Chaos erupted at the construction site. People around stamped their feet in frustration, yet no one dared approach. Suddenly, a thunderclap cracked the sky, and the ground within five meters of the stone coffin collapsed. Over forty people plunged into the pit like dumplings in boiling water, buried alive under the earth.
The massive stone coffin now stood fully exposed, astonishing everyone: its sides were crafted from transparent crystal. Upon closer inspection, instead of a corpse, a black carp swam leisurely inside, while piles of glittering treasures at the bottom beckoned greedily.
Common sense dictated that a fish couldn't survive long in an airtight coffin. Even the Japanese soldiers stood stunned by the sight. Someone rushed back to the village for help, and soon, grieving relatives of the victims tried to retrieve the bodies. But another horror unfolded: the surrounding trenches seemed to devour anyone who entered—people went in, never to return.
Realizing the danger, the crowd retreated. Old Man Zhang, the village fortune-teller, limped to the riverbank, slapping his thigh as he pointed at the coffin. "This is a curse! Listen to me—bury it now!"
The Japanese dismissed him as a madman. Ergouzi tied Old Man Zhang up and demanded to know how to open the coffin, but he only repeated, "Bury it." Enraged, the soldiers beat him until he was half-dead. In a desperate act, Old Man Zhang bit off his own tongue. Furious, the Japanese prepared to execute him, but great-grandfather intervened, vouching for him on behalf of the entire village.
Since the Japanese still needed great-grandfather to mobilize laborers, they relented. Enticed by the treasures, the soldiers built a wooden bridge to reach the coffin, but anyone who stepped onto it fell to their death. After four or five casualties, no villager dared approach.
When threats with guns forced more people onto the bridge, over twenty died before the Japanese finally sensed something was wrong. They bombarded the coffin with cannons and dynamite, yet it remained intact. The black carp inside swam undisturbed.
In a moment of desperation, the mineral prospector proposed a sinister plan: he claimed he could unearth the coffin—for a price of a hundred taels of gold and passage to Japan. Colonel Kawasaki immediately agreed.
The prospector declared that the coffin pit demanded human sacrifices. For every ten lives thrown in, the liquid inside the coffin would recede an inch until it drained completely, allowing the coffin to open.
Consumed by greed, the Japanese complied. That night, twelve soldiers and the collaborationists rounded up the entire village—over 400 men, women, and children—and forced them to the pit's edge. One by one, they were pushed in.
As the prospector predicted, the clear liquid within the coffin began to recede, and the dragon-headed coffin lid inched open. But the moment it cracked, the treasures transformed into bloody human heads. A stench billowed out, followed by a gushing tide of black liquid.
Amidst lightning and thunder, torrential rain poured like a reversed Milky Way, filling the dried-up riverbed. As the water level rose, the black carp leaped from the coffin into the river. A golden flash illuminated the sky, and the shadow of a colossal creature emerged. Thunder rumbled like a dragon's roar; the shadow circled before swimming upstream and vanishing into the churning waves.
That night, Old Man Zhang risked his life digging through the mud and corpses, finally pulling my grandfather out. A month later, the Wei, Zhang, Fuyang, and Hutuo Rivers all burst their banks simultaneously. After the floods, cholera swept through, leaving rotting bodies and bleached bones strewn across western Shandong.
Grandfather said he'd (remained unconscious) for a month, waking up on a mountain. He and Old Man Zhang survived by gnawing on tree bark, roots, earthworms, and insects until the floods subsided.
As he spoke, grandfather wept. "Everywhere I looked, there were only bodies. In the worst days, not even a single crow flew by." I later learned from records that 430,000 people perished in western Shandong.
I comforted him, and he said, "It's in the past." Curious, I asked about the Japanese soldiers and the prospector. "The prospector heard about the treasures and got greedy, using the Japanese to break taboos," he explained. "In the end, he paid with his life."
I felt skeptical, raised under the red flag as I was. As if reading my mind, grandfather smiled. "Study hard. Treat this as a story."
Then I asked a question that had haunted me for 18 years: "Grandpa, you're surnamed Li, but I'm Zhang. Did I take Old Man Zhang's surname?"
Grandfather took a drag from his pipe. "Yes. Old Man Zhang walked over a thousand kilometers with me. Without him, I'd have starved to death. To repay him, I promised to adopt my descendants into his family line."
I admired grandfather's loyalty—both he and I were the only sons in our generations. Intrigued by his tales, I pestered him about Old Man Zhang.
His expression turned grave. "He was a man of great talent."
I pressed further: "But Grandpa, if the Dragon King of the Wei River caused so much suffering, why didn't anyone stop him? And after all those years with him, didn't you learn any... magic, like in TV shows?"
"Magic? Nonsense!" Grandfather flicked me with his pipe. "Grow up! Haven't you heard the news? China needs capable minds. Fail college, and you'll starve."
I could only laugh sheepishly. Truthfully, I was fascinated by him. The more I visited, the happier he seemed, always cooking my favorite dishes. But whenever I asked about his Chuang Guandong journey, he'd brush me off: "You wouldn't believe me."
Until one afternoon, a month later, I received a call that shattered my world...