Chapter 7: The Demon’s Face

I wasn't very confident myself. It was too late to talk about anything else. After I'd given the sniper rifle a simple waterproofing treatment, Wang and I waded into the pool first, the others following behind. We began swimming slowly toward the waterfall.

The water from the falls struck us with far more force and pain than I had imagined, but none of that mattered anymore. On the inner side of the waterfall's rock face, I spotted two rows of massive steel climbing spikes—completely hidden from the outside by the torrent. The spikes had been treated for extra grip. Wang pointed at Song Chunlei and said, "Chunlei, go up and take a look."

Although his time in the army was short, Song Chunlei was the most agile of us. A little over two minutes later, he climbed back down and reported, "Captain Wang, Brother Shen was right. There's a cave up there."

"See any sign of Mott's men?"

"No—but there are footprints around the entrance, as if deliberately left."

"That's close enough. Let's go up. Everyone be careful," Wang ordered.

We stepped on the steel spikes and climbed about ten meters before seeing the cave Song Chunlei had mentioned. Its entrance was a narrow fissure, just over a person's height. The moment I stepped into the cave, a sharp pain exploded in my skull, as if a blast of air had shot out through my crown. The pain knocked me unconscious in an instant. Blackness overtook me, and I nearly tumbled out of the entrance. Luckily, Wang, who was right behind me, shoved me forward and I fell inside.

The instant I passed the threshold, I regained consciousness. The headache vanished without a trace, and when I opened my eyes, everything around me was crystal clear—no hint of the darkness I'd expect without my night-vision scope. The clarity felt astonishing. Wang signaled and asked what had happened. I waved him off, indicating I was fine and had merely slipped. He cracked a grin and made a mock chop at me, warning that he'd "train" me properly when we got back.

Once the entire team was inside the cave, Wang gave a hand signal. We split into two squads and crept forward along the walls on either side. My eyes gradually adjusted to the dark, so I switched off the night-vision sight on my sniper rifle.

The cave's interior was gourd-shaped: the deeper we went, the larger it grew, as though it stretched on forever. How big was this mountain, to be hollowed out like this? After twenty minutes of walking, we still saw no end—and no sign of Mott or that group of a dozen. "Damn it, does this tunnel ever end?" Wang finally muttered aloud, though his voice was low.

"Captain Wang, someone up ahead," said Liu Jingsheng, who was in the lead. He lowered his voice. Instantly, everyone froze in place, muzzles trained on a shadowy shape about twenty meters ahead. It didn't look alive; I could see clearly that five people were kneeling on the ground, backs to us. They were slight in build, heads bowed low, utterly motionless—no sign of life.

Liu Jingsheng and Song Chunlei moved to the front. Wang signaled, and the two men, covering each other, ran a few steps closer. Their behavior was odd. They stood still, rifles leveled at the kneeling figures, as if glued in place. After two or three seconds, Liu Jingsheng spoke, his voice suddenly flat and unnatural: "You… take a look."

As we approached, it became clear why. Five corpses knelt on the ground—or rather, five headless mummies. Who knew how long they'd been dead? Their hands were bound behind them; all their flesh and fat had dried completely, clinging tightly to the bone. Their clothes had been stripped away, but we could tell they were men—and that they'd been dead for some years.

"This is what kind of damned place?" Wang muttered, then remembered he should report to the company commander—and only then noticed the radio had no signal, surely blocked by the cave.

"Nothing's going our way today!" he hesitated, then said, "Wang Zuo, Wang Guofeng, you two go outside the cave and report the situation to the commander, then hold position out there and cover any reinforcements."

Watching them prepare to leave, I said to Wang Guofeng, "Guofeng, let's swap guns." He paused, then realized that deep inside this winding cavern a sniper rifle wouldn't be as useful as an assault rifle in a firefight.

Wang didn't object as the two of us exchanged weapons and magazines. After a moment's thought he added, "Wang Zuo, give Shen La two more mags." When Wang Zuo handed me the magazines, he even took off his nightvision goggles. "La Zi, I won't need these once I'm outside—take them."

I pushed them back. "I'm the nightvision guy—I can see."

Wang looked skeptical. "You're the nightvision guy? Since when?"

"You never asked," I said gloomily. I couldn't very well explain I'd only gotten my nightvision "eyes" twenty minutes ago.

After Wang Zuo and Wang Guofeng left, the seven of us moved another ten minutes. The headless mummies we passed grew more numerous—at first just a few scattered here and there, but eventually kneeling in two perfect rows along both walls. Even our hardened group felt chilled by the spectacle.

