The Informal Tomb Raiding Diary: She is the occupant of the tomb!-Chapter 442 - 329: Bear Bile Eye Drops (Part 3)

"Oh, yes, I heard her call me." I admitted frankly.

"Following this sequence, the next person to be marked should be you." Mike said in a heavy tone.

"What should I do then?" I moved my arm awkwardly, pulling the muscles in my back along with it, not knowing if they can stop the ’black hand’ from the shadows. They’ve blocked bullets, so as long as they don’t fail this time.

"Don’t leave our sight." Mike said.

"Alright." I walked to Qinghan, sat in front of him, and entrusted my back to him. If a black handprint appears, it must be his doing.

The two people who already had handprints gathered to discuss. This thing hasn’t shown any effect yet, and there are hardly any clues for analysis, so we could only guess randomly.

Once I sat down, my mind quieted, and I suddenly remembered something. Wuyong had a black hand strangling her neck—wasn’t there nobody in front of her?

If the black hand stretched out from her own body, we truly wouldn’t be able to see who was strangling her.

If I said this aloud, Wang Le and Doctor Du might have trouble sleeping, affecting their rest.

Moreover, this was just my speculation, without proof, so I held back, but occasionally glanced at Wang Le and Doctor Du’s necks, hoping we wouldn’t overlook them and let them strangle themselves.

Mike kept staring at me, and I felt that besides his concern, he also wanted to confirm his speculation. He was so sure earlier that I would be the next target for the black hand, so now he was naturally watching closely to see if it would happen.

Qinghan said he felt a bit tired, then rested his head on my shoulder and fell asleep.

His weight wasn’t an issue for me at all. I took out my phone and spare battery, planning to watch some TV dramas.

As soon as I turned on the phone, I felt something scratching my back. Behind me was only Qinghan; he seemed to be writing on my back...

Unaffected, I put on headphones and played a stored TV show on my phone, my eyes glued to the screen while my mind tried to discern what was being written on my back.

Each stroke he wrote transformed into an image in my mind. Perhaps worried I’d decipher slowly, he’d repeat each sentence twice.

Someone... in the room... watching us.

Don’t... tell anyone else... don’t look... into the room.

My eyes remained fixed on the phone screen, thinking no wonder Qinghan claimed the eye drops didn’t help; he had actually seen something but couldn’t say it.

If there were unseen presences in this room, then everything we said or did was under their surveillance. If spoken aloud, they’d know, and we’d have no idea what actions they’d take.

This small room wasn’t large, with no places to hide people, so the figures Qinghan referred to surely didn’t exist in conventional forms.

I suddenly recalled Mike mentioning seeing someone crouching within the wall when we were in the tunnel.

Within the wall...

Something might be affecting our vision, making it so we can’t see the person hidden within the wall. But maybe at specific moments, like from the corner of our eyes or unintentionally, we could catch a glimpse.

Yet when looking directly, nothing’s visible. I couldn’t communicate with Qinghan except him relaying information to me unilaterally.

He said there were figures at the wall corners and ceiling. Thus, he rested on my shoulder, using his body to shield my back, preventing the ceiling’s watchers from seeing what he was writing.

With memories returning, my skills for controlling Karmic Fire also resurfaced. In terms of technique alone, not considering the limitations on usage, I could instantly reduce this small room to ashes.

But we don’t know whether these ’people’ hidden within the walls and ceiling fear fire?

"Ah—"

Suddenly, I received a scream in my mind, failing to hold back and instinctively turned around to find the sound’s source.

"Did you hear something again?" Mike, watching me closely, asked immediately when he saw my movement.

"Ah? It seems..."

Right then, Qinghan wrote on my back: "Someone slapped me."

Thinking it’s odd—if you were hit by the black hand, shouldn’t the scream be yours? Why did the black hand scream instead? What did you do?

But these doubts couldn’t be voiced as Mike came over, sat beside me and Qinghan, looking as if he intended to provide close protection.

"What did you hear?" Doctor Du asked with concern.

"N-nothing, just my name being called. I thought it was Qinghan calling."

"What’s going on?" Qinghan pretended to be woken, asked groggily.