Chapter 198

Han Shuna's face, burned into a black hole by the "Infinite Karmic Fire," strained to open its lipless mouth toward me, as if trying to utter something, but only empty, futile movements came from within.

I wanted to ask Chu Yi nearby what was happening—had there ever been such a precedent in the Karimiri Mountains, where the burned dead would rise as corpses? But turning my head, I found Chu Yi, who had been talking to me just moments before, had vanished, leaving only the cold wind and heavy snowflakes howling through the icy walls.

My very being seemed frozen through by the wind and snow; my body suddenly shuddered, I sat upright, and upon lifting my gaze, there sat Chu Yi beside me, clutching his hunting rifle, holding up his leather pouch, drinking barley wine. I glanced again at the spot where Han Shuna's corpse lay—no trace remained on the snow. I must have dozed off briefly; in that short time, I had this terrible dream.

If it's true that daytime thoughts bring nighttime dreams, it's no surprise—perhaps on this dark, freezing night, repeatedly seeing the eerie golden-bodied snow mountain mummies and Han Shuna's horrific burned state left such an impression that I dreamed this strange dream. Yet the panic in the dream felt utterly real—perhaps some subtle omen?

Chu Yi handed me the leather wine pouch: "You fell asleep mid-sentence just now. I see you're exhausted today—I warmed the wine for you. Take two sips; the spirit of the barley wine will ease your weary body."

I took the pouch and gulped two large mouthfuls, then rose to my feet, still wanting to confirm: I needed to see with my own eyes that Han Shuna's body beneath the "snow mound" had not changed, or I could not rest easy. I had dealt with her before; even if not, this time she was a comrade. I didn't want to wait until her corpse changed to act—for that might mean damaging her remains, the thorniest problem of all.

As I rose, suddenly from behind the ice wall came a long, sharp whistle—"Whoosh!"—and an illumination flare arced into the night sky. When we set up camp, we'd placed several tripwire-triggered flares around the perimeter to guard against wolf ambushes, hidden behind ice mounds, positioned along the inevitable approach routes from the outskirts.

Each flare carried a small parachute, allowing it to hover in the air for a time. The cold wind stirred it, and the ghastly white flare swung back and forth in the night sky, bathing the already snow-white glacier in flashing, dazzling light that dazzled the eyes.

In that blinding white snow-mist, over a dozen giant wolves were exposed under the harsh glare of the illumination flares—the nearest now only a dozen meters from our ice wall. Sure enough, they had come under cover of the heavy snowfall to ambush us. Seeing them close, I recalled analyzing the glacier structure when we camped: this season had seen no snow for a long time, so light weapons fire wouldn't easily trigger avalanches. I thus drew my M1911, pulled the slide back, raised the pistol, and fired. Chu Yi also raised his hunting rifle, aiming at the lurking wolves, and fired a shot.

The wolf pack silently approaching the snow plains likely intended to wait until they reached the ice wall before attacking—but they triggered the illumination flare while still over a dozen meters away. The blinding light dazed them, leaving them sprawled in the snow as sitting ducks.

Hearing the gunfire, Pangzi and the others sprang up, seized their weapons, and rushed out to help. A volley of long and short firearms rang out, instantly killing over a dozen wolves. The remaining three giant wolves, seeing the tide turn, turned to flee—but Pangzi dropped each with his rifle. Wolf corpses lay scattered in disarray before the ice wall, the vast white snow stained with specks and splotches of blood.

At the very moment Pangzi shot the last wolf, the illumination flare hanging in midair gradually dimmed, then vanished, plunging the glacier back into darkness. Only the wind's howl through the snow could be heard. This stretch of the Dragon Peak Glacier, the Phoenix Divine Palace, funnels wind downward—the gaps between peaks act as wind channels drawing in the gale, while higher up, the wind lessens; at the summit, there is barely any wind. One might liken this glacier to a horn-shaped wind shaft—wide at the mouth, narrow at the base—exacerbated by drifting snow, reducing visibility nearby.

Pangzi crouched beneath the ice wall, sheltered from the wind, and said to me: "Commander Hu, we gave that wolf pack a real wake-up call this time—they won't dare come back. At last, we can sleep soundly. I'm heading back to catch more sleep—call me if anything comes up. I was just dreaming of marrying a wife, had only gotten halfway through when you lot woke me up—I'll have to finish the sequel when I get back~"

I told Pangzi not to underestimate the enemy; we could sleep when victory came, but for now, it's far from over. Only when we've stripped the hide of the White-Furred Wolf King and hung it on the wind horse banner will their pack be leaderless—and thus no longer a threat.

