Chapter 125: Main Text Chapter 127: Very Sudden

Main Text Chapter 127: Very Sudden

Shirley Yang lowered her voice and said to me and Pangzi, "These floating corpses seem to be gathering toward some area; it looks like they're not coming for us..."

Pangzi, seeing himself surrounded by the drifting corpses in the water, felt anxious, pulled back the bolt of his "Chicago Typewriter", and with a fierce expression said, "I'd say there's an eighty percent chance they're gathering to gang up on us—strike first, suffer later. Lao Hu, what are you waiting for? Get moving."

I pressed my hand on Pangzi's shoulder, pressing it against the rock behind, to stop him from acting rashly. The three of us hid behind the rocks, observing the movements of those floating corpses. At that moment, more than half of the cavern was illuminated by the eerie glow of those floating corpses; in the bottomless underground water, layers upon layers of drifting female corpses stacked up, unknown how many. I felt a bit panicked; earlier I only thought there might be some strange drifting corpses in this cave, and with an American submachine gun in hand I could handle them, but I never imagined that the water here actually held tens of thousands of drifting corpses—even if we had ten times more ammunition, we might still not be able to cope. Gazing at the countless female corpses on the water surface, the veins on my forehead started to throb.

The only thing we could consider fortunate now is that these drifting corpses are like logs in the river—each one ignorant and insensible, slowly gathering toward the deep water in the middle of the cavern. We held our breath, not daring to exhale, for we could not fathom where all these female corpses came from. If they were ancient corpses from thousands of years ago, how could they be so perfectly preserved in the water, with not a trace of decay—just look at that hazy, translucent, plump body, hardly different from a living person's. What is the reason for the cold, green light emitted from the corpses? I couldn't figure it out, so I suppressed my pounding heart, hid in the dark shadow of the rocks, and stared wide-eyed, observing.

I collected my thoughts, and only then did I gradually make out some clues. Vast expanses of drifting corpses likely rose from the deep water, gradually gathering near our position. Because there were so many, the light became much brighter than the surroundings; the cold light was dazzling, ironically making things less clear.

Moreover, in the area where the drifting corpses were most concentrated, there was a large mass of red gas floating above the water surface, its lower part connected to the water, shielding the eerie, threatening green light. One group after another of drifting corpses aimed for that red cloud, rushing in eagerly.

The large mass of red smoke was vivid, like thick red paint; inside, something indiscernible, but it seemed like a bottomless pit, sucking in large numbers of floating corpses without showing any sign of filling up.

The red mist is probably the poison gas recorded in the carvings on the fossil altar—perhaps due to moisture erosion, the pigment in the carvings has changed, so we initially thought the mist spewing from the cave was black—but now it appears remarkably vivid. In the world, the brilliance of a poison's color often correlates with its potency; the brighter the red or green, the stronger the toxin. We don't know how toxic this red mist is, and it moreover gathers without dispersing. Had we not all worn gas masks in advance, at this close range we would inevitably inhale the mist into our seven orifices and die of poisoning. Strangely enough, with so many drifting corpses packed together in the water like porridge, there is only an extremely faint sound of flowing water, and no other noise at all. All of this unfolds in utter silence.

Shirley Yang whispered in my ear, "There seems to be something in the poison mist—likely the true form of that mountain god. These floating corpses in the water, for some unknown reason, are drawn to the mist and keep drifting into it; once inside, they appear to be eaten."

I said to her, "Damn his ancestors, this is truly spooky! No matter what deity that mountain god is, judging by his eating habits, over all these years he must have consumed how many female corpses to be satisfied, and whose corpses are these?"

Pangzi lay on the ground, shrugged, and said, "Heaven knows, who knows! But those floating corpses really don't seem to be wearing clothes; it's a bit far from here, so we can only see them vaguely. We might as well move a bit closer to get a clear look, then worry about how to deal with them."

Shirley Yang repeatedly waved her hand downward, signaling us to lower our voices even further, then pointed west and whispered, "These details don't matter. For now, the plan is to take advantage of the mountain god's feast on female corpses and sneak past from the side; we must absolutely not disturb those... things, or it will be utterly disadvantageous for us."

This is really all we can do. I have no interest in whether that mountain god is an old zombie or some mountain sprite or water monster. Better to go around, slip out unseen through the Gourd Mouth, after all our goal is the Dust Pearl in the Xian King's Tomb, not to come here specifically to provoke the mountain god in the Gourd Cave.

We split up our weapons, each taking a long gun, pressed tightly against the wall of the Gourd Cave, not daring to turn on the tactical illumination on our climbing helmets. We huddled in the half‑transparent rock shadows, jagged like wolf teeth, moving forward as slowly as a slow‑motion movie scene. This stretch of the cavern is littered with rocks of various sizes; even a slightly larger movement would create noise. All three of us added extra caution, knowing the iron rule of tiptoeing: never rush. Yet because we carried so much gear, trying to avoid making any sound, we still ended up causing a disturbance.

