Chapter One: The Crimson Coffin

Two figures halted in front of the cave. The entrance seemed no different from any ordinary mountain cavern—tall enough for a person, about a meter and a half wide, as if formed by nature itself.

“Fatty, let’s go in!” one of the figures called out, heading into the darkness.

“Alright, Master Ya,” replied the one addressed as Fatty, following close behind.

A beam of intense light swept across the smooth walls within the passage; Master Ya, flashlight in hand, waved it back and forth, scrutinizing both the stone walls and the endless darkness ahead. Another beam flickered behind him, casting shadows over his form. Master Ya’s features were illuminated—not handsome, but imbued with a subtle, indefinable air; his spirit was vigorous, eyes sharp and lively, his expression calm and untroubled. Long white hair cascaded down his shoulders, contrasting sharply with his black robe.

This man of about forty, known as Master Ya, was Fatty’s idol. He’d joined the Grave-Robbers’ Guild at twelve, earned the title “Never Leaves a Tomb Empty” in his youth, and as his reputation grew, he became known across the underworld as Master Ya.

Master Ya tapped the ground, walls, and ceiling with his collapsible staff as he walked, each step deliberate, while Fatty followed in his wake.

The tunnel was long—they advanced for over half an hour before reaching its end. There, a stone door blocked their way. Flanking it stood two fierce, demonic guardians, each clutching a steel trident, their gazes fixed menacingly on these uninvited guests.

The two men approached with caution, stopping a couple of meters from the door, their attention fixed on the stone barrier.

Fatty fiddled with his laptop, pulled a rod-like antenna from his backpack, and attached it. The screen displayed the stone door’s structure.

After a moment, Fatty packed up and reported, “Master Ya, the scan’s done. These seem to be ordinary stone doors. No traps or signs of life detected.”

Master Ya reached into his robe and pulled out a dark pill, handing it to Fatty. “This is a camphor antidote—keep it in your mouth. I’ll open the door.”

He stepped forward, alert to every sound. After waiting and hearing nothing suspicious, he pressed his palms against the door. An icy chill seeped into his heart.

Suddenly, a shout rang out behind him: “Master Ya, get back—something’s wrong!”

Always on guard, Master Ya leaped away at the first sound of Fatty’s warning.

Without anyone noticing, one of the demonic guardians had come to life. Its steel trident slashed through the spot where Master Ya had just stood—a moment slower, and he’d have been cut in two.

Both guardians now lunged at them, tridents gleaming coldly. The two reacted instantly, dodging aside.

Seizing the chance as one guardian’s trident was still extended, Master Ya grabbed it and punched the demon square in the face. The creature did not evade and took the blow head-on with a resounding thud, unmoved as if struck against iron.

Master Ya steadied himself, gathered his strength, his robe rustling as he unleashed a second, thunderous punch—far mightier than before.

With a boom, the demon was sent flying, crashing to the ground with a bowl-sized crater in its chest, black fluid oozing out as cracks webbed across its torso.

Meanwhile, Fatty was locked in fierce combat with the other guardian, wielding his mountain-cleaver with surprising agility for his bulk. The demon pressed forward relentlessly, trident flashing. Fatty, seeing its steps falter, seized the opening and swung his blade at its head. In panic, the demon raised its trident to block—exactly what Fatty anticipated.

He kicked it in the chest, forcing it back, then, before it could recover, darted forward and with one clean stroke, chopped off its head. Black, foul-smelling liquid spurted from the severed neck as the body collapsed heavily to the ground.

Just then, a loud grinding sounded. The two men turned to see the stone doors slowly parting before them.

Without hesitation, they entered, finding a long stone staircase descending into the earth.

They descended more than thirty steps into a chamber about ten meters across. The room was hexagonal, each side opening to a passageway. The floor was paved with blue bricks, the arched entrances five meters high and ten meters wide. By each opening stood a stone pedestal supporting a lit oil lamp.

They paused, standing in one of the six passageways.

A heavy thud sounded behind them—Master Ya’s face remained calm. His experience told him their escape was sealed.

Soon, a buzzing echoed from the other five tunnels, as if something was racing towards them. The ground trembled faintly.

Pairs of glowing green eyes appeared at the entrances, followed by the full, eerie outlines—ragged, corpse-like figures with bodies covered in dense white fur, resembling monstrous white apes. Their fingernails were black and gleaming, their fangs sharp, as they surged out, roaring, and charged straight at the two men.

“Fatty, be careful! Zombies!” Master Ya shouted, rushing forward without fear. Reaching behind him, he drew his blade—its cold flash slicing through a zombie’s neck. He dodged back; in an instant, the creature’s head was severed, spurting green blood.

Master Ya’s sword flashed again and again—heads flew.

But more and more zombies poured from the surrounding tunnels, overwhelming the chamber.

The pressure mounting, Master Ya roared, “Fatty, use the ‘Old Sow’—suppress them!”

The rapid fire of a Gatling gun thundered from the entrance. Fatty, clutching the heavy weapon from his pack, sprayed the horde with bullets, muzzle flashing, the recoil shaking his entire body, his flesh quivering with each shot.

Gradually, the tide of corpses subsided. The floor was littered with over a hundred zombie bodies, and green fluid covered the two men.

Fatty tossed aside the ‘Old Sow,’ gasping for breath. “Damn it—this is insane. Years go by without seeing a single one, and tonight I’ve met more than in my entire life.”

Wiping sweat from his brow, he continued, “Master Ya, this must be a zombie lair. Do we keep going?”

“You brought explosives. Find a way out first—this is beyond what I expected. I’ll go on alone and see how far I can get. If you come with me, I could escape but you might not make it,” Master Ya said, sitting to recover his strength, then opening his eyes slowly.

Fatty thought for a moment, then nodded firmly. “Alright. Be careful, Master Ya! I’ll wait for you at the entrance. Don’t leave me behind!”

“Not a chance,” Master Ya replied with a nod.

Fatty hauled himself up, slung his gear, and headed out.

The cavern grew silent and empty as Fatty departed.

“This is getting more and more interesting,” Master Ya murmured, rising to his feet. He advanced cautiously into one of the tunnels, tapping ahead with his staff.

He walked for an indeterminate time before a bright glow appeared in the distance. Master Ya tensed, sword already in hand.

He was stunned by the sight before him.

A sea of red spread out overhead—a vast, circular underground palace. At its center hung a massive red flower made of silk, suspended high above. Rows of red lanterns and sheer red veils swayed gently in an unfelt breeze.

Red veils draped the chamber; festive red candles burned brightly, casting warm light and arranged in perfect order. Even the ground was covered with red cloth.

Master Ya shivered, a chill seeping through his bones as an unnatural wind swept past.

In the very center of the chamber stood a solitary red coffin.