Little Pink Starfish

The human skins hanging on the wall had hollow holes for noses and eyes, and thick makeup painted on their faces, giving them a disturbingly eerie look.

Even though everyone knew these were just skins now, with the resentful spirits already exorcised, standing amidst hundreds of them hanging in the dim beam of flashlights still made one’s hair stand on end.

Zhang Qiu dry-heaved for a while, eyes and nose both running. Li Shu handed him a tissue, gently wiping his face. Zhang Qiu stood dazed, a little embarrassed. He held back from gagging again—wasting the tissue would’ve been a shame.

“Don’t be afraid,” Li Shu said lightly.

“I’m not afraid. Just grossed out,” Zhang Qiu insisted, clinging to his pride.

Li Shu nodded and didn’t press it. He took Zhang Qiu’s hand and continued forward—they had to pass through the rows of human skins.

“This corridor’s huge,” Zhang Qiu said, walking close behind Li Shu, avoiding looking around. “Must be at least four or five meters wide. These ancient emperors really knew how to waste resources… Building a mausoleum could take thirty, forty years… so extravagant…”

Because the corridor was wide, they walked five abreast. Zhang Qiu was beside Li Shu, with Little Jiang and Second Brother’s group on the other side.

“Doesn’t really seem like a corridor for a tomb,” Xiapi Prince suddenly remarked.

Zhang Qiu got flustered. “I didn’t mean you were wasteful, Second Sister-in-law.” He’d forgotten—his second brother was once an emperor, and his sister-in-law a royal. Their tomb had been the epitome of luxury.

Xiapi Prince smiled, unbothered. Zhang Qiu, recalling his words, thought about the small stone chamber they’d seen earlier. It was tiny and empty. Normally, grand tombs had many side chambers for burial goods or low-ranking attendants. But that room hadn’t even had a coffin—clearly not a burial chamber.

“Could it be that this is the actual corridor, and that was a side chamber?” Zhang Qiu asked.

Zhang Yushui nodded. “Looks like it. Based on what the little ghost said, the country of Zhongshan was in decline at the time. This place was likely built for ritual sacrifice—specifically human sacrifice—so it wasn’t going to be lavish.”

Mention of sacrificial rituals brought back the gruesome scenes of the vengeful spirits’ deaths. Zhang Qiu shivered. Zhang Yushui seemed to read his mind and smiled slightly. “Exactly. The next few chambers might recreate those scenes. Little brother, if you’re scared, just hold onto Li Shu.”

That was so on purpose!

“I’m not scared,” Zhang Qiu said stiffly.

The chamber they were in was about five or six meters wide and seven meters long. While chatting, they unknowingly reached the end. Talking really did help reduce fear.

The second chamber door had more decorative carvings—ancient and elegant. Li Shu pushed it open again.

Even prepared, Zhang Qiu nearly vomited at the sight.

The first chamber had been skins. The second was filled with bloody, mutilated limbs. Worst of all, they were fresh—as if preserved for thousands of years.

He immediately spotted the woman who’d been cut open, lying on the ground with her intestines spilled out and a bloody baby beside her.

Broken legs, severed hands, cut-open stomachs—men, women, even many children with black, hollow eye sockets.

Zhang Qiu managed to hold it in at first, but when someone behind him started gagging, he couldn’t take it either. He covered his mouth. Someone handed him a tissue.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Zhang Qiu clutched the tissue, confused by the unfamiliar voice. He looked up—no one was there.

“Little Jiang, did you see someone beside me just now?”

“A bodyguard uncle. But he smelled kinda cold,” Little Jiang sniffed. “Maybe it’s just cold in here. I could be wrong.”

Zhang Qiu looked back. Six bodyguards surrounded Qi Zhirong. Everyone who needed to vomit already had. He rushed Agui, “Let’s hurry! This place is creepy. The sooner we’re done, the sooner we leave.”

“I knew it’d be like this—”

Agui cut him off, “Stop whining. Keep Mr. Qi safe. We’re getting paid, aren’t we?” Each man had been offered an extra million to come down. Even in death, their families would get paid.

The next chamber was shorter. After they passed through it, the third doorway led into a long, narrow hallway—probably an actual corridor.

Roughly ten meters long, they picked up the pace. Suddenly, Li Shu halted in front. Zhang Qiu was about to ask why when he heard a buzzing sound above.