We all had rifles slung on our backs; I and Pangzi carried the "Chicago Typewriter", while Shirley Yang bore the "Sword Might"—I don't know whose gun stock it was, but it knocked over a piece of rock.

That stone wasn't actually large, but it fell straight into the water with a "plunk". In the silent cavern, the tiny splash seemed amplified tenfold by the dome‑shaped walls; the water‑movement noise caused by the countless drifting corpses on the surface immediately ceased, as if those female corpses had been startled by us and were now staring at us.

My heart sank; I thought, "It's over." Yet I still clung to a sliver of hope, and Pangzi, Shirley Yang, and I lay flat on the spot, daring not to move, hoping the mountain god in the red poison mist hadn't noticed us, and not daring to glance in that direction.

I lay on the ground, cursing nonstop in my heart, but as the saying goes, "Ill fate cannot be blamed on the government, bad luck cannot be blamed on society"; at this point, complaining about poor luck is useless.

Pangzi cupped his ear to listen for movement over there, but it remained deathly silent; he grew suspicious and gestured to me. In the darkness I couldn't see his motion clearly, but after years of working together we know each other's minds well—I knew he was probably asking me, "Is there an ancient corpse that has become a spirit in that red mist?"

I lightly shook my hand to signal Pangzi not to move again, indicating we should make no sound now—whether or not there is a zombie in the corpse poison over there, angering it would be more than we could handle—I broke out in a sweat, just hoping to get through this immediate crisis.

Actually, I too was filled with doubts, asking myself that my lifelong study of feng shui esoteric arts is also quite profound; observing the terrain here, it truly resembles a gourd. Consider the Gourd Cave, the Reclining Ox Spot, the Supreme Ultimate Yin-Yang (also called Dragon Yin-Yang)—these are all feng shui's immortal apertures. This cavern is gourd‑shaped; though odd, ancient Qingwu diviners have said: if a true dragon truly dwells there, regardless of propriety or clumsiness, whether high mountains or flat land, the true eye of the immortals merely marks the spot—although the form is strange and the momentum extraordinary, it is indeed a genuine treasure land.

How could such a place harbor zombies? If the entity wrapped in the poison mist isn't a zombie, how could it have persisted for thousands of years? If it isn't a thousand‑year‑old zombie that has attained spiritual essence, where would such a fierce corpse poison come from? Moreover, looking at those drifting corpses, it would be strange if they hadn't undergone corpse transformation. I've heard zombies can sniff out the breath of the living; I don't know whether our gas masks are effective against that.

Most incomprehensible of all are the countless female corpses that emerged from the water bottom; as soon as we entered the cave they surfaced, yet when we had previously peeked at the cave entrance we saw nothing unusual. Damn it, it looks like these guys have studied the tactics of "Landmine Warfare"—they don't show themselves unless the enemy appears.

My mind wandered with random thoughts, so I didn't pay much attention to the movement near the water surface; suddenly I felt Shirley Yang pinch my arm, and I snapped back to attention. All I heard was the clatter of stones by the water, like many people walking along the riverbank; the light reflected off the drifting corpses in the cavern flickered irregularly, as if something in that water area had moved over.

I knew whatever was coming would eventually arrive, just a matter of time; it seems the other side has already sensed our presence. I decided to strike first after waiting, lightly turning my body to face upward, my hand already having chambered a round in the "Chicago Typewriter", I waited silently for whatever would emerge from behind the rocks, ready to greet it with a barrage of bullets like a storm. Pangzi and Shirley Yang beside me, without making any sound, also prepared to meet the attack.

Because the heavy gas masks have an adsorption‑type filtration system, inside I could hear my own breathing loudly, while outside sounds were muffled. I only heard that faint noise gradually drawing near; when it was already within reach and I could see faint red mist appearing before my eyes, I then made out a clanking of iron armor coming from behind the rocks. From that sound alone I knew the approaching figure was sizable—why would there be an iron‑clad voice? Could it be an ancient army? I gripped my submachine gun tighter.

Pangzi could no longer contain himself; he sprang up from the ground, raised his submachine gun, and unleashed a string of MIAI bullets, the gunfire echoing like a typewriter throughout the cavern. Seeing Pangzi jump the gun, I didn't hesitate either—I sprang up, not yet seeing clearly what was over there, I pulled the trigger and swept a hail of fire at the half‑transparent rock where they were hiding, first suppressing the enemy with firepower. The bullets striking the red poison mist produced a ping‑ping‑dang‑dang ricochet sound, like hitting armor plating. The drifting corpses in the nearby water seemed startled, exploding like a pot boiling over as they scrambled wildly; the green light on their bodies flared brighter, and combined with the muzzle flash from the "Chicago Typewriter", the entire gourd‑shaped cavern flickered light and dark, as if countless fireflies were darting swiftly in the darkness.

In the midst of this alternating light and darkness, the red mist before us suddenly thinned and dissipated, leaving nothing. I couldn't help but wonder where all those bullets had gone; then I heard a low, heavy panting from my side, and a grotesque face wearing a gold mask faced us, exhaling a large plume of vivid red mist.