WOOY Chapter 42

Ye Liuxi didn’t mind not recognizing the characters—they were just a few words, nothing worth fussing over.

The coffin was partially tilted and half-exposed, making it difficult to open. Chang Dong called out to Fei Tang, “Help me move it.”

Unable to recognize the xiaozhun script, Fei Tang felt his self-worth plummet, as if his stock value had crashed. Desperate to reclaim value, he threw himself into the task with extra effort, veins popping visibly on his forehead—

But as he worked, something suddenly felt off.

The sky had darkened.

It wasn’t blackness, but a murky dimness—the rolling clouds above were dyed in a yellowish sand hue, like aged ginger.

Fei Tang’s legs trembled. He remembered the promise he had made before getting into the car—he swallowed hard and forced himself to stay composed.

Meanwhile, Ding Liu laughed, running over. “Holy sh—this is insane!”

She pulled out her phone to record a video, then switched to selfie mode, speaking into the camera. “Bet you’ve never seen this before.”

If there was internet, she’d definitely be live-streaming.

Was this fearlessness or recklessness? Fei Tang found himself both jealous and ashamed, which made him tighten his grip on the coffin.

Chang Dong looked up at the sky. “Seems like they don’t like this coffin being opened—at any time of day.”

Ye Liuxi rolled up her sleeves. “Drop it. I’ll handle this.”

She stepped forward, gripped the edge of the coffin, took a deep breath, and flung it open.

There shouldn’t have been anything unusual—Fei Tang noticed that she merely furrowed her brows.

He dashed over before anyone else, took one glance inside, and shouted at the top of his lungs: “Ming! Ming Dynasty!”

No doubt about it—he had been reading the book about folk costumes just last night.

He pointed to the details. “Look! A net cap—used by adult men in the Ming Dynasty to bind their hair. A straight robe, similar to a Taoist gown. And this—leather armor, it’s definitely Ming Dynasty!”

Actually, there was no need to emphasize—it was obvious.

Ye Liuxi just found it amusing. “So what now? We’re going through Tang, Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing one by one?”

Ding Liu snapped a photo of the coffin’s interior, intending to show Liu Qi later. “My godfather said last time you guys opened a Tang Dynasty coffin—so this time it’s Ming? Why is there nothing buried with them?”

Chang Dong clarified, “We call them shadow-puppet coffins, but that’s just a convenient name. They aren’t actual coffins—just look like them.”

He examined the number of shadow puppets inside—again, nine. Other than their attire, they weren’t much different from the ones in the Tang coffin.

Chang Dong closed the lid. “Shen Gun said the phantom caravan’s legend has been passed down for centuries—but looks like it’s still not entirely accurate. Maybe this pattern has existed since the Han Dynasty, or perhaps Yumen Pass has always maintained a connection—an open path between worlds.”

Nine figures—seemingly a decent number. But across two thousand years, within and beyond the Pass—if they truly belonged to separate worlds, then this caravan was nothing more than a thin thread, a fragile current. Even if they kept coming one after another, how much could they really carry?

He pulled Ye Liuxi aside. “Remember your camera?”

Of course—her Seagull-brand film camera, a common model from the 1980s, now practically an antique.

“The things we use evolve fast. Just a few years ago, we still had button phones—now it’s all touchscreen smartphones. First, it’s because we need them. Second, because resources are plentiful, making such upgrades possible. But if there really are people inside the Pass—where there’s no production, only supply reliance—then the situation would be completely different.”

In times of material scarcity, everything followed the rule of ‘new for three years, old for three years, patching and repairing for another three’. Even a broken bowl wouldn’t be discarded—it would be taken to a bowl repair craftsman, drilled, reinforced with iron clamps, sealed with clay, and once the cracks were smoothed over, it would hold water and soup as steadily as ever.

Ye Liuxi asked, “You think there are people inside the pass?”

Chang Dong replied, “Not just people—an entire world.”

It wasn’t peaceful—somewhat chaotic, lacking proper laws. Perhaps a place where the strong preyed on the weak.

Resources were scarce. Opening the door to a home inside the pass might feel era-confused—a Ming-Qing era carved bed, yet plastered with modern pop singer posters. A 1950s enamel tea mug, sitting beside a 1980s vintage camera.

