Tomb raiding live stream: Starting as the mute Zhang

Its daybreak.

The blood on the dirt road had turned dark brown and seeped into the soil. Ten bodies still lay there, unclaimed. The SUV was parked by the roadside, the door open, the keys still inside.

A rooster crowed in the distance.

Zhang Qiling emerged from a forest.

He walked through the mountains for half the night, heading east the whole time. He found this path before dawn, followed it, and as day broke, he saw smoke rising from chimneys ahead.

It's a small town.

It wasn't a big place, just a few dozen households lined up on both sides of a cement road. Breakfast stalls were starting to open, and the aroma of fried dough sticks wafted over.

Zhang Qiling walked into the town.

His black clothes were stained with dust and dried blood, but it was not visible in the night. Now that it was daylight, passersby occasionally glanced at him, but were intimidated by his aura of keeping strangers at bay, and quickly looked away.

He walked up to a breakfast stall.

The stall owner, a middle-aged woman, was deftly kneading dough sticks and putting them into the fryer. She looked up and saw him, and paused for a moment.

"What would you like to eat?" she asked, her voice sounding relatively normal, but her eyes were a little evasive.

"A bowl of soy milk and two fried dough sticks," Zhang Qiling said.

The sound was very flat.

The woman ladled out a bowl of soy milk and placed two freshly fried dough sticks on the simple plastic table. Zhang Qiling sat down and took out some money from his pocket.

A few crumpled banknotes. A total of over three hundred yuan. It was leftover from when I was "Wu Sansheng".

He counted out five pieces and placed them on the table.

Then he lowered his head and ate.

He ate quietly. He sipped his soy milk slowly, broke the fried dough sticks into small pieces, and chewed them slowly. His eyes were downcast, and he didn't look at anyone.

But the stall owner felt a chill down his spine and couldn't help but steal glances at him.

This person is too conspicuous.

A black hooded jacket, the hood pulled back, revealing her entire face. Her skin was very fair, like fine jade in the morning light. Her features were defined, with a high, straight nose and lips pressed into a straight line. Her hair was pure black, short, and slightly messy, adding to her untamed air. The most striking feature was her eyes; when she looked up at someone, they were deep and unfathomable, like two ancient wells, revealing no emotion.

As he ate, his sleeve slipped down, revealing his wrist. His wrist bones were clearly defined, and the pale blue veins beneath the skin were faintly visible. His fingers were long, with distinct knuckles, and he held the fried dough stick with a steady hand.

The stall owner thought to himself: Where did this person come from? He looks like a celebrity, but he exudes an aura of unapproachability…

Zhang Qiling finished eating.

He stood up and left. The stall owner watched his retreating figure—tall, dressed in black, with straight shoulders and a very light, almost silent gait. Like a shadow, he melted into the morning light.

The town is small, with only one store selling work safety supplies and some general merchandise. The storefront is old, and dust has settled on the glass counter.

Zhang Qiling went inside.

The shop owner was an old man who was listening to opera on a radio. When he saw him come in, he squinted and looked him over.

"What should I buy?"

"Gloves," Zhang Qiling said. "Black, fingerless, tactical style."

The old man put down the radio, pulled a cardboard box from under the counter, rummaged around for a while, and took out a pair of black gloves.

"This one. Fifty."

Zhang Qiling took the gloves. They were made of a blend of nylon and leather, with anti-slip particles on the palm and the fingers cut off at the front half, leaving them fingerless. He tried them on; they fit perfectly.

Pay up. Fifty dollars.

He walked out of the store, stood by the roadside, and put on his gloves.

Black gloves covered his palms and half of his fingers, revealing long, slender fingertips with distinct knuckles. He moved his fingers, clenching his fist and opening it. It didn't affect his dexterity.

Then he pulled up the hood of his coat.

The hat was three-dimensional; when it fell down, it covered most of her face, leaving only her chin and lips exposed. This instantly added an extra layer of mystery to her appearance.

The morning light shone on him, his black clothes, black pants, black boots, and black gloves standing on the dusty streets of the small town, like a silhouette that had strayed from another world.

Passersby turned to look, but no one dared to approach.

He stood there for a while, seemingly trying to determine his direction.

Then he stepped out of the town.

A high-end apartment in the city.

With dark circles under his eyes, Kun sat in front of the computer, looking at the backend data.

The number of online users remains high. The chat is still flooded with comments like "Hey bro," "Goalkeeper," and "Expert got hit." Gifts keep pouring in.

He didn't sleep all night.

It's not excitement, it's that I can't sleep.

When I close my eyes, I see scenes from the ancient tomb: corpse beetles, white-haired zombies, water monsters, and Zhang Qiling's silhouette as he leaves alone at the end.

He rubbed his face and turned on the live stream.

"Good morning, family..." His voice was a little hoarse.

The barrage of comments instantly flooded in:

[Good morning, Kun Ge! Your dark circles are so heavy!]

[Did you not sleep well?]

[Me too, my ID is the same, every time I close my eyes I see images of tombs.]

