Chapter 175

The three of us had originally been helping and supporting each other, but in this chaotic and urgent situation, we quickly fell into a state of each fighting for ourselves. The lama's weapon displayed unprecedented effectiveness. Though the iron rod looked clumsy and ancient, once swung, it struck wolf heads with unerring accuracy. Strangely, the wolves seemed to flinch at the sight of the rod, and even those that could dodge often reacted a beat too slowly, their skulls shattering under the blows. The lama single-handedly held the stone wall, while the Tibetan army medic retreated to the big man's side, using her pistol to shoot the wolves that lunged forward.

I thrust my rifle wildly, seeing that the Tibetan medic's pistol bullets were exhausted and she was reloading. I then drove my bayonet into the waist and ribs of a large wolf lunging at her. The bayonet was like a blood-grooved three-sided armor-piercing cone, driving the wolf to the ground and into the corner, where it writhed in pain, unable even to cry out. At that moment, another wolf with a long scar across its face leapt in from outside the wall, bared its double rows of fangs, and came at me ferociously.

I wanted to pull out my rifle and bayonet to stab it to death in midair, but having used too much force earlier, the bayonet was stuck in the half-dead wolf's body and I couldn't withdraw it. I had never participated in a wolf-hunting drill; in the northeast I had only seen lone wolves and was unfamiliar with wolf nature. Surrounded by the wolf pack this time, I truly felt a bit disoriented. The more urgently I tried to pull the bayonet, the more stuck it became.

With the situation urgent, I had no choice but to let go of the rifle and throw myself flat on the ground to dodge the scar-faced wolf. Still, I was a little too slow—the wolf knocked off my sheepskin military cap, and its claws gashed my ear, causing blood to flow that instantly froze into ice crystals. The scar-faced wolf, having leapt over my head, did not pause or abandon me, but directly lunged at the lama opposite. The lama swept his iron rod horizontally, smashing it into the wolf's shoulder blade. The wolf whimpered and rolled to the side. The earliest wolf that had fallen into the fire was already burning into charcoal, and the air was filled with the smell of scorched stench.

These wolves were the most ferocious core members of the pack; the rest of the hungry wolves still prowled outside the temple walls. Although the wolf king had issued a command, they were likely still dazed by the recent intense rifle fire, their souls frightened away. Before they could recover, they still dared to swarm forward. Otherwise, if hundreds of hungry wolves attacked simultaneously, even with three heads and six arms, we could hardly resist.

I lay on the ground, about to rise, when suddenly I felt a weight on my back—a giant wolf had stepped on me, its claws resting on my shoulder. Though I couldn't see behind me, by sensation alone, this extraordinarily large wolf was likely the one-eyed white-furred wolf king. This white wolf, nearly a spirit, had waited until the gunfire grew sparse before leaping in. Its precise timing was chilling to consider.

I kept reminding myself: never turn back, for if I did and the wolf king bit my neck, I would inevitably meet the same fate as that dog-day Xu Gan. Behind me, the giant wolf patiently waited for me to turn its head, ready to drain a living person's blood in one gulp—the most exquisite flavor in the world.

My head buzzed continuously, my face pressed against the cold ground, daring not to move the slightest bit. Though I wanted to resist, my hands were empty, holding no weapon. In this situation, my proletarian iron fists could do little.

The large black clouds blocking the moonlight were blown apart by high-altitude currents, and the bright moonlight poured down like liquid mercury, bathing the desolate smoke and wormgrass in a sheet of silver-white.

The lama's situation also became difficult. Being old and weak, his heavy iron rod swung slower and slower, until finally a veteran hungry wolf bit down on the rod and would not let go. The lama struggled with the wolf for the rod, and in the moonlight saw me pressed under a giant wolf, wanting to come to my aid but unable to free himself. He lifted his leg and kicked a packet toward me: "Pusang Army, quickly use your Han people's Five Thunder Strike-Demon Rod!"