It came from the ceiling, growing louder.

A swarm of something with wings.

Zhang Qiu shone his flashlight upward. Tiny black dots covered the thin stone ceiling. If it cracked, they’d burst out.

“Turn off your flashlights.”

Qi Zhirong’s cold voice came from behind. Zhang Qiu instinctively switched his off, turning to meet Qi Zhirong’s icy gaze.

“Off!” Qi Zhirong barked, irritated.

The bodyguards, unused to his tone, quickly obeyed.

“Slow your breathing. Walk slowly,” Qi Zhirong said, calm again.

Zhang Qiu listened. The buzzing quieted. He looked at Li Shu, who nodded—meaning they should follow Qi Zhirong’s lead.

They passed through slowly. Qi Zhirong eventually reached the end and opened the fourth door.

Pei Qing entered last and shut it. Lights turned back on. Inside were many black jars, open and filled with bloated, dark, round things floating in liquid.

“What are these?”

“Human eyes,” said a bodyguard.

Zhang Qiu took a closer look. “These don’t look like eyes.”

“You’re looking at testicles. He’s looking at eyes,” Zhang Yushui said calmly.

“Testi—what?” Zhang Qiu instantly understood. His eyes burned. Whose sick tomb is this?! The room full of men’s balls made him wince.

Zhang Yushui stared at Qi Zhirong. “A crooked ritual. Yin first, then yang. What comes next?”

Women’s skins and mutilated corpses for yin. Testicles and eyes for yang.

“I don’t know,” Qi Zhirong said blankly.

Zhang Yushui smirked. “There are two doors ahead. Since Mr. Qi invited us, we’ll let you decide.”

“If I choose, will you even follow?” Qi Zhirong’s tone dripped with mockery. “You’re all suspicious of me. I just want to know who’s controlling me.”

The room had two side doors.

Li Shu ignored the conversation. “Zhang Qiu, which way?”

Not again!

Zhang Qiu remembered last time he picked, Li Shu got hurt. “I’ve got bad luck. Little Jiang, you pick.”

Little Jiang flashed his fangs and pointed left. “That one smells better.”

“Left it is,” Li Shu said.

Everyone agreed. Zhang Qiu, holding Little Jiang’s hand, suddenly panicked. His son’s idea of “good smell” probably wasn’t the same as their idea of “good luck.”

But halfway through already, he couldn’t back out. Maybe this time it’s fine…

This corridor was especially long. Zhang Qiu felt colder the farther they went. Little Jiang seemed cheerful though, jingling his bell as he bounced. Behind them, someone’s teeth chattered.

Then someone whimpered, “Mr. Qi… I-I’m too cold… This place… it’s dangerous…”

“Who’s being weak? Hang in there. Or do you want to be left—”

“Holy crap! Xiao Lin!”

The name made Zhang Qiu’s eyelid twitch. He turned—chaos. Bodyguards hugged the walls. Xiao Lin sat pitifully on the ground, pale as paper, sweating, clearly exhausted. The six big men looked terrified, practically pressing into the walls.

Comical… if Xiao Lin were alive.

“Agui, why’re you so far? I’m cold… help me,” Xiao Lin said weakly.

Agui gulped. “Xiao Lin, do you even know what you are now?”

“He doesn’t,” Zhang Yushui stepped up, crouched beside him, and pulled out a talisman. Xiao Lin instinctively shrank back, scared—though he didn’t know why.

“Master Zhang… what’s wrong with me?”

“You’re dead,” Zhang Yushui said, stuffing the folded talisman into his arms.

“Dead?” The talisman steadied him, but he still looked confused. “No way… I had a talisman… I was with the group… Then I got separated… I found Ahao and Lao Li—called to them—but they screamed…”

Those two were the guards who first entered the tomb.

“Then why was Ahao covered in blood?” Agui asked.

Xiao Lin frowned. “I don’t know. I just waved. Then… I don’t remember. Next thing I knew, I saw you guys. Zhang Qiu was gagging—I even gave him a tissue.”

Zhang Qiu: ……

That’s what felt off!!

So Xiao Lin was a ghost—but didn’t act like one. Zhang Qiu had seen plenty now, and though he wasn’t scared, he pitied Xiao Lin. Kid was barely in his twenties, just out of the army, and died horribly.

“Second Brother, now what?”

Everyone had seen Xiao Lin die. He definitely wasn’t alive.

