Chapter 146: Main Text Chapter 148: Black Pig Crossing the River

Main Text Chapter 148: Black Pig Crossing the River

Pangzi was at the highest jeweled top of the Heavenly Palace, gazing down at the pitch‑black abyss below, noticing the tiles under his feet were unusually slick, his heart filled with dread. Hearing my question, he blurted out: "What the hell weird, damn it, it's just a piece of human skin tied around the head, plus a fake wig—it's a head covering. I stuffed my ears, so I couldn't hear that ghostly laugh. Following your suggestion, I yanked off that human‑skin head covering and set it ablaze, burning the covering and clothes to ashes."

I exclaimed: "How could it be just heavy makeup on the human‑skin head covering? Where did that fierce ghost's shrill laugh come from? Could it be that a spirit has possessed that ritual robe?"

Pangzi clenched his back teeth and whispered to me: "You didn't look closely enough—the human‑skin head covering is painted with a white base and red lips, not much different from a dead person's face. Damn it, just thinking about it makes my calves tremble. If there weren't any other ghosts, how could I still be alive here talking to you? I reckon that ghostly laugh is eighty percent due to a few holes in the head covering; when the little wind from the palace roof blows through them, the huge nanmu trees on the roof that can produce deep dragon‑like sounds cause us to mishear. So you don't need to let your imagination run wild, suspecting ghosts."

Having heard Pangzi's account and reasoning, I was momentarily noncommittal, falling into silence, secretly thinking: "This fat oaf is always muddled and backwards, his speech is hit‑or‑miss. Although I've seen him burn that ritual robe, I can't relax—the fierce ghost's shrill laugh can raise a chill on one's skin; even the eerie winds of Xinjiang's Devil City are nothing like this. I swear to Chairman Mao, that robe and human‑skin head covering are certainly not that simple. Now we are in mortal danger; everything must be handled with caution. I should test him again to put my mind at ease, lest a careless mistake breed lasting regret."

I worried that Pangzi might be possessed by the fierce ghost, so I prepared to test him with an apotropaic object. At this moment the sun was slanting westward, about to dip behind the western mountains; there was only this brief window to act.

If Pangzi were truly possessed by the fierce ghost, simply using glutinous rice that can draw out ghostly qi and corpse toxin would immediately reveal it. However, if I acted directly, it would inevitably seem that I distrust my brother, and if there truly were a yin spirit causing trouble, a head‑on clash would disadvantage me. I might even wound Pangzi by mistake, so the only option is to first circle to his rear and wait for an opportunity to act.

I turned the plan over three times in my mind, then set down the gear I was inspecting, rose from the glazed top of the Heavenly Palace, pretended to stretch, loosened my muscles, and took the opportunity to circle behind Pangzi.

Unexpectedly, this came off as a bit affected; Pangzi didn't notice. He was greedily munching chocolate to stave off hunger, which instead made Shirley Yang think I was acting odd. She immediately asked: "Lao Hu, what's got into you now? It's neither early nor late—why are you stretching? The glazed tiles are slippery; be careful."

I gave Shirley Yang repeated glances, signalling her to stay silent, thinking: "You're usually sharp‑minded, so why are you so dense today? Although you don't believe in ghosts, only in God, in a moment you'll surely witness my, Hu's, divine foresight, and you'll be convinced enough to fall flat in admiration."

Shirley Yang didn't understand why I was winking at her, yet she also sensed the opportunity.

Pangzi had his mouth full of chocolate and beef jerky, turned his head to look at me, and asked in a muddled voice: "Commander Hu, did you twist your waist when you fell from the beam? Let me say, we're all thirty‑something now, not like before—everything must be taken easy. Go have the blind man give you a massage; hey, you shouldn't say the blind man's skill isn't effective—last time he kneaded my meat into minced."

I hurriedly said to Pangzi: "Is thirty‑something really old? Don't forget that revolutionary people are forever young. Besides, I didn't twist my waist—I was standing on the supreme peak of the Heavenly Palace, looking down, taking in the magnificent rivers and mountains of our motherland, my heart brimming with passion, so I deliberately rose to recite a poem as a memento."

Pangzi laughed so hard he spat out the food in his mouth: "Commander Hu, don't drag us down with your nonsense—you know only a couple of half‑characters and still want to recite poetry? Hurry up and rest, keep your energy; in a bit we still have to go down into the Mysterious Palace to feel out the burial goods."

Seeing Pangzi acting normally, not seeming possessed by the fierce ghost, I thought it would be best if there were no ghost; but if there truly were a fierce ghost, I would inevitably have to join forces with her in a three‑fold alliance, and I truly lack confidence in dealing with a red‑clad fierce ghost. Nevertheless, since I'm already standing, I will proceed with the precautionary plan I had devised—adding an extra safeguard can only help, never hurt.

Thus, while talking nonsense and stepping on the glazed tiles, I circled behind Pangzi: "Commander Wang, don't judge new problems with old‑fashioned eyes—many great poets of antiquity were illiterate idlers who loved to loaf about, yet they still left countless timeless verses. I admit I wasn't as fond of study as you when I was young, because I was busy responding to calls and attending to national affairs day after day, but my love for the magnificent rivers and mountains of our motherland is in no way inferior to yours."

