On a rainy night, antique restorer Chen Mo found half a bronze mask in his grandfather's nanmu coffin. The oracle bone inscriptions on the inside of the mask burned through his palm like a red-hot iron. Three days later, a rubbing in the anonymous package revealed the pattern of the other half of the mask. The attached letter was written in cinnabar: "It is up to you to repay the blood debt owed by the Chen family."
On the third night of their journey deep into the Shiwan Mountains in western Hunan, the guide Lao Yanqiang suddenly and strangely rose up in the middle of the cable bridge, and vines wrapped around his neck like a living thing. Chen Mo watched helplessly as the old man turned into a blood mist under the moonlight, and the hanging coffin on the cliff fell with the blood mist. When his fingertips touched the mask of the corpse in the coffin, the whole mountain began to ooze rust-colored juice, and the coordinates on the GPS screen were distorted into bloody words: "When the mask returns to its place, the road to hell will open on its own."...
