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墨書 Inktalez
Zhong Kui's Diary
Before me stood an extremely grand hall, filled with numerous golden skeletal figures known as Dolls, arranged neatly and densely, at least several hundred of them.
I struggled to describe the scene before me; my first impression was of the Terracotta Warriors of Qin Shi Huang. However, while those figures were made of clay, the hundreds of Dolls here were crafted from gold, each one shimmering and radiating a dazzling light, creating a far more stunning visual effect than the Terracotta Warriors.
What was even more astonishing was that these Golden Puppets had smooth lines, exuding not only a sense of technology but also a powerful presence.
As I marveled at the sight, a deep sense of fear suddenly spread throughout my body. This feeling made my scalp tingle and caused goosebumps to rise. If these Golden Puppets were intelligent, what would the consequences be? I dared not think further.
In the first moment, Fatty raised both hands and exclaimed, "We're just passing by!"
After a while, these Golden Puppets remained motionless, seemingly oblivious to our presence as uninvited guests.
I gradually calmed down from my initial astonishment and approached one of the Golden Puppets. I gently poked it with my flashlight but received no response.
"They seem to be dead," I said uncertainly as I poked another Golden Puppet.
Hearing this, Fatty suspiciously stepped forward, touching and prodding around. Suddenly, he gritted his teeth and grabbed the arm of one Golden Puppet, using brute strength to twist it several times.
With a cracking sound, Fatty actually pulled the arm off this Golden Puppet at the shoulder.
"What are you doing?" I asked in surprise.
"You said they are dead! I'm just verifying," Fatty replied, holding the golden arm with considerable effort. "Wow, this thing is really made of pure gold; it's so heavy!"
The density of gold is about three times that of iron. If this arm is indeed made of gold, it would weigh over a hundred pounds; even if hollow, it would still weigh around forty or fifty pounds. It would be strange if it weren't heavy. Thinking about this, I looked at the hundreds of Golden Puppets before me and couldn't help but feel dizzy. "Motherfucker, how much gold is here? If all this gold were converted to money, how much would that be?"
"Fatty" was also taken aback, following my lead and saying, "If this money were spent on health treatment, how many health treatments would that be?"
Hearing "Fatty" say this, my mind suddenly filled with various images—banknotes, gold coins, yachts, beautiful women. Damn it, if I had so much money, I could buy ten or eight houses in "Star City," one for raising chickens, one for ducks, and the rest for pigs. I would specifically buy a "Rolls-Royce Phantom" to transport the pigs...
No one can remain calm in front of so much gold. Both "Fatty" and I wore expressions of fantasy. For the next half hour, neither of us spoke a word until I heard "Fatty" swallow audibly.
Damn it, we can't even get out; thinking about these things is pointless. I shook my head as if that would shake off the chaotic thoughts in my mind. First, find the exit; then we can plan how to move this gold.
I found the switch on the wall with my flashlight and turned it on. The entire hall was suddenly as bright as day. "Fatty" also put down that golden arm and followed me around the hall, occasionally gasping in amazement.
After a round without discovering anything unusual, we walked over to the "Golden Puppet" with the broken arm and examined it closely. The arm was hollow, and the broken edge faintly shimmered with white light. It seemed that this gold was mixed with something else.
"It's hard to imagine such advanced technology existed decades ago," "Fatty" said as he circled around the "Doll," suddenly pointing at the back of its neck and saying, "Hey? This thing has a serial number?"
I turned to look, and sure enough, there was a raised imprint on the back of this "Golden Puppet's" neck—a string of Arabic numerals: 0151.
What does this mean? I quickly checked behind other "Dolls." Each one had a number on the back of its neck. Could it be that these things require a lottery number to go out, alternating odd and even days?
Stepping back to count carefully, these "Dolls" were arranged neatly—twenty rows with fifteen "Dolls" each, totaling two hundred ninety-five "Dolls." Yes, I counted correctly; originally there were three hundred "Dolls," but in the first row's front five positions were empty. "Fatty" looked at the numbers and found that the missing five "Dolls" had numbers 000, 000, 0004, 0005, and 0006.
Where did these five missing "Dolls" go? Could they have already infiltrated the human world?
"Fatty," I suddenly recalled the "Finger Joint" he picked up in the parking lot. I felt a chill run down my spine.
"Fatty" stood at the first row's front position; thus, the "Doll" next to him was number 0001. He grabbed the hand of number 0001 and started fiddling with it as if adjusting a mannequin in a clothing store. With clattering sounds, he raised its palm into the air and took out the "Finger Joint" from his pocket for comparison: "It's identical; it's as if they came off the same production line."
