Chapter 190

Ming Shu asked Ah Xiang to point out where Ah Dong's intermediate yin body was hiding; as soon as Ah Xiang raised her finger, I and Pangzi instinctively dodged backward, feeling rather guilty, like thieves startled by their own shadows. But no one expected her finger to point straight and true—directly at the Dharma Protector of the Buddha Lord—the Iron Staff Lama.

The Iron Staff Lama's face suddenly changed; he only managed to utter one word, "Not good," before collapsing backward onto his back. I reacted quickly, grabbing his back; upon looking again, his face was as pale as gold paper, his breath as thin as a wandering silk thread. Worried he might be in mortal danger, I hastily checked his pulse—and found it flickering in and out, as if he could at any moment depart for the Western Paradise of Ultimate Bliss.

I had no idea what an intermediate yin body was, and it didn't seem like a ghost possession either. Faced with this situation, I momentarily didn't know what to do.

Ming Shu, standing opposite us, said: "How could Ah Dong have died? Could it be that you murdered him?" As he spoke, he gave a glance to his subordinate Peter Huang, signaling him to protect himself.

Pangzi misunderstood, thinking Ming Shu was ordering Peter Huang to attack, so he pulled out his paratrooper knife and stepped forward, intending to knock Ming Shu down. Meanwhile, Peter Huang drew his dagger and stood like an iron tower in front of Ming Shu.

In the castle, tensions flared instantly—the atmosphere was like a giant powder keg, ready to explode at the slightest spark. Han Shukna, fearing she might hurt her foster daughter, hurriedly pulled Ah Xiang far away.

Seeing Pangzi and Peter Huang about to clash—white blade in, red blade out—I thought: if we fight, we won't lose—opposing us are just a senile old man and two women of little account; even if Peter Huang has some skill, he's at most a Southeast Asian guerrilla— Pangzi could take him easily—just as long as no one gets killed.

Shirley Yang thought I was going to mediate, but seeing me remain silent, as if I wanted to watch the spectacle, she pushed me with her hand. I startled, then realized— I don't know why, but I had never regarded Ming Shu's group as our own; yet if a fight truly broke out here, it would benefit neither side.

I called out to everyone: "Comrades, settle down! This is a misunderstanding, and we're not in Beirut—whatever the issue, we can discuss it calmly!" I recounted how Ah Dong had gone to the royal city ruins to steal the Silver-Eyed Buddha, how Pangzi and I discovered it, and how he met his gruesome end.

Ming Shu quickly seized the opportunity: "Old Brother Hu makes sense—anything can be negotiated! Ah Dong was just a petty thief chasing trifling gains; he deserved to die long ago—no need to ruin harmony over him..." He paused, then added: "The urgent matter now is this Lama Master's demise—quickly cremate his corpse! Otherwise, we'll all suffer! In that ancient scripture I read, there's a section discussing the intermediate yin body..."

Ming Shu told us Ah Dong was a scoundrel none of us truly understood—don't let his usual sneaky, lock-picking deeds fool you; his courage was smaller than a rabbit's, and even as a ghost he wouldn't dare trouble anyone. But the problem is, this intermediate yin body must have been disturbed by something, for the sutras describe the intermediate yin process as terrifying—lasting forty-nine days, during which one might see beings like bear-headed humanoids, white goddesses holding corpse-staves, or bearing bowls filled with blood and skullcaps—all sorts of frightening sights. Once the intermediate yin body dissipates, it becomes something like "filth and grime"; if not burned, it will still harm others.

However, Ming Shu himself only half-understands this—though he constantly flips through the Reincarnation Sect's ancient scripture, he focuses only on sections about glacial crystal corpses, skimming over the rest. Moreover, the scripture's description of the intermediate yin body is not very detailed.

I thought that among us, perhaps only Shirley Yang might know something about Tantric matters, but when I asked her, she also didn't know how to rescue him—the intermediate yin body is a Tantric secret not transmitted openly; only a few monks in Sikkim grasp its true essence. I fear even if the Iron Staff Lama regains clarity, he may not necessarily find a solution.

I felt anxious in my heart—are we really just going to watch the Iron Staff Lama die helplessly? He came all this way to help us—if something happens to him... I might as well die in his place.

Shirley Yang said to me: "Old Hu, don't rush—maybe Ah Xiang can help us; her biological parents are core members of the Scientology sect. I don't know much about Scientology, but I suspect Ah Xiang may possess instinctive eyes—let her examine the Lama's condition; perhaps she can find a way."

