Chapter 143

We were staring intently at the clothing high up when the human head on it suddenly turned silently toward us, grinning eerily. Though Shirley Yang and I were startled, we didn't lose our composure.

It's said that vengeful ghosts cannot turn corners, so the screen walls in wealthy homes are meant to block evil spirits. The main hall of this rear palace is entirely covered in stone murals; at worst, we could circle her a few times. Since it's daytime outside now, we needn't worry about having nowhere to flee. Thinking this, I pulled out a black donkey hoof and shouted: "Lord Hu, today I'll treat you to braised hoof—catch!" I flung it toward the dark figure's head.

The black donkey hoof, a bane to zombies and evil spirits, flew past with a strong gust. As I exerted force, the wolf's-eye lamp in my other hand became unsteady; the light flickered, and instantly the hall's ceiling was plunged into darkness. Then came a sharp "crack!" from the darkness—a large object dropped and struck the mural wall beside the stele where Shirley Yang and I stood.

I quickly shone my flashlight over to see what kind of ghost it was. Upon closer look, a half-insect humanoid was grinning at us on the mural wall—it wasn't that set of red ritual robes after all. The Zombie Person had grown to twice its size since birth. Earlier, they had been driven back into the gourd cave by insect-repellent medicines on the Cloud-Spirit Heavenly Palace and the Plank Road, but presumably the several layers of insect passages in the royal tomb complex were aimed at ants and such, and being ancient, they're ineffective against such large Zombie Persons, which have already adapted to these odors.

This Zombie Person must have sneaked into the hall at some point, hiding in the dark to ambush us, but when it lunged, it happened to hit the gun barrel and was struck by the black donkey hoof I'd thrown at the ghost, falling onto the mural wall.

The black donkey hoof I carried had been found by Swallow in Inner Mongolia; I'd carried it for over a year, about as heavy as an iron ball. By sheer luck, it struck the Zombie Person's left eye, sinking its eyeball and spewing out much green fluid. It screamed in pain.

Shirley Yang and I used the wolf's-eye lamp to illuminate the Zombie Person on the mural wall, when we inadvertently noticed another set of clothing hanging from the hall's ceiling behind it, oddly styled. It should be a set of ancient Southwest Yi barbarian leather armor—just the armor, no corpse inside—and this set even lacked a head, only bearing a bull-horn helmet, making it impossible to tell if there was a head inside the helmet.

It seems there's more than just that set of red ritual robes in this rear palace. I don't know what became of the owners of these garments, but likely they were all long ago sacrificed to heaven by the Prince of Xiang.

But I had no time to ponder further—the one-eyed Zombie Person on the mural wall's edge had already leapt from midair toward us. Shirley Yang fired three shots from her Type 64, knocking it from the air, and Pangzi immediately rushed up to finish it with several more rounds.

Pangzi looked up and shouted at us: "There are still plenty more coming in—damn, they've got us figured out…" As he spoke, he kept pulling the trigger, and in the dark palace, gunfire flashed intermittently, lighting up the gloom.

Shirley Yang told me: "They must remember our scent, which is why they keep pursuing us. But these creatures grow so fast, they must be tied to the special environment of the gourd cave; once they leave their nest, they won't live long."

I rushed to get the submachine gun from beneath the stele, so while climbing down, I told Pangzi and Shirley Yang: "While their numbers are still low, wipe them all out quickly. Close the rear hall's side doors now. Since large insects don't survive long in normal oxygen levels, we just need to hold out for a while."

About dozens of Zombie Persons had sneaked into the palace unnoticed. Though not many, their size made them hard to eliminate all at once, so we had to use the scattered steles and mural walls to maneuver. The lack of a massive influx is likely because the others haven't grown large enough to resist the hall's insecticides—but that's only a matter of time.

Pangzi and I stood back-to-back, relying on each other as we shot down each charging Zombie Person. In the chaos, Pangzi told me: "Commander Hu, our ammo is low—we'll have to conserve."

Hearing him say ammo was low, I grew anxious, and my "Chicago Typewriter" lost aim. The Zombie Person just hit by bullets took three rounds to the back, leapt violently into the mural wall's blind spot, and my following shots all struck the wall, sending brick dust flying.

