Chapter 110

Under the helmet appeared a pair of giant golden eyes, these eyes emitting two beams of icy golden light, as if the tactical searchlight on my climbing helmet, even if the aperture were adjusted to the most frantic degree, could not match the glare of these two beams.

That lightning-like gaze met mine for a moment, and I was inwardly astonished, these eyes making my three souls fly heavenward and my seven corporeal spirits roll upon the ground, yet certainly not the zombified form of an American pilot.

At this very moment, time seemed to suddenly slow down, the lights in the darkness flickering uncertainly; although I could not clearly see what kind of creature's eyes these were, I could tell this was a rare giant raptor, its hooked beak clutching half a green tree lizard, with another blood-soaked half beneath its feet, possibly it was flying in from the other end of the cabin through a breach, hiding inside to enjoy its feast, yet I disturbed it, that strange knocking signal should be the sound it made while pecking at the tree lizard.

Before I could steady my mind to look closer, the owner of those golden giant eyes leapt from the cabin and lunged straight at my face; Shirley Yang beside me, though she also did not see clearly what was happening, suddenly saw a black mass burst from the cabin, realized I had no time to dodge, and hastily shoved me hard with her body; I also reacted, using that push to leap backward, only to find I had stepped on empty air beneath me and fell straight down from the tree, caught by the previously set safety rope slung around the trunk.

A large mass like a brown cloth wrapped around two golden beams swept past my head like a gust of wind; the giant raptor missed, spread its wings, and silently flew into the night.

Seeing the great bird pass, my heart settled again; I hooked my ice axe onto the vines on the old banyan tree and climbed back to the canopy, Shirley Yang reached out and pulled me up, saying: "God bless, glad you're unharmed; did you see what kind of ferocious bird this was? So huge. Truly rare."

I climbed back to the canopy, caught my breath, and told Shirley Yang: "Didn't see clearly, only noticed the eyes resembled those of a xiao bird (xiao), this kind of bird active at night in these woods, and indeed this xiao bird is formidable, beak sharp, claws deadly; I've seen them in the northeast, one swipe can rip a large patch of hide from a black bear. If it had seized me, I'd have been honored."

Shirley Yang said: "So it's that large kind of owl, they like to nest on cliffs and precipices—how did it get into this cabin? Are you sure you're not hurt?"

I told Shirley Yang: "Really unharmed, not a single hair disturbed; I don't want another injection, the rear of the cabin might still have a large hole we missed, the xiao bird may have entered there to snatch small tree lizards to eat; wild mice, wild rabbits, hedgehogs, snakes—nothing it won't eat. It needs to eat dozens each night to be full; the knocking signals we heard were the xiao bird pecking tree lizards. You, acting clever, overcomplicated a simple matter, claiming it was Morse code, causing us unnecessary fright."

Shirley Yang said to me: "At the time it truly sounded like a telegraph signal, okay, even if it was my mistake, you don't have to rub it in; let me go back into the cabin to see if there's anything else."

I know Shirley Yang's nature: since seeing the wreckage of an American Air Force plane here, she will surely ransack the interior, properly bury the fallen airmen's bodies, then recite from her Bible before resting; I can't stop her, and I actually approve—after all, these big Americans came to help fight Japan in WWII, though strategically they certainly served their own interests, but regardless, they sacrificed on Chinese soil; burying their remains properly and notifying their government back home is only right.

Pangzi below was making a racket in the tree, unable to resist shouting loudly: "Did you find anything valuable? Want me to come up and help?" Speaking, he didn't wait for my reply, just rolled up his sleeves, shouldered his rifle, and climbed up.

I asked Pangzi in astonishment: "You damn well aren't afraid of heights? How dare you climb a tree now? Did some tendon get crossed?"

Pangzi said: "Nonsense, in the pitch-black night you can't tell high from low; besides, scavenging foreign gear—how could I miss out? Where's that plane?"