Any news from ID Guy?

Kun gave a wry smile: "No news. If someone like him really wants to hide, no one can find him."

He paused, then said, "This time... I really will never forget it. I used to think live streaming was just about creating entertaining content and making the show interesting. But this time I realized that some things aren't just about creating entertainment; they can kill you."

The comments section quieted down a bit.

"Eight brothers are gone." Kun's voice was even lower. "That idiot Liu Changfu deserved to die, but the other seven... were all good people. And Xiao Ge... he saved us, but he himself..."

He couldn't continue.

Chen Man messaged him, asking how he was doing. Kun replied, "Not bad," and then asked her how she was.

Chen Man replied, "I had nightmares all night and woke up crying twice. Sister Yihan stayed with me."

Wang Yihan sent a voice message from the side, her voice was relatively steady, but fatigue was evident: "Brother Kun, you should also take a rest. Master Jiang said that the professor's preliminary analysis of the bamboo slips has yielded some new findings. But we'll have to wait for further research to make any specifics. Also... the higher-ups might be reorganizing the team; apparently, there's a new mission in 20 days."

Kun was taken aback: "Still playing?"

Wang Yihan was silent for a few seconds: "Hmm. The location hasn't been decided yet, but I heard... it's related to immortality. Something deeper."

Kun felt a chill run down his spine.

Again?

But he didn't say it aloud, only replying, "I understand. We'll talk about it later."

He closed the chat and stared blankly at the screen.

Would you dare to go again next time?

he does not know.

Another location was Jiang Shouyi's temporary studio.

The table was covered with documents, and photos taken from bamboo slips were enlarged, printed, and pasted onto the whiteboard. Professor Zhou Xu'an, wearing reading glasses, checked each word carefully.

Jiang Shouyi was brewing tea, and his eyes were also dark and bluish-black.

"Professor, take a break."

The professor shook his head and pointed to a line of text on the bamboo slip: "Look here—'Things inside the gate are not of this world.' This sentence matches the mural in the ancient Qinling tomb that recorded the origin of the gatekeeper."

"What exactly is inside the bronze door?" Jiang Shouyi asked.

"I don't know." The professor took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "But it's definitely not a good thing. Zhang Qiling... no, Mr. Zhang, his clan has guarded it for generations, preventing what's inside from coming out. That in itself is a warning."

He looked at Jiang Shouyi: "For the next mission, if you really want to go, you need to think it through carefully."

Jiang Shouyi smiled bitterly: "Did I have a choice? Once I'm on this ship, can I get off easily?"

The professor remained silent.

Yes, having learned so many secrets and come into contact with someone like Zhang Qiling, how could the higher-ups possibly let them get away so easily?

"Oh, right," Jiang Shouyi remembered something, "Commander Wang, Commander Li, and Commander Zhao sent a team out last night, saying... to invite Mr. Zhang back. Any news?"

The professor's expression changed slightly: "When did this happen?"

"At night. Ten men, fully armed."

The professor abruptly stood up: "Nonsense!"

But it was too late.

Just then, his phone rang. He answered, listened for a couple of sentences, and his face instantly turned deathly pale, his hands beginning to tremble.

"What's wrong, Professor?" Jiang Shouyi asked anxiously.

The professor put down his phone, his voice trembling: "Those ten people... all dead. On a dirt road thirty kilometers east of Huo Yun's tomb. Killed instantly. The scene... was horrific."

Jiang Shouyi gasped.

"Mr. Zhang, he..."

"He's gone." The professor slumped back into his chair. "There was no trace of him at the scene. He killed someone, and then disappeared."

The two looked at each other, both seeing a deep chill in each other's eyes.

It wasn't fear of Zhang Qiling.

It was fear of those three leaders and of this situation.

They are gradually turning a silent guardian into a true enemy.

Outside the town.

Zhang Qiling stood by the roadside, waiting for a passing car.

He had his gloves on and his hood pulled up over his head. He looked up slightly, gazing at the end of the road in the distance.

A car is coming.

A dilapidated minibus, belching black smoke, swayed and wobbled as it drove by. He raised his hand.

The car stopped. The driver leaned out and asked, "Where to?"

"Go forward," Zhang Qiling said.

"Twenty yuan."

He got on the bus and paid. There weren't many people on the bus, just a few farmers who had gotten up early to go to the market. They glanced at him furtively, not daring to look at him for long.

He sat down in the last row by the window.

The car started moving.

The scenery outside the window rushed past. Farmland, villages, distant mountains.

He didn't know where to go.

But at least, let's get out of here first.

His hands rested on his knees, his fingers appearing even whiter against his black fingerless gloves. He looked down at his hands.

These hands killed ten people last night.

But he felt nothing.

He deserves to be killed.

He closed his eyes and rested his head against the car window.

The car bumped along, heading east.

Sunlight streamed through the car window, falling on the lower half of his face. His lips were pursed, and his jawline was sharp and cold.

A deity walking among humans.

Lonely, powerful, nowhere to go.

But the road is still under our feet.