I thought: kill one, one less—so I pursued relentlessly, following the turn into the inner side of the mural wall. There, the badly wounded Zombie Person crouched on the black cauldron's lid, glaring at me with tiger-like eyes, its four jaws wide open, howling in agony from shattered tendons and bones by large-caliber bullets, and from the toxic blood within, filled with the endless resentment of enslaved women.

The severely wounded Zombie Person, seeing me close in, went mad, violently bracing its limbs on the cauldron lid to launch itself at me. Its strength was astonishing—this push actually kicked the black bronze cauldron's lid backward off the body. With the mural wall behind me, I couldn't dodge, but I knew its lunge was fierce and lethal, focusing all remaining energy into its mouth—it was preparing to die with me.

I didn't dodge either, raising my gun to end it in midair—but as I pulled the trigger, the bullet jammed. Just what I feared. Though this American gear is sharp, it's old surplus stock; jamming now is already a rarity. I thought to reverse the stock to strike the lunging Zombie Person, but it came too fast and fierce—I only smelled a foul stench, its jaw muscles twitching as its grotesque mouth lunged at my face.

I had no choice but to raise my MIAI to brace its neck—unexpectedly, its force seemed limitless, the lunge undiminished, and it knocked me to the ground. I used the momentum to kick its belly, using its lunge to shove it backward. Its head struck the mural wall, and instantly a large patch of black blood stained the white wall.

Seeing the Zombie Person still not dead, I wanted to finish it with the gunstock—then heard a heavy metallic rolling from behind, as if a huge wheel were rolling over me from the rear.

I thought, "Damn, where did a train come from?" Not daring to be careless, I quickly rolled sideways. The lid of the black giant cauldron scraped past my back as it rolled. The Zombie Person just struggling up from below the mural wall was struck squarely by the lid's edge. With a thud like a watermelon falling from upstairs, the mural wall splattered with black blood—the heavy lid had crushed the Zombie Person into insect mush. Its head was flattened, fused with the cracked wall, indistinguishable—only its forelimbs remained posed, still twitching.

As the saying goes, "He who lifts a stone only to drop it on his own foot"—this Zombie Person must have neglected virtue in a past life, only thinking to lunge and bite me, yet was rolled over by its own kicked-back cauldron lid, finally crushed under its own head.

Gunfire still echoed in the hall; Pangzi and Shirley Yang had already eliminated over ten of the largest Zombie Persons and were now exterminating the remaining few. Seeing I was temporarily safe, I exhaled deeply, pulled out the magazine, and cleared the jammed round—barely avoiding having my life ruined by it.

I stood up, intending to help Pangzi and the others, but as soon as I rose, I saw a bizarre, indescribable sight. The six-legged black cauldron, now lidless, contained a vast expanse of white—naked corpses, men, women, old and young, at least seventeen or eighteen.

These corpses lay piled in solidified white fat, transparent as skin jelly, making them look like wax bodies. Bloodstains marked the corpses, and I thought darkly: "Looks like Shirley Yang was right—this is indeed a cauldron for boiling corpses to sacrifice to heaven. These corpses are likely the owners of those strange garments on the roof, perhaps they were the highest-status Yi captives taken by the Prince of Xiang, or even members of the Yi king's entourage."

As early as the Shang and Zhou dynasties, records existed of using cauldrons to boil humans in sacrifice to heaven and earth—and the boiled could not be mere slaves, or it would be seen as disrespect to the gods. It seems the Prince of Xiang died before performing his dragon-ascension ritual, so this "great pot" never got used.

I also thought of the evil ghost's sinister laugh in the palace corner just now—was it trying to stop us from opening this cauldron lid? Does this cauldron hide some shameful secret? Even with naked female corpses, the image of congealed tallow and blood is nauseating—who the hell would want to look at you?

These Yi corpses died strangely and were made into this state—I really didn't want to look again, but as I thought to leave, my feet hadn't moved when I felt a scorching gust rise from the black cauldron. I saw its six beast-feet like six fire qilin, facing inward, each exhaling a flame pillar from its mouth; the black surface of the cauldron, upon contact with fierce fire, instantly ignited violently. The corpses inside were engulfed in flames and hot oil, rapidly melting, sending waves of intense refining-oil odor through the hall—this heavy smell made one want to retch.

In that instant, the six-legged black cauldron became a great fireball, roaring flames illuminating the entire rear palace. I saw a dozen or so sets of strange garments hanging from the ceiling, all different, and these ancient clothes clearly weren't made for the living.