I told Pangzi: "You'd better be careful, you're clumsy like a bear, on such a high tree it's no joke; secure yourself with a safety belt first before doing anything, and stay away from me—you're so heavy you might snap a branch; just now I nearly fell."

After warning Pangzi, I turned and saw Shirley Yang already above the cabin breach, preparing to descend; I hurried over intending to help her down to find the pilot's corpse, but discovered the opening was too narrow—only she could barely squeeze through.

Shirley Yang, to squeeze into the cabin, took off her portable bag and all extraneous items, including her ever-present gold-plated umbrella, handing them to me, then carefully shone her wolf-eye flashlight into the cabin's depths, confirmed no animals remained, then braced her hands on the rim and lowered herself into the wreckage.

Pangzi and I watched outside; I asked her: "Any American remains inside? If so, tie them with rope and we'll pull them up."

Only Shirley Yang's voice came from within: "No, the nose is crushed flat, the cockpit has no bodies, only two flight helmets; perhaps the crew bailed out before the crash."

I told Shirley Yang: "If there's nothing, hurry up—I feel these two old trees are really trembling, can't bear much more weight, might topple any moment."

Shirley Yang didn't answer immediately; only seen her rummaging through a bundle inside the cabin, after a while she said: "I think these boxes contain weapons and ammunition; let me see if anything's still usable—we're quite lucky, a small portion remains intact, unexpected after over forty years"

Pangzi and I, hearing there were arms inside, grew excited; even before entering the "Insect Valley" we'd already encountered so many beasts, only regretting we hadn't brought better weapons before ascending the mountain; that pellet air rifle is practically useless in the woods, firearms unable to sustain firepower will get you killed outright; though the American equipment in the transport cabin is old-fashioned, it's still a hundred times better than bringing a bird gun into the mountains.

I was about to ask what guns they had when I suddenly felt something wrong behind me—no wind had ever stirred the forest from top to bottom, yet now a faint yin wind brushed past; though soundless, I sensed it, and instinctively pressed the spring on the handle of my gold-plated umbrella, thrusting it backward to block the opening behind me.

This gold-plated umbrella is an ancient artifact, forged from hundred-times-refined steel mixed with rare metals; even if you took an electric saw to it, it would at most leave a faint white mark; in the hands of generations of grave-robbing colonels, it has blocked countless tomb mechanisms and hidden weapons—it can be said this is the most practically valuable traditional implement passed down among the grave-robbing colonels.

I felt a yin wind sweep past behind me; in the hurry I braced the gold-plated umbrella behind me, only to hear a few "screech-screech" sounds, as if several steel blades had scraped across it; Pangzi beside me pointed at my back and yelled: "Fuck, such a huge night owl!" raising his pellet gun to aim and shoot.

Only then did I realize the xiao bird's claw had struck my gold-plated umbrella; it had returned for a sneak attack, unexpectedly this beast holds such a grudge—if not for my quick reflexes and the umbrella's protection, being struck would surely rip flesh and skin.

Pangzi's gunshot rang out at the same moment; unexpectedly, though the xiao bird's body is large, its movements in midair are like a forest ghost—elusive and unpredictable, plus it's dark, so Pangzi's shot missed it entirely.

Pangzi rarely misses; frustrated, he fumbled at his clothes, yelling "Damn, forgot to bring the steel pellets as ammo!"—he didn't even have the Type 64 on him, so he inverted the "Sword Might" and used it as a firebrand, holding it aloft to guard against the xiao bird that had just fled into the dark making a return strike.

We two were sweeping the tactical searchlights on our climbing helmets about, clouds covering the moon, only our two beams of light sweeping around; yet the xiao bird can fly freely in pitch-black jungle, its attack range vast, possibly appearing from any angle.

Just then, two golden beams suddenly appeared behind Pangzi, a pair of giant golden eyes opened; I urgently shouted at Pangzi: "Quick, get down—it's behind you!"