The packet nearly struck my shoulder. I wondered, what is this Han people's Five Thunder Strike-Demon Rod? But as I felt it with my hand, I understood—it was the big man's ammunition belt. At the time, each of us had been issued two hand grenades; mine had both been thrown into the pond to blow up the stinking mud, while the big man's remained unused. After he was injured, the lama had helped him remove it. Now, if not for the lama's reminder, I would have truly forgotten it.

I immediately pulled out a hand grenade from it, but being pressed by the wolf on my shoulder, I could not make a large movement. Otherwise, a single opening would allow the wolf to kiss and suck me. Thinking quickly, I used the ammunition belt to shield my face, then violently turned my body and head. I saw behind me what seemed to be a white-haired evil ghost pressing down—indeed, it was the wolf king. A white shadow flashed before my eyes, and it had already bitten the ammunition belt.

At that moment I also pulled the fuse; the hand grenade immediately hissed and emitted white smoke. I wanted to throw it backward, for once it exploded, it could surely frighten these hungry wolves into retreat. The wolf king had bitten into the canvas ammunition belt, furious beyond restraint, when suddenly it saw the white-smoking hand grenade and heard that ominous, death-summoning hiss. It raised its wolf paw and swept my hand grenade aside.

The hand grenade did not roll far. I inwardly cursed: this white wolf really has become a spirit. Though it may not know what a hand grenade is for, its experience surviving in harsh environments had already made it sense that this thing was dangerous—the farther from this ominous stick, the better. Although it had flicked the grenade away with its wolf paw, the distance was still too close. Once it exploded, the consequences would be unimaginable; the shrapnel's killing power would endanger both people and wolves inside the wall.

I was still being pressed down by the wolf king. At this moment, even if I wanted to sacrifice myself by throwing my body onto the grenade, I could not manage it. Thinking of everyone being blown up, followed by the wolf pack charging in to tear apart and devour the four of us, my whole body felt as if it had fallen into an ice cellar. Time passed second by second; I estimated the explosion would occur within these two seconds.

At that very moment, when my nerves were nearly snapping, the wolf that had finally bitten the lama's iron rod away with its jaws—having used too much force and unable to check its momentum—kept retreating until it reached the hand grenade about to explode. With a "bang," it detonated. White smoke rose, and most of the fragments struck this unfortunate wolf squarely. The wolf's body, like a weightless sack, was flung up by the blast to more than half a person's height, then heavily fell to the ground.

Inside the wall, including the wolf king, three or four hungry wolves were stunned, then all leapt out over the wall, heads not turning, disappearing into the night. Outside, those old and weak wolves, already frightened by the gunfire, heard the explosion and especially the smell of gunpowder from the hand grenade blast in the air, which made them even more timid. They immediately scattered and fled. In this battle, over a dozen ferocious evil wolves in the pack died, and they would not recover their strength in a short time.

I rolled to my feet, not even pausing to check my own wounds, picked up the rifle the Tibetan medic had dropped, and used the bayonet to stab to death each of the wounded wolves inside the wall. Only then did I sit down on the ground. Like having lost my soul, I could not regain strength for a long while. At this moment, if the wolf pack were to launch a counterattack—even if only old and weak hungry wolves—we would have to die gloriously.

Just as I was catching my breath, I suddenly heard the lama shout "Not good!" I quickly forced myself to rise, only to find that the Tibetan medic had collapsed in a pool of blood. Earlier, my eyes had turned red from killing; now I came to my senses and hurriedly helped the old lama lift the medic. Upon seeing her wounds, I and the lama were both stunned—her intestines had been pulled out by a wolf, a segment hanging blue and frozen outside her uniform.

I was so anxious I burst into tears, unable to speak. Fortunately, the lama had studied medicine in the temple and gave the Tibetan medic emergency treatment. He checked her breath—though as faint as a thread, she was still alive.