As I kept talking, I had already circled to Pangzi's back; my mouth never stopped, while my hand reached into my pack and grabbed a large handful of glutinous rice. This rice had been purchased the previous year and had aged a bit, the grains turning slightly yellow, but glutinous rice fears yin and possesses the power to repel corpses and deter ghosts; even expired rice works just as well.

I immediately flung that handful of glutinous rice down like heavenly maidens scattering flowers, right behind Pangzi. He was sitting and talking to me, not expecting a sudden shower of rice from behind; he jumped, turned his head, and asked: "Did you eat too much and burst? Weren't you reciting poetry? Why are you scattering rice? Do you also want to catch birds to probe the air quality inside that ancient tomb's subterranean palace?"

Shirley Yang also stood aside, looking at me with a strange gaze. Seeing that the glutinous rice hadn't knocked any fierce ghost out of Pangzi, I explained: "I originally intended to come out with a few lofty lines, all timeless masterpieces, but then I recalled that little Pang had just touched that human‑skin head covering; the Han dynasty corpse skin must be heavy with yin, so I was dispelling his bad luck. However, according to old tradition, this must not be announced beforehand—it only works when the person is unaware. Having cleared the ancient site's gloom, you will surely be promoted and prosper, expand your ambitions. Look, for your future I have forgotten those several lines that could echo through the ages, tossed them to the clouds; now I try to recall them but can't—damn it, I've lost my inspiration."

I made up some excuses to temporarily put Pangzi's and Shirley Yang's doubts aside, not knowing whether they'd accept it. As I continued to justify myself, Shirley Yang suddenly pointed at the sky and said to us: "Look at those clouds in the sky—how strange they are."

Pangzi raised his head and also exclaimed in wonder: "Commander Hu, could it be that the Dragon King has unfurled his wings?"

Only seen, in the sky over the mountains where light still lingered, a long, thick black cloud stretched out, resembling a black dragon lying across the heavens, or like a black heavenly river suspended at the horizon, gradually merging with the darkened sky on this side of the mountains, instantly casting a shadow over the "Heavenly Palace" and "Water Dragon Halo" in the valley.

Normally, in the fresh air of the wilderness or on thin‑aired highlands, when night falls and the sky is clear of clouds, one can see the brilliant Milky Way. Yet compared to the galaxy in the starry sky, this "black river" now looming over our heads looks extremely ominous, filled with a desolate, gloomy yin aura. The tombs in the secluded valley were already quiet; now they are even darker and still. It feels as if we have entered a dark, sinister underground netherworld.

I told Shirley Yang and Pangzi: "Such a celestial phenomenon has been recorded in ancient geomancy—black qi penetrating and linking the Heavenly River; this omen is called the Black Pig Crossing the Heavenly River. In the Heavenly Star Secret Arts it is termed the rain‑hou invading the border, while the Green Bamboo Earth Qi Theory holds that a black bamboo crossing the river foretells ancient corpses wreaking havoc here, hence corpse qi rises from yin to clash with yang, obscuring sun and moon."

Pangzi didn't grasp the meaning and asked me: "According to that, it's not a good omen—is it the rain‑hou or the corpse qi? By the way, what exactly is the rain‑hou, and could it block our fortune?"

I said to Pangzi: "Rain‑hou means a sudden flood surge. We've been rushing ahead and lagging behind; tonight we must act to overturn the Xian King's Tomb, and we've run into this rare, once‑in‑a‑century celestial sign. I don't know whether it's related to the Xian King's alteration of the dragon veins, but perhaps in recent years this anomaly has frequently appeared here. This rainstorm is holding back, and sooner or later it will cause a major change—maybe not long from now the Heavenly Palace of the Insect Valley will be swallowed by mountain floods. We cannot delay; we must descend into the pool right now."

As we spoke, the sky turned into a black cauldron bottom—pitch black, hand before face invisible. The three of us hastily switched on the headlamps of our mountaineering helmets, gaining a little light, we roughly distributed the gear, still keeping the water‑sensitive weapons and explosives in our packs. We lowered ourselves via ropes hanging from the side of the hall, found the stone slabs of the "Plank Road", and wound our way down. The whole stretch was pitch black; we could only inch forward, scraping our feet. Whenever we encountered a broken path, we had to climb down using vines. The three beams of light in the endless darkness were insignificant, barely enough to see our feet, let alone discern the terrain five or six meters ahead.

I don't know how far we had gone down; estimated time had passed at least two hours. Along the way we kept seeing white corpses at our feet—those "Zombie Persons" unable to adapt to the outside environment. The remaining ones have likely retreated back into the cave and pose no threat to us now.

We felt our way in the dark; after two hours of trekking we finally reached the end of the valley's Plank Road. I estimate it was just after five in the afternoon; the bare sky seen through the leak‑cup had merged with the rest of the landscape into darkness. This Black Pig Crossing the River came upon us quickly—suddenly I realized today is July 19, which bodes ill.