Chapter 191

Everyone was busy arguing just now and didn't notice the changes in the Iron Staff Lama; upon looking, they saw his face turn bluish, his body stiffen, a layer of black fur growing on his face and hands, his blood vessels swelling visibly, black meridians clearly discernible as if nerves had grown outside the skin—this once healthy living person now resembled a zombie on the verge of corpse transformation.

I said to everyone: "Don't panic, this is just corpse sinew; we can still save him if we act quickly—light a small fire, a bowl of clean water, and a wheat straw at least twenty centimeters long, the sooner the better."

Ming Shu also knew the Iron Staff Lama was a key figure; with him, many aspects of ancient Tibetan customs could be easily resolved, and he was well-versed in Tibetan medicine—having his help, finding the Nine-Story Demon Tower of the "Dragon Clan" in Kalamaili would yield twice the result with half the effort; for public and private reasons, we could not fail to save him, so he immediately brought Peter Huang and Han Shu Na to assist in the rescue.

I examined the palm of the Iron Staff Lama's right hand, where the condition was most severe—swelling up to the elbow, the punctured fingertip now as large as a pea, half the arm black-purple; pressing lightly, the skin beneath felt like thin mud, rotting from inside out.

Seeing the Iron Staff Lama's condition, it was truly a matter of life and death; I tightly gripped the "Black Donkey Hoof" in my hand, constantly thinking how useful it would be to have a few more—one Black Donkey Hoof is simply too little; although I had just told everyone saving the lama was still possible, now it seemed there wasn't even a one-tenth chance, but if we did nothing, we could only watch him slowly die.

As I was weighing the pros and cons in my mind, even hesitating, Shirley Yang lightly patted my shoulder: "Everything's ready, but where on this Qinghai-Tibet Plateau can we find a wheat straw? Guide Zaxi has taken apart his copper pipe from his tobacco pouch—see if this will do?"

I took the copper tube from Shirley Yang's hand and saw it was the stem of a water pipe, slender and hollow—perfectly suitable. I moved the Iron Staff Lama beside the small fire they had just lit, poured half the large bowl of clean water away, leaving the rest beneath his right hand, then took out the paratrooper knife and cut a small slice from the old, hard Black Donkey Hoof.

Everyone gathered around the fire, watching my every move closely; Shirley Yang asked me: "Are you still planning to have the lama eat the Black Donkey Hoof? This thing will kill whoever eats it—even in small pieces it cannot be eaten."

Pangzi also expressed doubt, saying: "Commander Hu, the lama uncle hasn't breathed his last—do you really intend to treat him like a big zongzi?"

Ming Shu also asked: "Can Black Donkey Hoof cure illness? How?"

I clicked my teeth and said to the onlookers: "Comrades, please stop chattering and disturbing things—under heaven, one thing counters another; at this moment, cosmic principle dictates thus: the Iron Staff Lama is certainly not a zombie, but his current state seems to be entangled by corpse qi; only by burning Black Donkey Hoof to produce thick smoke and fumigating the wound can he be saved. If you have another method, speak up quickly; if not, don't delay my rescue efforts."

Shirley Yang, Pangzi, Ming Shu, and others felt utterly bewildered, exclaiming in unison: "Smoke it?"

I no longer argued with them; first, I poked out a small piece of burning dry cow dung from the fire, then placed a small slice of Black Donkey Hoof beside it to roast—the Black Donkey Hoof, upon contact with fire, immediately emitted a lot of green smoke, which was strange indeed. The smoke was neither black nor white, but a pale blue; the mist rose gradually above the fire, aside from a peculiar rotten leaf scent, it had no special odor; those being smoked had tears streaming down.

I waved my hand, signaling everyone to step back a few paces, not to crowd so closely to avoid eye irritation from the smoke, then immersed the middle finger of the Iron Staff Lama's right hand in clean water to loosen the pus and blood around the wound.

I suddenly realized: the middle finger belongs to the heart; if corpse qi has entangled the heart meridian, then even if we obtained Zhang Guolao's Black Donkey Hoof from the Eight Immortals, it might still not save the lama's life.

I added another small slice of Black Donkey Hoof; seeing the smoke gather, I held the brass smoke tube in my mouth, blowing the smoke onto the lama's finger wound, continuously fumigating—within less than half a minute, clear water began to drip from the broken tip, drop by drop, filling a bowl and overflowing; seeing the remarkable effect, I felt elated, my breathing became irregular, I inhaled sharply while holding the smoke tube in my mouth, drawing in a large mouthful of smoke, which made my nose run and eyes tear, my chest filled with indescribable nausea, my head spun, so I quickly handed the smoke tube to Pangzi to temporarily take over.

I stepped outside and vomited violently, took several deep breaths of post-rain air, and only then felt slightly better; upon returning to the old blockhouse, the Iron Staff Lama's fingertip was no longer discharging clear water, the wound seemed blocked from within by something; I shone a flashlight and saw what appeared to be a black mass inside.