Zhang Yunwei couldn't help but say, "No wonder old guide Lin warned the waterfall was sinister—so many headless ghosts kneeling here. If that isn't spooky, I don't know what is!"

"Shut up," Wang hissed, feeling a cold prickling down his spine. "Quit stalling. Find Mott and his bastards, finish this fast, and get the hell out of here."

"Captain," Song "Er" Mengzi piped up, "they're just dead bodies. We fear living targets—why fear a few headless ones?"

 Wang approved Song Chunlei's bravado. "Chunlei, keep your mouth shut!" I added, "Chunlei, grownups are talking—children, don't butt in."

"Captain, there's no way forward," Li Yan, who was leading, reported.

"Huh?" Wang went up to inspect and discovered a sheer rock wall some fifteen meters high. Damn—had we taken a wrong turn, or had Mott's men never actually come in? Wang turned pale; his gaze on me turned cold. "Shen La, this was your idea—we've blown the Falcon mission big time."

I felt just as unsure. I paced back and forth beside the wall, then noticed with surprise that my shadow was reflected on it.

"Captain, there's something wrong with this wall."

Wang leaned in, almost pressing his face against it. "What's wrong?"

He had his nightvision goggles, so he could see the cave in the dark, but not nearly as clearly as I could. I sighed. "Feel it yourself."

He ran a hand along the rock surface. "It's so smooth… like…" He trailed off, unable to find the word. I supplied the rest: "A mirror."

"La, how does a mirror relate to an exit?" Wang brightened.

"I don't know—just feels off," I doused his hope.

"Captain, someone's been past here," Li Yan said, holding up a cigarette butt.

"Damn. Drug traffickers always have money," Wang snarled. "Search around. See if there's a hidden passage."

I ran my hand along the wall, probing for a seam. Suddenly, a green face appeared on the rock right before me. It stared at me, tears of blood streaming from its empty eyes.

"A ghost!" My hair stood on end and, reflexively, I raised my rifle at the apparition—almost pulling the trigger. Wang and the others jumped, training their guns on the spot I pointed to. "What is it?"

"You don't see it?" I said, pointing.

"See what? There's nothing there," they replied, tense but puzzled. Damn—I realized my "heavenly eye" was active again.

"La Zi, are you alright? What do you see?" Wang thought I'd found a secret door. I forced a calm smile. "Nothing—just my eyes playing tricks, freaked out by your shadow."

I pretended nothing had happened. When I looked again, the wall was blank—no face.

"Stop jumping at shadows," Wang grumbled, ignoring me as they fanned out near Li Yan's cigarette butt.

Then an idea struck me: that face wasn't a ghost. From past experience, its expression had been neutral—nothing like the tortured visages I'd met before. It felt more like a signpost.

A signpost! I had the thought but didn't alert Wang. I tried it again: I placed my hand on the wall, pressed my face close—and, sure enough, the green face reappeared. "Captain."

 Wang turned irritably. "What now?"

"Nothing," I said, still alone in seeing it. "Just asking if you found the hidden door."

"Why don't you check yourself? If I'd found it, I wouldn't still be wandering here!"

"All right, thanks for your hard work."

"What's your problem?"

Only I could see the face—so "he" must be the mechanism. But how to open the door? Hm. The face was green, but the eye sockets were empty, with streaks of dried blood beneath them—oddly mismatched.

I hesitated, then bit my lip and jabbed two fingers into one eye socket. My fingers passed through without resistance, slipping deep into the wall. At the point of contact, the smooth surface rippled like water disturbed by stones, sending concentric waves outward.

Jesus—this wasn't a wall at all. I yanked my fingers free; the instant they left the stone, the panel began to sink slowly.

I reacted fast, diving behind cover, rifle aimed at the gap. Wang crouched beside me. "What did you do?"

"Do you think I did it on purpose?" I feigned innocence. "I just wondered why the whole wall was sliding—thought you'd done it."

"Really?" he said, suspicious. I changed the subject: "Focus on the other side of the wall."

The panel finished lowering, revealing not crates of drugs or Mott and his men, but a vast chamber. The seven of us gaped. Liu Jingsheng muttered, "For Christ's sake, what kind of place is this?" I whispered, "Hell."

Inside was a great hall. At its center stood a pool of blackbrown liquid, oozing a foul stench. In front of it rose a tower built of human heads. The walls were painted with every imaginable torture: flaying, tendonpulling, quartering, dismemberment… At the far end sat two mummies—unlike the headless ones, these were intact, clad in white robes, kneeling with arms raised to the sky as if pleading with heaven. Dozens of lamps burned around the hall, their eerie green flames dancing and flickering, driving shivers down our spines.

