sandalwood chessboard had been shattered into more than a dozen pieces by the last piece the tiger placed. However, it was still possible to see that the piece had been placed on the side of the "center" point. Judging from the situation, it seemed that Song Jiu's chess skills were slightly superior, forcing the tiger to make a move to save himself, and then he was about to resort to violence.

There are thousands of chess fans who would fight over a game of chess, but if two players who are both chess fans and masters of the game were to fight, the consequences could be unimaginable.

Tang Xin seemed to be used to this kind of situation. She cleared her throat and chuckled softly, "Tiger, you cheated again after losing the game, didn't you? I told you long ago, your violent personality is completely unsuitable for playing chess. Otherwise, if you were a chess player, where would Nie Weiping, Ma Ying-jeou, Cao Cao, Lee Sedol, or even the 19th Japanese Go King have a chance in today's Asian Go world?"

Song Jiu rolled his lifeless eyes and surprisingly agreed: "That's right. For the first fifty moves, I had no chance to fight back. Your skill in Go is obvious to all. Not to mention Nie Weiping, Ma Ying-jeou, Cao Cao, and Lee Seung-hye, even the top ten players during the heyday of Japanese Go might not be able to beat you."

His sword twitched and was already back in his belt.

Regarding the strange relationship between these three people, I have guessed no less than thirty different possibilities: Song Jiu is the bodyguard, Tang Xin is the master, and Tiger is an admirer and follower who has been poisoned by the Tang Clan's 'Emperor Gu'.

However, I think that the more logical a result seems on the surface, the more absurd and biased it is.

Imagine, what use would Tang Xin have for casting a spell on Tiger? To use him as a bodyguard? There's absolutely no need for that. The Tang Clan in Sichuan is full of experts. Having another wandering swordsman like Tiger, while not exactly a burden, would be close enough.

The tiger also withdrew its fist, picked up the scattered chess pieces, and put them into the black and white chess box next to it.

Like a clueless spectator who bought a ticket to a play, I watched this scene with utter bewilderment. When Tiger picked up the first black stone embedded in the "center" position, I noticed that the intersection had been marked with a half-centimeter-deep indentation by the stone.

Chessboard, center point, a chessboard with nineteen lines, the structure of the earthen pyramid... numerous terms and diverse imagery intertwined and filled my mind.

Suddenly, Song Jiu murmured again, "Tiger, you're not some bearded man who returned from overseas to fight for the world, so why do you always make your first move at 'Tengen'? If it weren't for this inexplicable useless move, how could I be your opponent?"