Pangzi lurched forward in panic, but forgot he was in a tree, let out a miserable "Ow!" and fell from the old banyan; luckily I had earlier made him tie on the safety rope, so he didn't crash into the stones below, just like me, suspended midair; however, given his weight, it's doubtful the trunk and rope can hold him long; Pangzi kicked his legs wildly in fright, the more he struggled, the more the tree swayed, leaves and shallow-rooted plants shaken to the ground, the entire old banyan groaning, ready to topple at any moment.

Before I could devise a way to haul Pangzi up to prevent him from snapping branches, suddenly my vision went dark, the light on my helmet blocked by something; that ghostly xiao bird, like a wraith, struck down from above my head.

This time I had no chance to raise the gold-plated umbrella to block, since one hand still had to grip the vine on the tree to maintain balance, I couldn't free a hand to fire; I could only use the closed umbrella to parry the xiao bird's talons descending from midair; unexpectedly, the xiao bird is ferocious beyond bounds—it actually clamped its claws onto the umbrella in my hand, trying to wrest it away; its strength is immense, I cannot hold it with one hand, my whole body nearly being hauled up the tree by the xiao bird.

Just as this standoff continued, suddenly a burst of submachine-gun fire rang out, in the darkness a string of bullets flashed— the xiao bird was blown apart into a rag, falling straight from the air to the ground below, motionless; the ferocious predator that had prowled the forest at night now became someone else's prey.

It turned out Shirley Yang had emerged from the cabin wreckage holding a gun, fired and killed that xiao bird; in the dark we couldn't see what weapon she held, Pangzi and I, suspended midair, couldn't help but shout in unison: "What devastating firepower—what kind of gun is this?"

Shirley Yang patted the submachine gun in her hand and replied: "It's a Thompson submachine gun, American gangsters prefer to call it the Chicago Typewriter; this gun is just too heavy."

Since this transport plane was delivering munitions to troops, its cargo had been strictly sealed; plus, the Thompson fears water, so together with the ammo bags they were all wrapped in plastic, and the new guns still had lubricant on them; even after the crash, an extremely small portion remained preserved in the forest under such harsh conditions, all thanks to the fact that although the ground rivers of Long Dragon Mountain crisscross, rainfall in the sky is rare—otherwise, over these decades, a few heavy rains would have rendered even the most tightly sealed submachine guns on the treetops useless, those bullets unusable.

At this moment I also couldn't spare time to inspect the American gear; I hurriedly had Shirley Yang help me lower Pangzi, who was hung around the trunk, from the tree; after all that turmoil, an entire night passed, and in another half hour or so it should be dawn; however, the darkness before dawn is the darkest, and this saying fits perfectly here—right now the forest is so black you can't see your hand in front of your face.

In this boundless darkness, suddenly from the old banyan we occupy came a clear series of "didi-da" sounds; this startled me and Shirley Yang, who had no psychological preparation—we had thought it was that damned creature messing about in the cabin, now already dealt with, yet suddenly the signal sounds again.

No, this is actually the very sound we first heard at the base of the tree; comparing now, it's clearly different from the xiao bird's pecking noises—we just hadn't noticed before, mistakenly thought it the same; now up in the tree, we clearly hear this string of sounds coming from inside the trunk beneath the cabin wreckage.

I couldn't help cursing: "Damn it, what the hell is messing around now? This sound is truly sinister."

Shirley Yang told me to quiet down and listen carefully, while she decoded in her mind, her composed expression unintentionally revealing a shadow of fear: "Now you hear it clearly too—over and over, only a repeating Morse code signal, but this time the content has changed."

I cupped my ears and listened for a long time; this time it wasn't just three shorts and three longs, more complex than the previous signal, yet I could tell it was repeating; I don't know Morse code, but seeing Shirley Yang so solemn, I knew this situation was no small matter, yet I didn't know what the signal contained, to make her so frightened.

Shirley Yang stared fixedly at the direction of the sound and slowly repeated: "Dit dit dit dit dah dah dit dit—this really is a ghost signal, a death signal emitted by departed souls."