I then looked at the big man: his wounds were severe, but he had not lost much blood, and with his strong build, he was temporarily in no serious danger. I asked the lama: "Can the Tibetan medic hold on until dawn?" Now that the horses were also dead, in this desolate mountain wilderness, with only the lama and me, no matter how we tried, we could not possibly carry two seriously wounded people out. We could only hope for reinforcements to arrive quickly. Fortunately, the wolf pack had already fled deep into the mountains.

In the night sky, the Jade Rabbit had already slanted. The lama looked at the moon, half-obscured by the mountain peak: "Dawn is near. As long as we maintain the body heat of the two great soldiers, there should still be hope. Pusang Army, rest assured—I will chant sutras and pray to the Buddha for protection."

I wiped my nose and eyes, frozen into a mess, and expressed doubt that chanting sutras could preserve the wounded's lives. The lama said again: "You just watch the fire—keep it burning as brightly as possible, for the firelight will attract auspicious dakinis. I now make a great vow: if the Buddha opens his eyes and lets the wounded be safe, I will spend the rest of my life circling Lake Laco Lamu until my final liberation." (Laco Lamu, a place name, the holy lake that blesses patients' recovery, meaning "the celestial maiden's lake suspended in the sky.")

Seeing the lama speak solemnly, I also felt grateful, so I gave all the clothing I could spare to cover the big man and the Tibetan medic, then built up the fire in the leeward wall. I also applied the lama's secret medicine to my own wound. The eastern clouds gradually turned dark red; dawn had appeared. My heart filled with mixed emotions, I stared blankly at the lama's prayer wheel, listening to his chanting, and actually produced a strange sensation of hearing heavenly music.

Around ten o'clock in the morning, we were found by the reinforcement company coming to meet us. The unit sealed the Kunlun Mountain pass, and I, the Tibetan medic, and the big man were to be urgently evacuated. At parting, I asked the lama: "What about that ghost lake side—what do we do with the 'Bu Duo'? Should we, as you previously said, find the Buddha to bury it with great salt and then burn it?"

The lama nodded in agreement, adding that he would immediately go to Lake Laco Lamu to pray for the wounded's blessings, but he would first return to report to the Buddha, wishing the great army auspiciousness and the Buddha's blessing of peace and joy upon you all.

I said to Pangzi and Shirley Yang: "Then I followed the unit into the deep Kunlun Mountains for construction. My comrade the big man is still alive, merely become a disabled veteran. The Tibetan medic never woke again, becoming a vegetative person. Whenever I have time, I go to visit them. The ruins of that broken temple and ancient tomb remain preserved to this day. Now, looking back, the rest seems irrelevant—the key is the corpse in that ancient tomb, its special attire and expression, which closely resemble the bronze figures and murals we saw in the Xian King's Tomb. The local Tibetans all say it is the tomb of the ancient demon kingdom's demon mother, but this is merely based on legend. The demon mother can be reincarnated, so there should not be just one. The historical records of that demon kingdom exist only in oral long poems; no one has truly seen what the demon mother demon consort wore."

Shirley Yang, having heard my account, said: "The city depicted in the murals, enshrining a giant eyeball totem, has figures identical to the corpses in the ancient tomb beneath the Phoenix Temple. Perhaps that city is the demon kingdom's altar. As for the connection between the demon kingdom and the Bottomless Ghost Cave, unknown."

It seems that after returning to Beijing, there will be much to do: first, to open the Xian King's head and see if the Chenghua Pearl inside is genuine; second, to find the first half of the sixteen-character Yin-Yang Fengshui secret technique, so as to interpret the information about the Chenghua Pearl in the dragon bone; finally, we must gather materials on this mysterious demon kingdom dynasty, for if we cannot piece together the sixteen characters, the dragon bone heavenly book cannot be deciphered. Information about the Chenghua Pearl may well depend on this. Then, with a two-pronged approach, we will see where a breakthrough can occur. I do not know whether that iron-rod lama is still healthy; perhaps we could go to the lakeside of the celestial maiden's lake suspended in the sky, Laco Lamu, to reminisce with him, which might help us learn something of what we wish to know.