Zhang Yushui stood. “His death was violent, and fast. This place is full of yin. That’s how ghosts take form. He still has attachments—it’s normal to think he’s alive. As for the memory gap—likely something here is draining his spirit. Once Li Shu and I came down, he snapped out of it.”

Zhang Qiu remembered the female ghosts describing being controlled in a haze to lure men as fresh spirits—seemed true.

“Two choices,” Zhang Yushui said. “One, I exorcise the grudge and send him to reincarnate. Two, he lets go of attachments himself and goes on.”

Xiao Lin’s voice trembled. “I’m really… dead?”

Even the six guards looked distraught. Xiao Lin had been the youngest—simple, hard-working, brave.

No one could speak.

Xiao Lin lowered his head, unwilling. Then looked up. “Master Zhang… I choose the second.”

“I’ll help you for free, since we’re colleagues,” Zhang Yushui said. “You have a soul-binding talisman. Go on.”

They moved forward—now with Xiao Lin in tow. Though the guards pitied him, they still kept their distance. Xiao Lin knew this and stayed at the back. Pei Qing patted his shoulder.

“Don’t be sad. Even ghosts can be good ones. Let go of your regrets—you’ll reincarnate soon.”

Pei Qing stroked his bead in his pocket. My little bell is such a good soul.

Xiao Lin thought for a second. Yeah, being a good ghost wasn’t so bad.

“Thanks, big bro. Aren’t you scared of me? I’m a ghost…”

Scared? I wanna pin my little bell down every night, Pei Qing thought.

Out loud, he said casually, “People can be scarier than ghosts. You’re nothing.”

Xiao Lin looked at him with admiration. Such high-level insight!

Soon, they reached a large black door—intricately carved with what looked like wings. In the center was a round emblem.

Zhang Qiu studied it. “Looks like wings. That circle… it’s like the jade disc Qi Zhirong found.”

Zhang Yushui pulled it out, pressed it in. The stone clicked quietly.

Even with Zhang Qiu’s heightened hearing, the faint sound revealed how thick the door was. No brute force could open it—well, maybe Li Shu or Qi Xi could.

Wait—traps?!

Just as Zhang Qiu was about to warn them, Qi Zhirong walked through the slowly opening door.

They quickly followed—but Qi Zhirong had vanished.

The stone door slammed shut behind them.

Guards panicked. “Who shut it?” “Why’d it close?” “How do we get out?”

“Shut up.” Li Shu’s quiet voice silenced the room.

Qi Xi looked anxious. “Where’s Xiao Rongrong? He was just here!”

Zhang Qiu felt awkward seeing Qi Xi like that. Maybe Qi Zhirong really was hiding something… but what if he didn’t just disappear—what if we’re the ones trapped?

“We’ll find him,” he said.

The chamber was massive. Walls covered in colorful murals. A massive pit in the center. Layered black stairs spiraled downward—deep, steep, and unknown.

“Wait, don’t rush,” Zhang Qiu grabbed the impulsive Qi Xi. “Let’s check the murals first.”

They were vibrant, telling the history of Zhongshan—starting with a nomadic tribe, wild and strong. They grew into a small city. The land became prosperous.

Then—disaster. War. The nation fell, forced into desolate lands. One painting showed a sickly king, and a tall figure presenting something to him.

After that—the country thrived again, more powerful than ever.

That’s where the mural ended. Zhang Qiu guessed the sickly man was the king the little ghost mentioned. But who was the man offering something? What did he offer? In the ancient Pulu Kingdom, a queen performed a human sacrifice. That too led to prosperity. Was there a connection?

Zhang Qiu couldn’t figure it out. Qi Xi was already impatient.

“Let’s go.”

The stairs were narrow and steep—barely wide enough for two. Endless black below. One misstep and someone could fall all the way down.

Zhang Qiu walked behind Little Jiang, heart pounding at every tiny step his son took.

“Tired, son?”

Without turning, Little Jiang said seriously, “If you’re tired, Daddy, you can hold my hand.”

He extended his chubby hand.

“I’m fine. You go slow.” Zhang Qiu patted it. So soft—so fun to squish.

Little Jiang nodded and carefully continued down. Zhang Qiu followed, watching heads disappear downward.

He was starting to feel dizzy when suddenly—the sound of water.

“There’s a river here!” Qi Xi called out from ahead.