That camel caravan was like a thin blood vessel, attached to the outside world, trickling bits of change into the pass. But those changes couldn’t spread properly—warping and distorting the world within.

Ye Liuxi frowned. “The people who entered back then—are they still alive?”

Chang Dong said, “That’s possible. But more likely—they’ve long since died. Yet, with men and women inside, life could go on.”

Their private conversation had stretched a little too long—Ding Liu and Gao Shen were clearly growing impatient, and Fei Tang kept sneaking glances in their direction.

Finally catching an opportunity where Chang Dong was looking his way, Fei Tang blurted out, “Dong ge, what about the other coffins… Are you still crashing your car into them?”

Chang Dong looked up at the sky—sunset was still far off, but the sky overhead already looked like dusk.

Ye Liuxi followed his gaze. “Might as well crash into as many as we can… “

——

After crashing into the second mound, the clouds had nearly turned yellow-black, swirling thickly. Only now did Ding Liu show a hint of hesitation—she had lost all interest in taking pictures, instinctively inching closer to Gao Shen. Gao Shen turned on his high-powered flashlight, but the beam couldn’t reach far. When he let his mind wander for a second, he thought the clouds looked like twisted, sneering faces.

His scalp tingled, and he shouted at Chang Dong, “What the hell are you guys doing?”

Chang Dong was crouched beside the shadow-puppet coffin, brushing away the accumulated sand with his hand. “What did Liu Qi tell you? He didn’t bring you here for sightseeing.”

Gao Shen shut his mouth. Liu Qi had indeed warned them—stay close, don’t make a big fuss like amateurs, take advantage of opportunities if possible, and if you really can’t handle it, leave.

But privately, Ding Liu had told him, “If you want to back out, you back out—I won’t make myself look weak and give my godfather a reason to laugh at me.”

On the coffin’s surface, another illustration—this time, a pill refining chamber. A furnace burned fiercely, and two figures stood beside it. One looked like an emperor, possibly Emperor Wu of Han again. The other was an elderly Daoist, holding a floating fuchen[mfn]this [/mfn], seemingly discussing something with the emperor.

Fei Tang eagerly jumped in. “I know this one! Emperor Wu of Han was just like Qin Shi Huang[mfn]Founder of the Qin dynasty and the first emperor of China[/mfn]—obsessed with immortality, always searching for longevity elixirs. This is alchemy. But compared to Qin Shi Huang, he was way smarter—he eventually realized he’d been tricked by the alchemists and even admitted it himself! He said, ‘I was ignorant in my youth, deceived by the alchemists.’”

The coffin was opened.

Even without Fei Tang explaining, Ye Liuxi could immediately tell the attire inside belonged to foreign tribes. Fei Tang couldn’t recognize them either, but he guessed, “China had several dynasties where the Hexi Corridor was lost—like during the Song Dynasty. Back then, this region was either under Uyghur, Tibetan, or Western Xia rule. The phantom caravan would’ve had to dress in minority clothing if they wanted to move unnoticed.”

This actually supported Chang Dong’s theory—the phantom caravan had persisted through generations, blending into different eras, trading goods and currency just like ordinary merchants.

The real trouble started when they attempted to crash into the third mound—even with Ye Liuxi bracing the vehicle, it didn’t help.

By four or five in the afternoon, the sun should have still been shining bright in this time zone, but the surroundings were pitch black, dense as ink. The car swerved mid-drift, suddenly tipping sideways, as if something had lifted it from underneath—one wheel abruptly left the ground.

Chang Dong’s voice was low and firm. “Hold on.”

Ye Liuxi grabbed the crash bar, then looked ahead—her scalp tingled. The car was leaning far beyond forty degrees, her palms were sweaty, preparing to brace her body for the impact of a rollover—

But instead, the roaring sound continued, and the car kept moving—balanced on its side, running on two wheels. Then, once they reached an open space, the vehicle spun sharply, flipping itself upright.

Ye Liuxi’s ears buzzed. Her throat felt dry. In the distance, Fei Tang and Ding Liu stood stunned—she realized she was just as dazed. “Did you just drive on two wheels?”

Chang Dong nodded.

Ye Liuxi wanted to ask if they could do it again.