At that moment, Chu Yi said: "Brother Dugi is right—these wolves are extremely deceitful. We must guard against them drawing our attention here while another pack flanks us from behind. Once they get close, we can't use guns—we'd risk friendly fire."

After Chu Yi's reminder, we all felt this was plausible. He knows wolf habits intimately. Judging from this small-scale encounter, the pack will surely split to flank our rear. Our camp lies beside the main tomb of the Wheel of Rebirth Sect, with ice gullies on both far ends, hard to traverse. Though we've placed flare-triggered mechanisms front and rear, we can't rely on them completely.

After a brief discussion, we decided: better to leave this place and take the fight to them than to stay put and be tormented all night. Let's strike before they launch their rear attack—hit them when they least expect it.

Chu Yi estimated the wolves' main force lay behind us, and they'd approach upwind, so gunfire and human scent would be carried straight to them. The evil wolves likely intend to ambush us when we're off-guard after victory, resting and scattered. We must strike unexpectedly—confuse them, act swiftly. Once they sense a change, wiping them out tonight will be nearly impossible.

Shinley Yang said wolves have keen senses, and we're downwind—easily exposed. How can we confuse them?

Chu Yi didn't answer. He leapt from behind the ice wall, dragged back the nearest wolf corpse, and had everyone smear some wolf blood on their foreheads. According to local legend, among all things, only the human soul resides in the forehead. Evil wolves are starving ghosts of Shura; their noses and eyes cannot perceive flesh—only the soul. After death, a human or animal's soul takes a full day and night to depart the body. Thus, the blood of a recently slain wolf still carries the wolf's soul. Smearing it on the forehead masks the human soul, confusing the wolf pack.

I thought the legend might not be true, but smearing strong-scented wolf blood certainly masks human odor. So, following Chu Yi's instruction, I plunged my paratrooper knife into the wolf's neck—this wolf had just died, not yet frozen, its blood still steaming.

Each of us dipped three fingers in the blood and drew a horizontal smear across our foreheads, then took up our weapons, extinguished our personal light sources, and silently crept toward the rear ice slope. This slope lies roughly at the center of the Dragon Peak Glacier; similar undulating ice slopes are common on this ancient glacier. We hadn't noticed it at first, merely thinking this rise could shield us from wind and snow—hence we camped below. Only when I and Shinley Yang confirmed the position of the Nine-Story Demon Pagoda in the ice pits did we realize this slope was extraordinary—likely the burial site of glacial crystal corpses.

We wrapped Ming Shu and Axiang in the middle, lay prone on the ice and snow, clinging to the base of the slope. Our gear suffices for polar conditions. Dragon Peak's altitude isn't high, and there's a saying: "When the Wind Lord is warm, the Snow Lord is cold." True cold waves come after snowfall; wolves retreat to forests before the snow stops, or else freeze to death. Though it's snowing heavily now, it's not excessively cold—but even so, lying in the snow on the ice is bearable.

I pressed my hand downward to signal everyone to stop. Chu Yi and I covered our mouths, leaving only our foreheads—marked with wolf blood—exposed. I then slowly raised my head above the slope's edge to observe below. If the wolves came to ambush, this would be the inevitable path.

On the dark, vast earth, only snowflakes filled the sky. I stared for a long time—saw nothing. Heavy leaden clouds blocked all light; visibility was terrible. Everything around was a blur of murky darkness. Then Chu Yi tugged my sleeve, slowly pointing his finger downslope. I followed his gaze, focusing intently, and saw in the wind-swept night: a few faint green lights flickering weakly. Without his pointing, I'd hardly have seen them through the heavy snow.

I turned on my micro-light flashlight and waved it twice toward Pangzi and the others behind me—meaning: I've spotted the hidden wolf pack; prepare for battle. But the prone guide Chu Yi suddenly sprang up, charged down the ice slope, and raced straight toward those faint green lights in the dark.

I didn't know why he did this—had something sudden happened? But I couldn't let him go alone into danger. I grabbed my M1911, raised my "Wolf's Eye" flashlight, and chased after him. From behind came Pangzi and Shinley Yang's shouts: "Come back! What are you two doing?"

