Chapter 72: Momentum

Corpse beetles can survive for centuries within ancient tombs, feeding primarily on the internal organs of the dead, though they are also known to burrow into the bodies of the living. For tomb robbers, they are a deadly nemesis—without the right tools at hand, an encounter with these creatures can easily cost one’s life.

However, my father once mentioned that the common dung beetle found in daily life is actually an evolved variant of the corpse beetle, just as humans are the evolved form of apes. As a result, these creatures are now found only in a handful of ancient tombs, and even there, their numbers are scant. After all, corpse beetles survive by consuming corpses, and the construction of many ancient burial sites—especially imperial mausoleums—often involved mass deaths. In some cases, all the artisans were slaughtered and entombed once the work was finished. When hundreds or thousands of bodies were buried together, corpse beetles would thrive. Over time, history transformed the corpse beetle into the ordinary dung beetle of today.

Yet here, the number of corpse beetles was alarmingly high. Soon, I noticed a swarm crawling out of the robbers’ tunnel. The man closest to the tunnel, a rather stout fellow, began cursing as one of the beetles apparently bit him. He raised his entrenching tool and smashed one at his feet.

Sixth called out anxiously, “You fool, get out of the way!” He shouted as he hurried toward us, while the bitten man, seemingly unfazed, continued casually swatting at the beetles.

Sixth kept urging him to stop, but the man replied calmly, “What’s the big deal, Sixth? It’s just a bug. Looks no different from a cockroach, nothing to worry about.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than he exclaimed, “Damn thing, its bite stings!” He began scratching his left arm with his right hand, complaining of the itch while continuing to stomp on the beetles.

Watching those creatures, I felt a shiver of danger run through me. I remembered my father’s notes: these beetles could bite through living skin, burrow inside a person, and devour their organs—a gruesome fate.

Fire—I suddenly recalled that fire should frighten them. In my mind, fire is the bane of all things. As the beetles drove us back to the trapdoor we had entered through, I hurriedly grabbed my portable alcohol stove, poured out the fuel, and produced my lighter. Soon, flames leapt up.

Sure enough, the beetles halted and retreated, but only just. More kept swarming from the recently dug tunnel, forming a sinister ring around the fire.

We still had plenty of alcohol, as it’s a staple for expeditions like ours. But we had overlooked one problem: oxygen. The flames quickly consumed it, filling the air with carbon dioxide. Soon, we all found it hard to breathe.

The five of us stood, faces strained with anxiety, staring at the advancing swarm across the fire. I glanced at the man who’d been bitten; he was still scratching his arm, which had turned an angry red, almost like a rash. I left him to it—for now, we were still enemies.

This couldn’t go on. We had to find a way out. The confined space was soon thick with choking smoke. At this rate, we would suffocate before the beetles got to us. Though my curse—my parasite—had long since made me indifferent to life and death, the nearness of death now brought a pang of despair. Still, better to die by fire or smoke than to be eaten alive by those creatures.

The thought crossed my mind: why not drench myself in alcohol and let the flames consume me? It would be better than being devoured once the fire died. Or perhaps pulling the pin on a grenade would be quicker still.

At this point, I was no longer thinking of escape, but weighing the manner of my death. The absurdity of it almost made me laugh.

Just then, I saw Black Sunglasses open his canteen and pour water over himself. The others quickly followed suit. Black Sunglasses then pressed a soaked cloth over my mouth and shouted, “Snap out of it! Do you want to die?”

I almost told him that I was indeed pondering my death—just not sure how to go about it. But though I might have been resigned, the others weren’t. Even now, they were scrambling for a way out.

I watched as Black Sunglasses worked at the trapdoor with a makeshift crowbar, forcing it down into a crack at the top. I hadn’t noticed the gap before, but the others clearly had. At a moment like this, no one cared about alliances. We all set to work, prying with whatever tools we had.

Realizing I had to help, I joined in. Whether I died now or in a few months made little difference, but in truth, I wanted that day to come later. After all, who truly wishes for death when life is still possible?

With our combined effort, the crack widened. Could this really be a way out? As hope surged, my death wish faded away. We redoubled our efforts, holding our breath, and finally wrenched the trapdoor open a crack. Beyond was blackness, but at least fresh air drifted in—a path to survival.

The opening was cramped, barely big enough for a single person. The others, anxious and impatient, scrambled through first. Black Sunglasses and I didn’t compete with them; instead, he took out the alcohol stove and hurled the remaining fuel blocks onto the fire. The flames roared up once more, holding the beetles at bay long enough for the others to squeeze through.

Black Sunglasses and I followed close behind, crawling through the gap into the unknown darkness.