Chapter 142

Main text Chapter 144 Ghost Star

In the utterly silent palace, how could there be a woman's laugh? The three 'Wolf Eye' light beams in our hands instantly snapped toward that corner; the icy laugh cut off abruptly, leaving only an empty corner of the palace wall, with nothing there.

The three were extremely shocked, speechless for a moment, and then sweat appeared on Shirley Yang's forehead; after a while they asked, 'What was that sound just now?'

I just shook my head, said nothing—'ill‑intentioned visitors do not come, and well‑meaning ones do not arrive.' In this ghost palace used to sacrifice the dead, what good could there be? Thinking that, I reached out and unfastened the latch of the carrying bag holding black donkey hooves, glutinous rice, and the like.

At this point Pangzi also began to look nervous, because the fortune‑telling blind man we had found at the Shaanxi Stele Shop would, whenever he had nothing to do, brag to us about his past exploits in grave‑robbing. Although we didn't really take the blind man's words to heart, a few special lines stuck in our memory crystal‑clear. According to the blind man, these were the lines once held as inviolable rules by tomb‑robbers: 'The Seal of Faqiu, the Gold‑Seeking Talisman—protect the body but not against the ghost‑blowing lamp; the child's coffin, the bronze coffin—do not approach if the eight characters are not firm; the vertical burial pit, the coffin grave—when moving mountains and passing ridges, walk around them; the red‑clad fiend, the smiling corpse—nothing wards off ghost laughter like listening to ghost wails.'

Later I asked Shirley Yang whether those lines were made up by the blind man himself; they were not—they were old‑time lore, describing several kinds of things even more terrifying than zombies. Finally it said that when grave‑robbing and gold‑seeking, encountering a corpse dressed in solid red funerary garments, or a corpse whose face bears a smile, are dire omens; those whose fate is not strong enough will hardly see the light of day again. Ghost wails occur in many places, and some mistake wolf howls for ghost wails, which is fine, but what is truly feared is hearing a fierce ghost's laughter in a graveyard—only fierce ghosts laugh.

Although this 'Heavenly Palace' is a surface structure of the ancient tomb, it is definitely a full part of the tomb; only in the depths of this pitch‑black palace can one hear a laugh that makes goosebumps fall off at a touch, and yet shining a flashlight there reveals nothing—how could one not be afraid?

However, we had prepared ourselves mentally; in ancient times, Gold‑Seeking Colonels who encountered such inauspicious things in tombs called it running into a 'Black Star', and in physiognomy a Black Star is also called a 'Ghost Star'. When an ordinary person meets a Black Star, the Threefold True Fire on their shoulders is instantly extinguished—like walking a narrow bridge over an abyss ten thousand feet deep; their little life is hard to preserve.

We three all wore genuine Gold‑Seeking Talismans, plus several ritually consecrated objects; even a fierce ghost named Hu could contend with us for a few rounds. So we steadied ourselves, temporarily ignored that black bronze cauldron, each took up our weapons, and split into three routes to flank the corner where the laugh had just come from.

The hall was filled with stelae standing in rows, layer upon layer. Playing hide‑and‑seek here would be fitting, but trying to make out anything more than ten meters away was blocked by the obstructing view; from our original position we could only glimpse through the gaps between the stelae and the mural walls, our angle limited. As we drew nearer, our sight showed nothing but empty wall corners and stone floor slabs—nothing else—and the palace fell into dead silence again; were it not for that eerie sound in our ears, we might have thought we'd misheard.

Shirley Yang asked me, 'Lao Hu, you don't often brag to me about how many tombs you've flipped, do you? In practice I lack your rich experience; when we encounter a fierce ghost in an ancient tomb, what do you think we should do?'

I am now also at my wits' end, thinking that this Meiguo girl wants to conscript me into her army, so I said to Shirley Yang: "In the past, when we encountered situations we didn't know how to handle, we would leave it to the local masses, turning unfavorable factors into favorable ones; the creativity of the masses is inexhaustible, and they will surely come up with a solution."

Pangzi didn't understand and also asked me: "Commander Lao Hu, in this desolate graveyard and wild ridges, only the three of us are alive—where can we find the masses?"

I said to Pangzi: "Who do you think you are? Isn't your political stance just the masses? I now assign you to search the rear hall of the heavenly palace, using every means to clarify the writing behind it—whether it's a vicious ghost or a wild cat causing trouble in spring, leave it to you to deal with. I will then go investigate the matter inside the bronze cauldron, let Shirley Yang, chief of staff, coordinate in the middle, don't delay either side; also, this is the enemy's ploy of luring the tiger away from the mountain, trying to divert our attention from the bronze cauldron."

Pangzi is not stupid at all; he quickly said: "Why don't we switch? I'll use my strength to move that cauldron lid, Lao Hu—you still don't know me? We buddies have nothing but these two arms of strength, but when it comes to things we can't see or touch, we've always lacked creativity…"

Pangzi kept being modest, I paid no attention, turned around intending to go back to move the cauldron lid, and just as I turned, I suddenly heard from the wall corner behind me another burst of chilling laughter that made one's hair stand on end; the laugh was too sudden, and the three of us were frightened, hastily stepping back a step. I leaned against a stone tablet behind me, quickly brightened the tactical searchlight on my mountaineering helmet, one hand holding miai, the other ready to pull out evil-repelling implements from my pack.

