Chapter 172

My rifle was raised half a beat too late; the big guy had already been seized by the giant hand beneath the water, blocking my line of fire. Fortunately, the lama was quick-eyed and quick-handed—he grabbed the big guy's equipment belt with one hand and swung an iron rod with the other, striking the water fiercely. The lama's iron rod, equivalent to the dharma-protector warrior monks of inland temples, was not only inscribed with vajra mantras but also extremely heavy. Its blow caused the monster hand to recoil, instantly rescuing the big guy, half-submerged in the water.

Seeing the big guy pulled back by the lama, I immediately raised my rifle and fired several shots into the pond, then pulled out two grenades, pulled the pins, and threw them in. The explosion sent up a water column over half a person high—I don't know if I hit anything.

The lama and I dragged the big guy backward as we retreated. The big guy seemed seriously injured, wailing in pain. I cursed: "You stupid oaf, what the hell are you howling for? You're a 1.9-meter man—how can you wail like a woman? Is it just because you got a little dirty water on you?"

But after I said that, I realized something was wrong. The big guy's military coat was soaked black with sewage, half his body looked like a deflated ball, completely collapsed. He had been shouting at first, but within seconds, he could no longer make a sound from pain—only large sweat droplets, like soybeans, trickled down his forehead. The lama noticed, quickly pulled a porcelain bottle from his bosom, tore open the big guy's uniform, and applied a red powder medicine to him.

I saw that the big guy's entire arm had withered and shrunk into the color of dead bark, like a desiccated corpse. My mind went blank—I didn't know what to do. I wondered if the lama's medicine powder would work; if rescue came too late, the big guy's life would be lost. We needed to find the Gefa medic urgently. Then it struck me: earlier, amid the chaos, I had heard gunfire from five or six semi-automatic rifles to the northwest—that squad must have encountered danger too. So why had the gunfire over there suddenly stopped?

I wanted to go see what was happening, but the big guy's injury was severe, and I didn't know what was in that pond—whether it had been killed by the grenades. Without certainty, leaving only the lama to guard the wounded wouldn't be safe. So I stayed too, holding position and waiting for reinforcements, hoping the company commander had heard the commotion here and would rush over quickly.

I dragged the big guy behind a broken wall, only to discover that among our four-man squad, the bespectacled Xu Gan was missing. I assumed he'd met with misfortune and wanted to go look for him. The lama told me: that big soldier, upon seeing movement in the water, turned and ran. He's probably already fled past the temple gate by now.

I exploded in anger: "Damn it, this son of a bitch—usually he's all about revolution, but when the crunch comes, he cuts and runs. He didn't even let out a fart before bolting. If I make it back alive, I'll expose this habitual pretender of progress, this revisionist stinking old ninth, for the hypocrite he is."

I poked my head out from behind the ruined wall and looked around. The grenades had blown much of the filthy water from the pond, leaving little behind. The water seemed empty now—but what had been dragging the big guy under? I asked the lama if it was a water ghost.

The lama shook his head: "No. Temples are the holiest places in the world. Even if this one lies in ruins, there are no ghosts. Those who die here attain complete liberation."

I thought to myself: one moment you say this place is cursed, the next you say it's sacred— isn't that contradictory? So I asked the lama again: "The situation is urgent now—we can speak privately between us. If it's not vengeful spirits causing trouble, then it must be some mountain sprite or water monster."

The lama ignored my question, instead chanting over the unconscious, gravely wounded big guy: the Eight Vajrayana Mantras for Life and Mountain Transmutation: "Ho! Red person, red horse—the Monkey King holds a red-tasseled spear, draped in a red silk cloak, his retinue likewise wondrous; we offer fragrant smoke to all sublime desires. Black person, black horse—the Demon King wears a black silk cloak, grips a black-tasseled spear, his retinue likewise wondrous; we offer fragrant smoke to all sublime desires. Blue person, blue horse—the Sea Dragon King..."

Seeing him chant without pause, seemingly detached from the world, deaf to outside sounds, I stopped asking. Moonlight washed the land, the wind bit like ice, yet my heart burned with anxiety. Our squad had lost a deserter, a man lay gravely wounded, another squad was unaccounted for, and after the earlier gunfire, all had fallen silent.

