I had no choice but to huddle in a corner and reflect—have I oversimplified matters? Suddenly jumping from picking bags to stealing bags without any practice or experience, it's no wonder my efforts were unsuccessful.
Besides, I usually stay indoors, rarely leaving the main tomb chamber, unfamiliar with the layout of the ancient tomb. When listening to those tomb robbers summarizing, it went in one ear and out the other.
Now, the problem has arisen—I am a bit scared. Will I die in this ancient tomb? Though thinking like this feels a bit strange.
The tomb passage itself is a maze. After huddling in the corner for a while, I felt I must return to the previous passage, find the secret path leading directly to the main tomb chamber, and retrace my original route.
I circled around and around, feeling like I was running in circles because I saw a marked stone slab repeatedly appearing before me—walking until I almost wanted to vomit.
Of course, this is just a metaphor. I won't vomit, nor will I eat.
Having a mark means someone previously made the same mistake as me, surely left by some tomb robber.
On the hundred and ninth turn back to that stone slab, I finally... picked up a backpack.
My previous depression vanished completely as I gleefully rushed over to rummage through the bag, only to have a loop suddenly drop from above, binding my arms and body. As the loop tightened, I felt my body constrict.
Damn it! I've seen trapped tomb robbers use this method to catch mice in ancient tombs. Furious, but afraid to struggle—I know this snare tightens the harder you struggle, the consequence only causing agony for yourself.
I sat on the ground, glaring fiercely at the tall young man who jumped down from the top of the tomb passage.
When did he go up there? How was he able to hang on top of the passage for so long?
He didn't carry the scent of a living person—it was then that I realized this, causing a bit of curiosity.
"Are you a survivor?" The tall young man's hand held the rope; his attitude was kind and friendly, yet his question puzzled me.
"Don't be afraid, I won't harm you." The tall young man pulled out a piece of chocolate from the backpack—I often see tomb robbers eat this, claiming it replenishes energy.
"Are you looking for food? Here, eat." He handed me the chocolate but did not release the rope, clearly fearing I'd run away.
Compared to other tomb robbers, his attitude toward me was rather friendly, at least he didn't stuff a Black Donkey Hoof into my mouth.
I shook my head, indicating I don't need food, as he slowly loosened the snare and said, "Don't be afraid, I'm not a bad person."
Usually, those who say they're not bad people are certainly bad—movies and novels have always taught us this.
But I've seen many tomb raiders—killing and plotting against each other, even eating their own companions to survive. The young man felt different from those cold-blooded individuals, so I decided to trust him.
"Take whatever you want." The young man pushed the backpack toward me—my fondness for him immediately skyrocketed several levels.
He was the first to voluntarily let me rummage through his backpack, but inside, I only found some common adventure tools and food and drinks.
No phones, tablets, or trinkets—I disappointedly returned the backpack to him. None of these items could fit in my ear chamber anyway.
"Don't have what you need? Can you write? If yes, write down what you want." The young man patiently said, pointing to the ground.
There was dust on the ground, suitable for writing. I've learned quite a few words from following tomb robbers, naturally I can write.
I wrote the word 'phone' on the ground—the young man's face filled with confusion as he said, "There's no signal here, I didn't bring a phone."
I wrote again: Who has a phone?
Looking at it, the young man said, "Miss Cheng does."
In the 317 team, there were several female members—I didn't know who this Miss Cheng was, but he immediately added thoughtfully, "She was frightened by you earlier."
Turns out it was Miss Scream—I didn't want to see her again. Upon hearing it was her, I nodded, thinking if it's her, then I'll have to wait until she's dead before I can take her phone.
Lately, living people like using 'demon' to describe someone who loves doing a certain thing—I'm a bag-rummaging demon, and I don't want to give up this hobby.
But right now, I must find my way out of the maze passage and go back to find the secret path.
"It's dangerous here; I've lost my companions. Are you familiar with the layout here?" the young man asked.
I shook my head vigorously, frustration filling my heart—if I were familiar with the layout, I wouldn't have circled the maze until hallucinating about vomiting.
Listening to him talk, I estimated this person was definitely not a tomb robber. Besides being ruthless, another notorious trait of tomb raiders is suspecting everything.
They don't even trust their own, let alone a stranger they've just met.
I stretched out pale fingers and wrote a few words on the ground: Forgot.
It's the truth—thousands of years ago, I might have known everything about this tomb, but brain storage is limited—it regularly clears its memory. Those past events have long been washed away by the river of time.
This theory I gleaned from a tomb robber's phone—he was an avid learner, no unrelated content existed on his device.
Various true and false scientific books filled that tiny memory card—it took me three years and several phones to finish reading it all.
Thus, I realized a truth—people live playing different roles, always wearing numerous masks; what others see is merely the side they choose to show.
The young man suddenly smiled at me, catching me off guard—most tomb raiders descending into tombs are serious-looking, if not utterly frustrated and furious.
Whenever they smile, the meaning behind that smile generally involves 'scheming' and 'death.'
Therefore, you're more afraid of the living smiling than of making trouble—I looked around, hoping to pick a retreat path and escape quickly.
"No worries, let's walk together; we can be companions." The young man hoisted the backpack—his eyes were fixed on my face, leaving me with no chance to escape.
He was undoubtedly the first tomb raider in history to actively seek companionship with a zongzi from the tomb.
Suddenly, a line of poetry drifted through my mind—Golden winds and rain meet, far surpasses countless sand sculptures...
Despite feeling that finding the way with a tomb raider seemed quite unreliable, I nonetheless nodded in agreement, for the first time admitting to myself—I am a road idiot.
In this living tomb, compasses and the like are futile, reportedly because every zone in the tomb is mobile, relying solely on dead reckoning for direction doesn't lead to finding an exit.
"My name is Chen Qinghan, what should I call you?" The young man's tone was consistently gentle.
His question stumped me. No one ever asked my name—other tomb raiders call me 'zongzi.' Even though I dislike this name, there is no alternative—I'm truly a living dead who's erased themselves completely.