That fleeting moment of losing balance, when it felt like electricity had shot from her scalp down her neck and spine, like her soul had been flung out—it was exhilarating.

Chang Dong pointed ahead. “Look.”

At the end of the headlights’ reach was a meter-high pile of sand, with clear side-wheel tire marks imprinted on its surface.

Ye Liuxi processed it. “So just now…”

“The sand suddenly piled up and lifted the car off balance. If we had been moving slower, we definitely would’ve flipped… We shouldn’t open the coffin.”

First, it was truly dangerous—they had gotten lucky. Hui Ba had been throat-slashed before even touching a coffin lid.

Second, while shadow-puppet coffins were vastly different from traditional ones, the shadow puppets had once lived as normal people—dressed, crossed the pass, traded, slept. Now buried under layers of sand, the dead deserved dignity, and he didn’t want to disturb their rest.

Ye Liuxi hummed in agreement.

——

The group made it back to camp just before night truly fell.

Recovering Hui Ba’s body was a major event. Ding Liu wanted to report it to Liu Qi, but there was no signal, so she approached Chang Dong instead. “Can we head back tomorrow? Once we reach a place with better reception, I can call and arrange for someone to retrieve Hui Ba’s remains.”

Fei Tang quickly chimed in. “If we get signal, I can look up a xiaozhun converter online. Then we’d know what was written on that coffin.”

Chang Dong silently agreed. By tomorrow, things should return to normal around here.

On this expedition they had opened two additional coffins—it seemed like progress, but not much had truly been uncovered.

——

Perhaps because of the exhaustion from the day, both groups turned in early that night.

Chang Dong lay down but couldn’t sleep, listening to the wind slowly fade outside.

When there was no wind, this place was eerily quiet. The moonlight gradually brightened, filling the car with a clear, silvery glow.

Even the curtain became semi-transparent.

Chang Dong stared at the curtain in a daze, until he suddenly noticed a faint, shifting green hue appearing on the fabric.

Moving carefully, he sat up and gently pulled the curtain aside.

Outside the window, not far away, an eerie green ghost fire floated lightly, drifting into the distance.

Strangely, it didn’t resemble typical ghost fires—it wasn’t a cluster, but occasionally stretched out, then suddenly diluted, spreading weakly and thinly.

Ye Liuxi’s voice suddenly broke the silence. “What are you doing?”

He must have woken her. Chang Dong shushed her and pointed outside.

Ye Liuxi sat up, watched for a moment, then whispered, “Want to go check it out?”

To avoid waking Fei Tang, the two slipped out through the lowered car window, put on their shoes, and followed the drifting light into the distance.

As they walked, the ghost fire suddenly vanished.

Ye Liuxi halted abruptly, clearly disappointed. “Why did it just suddenly…”

Before she could finish speaking, the ghost fire reappeared—but this time, its head was large while its body was small, resembling a floating tadpole.

She frowned. “Ghost fires can change shape?”

Chang Dong nodded. “They can, but… not like this.”

Holding his breath, he quickly closed the distance, and as he neared, a thought flashed through his mind—he raised his hand and slapped at it.

The ghost fire instantly disappeared.

Ye Liuxi jumped slightly. “You hit it… did it burn you?”

It was called a fire, after all.

Chang Dong looked down at his hand. “It’s not ghost fire.”

Ghost fires, simply put, were phosphorescent flames—extremely light. The older generation used to say, if you encounter ghost fire, don’t speak or move, because even the slightest airflow would draw them closer.

“What is it, then?” Ye Liuxi asked.

“Looks like… small midges.”

These were Lop Nur midges, a type of mosquito-like insect common in summer. They were extremely tiny—their wings, when spread, didn’t even reach a millimeter. In the past, scientific expeditions hated them—once encountered, swarms of them would attack people’s ears, noses, and faces, buzzing like a black mist, immune to mosquito repellent.

But it was nearly winter now—and he had never heard of midges glowing like ghost fire.

The ghost fire appeared again, floating further away toward Sima Road, fading into wisps of smoke.

A thought suddenly struck Chang Dong.

Were these midges flying out from inside Yumen Pass? Based on the timing of the disappearing anomalies, were they returning inside?

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Tls note: We’re starting to get some explanations 👀