"Instinctive eyes," I had heard of before—just a few days ago on the road, the Iron Staff Lama told us that Ah Xiang, this little girl, possesses a pair of "instinctive eyes." In Tantric tradition, lamas believe eyes can be divided into seven levels: the first is ordinary human eyes—normal vision of mortals; the second is called "Ben Mu"—instinctive eyes—eyes as keen as wild animals', unpolluted by worldliness, with a range far greater than human vision—not meaning depth of focus, but the ability to detect things normal people cannot see; third is "Tian Mu"—able to see past, present, and future lives of beings across realms; fourth is "Fa Mu"—like the eyes of Bodhisattvas and Arhats, capable of clearly seeing events hundreds of kalpas before and after; fifth is "Sheng Yan"—able to clearly see hundreds of thousands of kalpas before and after; the highest is "Fo Yan"—boundless, able to clearly perceive the beginning and end of eternity.

After Shirley Yang's reminder, I realized perhaps only Ah Xiang was our lifeline. I immediately put on my amiable, approachable People's Liberation Army uncle expression, smiled pleasantly, and asked Ah Xiang to help examine what exactly had happened to the Iron Staff Lama.

Ah Xiang, hiding behind Ming Shu, said: "I can only see a bloody human figure—looks like Ah Dong—wrapped in some black things clinging to the Lama master's body, especially concentrated around his right hand." Ah Xiang can see only this much, and prolonged viewing gives her headaches, so she dares not look longer.

I pursed my lips—what is this? What black things? Equivalent to saying nothing, but I couldn't force Ah Xiang, so I turned to Shirley Yang to discuss strategy. Shirley Yang lifted the Iron Staff Lama's sleeve, examined his right hand, and told me: "When we were examining the Himalayan wildman's fur earlier, the Lama master's fingertip had been pierced by a hard spine in the fur—we didn't notice at the time. Could it be that this isn't the intermediate yin body acting up, but rather the fur itself is problematic?"

Hearing this, I found it even stranger. I crouched to examine the Lama's fingers—his middle finger indeed had a small puncture, but no blood. I hurriedly told Pangzi: "Quickly go inside and fetch the fur to burn it—this fur is suspicious."

Pangzi rushed into our room in a frenzy, turned around, and came back out: "Gone—it was clearly in the room just now—could it have grown legs and run off? Only a few strands of wildman's black hair remain."

Everyone exchanged startled glances. I told Shirley Yang: "Maybe we all misjudged—this might not be Himalayan wildman fur at all, but the skin of a corpse-transformed zombie—perhaps even that Portuguese priest's. Still, since it's a vicious black fur, we might still have a slim chance to save the Lama."

Since ancient times, the primary challenge facing "Gold-Touching Corpse Officers" has been how to deal with zombies and corpse poison. Though we had never encountered zombies before, before leaving Beijing, I and Da Jin Ya, while consulting the blind fortune-teller Chen Xiazi at a bun shop, had a thorough discussion in which he mentioned many rare and unheard-of things—for example, the various uses of black donkey hooves...

Although Chen Xiazi often talks big, some of his content is not baseless—grasping at straws in a crisis, we had no choice but to give it a try. Our several black donkey hooves were obtained by Yanzi during our trip to Heifengkou to overturn the cauldron; the village had many donkeys, and we had prepared eight in total. Later, we used and discarded them as needed, never replenishing. Since returning from Yunnan, we've lost seven, leaving only one spare kept at home in Beijing—this time, Pangzi brought it along.

Pangzi rummaged through our luggage for half a day before finally finding the black donkey hoof and handing it to me. I weighed it in my hand—whether it works or not, I have no confidence—but I'll give it a try; if it fails, then it's fate.

I was about to act when Shirley Yang blocked me: "You want to make a living person eat black donkey hooves? Absolutely not—this could cost lives. We must take effective medical measures for the Lama master."

I said to Shirley Yang: "Within eight hundred li of the Guge ruins, finding a herdsman would be a miracle—where would we even look for a doctor? My method may be crude, but it has its origins, and it's certainly not about making the Lama Ak eat black donkey hooves in his mouth. Saving lives is urgent—I don't have time to explain fully to you. If we don't quickly remove that vicious black fur, not only will the Iron Staff Lama's life be in jeopardy, but more and more people will die."

My final remark left everyone speechless; tension flared again instantly. Someone noticed the situation and cried out, urging everyone to look at the Lama's face. Outside the ruined castle, the rain had stopped, but dull thunder rumbled on without cease. The fire in the stone house, having received no added dry cow dung for a long time, was about to go out. Its dim light fell on the Iron Staff Lama's face—upon seeing it, everyone sucked in a cold breath: the Lama's body had stiffened, and a layer of extremely fine black fur had sprouted on his face, these hairs interconnected like black nerve lines growing outward from the skin.