The cold, lecherous laugh flickered briefly; there was nothing in the wall corner; this is already the final hall, so there couldn't be any hidden chambers or secret passages. I plucked up courage and went over, stomped my foot on the stone tiles on the ground—there was not the slightest sign of movement. Damn it, this is spooky! Could it be that in this rear palace the vengeful spirit of King Xian's consort lingers? What exactly does she intend to do?

Shirley Yang and Pangzi stood behind me, also feeling startled and terrified; having heard that laugh twice, there's no mistaking it. Although the hall of this palace is large, it has only a single exit, not a maze of passages—after all, this is the jeweled top of a bright tower, not a true palace. Put bluntly, it's just a facade: from the outside it looks like layer upon layer, rows upon rows, seeming like thousands of doors and households, but inside the structure is actually quite simple—it's merely a place for sacrifice.

In such a confined space, where is that brush coming from? At first, not seeing anything made me lose confidence; it would be better than fighting that giant python and man-eating fish—though our lives hung by a thread, at least we could have a good fight. Now the situation is calm, yet it inevitably makes us anxious and restless, constantly thinking: 'How could there be a vicious ghost in an immortal's cave? Perhaps only in such a yin-yang fluctuating region would a vicious ghost possibly appear.' On this matter, I have no clue at all.

I simply stepped onto Pangzi's shoulder, climbed up to the stone tablet nearest the wall corner, intending to look down from above for a closer inspection. Just as I got onto the tablet's top, before I could even look downward, I noticed a flicker of red light above my head. I immediately raised my head and shone the tactical searchlight upward, seeing only a woman in long robes and wide sleeves, dressed in red, swaying silently and suspended motionless from the hall's vaulted ceiling. The ceiling was dark and lightless; I could see only her lower half, her upper half hidden in darkness. I couldn't tell whether she was hanging by a rope around her neck or some other means, but her position was exactly diagonally above my head. This hall is towering, far beyond ordinary architecture, yet we had only been watching the ground at the wall corner and never thought to look at the roof.

That sudden sight startled me badly; if my legs weren't firmly gripping the stone tablet, I would have toppled headfirst off it. I hurriedly lay flat on the tablet's top, clutching it tightly with both hands. Fortunately, I've seen a few big tombs in my life, so my nerves are fairly steady. If it were Pangzi here, he'd surely be frightened enough to jump straight down.

Pangzi and Shirley Yang looked up at my actions above, naturally also seeing the red-clothed woman high up, but their position was lower than mine, so their view was even more blurred; nonetheless they couldn't help but turn pale, they worried for me and kept urging me to come down from the stone tablet first, lest the vicious ghost lift me up—then it would be serious trouble.

After stabilizing my body, instead of jumping down right away, I raised my head to look at the roof's condition. Just one glance, and I broke out in a cold sweat: inside that great red robe… there were no feet; the clothing was empty and hollow, pressed tightly against the high corner of the hall's wall, as if merely an empty robe hanging in midair—where had the corpse gone?

The bright red woman's garment was utterly unlike any ancient female attire I knew; it wasn't Hanfu, but probably a special funerary robe worn by Dian kingdom women at death. This blood-red outfit lay still, utterly motionless, and that eerie laughter ceased as well.

I briefly explained the situation to Pangzi and Shirley Yang below the stone tablet. Shirley Yang wanted a clearer look, so she also climbed onto the tablet's top, sat in front of me, examined the robe suspended in midair, and said: "This garment is very strange, its craftsmanship also quite complex—it resembles the attire of shamans, witch-women, or great sorcerers among ethnic minorities… it is a ritual robe."

I asked Shirley Yang: "So you mean it's not a corpse wearing this funereal garb? Is the laughter coming from inside the clothing?"

Shirley Yang said to me: "Still hard to tell; let's look more clearly. It's too dark up there—try using the wolf-eye."

Since the searchlight on the mountaineering helmet is mainly for illuminating the immediate area and can't reach far, the upper part of the floating robe is completely invisible; even if it might be empty up there, only after seeing it clearly would I feel at ease. If the robe were to act up, worst case we could just burn it.

I then took out a longer-range 'wolf-eye' flashlight, pushed open the switch at its base, and a orange-yellow beam shot up, instantly illuminating the upper part of the deep-colored funereal garb.

It wasn't empty; the upright collar had something in it. I looked and couldn't help exclaiming, 'It's a human head!' Perhaps the female corpse does have an upper body, but the rest of her parts are concealed within the red robe; the garment is so voluminous that you can't tell whether it's puffed or flat inside—only the head and face on the shoulders are visible.

The female corpse seemed to notice us shining the 'wolf-eye' flashlight on her face; she actually twitched her head slightly and turned it toward us, her face painted with heavy makeup, and from her mouth came a sharp, eerie laugh: 'kekekeke…'.