Shirley Yang quickly produced a small pair of tweezers, disinfected them, clamped the black object in the wound, and gently pulled it out—upon inspection, it turned out to be a clump of black hair, tangled and knotted, unknown how it got in; after fumigating with Black Donkey Hoof smoke again, clear water flowed once more; after a while, another tangled clump of hair was extracted.

Seeing that not all black hair had been removed, the black fur on the lama's face seemed to have lessened slightly; thank heaven, it appeared he was finally saved—as long as we clear all the zombie black hair before the remaining half of the Black Donkey Hoof is used up, we can ensure safety.

The lama's life was preserved, my anxious heart, 【wu ai】 also finally relaxed; I lit a cigarette, sat on the ground smoking while watching Shirley Yang and others tend to the Iron Staff Lama; at this moment, Ming Shu approached and asked me, wanting to understand why the Black Donkey Hoof is so effective against zombies; soon after, the expedition team enters Kunlun Mountain's Kalamaili, they should fully prepare a large batch to carry, for emergencies; upon returning to Hong Kong, we should also stock up at home against over a hundred such incidents. My knowledge of the Black Donkey Hoof first came from my grandfather's stories—he often told tales like: a young man, eager to travel at night, took shelter in a deserted, ruined temple; halfway through the night, a flying zombie descended from the sky; zombies embrace a young woman, possibly abducted from elsewhere, upon entering the temple they wish to devour her flesh and drink her blood; the young man, acting bravely, shoved the Black Donkey Hoof into the zombie's mouth, and the zombie perished; the young man and the young woman fell in love at first sight, then went their separate ways.

Later, as I grew older, I lost interest in such foolish tales; at that time, my grandfather would tell me true experiences or folk legends, but regarding the origin of the Black Donkey Hoof, he knew little—only that it is a specialized tool used by the Gold-Seeking Captains of the Mouling School for tomb robbing, effective against zombies in ancient graves and barrows; zombies have existed since ancient times, with many legends; their tendency to attack the living stems entirely from the fine hair growing on their corpses; according to Shirley Yang's view, this may be a corpse fungus stimulated by bioelectricity, causing intensified changes—but whether this is so, we cannot know; we only know that certain items used to counter corpse transformation are highly effective, and this is not the only one.

Ming Shu suddenly understood: "Oh, if it's like that, I get it—just as Maoshan technique uses peach wood, the Mouling School uses Black Donkey Hoof; as you, Brother Hu, once said: killing pigs, shooting buttocks—each has their own method."

I said: "Ming Shu, your memory is truly excellent—actually, we share the same goal but different paths, all aiming to rob tombs and get rich, yet our methods and doctrines vary greatly—just as your ancestors dug up dry corpses and crawled through cellars, weren't they required to first worship the Thirteen Must-Flowers Magnetic Cat, then bring three double-yolked eggs before daring to act?"

Formerly, I too was narrow-minded, thinking the Black Donkey Hoof could only be stuffed into a zombie's mouth; in fact, there are many other uses, unheard of before; later, at a Beijing bun shop, I once heard Chen the Blind Man explain in detail the uses of Black Donkey Hoof and similar items.

Legend has it that in early years, a Mouling School tomb robber was operating in Yandang Mountain when a sudden thunderstorm struck, lightning flashed, the mountain split open a cavity; upon peering inside, the hollow resembled a house—it was actually an ancient tomb; based on experience, it must contain treasures; thus, this Mouling School tomb robber rappelled down, saw in the underground palace a huge coffin; upon opening it, he saw the deceased inside—white beard reaching the abdomen, dignified appearance, clearly not an ordinary person; from the corpse's mouth, he obtained a pearl; from the coffin, an ancient sword; wishing to look further, the coffin and underground palace, when mountain wind blew in from outside, turned to ash; only on the stone tablet in the cavity did he find two preserved, legible ancient characters: "Da Ye"; from this, he judged it should be a Sui dynasty grave.

The Mouling School tomb robber, seeing nothing else in the cavity, left the ancient sword behind, wrapped the pearl and departed; on the way out, his ankle accidentally struck a hard object; at the time, he felt slight pain and paid no mind; but after returning home and washing his feet with warm water, he saw the abrasion had produced a small blister, which felt intensely itchy and painful, his entire leg gradually turning black and rotting; fortunately, an old friend visited—this friend was a physician with many family-secret remedies; upon seeing the Mouling School tomb robber's foot wound, he knew it was caused by corpse bristles, urgently ordered people to find black dog feces—specifically the dry, whitened kind—but searched everywhere to no avail, just as he was frantic, he discovered the Black Donkey Hoof stored in the Mouling School tomb robber's home; according to ancient texts, this item also works against ghostly and evil vapors; so they burned it to smoke and fumigated the wound, extracting many white hairs resembling beard stubble; thereafter, this secret remedy began to be used by the Mouling School tomb robbers.

I told Ming Shu all this mainly to distract myself slightly, because the Iron Staff Lama's life hangs by a thread, making my psychological pressure immense; if the Black Donkey Hoof runs out, what then? This pessimistic thought, I dare not even consider.

At this moment, Shirley Yang seemed to notice something wrong with the Iron Staff Lama, hurriedly turned and called to me: "Come quick, look—what is this?"