"Damn, something big has happened. It's clear now that the five missing Dolls have already blended in with humans. What's even more chilling is that these Dolls possess human intelligence; they can converse, shoot, and think. Most importantly, they can sow discord. You know, sowing discord is a skill unique to humans."
I shared my suspicions with Fatty, who looked terrified. "But we haven't seen any Golden Puppets! Are you saying they've put on human skin?"
"Do you remember Gu Quan's laboratory? After he conducted various tests on us, he was supposed to perform surgery, but then it was suddenly halted for some unknown reason. I suspect that the surgery was meant to implant this Golden Puppet inside us," I said solemnly, knowing my face must look extremely pale without even needing a mirror.
"You might be onto something there; otherwise, why would they test all that data?" Fatty slapped his forehead. "Damn it, I almost became a 'bad man'!"
"What bad man?" My thoughts were derailed by Fatty.
"The movie 'Bad Man,' haven't you seen it?—en. Bad means 'bad,' en means 'man,' so 'bad man!'" Fatty looked at me in disbelief.
What the hell! That's called Warrior! What a mess. I couldn't help but laugh and cry at the same time, so I changed the subject. "Let's hurry and find an exit."
We shifted our focus away from the Golden Puppets and began searching for an exit. The laboratory was divided into two areas, separated by a giant sliding iron door. The place where we had just seen a large number of Golden Puppets was the storage area; there was also another area that seemed to be the production zone. It was an expansive Print Shop with three different assembly lines surrounded by various machines. I could only recognize one Lathe; the rest were unfamiliar to me. Not being able to further my studies at Blue Sky Technical School had always been a sore spot for me.
At the end of one assembly line stood two golden skeletons, filled with various Power Cords and plastic tubes. It seemed this was the Print Shop for producing Golden Puppets. At the end of the assembly line was a Control Panel with dozens of red and green buttons. It was unclear what these buttons did, but clearly, neither the assembly line nor the Control Panel had power; it was eerily silent.
Behind the Control Panel was a large iron door. I pulled on it, and there was a significant gap wide enough to fit a hand through. Peering through the gap, I saw a massive lock hanging outside; this lock was as big as a book. Damn, I've never seen such a large lock before.
Fatty kicked it hard several times, but since the door opened inward, his efforts were completely futile. Moreover, the door frame was embedded deep within a massive rock formation; breaking down the door was impossible.
"Fatty, didn't you say your master is a pickpocket? You should be able to open this lock," I pointed at the enormous lock behind the door.
"Ghost Brother, you don't understand; modern pickpockets don't rely on skill anymore. They just reach into people's pockets directly for money and threaten them with force if caught. My master? He’s known as one of the toughest fighters in the pickpocketing world," Fatty said with a bitter smile.
I was momentarily speechless. After thinking for a moment, I took out a pickaxe from my Spatial Bag and swung it a few times, trying to pry open the door through the gap. Unfortunately, I couldn't get any leverage from behind the door, so I cursed and put down the pickaxe. I rummaged through my Spatial Bag again; there were instant noodles, bottled water, toilet paper... Wait, what is this?
Bullets! Suddenly, I remembered that I still had some bullets in my Spatial Bag. An idea struck me, and I took out four or five magazines. I circled around the Print Shop and found a Toolbox. Inside, I grabbed two Tiger Claws and a Hammer, then returned to the iron door and crouched down to disassemble the bullets with pliers.
"Ghost Brother, what are you doing?" Fatty squatted beside me, watching as I dismantled the bullets and concentrated the gunpowder onto a piece of toilet paper.
"You fix that big lock in place with the pickaxe, aligning the Lock Hole towards us. You'll see soon enough." I didn't explain further; I just directed Fatty to do his part.
Fatty ran over and hammered away for a while before calling out, "It's done."
I took out a pack of cigarettes, opened my Cigarette Case, rolled a Funnel with the paper shell, walked to the door, and held up the Funnel to pour all the gunpowder into the Lock Hole.
"Are you planning to blow it open with a handgun?" Fatty understood my intention and nodded. "But your gun is missing at Gu Quan, right? How will you fire the bullets without a gun? Are you going to throw them?"
"Stop talking nonsense and help me move something." After pouring in the gunpowder, I asked Fatty to help me move a Lathe to the Control Panel. Luckily it was just a Lathe; if it had been a large Lathe, we wouldn't have been able to move it at all. Even so, we were sweating profusely.
On top of the Lathe was a fixture holder. I placed an intact bullet in the holder, adjusted the angle so that the bullet tip faced the Lock Hole, secured it tightly, then took out my dagger and positioned its tip against the primer at the back of the bullet. Swinging the Hammer, I said, "Fatty, step back; if you get hurt, it's not my fault."
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