After waiting about two minutes with no sign of the company commander, I could bear it no longer. I chambered a round in the big guy's semi-automatic rifle, placed it beside the lama, then leapt from behind the wall, heading to find the company commander and his five men. If they were unharmed, I'd send the Gefa medic to treat the big guy. As I moved, I noticed something glinting on the ground by the pond's edge. I walked over, picked it up—a strange little box, like a camera but smaller than any I'd seen. Then it clicked: I'd seen this in spy films. It was a spy camera. So Xu Gan, that dog-day son of a bitch, was really a spy—he must have come to gather intelligence on our unit's secret construction site in the Kunlun Mountains. He'd accidentally gotten dragged into this rescue mission. Seeing how perilous it was, he thought it wasn't worth risking his life for something unrelated, so he bolted—unwittingly revealing his fox's tail, exposing his identity. When we get back, I'll give him what he deserves.

I slipped the spy camera into my pocket, thinking of my comrade, the stupid big guy—from now on, even if he doesn't die, he'll be a permanent invalid. Grief welled up. The desolate smoke, withered grass, broken walls, and ruins deepened my sorrow and fury. Tears blurred my vision. Not watching my step, I tripped on a stone in the grass, gasped in pain, and knelt to rub my knee, examining the stone in the grass clump.

It was a stone figure lying sideways in the earth, half-buried in mud and grass. The exposed part didn't seem entirely stone. I felt suspicious—then caught a foul odor. That's when I realized: seventy percent of the statue appeared to be flesh and blood, covered in green hair, its rotting stench so foul I could barely keep my eyes open.

Was it a corpse or a statue? The grass below was thick with silt, as if this had once been part of a pond, now exposed after the water dried. I poked it twice with my rifle—suddenly, a giant hand shot up from the mud, slapping the ground as it lunged for my legs. I knew trouble—this was the thing that had dragged the big guy into the water. I didn't know if it was a corpse or something else, but whether alive or dead, nothing should have a hand that big. If it grabbed me and dragged me under, I'd likely be sucked dry by whatever lurks in the water.

Wearing my heavy military coat and dozens of pounds of gear, I couldn't dodge. I was about to block with my rifle when someone lunged from the side, colliding with the fallen stone statue—and instantly became entangled by the green matter oozing from within the mud and grass.

By moonlight, I saw clearly: it was the signalman, Chen Xing. As soon as he lunged forward, his legs were dragged into the mud. Yet he made no sound—just strained silently, struggling desperately.

I too struggled to climb out of the grass, wanting to go rescue him, when another figure came running. In the moonlight, I saw it clearly—our Sichuan-born company commander. His face grim, he held a pistol, ran to my side, and stopped. He glanced at me, said nothing, raised his hand, and fired three shots into the struggling Chen Xing. Then he turned the pistol on his own temple and pulled the trigger.

The four consecutive shots echoed eerily through the moonlight over the abandoned temple and graves—and what unfolded in the grass was ten times stranger still.

I gaped, mouth open, unable to close it for a long while. Why had the company commander shot Chen Xing? Was Chen Xing an enemy spy? And why had he turned the gun on himself? A vague thought struck me: perhaps someone had been possessed by a ghost. Recalling the earlier gunfire, I suddenly worried for the Gefa medic. I dared not look at the expressions on the corpses of the company commander and Chen Xing, and forgot entirely about the strange stone figure lying on the ground. I sprang to my feet, dragged my rifle behind me, and ran forward.

Judging by the long-decayed stone figures and beasts lining both sides of the grass, this path must be the spirit road before the ancient tomb. The difference between a tomb and a grave: one is refilled with original earth, the other seals off a space. Ahead, the great mound had been blocked by a stone plug, now collapsed. The tamped earth of the mound had split open, wide enough for a person to enter. Inside, pitch black. I only thought of finding the Gefa medic—I switched on my flashlight and charged in.

As the lama said, the tomb had long been emptied—coffins and bodies burned. What I saw inside confirmed it: bare stone, rubble everywhere, nothing foreign.

I saw no sign of Gahong, the mess staff, or the geomancer. I had to run back outside. Though the elevation was low, it was still a plateau. After continuous intense exertion, my heart pounded like drums on a mountain, I gasped for breath. That night's moon shone unusually bright, and in the sky, a mournful, sobbing sound echoed—I couldn't tell if it was ghostly wailing, wind, or hungry wolves howling at the moon. If the wolves of the plains had truly been driven up the mountain, they wouldn't be easy to handle. Best if that dog-day Xu Gan ran into a wolf pack on the way.