Everything was deathly silent—I could hear my own heart pounding. After more than half a minute, Wang spoke: "This is some ancient tomb, nothing to do with us. Leave it to archaeologists later. Enough gawking—get to work and find where our targets went." He strode into the hall; we followed, searching for traces of Mott's group.

From the moment I stepped into the hall, I felt unseen eyes watching me. The closer I got to the two mummies, the stronger the sensation. Damn—whatever lurked here was fixated on me. After nearly being possessed by the water ghost last time, my Third Uncle took me to see a bald Taoist priest who gave me a method: if it happens again, act unaffected—never panic or reveal you see the spirit. Then stay among men (borrowing their yang energy against the yin ghost). Lastly, curse like a sailor—insults, ancestral names, everything—because ghosts fear the vicious.

I hurried behind Wang, clearing my throat before launching into a blistering tirade: "You goddamn drug traffickers must've sinned in your past lives and lack all decency now! You feed off others and leave nothing behind! If I catch you, I'll slit open your bellies, pull out your intestines, wrap them around your necks, and twist! Damn you! And I won't stop there— I'll chop off your heads and build a tower of skulls like that one!"

"Shen La! You think scaring me is funny?" Zhang Yunwei was about to circle the headtower for clues when he heard "intestines," "beheading," and "skulls"—his calf cramped, and he stepped back with a yelp.

"Shen La, get a grip! You'll spook them away!" Wang began to scold, but at that moment came the crack of gunfire from the far end of the hall, followed by a thundering crash as a section of wall collapsed. Seven or eight filthy, terrified figures tumbled through the rubble.

"Ghosts! There are ghosts!" The first to flee was Fatty, our undercover man; right behind him was Mott himself, followed by a handful of his goons. My first thought: did my cursing really drive them out?

"Stay where you are! You're surrounded—any move and we shoot!" We leveled our weapons, prepared to fire. But the traffickers surprised us by cooperating. Mott dropped his gun and stepped forward, hands raised, speaking fluent Mandarin: "Arrest me—just get me out of here, anything you want!" He glanced behind him at the breach. His henchmen had been disarmed, handcuffed, and were squatting on the floor.

Fatty searched the room and found the highestranking soldier, Wang. "I'm—" he began.

"I know who you are. Good work," Wang cut him off.

Fatty snorted. "Don't patronize me—get us out of here. There are ghosts!"

As he spoke, his face paled and he pointed, trembling, toward the hall's exit. Wang turned—and saw the collapsed wall panel had silently lifted back into place.

Fatty realized the truth and grabbed Mott by the collar: "Is there any other way out?"

"There's no way out. We're all going to die here." Mott slumped, ashen.

Though I hadn't seen what happened, I sensed the gravity. I rushed back to the panel and tried the same method—nothing. The face wouldn't appear. We'd need another way to escape.

"What happened inside? Why are four people missing?" Wang counted heads; only seven had emerged. Fatty, furious, pointed at Mott. "Why pick this damned place to stash drugs?"

Mott explained: years ago, he'd searched the China–Myanmar border for a hidden cave warehouse—too obvious, too remote, or too small. Five years prior, by chance he rescued a Miao tribesman who'd fallen off a cliff. In gratitude, once recovered the tribesman led him here. At first Mott had been terrified, but then realized the cave's waterfall concealment had kept it undiscovered for centuries. Any intruder would be driven off by the headless mummies, and without the secret method, none could reach the main hall. The tribesman taught Mott the entry rites—and warned never to disturb the mummies or the skull tower, or the vengeful spirits would claim lives.

Mott spent five years stockpiling drugs, planning one last big sale then retiring. But on their first shipment out, disaster struck. He'd never dared touch any mummies—neither those along the route nor those in the hidden chamber.

Months ago, Fatty posed as a buyer to gain Mott's trust, offering to purchase all the stock if he could inspect it in person. Mott eagerly agreed, dreaming of a Caribbean island retirement. In his excitement, he led Fatty here.

The journey had been smooth—apart from Fatty's occasional spoiledrich complaints—but everything changed once they entered the secret chamber…

(Note: Sometimes, Chinese people use nicknames for close ones, such as adding "zi" after their names, or adding "Old/Lao" before the surnames of older people and "Little/Younger/Xiao" before the surnames of younger people.）