Chu Yi ran to a spot, stopped, and I followed, halting. I was about to ask what was going on—then I saw seven or eight giant wolves lying prone in the snow, their throats slit by a sharp blade, blood pouring out. A few still clung to life, glaring at us with vicious eyes, but had lost too much blood to move—death could claim them any moment. On the ice slope's edge, we had seen those emerald-green wolf eyes—those were theirs.

Chu Yi crouched, examined the throat wound: "That was the White-Furred Wolf King's doing. They won't come back tonight." He then used his Tibetan dagger to finish off the still-living wolves, and we returned together to the rear of the ice slope.

We reported the situation to the group. Everyone found it baffling—clearly, our initial assessment had been correct: the wolves intended to flank us from behind. But something had happened; the Wolf King had bitten to death so many of his own kind, then slipped away silently. Even Chu Yi, so familiar with wolf nature, couldn't explain it.

Shinley Yang stamped his foot on the ice slope and said: "Nine times out of ten, the Nine-Story Demon Pagoda lies beneath this glacier. In the Demon Kingdom's custom, only the monarch and the evil god, upon death, may enter the tower for burial. The sect masters and patriarchs of the Wheel of Rebirth Teaching, those high-ranking clergy, are not worthy—only buried in ice caves around the holy land. As sung in the 'World-Conquering Treasure Pearl Heroic Army Great King's' epic chant: the white wolf is the Demon Kingdom's demon slave; the Treasure Pearl Great King once led armies, clashing repeatedly with wolf packs led by the Wolf King."

Though the Demon Kingdom fell long ago, the ancient pact between its monarch and the wolf pack may still hold. The wolves may still bear the old curse. Perhaps the Wolf King discovered this place is a demon slave tower dedicated to the evil god, forcing him to abandon his original plan and slay several wolves as sacrificial offerings. This resembles certain Native American legends about wolf packs—does such a thing also exist in the Karimiri region of Kunlun?

Hearing Shinley Yang say this, I recalled the giant wolf pelt in the tomb of the Ghost Mother at the Great Phoenix Temple on Kunlun's Baxia, and the wall carvings commanding wolf slaves—so his suggestion should have merit.

Since the wolves won't trouble us tonight, we can sleep soundly. Tomorrow we must excavate the most important "glacial crystal corpse." Thus, everyone returned to camp to rest.

Suddenly, I remembered that nightmare—I felt uneasy not confirming Han Shuna's body. But it's better to let Ming Shu know first, to avoid misunderstanding. I urged Ming Shu: better to cremate her corpse overnight, bring back the ashes.

Ming Shu was dazed, about to agree, when Chu Yi strongly objected: it's been less than a day and night since Han Shuna's death; her soul hasn't departed. Cremating her with fierce fire would make her soul suffer the torment of karmic fire—bad for the deceased, and would bring disaster upon us all.

As the saying goes: "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." Though we don't believe in this custom, we can't well refute it. So everyone came to Han Shuna's corpse. I asked Ming Shu: could we avoid covering her with a blanket, instead rolling it up to wrap her? This has only benefits, no drawbacks. Ming Shu fell silent, then slowly nodded.

I brushed the piled snow from the corpse, reached out—just as I touched the blanket, my heart turned to ice. The blanket was empty, arched like a bridge, the corpse beneath gone. I tore the blanket away—beneath, the ice surface, at some point, had formed a not-too-large ice hole, and below it, a vast ice fissure.

Had Han Shuna's corpse fallen down there? Everyone crowded forward to look. I shone my "Wolf's Eye" flashlight downward and saw, in the unfathomable ice abyss below, a human shape flicker, then vanish into darkness. I hurriedly tracked the light beam—only to see, on the vertical ice walls of the fissure, a woman using hands and feet to climb suspended in the void. She faced away from us, but her hair revealed her identity: it was Han Shuna.

Seeing the once-dead woman suddenly alive, Pangzi believed she must be possessed by a demon. He raised his rifle to shoot, but I stopped him and shouted down: "Han Shuna, where are you going~?"

Han Shuna clearly heard our voices and felt the flashlights on her. Slowly, she turned her head from the ice wall. Her originally charred, blackened face was gone—replaced by a deathly pale visage. But on that vast white face, only two rows of teeth remained—no eyes, no nose.