Opposite the tomb rose a steep mountain ridge—no road ahead. I wandered aimlessly by the tomb, wondering if those living people could just vanish into thin air. Then, pondering, I spotted a soldier lying face-down at the edge of the dried lake below the slope. I hurried over—it was the Gefa medic, unconscious. Beside her was a deep pit, dark and unfathomable.

I hurried to lift the Gefa medic, pinched her philtrum to revive her, and asked what had happened. She gasped out a rough account: her squad, led by the company commander, had searched the tomb and found nothing, so they continued investigating nearby. The geomancer, Lu Weiguo, had noticed a cave at the base of the slope—apparently a fissure opened during an earthquake days ago, its interior showing clear signs of artificial construction. The company commander had left the Gefa medic above while he took the others down. No sooner had they descended than gunfire rang out. The Gefa medic thought something had happened below, so she drew her pistol and went down to help. Turned out a false alarm—those below had found an ancient corpse laid flat on a stone platform shaped like a crouching wolf. The mess staff, lacking combat experience, panicked, mistook it for the enemy, and fired several shots into the ancient corpse.

Hearing this, I thought: this must be the gunfire I'd heard earlier. I asked the Gefa medic: what happened afterward? What about Lu Weiguo and the mess staff? Are they still alive?

The Gefa medic shook her head—she didn't know. The mess staff had fired three shots into the ancient corpse, earning a stern reprimand from the company commander. Suddenly, from each bullet hole in the corpse, a Dafu ghost-flame shot out. The first flew into the mess staff's ear. The Gefa medic said his agonized scream was something she'd never forget. Her grandfather had been a bard of the wilderness; she'd heard since childhood that the Death-Enemy Jewel King of the World had as his foe the ruler of the Demon Kingdom, who mastered several kinds of Dafu (Tibetan: demon worms)—they burned and tormented countless living beings, until the Lotus Master used the holy lake's water to flood and wash them away.

The Gefa medic wanted to tell the mess staff: no matter how strange your body feels, never open your mouth to speak—once you make a sound, the Dafu will ignite. Stay silent, endure it, and you might last a little longer. But it was too late—the mess staff, Old Sun, had instantly been reduced to ash. The others immediately turned and fled outward. In the chaos, Chen Xing knocked over the Gefa medic; after that, she knew nothing more.

My heart turned cold—indeed, this was the demon nation noble's ghost tomb. It seemed to be a mother-and-child tomb: the ghost mother's tomb had been destroyed, and this nearby one had only recently been exposed. Still, I didn't know if the Dafu they spoke of were the same as the fire-beetle-like creatures I'd encountered. But the explanation felt somewhat off. The company commander, signalman, and mess staff were dead—only Lu Weiguo remained missing. Perhaps he was still down in the tomb, unable to climb out. I shouted into the cave entrance several times—no answer came from within.

In the end, I couldn't abandon him. I and the Gefa medic were discussing how to bypass the Dafu ghost-worms and descend to find Lu Weiguo, when she suddenly shoved me hard. I heard two soft puffs—bullets piercing her cotton coat. She clutched her chest and collapsed.

My blood turned to ice—she had sacrificed herself to save me, but before I could grieve, the back of my head was struck by a cold gun barrel. A familiar voice said: "Hey? There's a cave here. Damn, the wolf pack just closed in—you go first and clear the way, then we'll hide inside."

I recognized the voice instantly—it was that of the enemy spy, Xu Gan, who had just fled. He'd seen the wolf pack gathering on the road, had no choice but to turn back. He noticed he'd lost something while fleeing, wanted to kill us to silence us, had just shot one person, then saw this deep cave, conditions unknown, didn't know if it was dangerous, so he spared my life—to send me in first to sweep for mines.

Before I could think further, the gun barrel jabbed the back of my head again. Xu Gan whispered from behind: "Hurry in—the wolves are coming. If you dawdle, don't blame me for being rude. Don't underestimate my silenced pistol—though the. 22 caliber bullet won't pierce your skull, it'll lodge in your cranium and slowly kill you with pain."

I had no choice—I steeled myself and crawled into the cave. In the darkness ahead, at the center of the tomb chamber, a small blue flame flickered to life.