Chapter 227

To avoid the invisible killing "crystal tremor" in "Great Thunder Heaven Strikes Thunder Mountain," I pushed aside the countless dry corpses piled beneath the sky-beam, using them as stepping stones, layer upon layer, paving the road toward the altar. At first, everyone was still hesitant—partly because the dry corpses with two large black holes on their faces were terrifyingly grotesque; though lifeless husks, they had once been living, breathing people, most still bearing the expressions of struggle and screams they wore at the moment death descended. Partly because we feared the dry corpses might not be thick enough to counteract the "crystal tremor," and that their haphazard stacking might collapse underfoot if we walked across them.

But later, the will to survive overwhelmed all caution. Aside from Ah Xiang, who lacked strength and had lost her right hand, everyone else threw themselves into the work, hauling corpses with reckless abandon—even Ming Shu stopped trying to be clever and gave it his all, for we all knew this road paved with dry corpses was the only passage from hell back to the human world. Many of these corpses had likely undergone special processing by the sorcerers of E Luo Hai City after death, completely desiccated, so they weren't heavy. Even so, we four were still drenched in sweat from exhaustion.

It didn't take long before the dry corpses were piled close to the altar's mouth. Seeing that just a few dozen more corpses would complete the final stretch, I felt a surge of joy—if it weren't for these eye-gouged sacrificial corpses happening to be dumped beneath the sky-beam in such great numbers, escaping the water would have been nearly impossible. Otherwise, we'd either be drowned alive or shattered to pieces by the vengeful spirits within the ore.

But as the saying goes, misfortunes never come singly. Pangzi and Ming Shu, beneath the sky-beam, were using ice axes to hook corpses and haul them upward. Shirley Yang and I stacked the corpses they tossed up ahead. Everyone was busy when suddenly we heard strange noises from above—everyone froze, listening. It sounded like some force was squeezing within the crystal, though we couldn't see what was happening in the dark. Only the dense cracking and shattering within the crystal veins overhead could be heard, like a soundless, invisible giant dragon gliding from west to east, making the surrounding crystals hum and tremble.

The crystals in the cavern, if viewed from the side, seemed unremarkable—but the crystal pillars growing sideways and upside down from above were neither conical nor angular. Those countless crystal veins resembled clusters of sharp swords and spears hanging upside down over our heads; if they fell, their own weight would make them equivalent to massive swords or spears plunging from the void. Hearing the tremendous cracking in the crystal veins above, everyone felt a sudden sense of peril.

Just as we were dazed, our vision blurred—we saw, ten or so meters away, a shooting star fall: a natural crystal pillar dropping from the dome. At the instant it detached and began to fall, it regained its crystalline luster. The sharp crystal cone, whistling as it split the air, plunged straight into the ground with a tremendous crash. Immediately afterward, the crystal's night glow was swallowed by darkness.

The sound of the crystal striking the ground snapped us out of our shock. The muffled thunder earlier from "Great Thunder Heaven Strikes Thunder Mountain" had been the accumulation of crystal tremor energy. Now the crystal layer in the altar cavern could bear no more—it began to fracture and shatter. Dense crystal cones would keep falling. Aside from taking refuge in the interior of Jade Mountain, nowhere outside was safe. But without the dry corpses beneath our feet, stepping outside would mean certain death.

To hide or not to hide—both seemed wrong. By human instinct, we wanted to flee, but the falling ice cones came without pattern: not running meant safety, but running meant running straight into a gun barrel. Moreover, we couldn't possibly see them clearly enough to dodge—those sharp crystals fell like meteors or lightning, far too fast.

After the first crystal cone broke free from the crystal vein above, the darkness overhead flashed with cold light again, and several star-like beams of icy light fell like meteors. Some were far from us, but one appeared directly above Pangzi's head. I saw it, but before I could shout a warning, that beam of white light whistled with a "whoop" and struck Pangzi squarely in the face. The dry corpses beneath his feet couldn't support that half-tablet-sized, thin yet razor-sharp crystal shard—like a scraper—its sharp edges slicing through the corpse pile without pause, vanishing silently into the heap.

But I noticed Pangzi's face seemed to be missing something—his grin looked twisted, though I couldn't tell what at first. Seeing he was unharmed, I turned to call Shirley Yang to take cover—then suddenly realized something was wrong. A sudden crimson appeared on Pangzi's nose tip, blood seeping out, then gushing like a spring—his nasal bridge had been sliced clean off a large chunk of flesh. Fortunately, the corpse pile was slanted, so he leaned forward to keep his balance; had he been on level ground at that angle, his gut would have been sliced too—he might have been disemboweled. He felt no pain until he saw the blood gushing out, realizing his nose was injured. He bellowed, rolled onto a lower pile of corpses, and in the process knocked Ming Shu down as well.

I lunged to help, but had taken only half a step when another multi-faceted crystal struck the ground less than half a meter ahead. The four layers of dry corpses on the sky-beam were pinned by it like candied haws on a stick, the rear four or five meters of the crystal tail blocking the way. The thunder above grew tighter, crystal falls increased—but fortunately, the cavern was vast and deep, so the falling crystals weren't confined to one area, scattered from east to west without pattern. Though danger lurked everywhere, I noticed the omens were always localized: before a crystal fell, the vein at that spot would crackle continuously. If I kept my wits, I could still find shelter—but I knew this was only the beginning, scattered skirmishes. If this trend continued, we'd soon face a scene like a thousand arrows flying at once—no place to stand on the ground.

I saw Pangzi, face covered in blood, climb up from the lower corpse pile, hands pressed to his nose, cursing nonstop, lamenting he'd ruined his future prosperous appearance. I quickly called Ming Shu and Ah Xiang, telling them to look in Pangzi's backpack for turtle shells to apply to his wound—they worked well as a hemostatic. Ming Shu dared not act clever anymore, took Ah Xiang's hand, and together with Pangzi, they retreated to a dead corner beneath the sky-beam to bandage him.

Seeing their hiding spot was decent, I meant to call Shirley Yang over for temporary shelter—but she saw the crystal clusters in the cavern tightening. If a larger crystal layer collapsed, not only would the dry corpse pile beneath the sky-beam be unsafe, but even the interior of Jade Mountain would be. Only by immediately placing the "Phoenix Gallbladder" and the "Crystal Eye" carrying the ghost mother's memories onto the altar could we halt the collapse of "Great Thunder Heaven Strikes Thunder Mountain."

There was no time for detailed explanation—Shirley Yang's position was already near the altar's water pool, so she had to take the risk. I threw her the carrying bag with the ritual vessels. She caught it, shoved a few nearby dry corpses forward—only ten meters from the two eye-socket-like pools. I assumed she'd just toss the eyeballs straight in, but the pools were tiny, naturally formed—what feng shui calls the dragon's marrow, those waters, where all tributary dragon veins undergo life-and-death exchange. Though I believed Shirley Yang wouldn't take unnecessary risks and must have confidence, this was a make-or-break moment—I couldn't help but break into a sweat for her.

But Shirley Yang didn't act from that distance—clearly lacking full confidence. First, she used her wolf-eye flashlight to illuminate the pool's position, then shoved a few dry corpses forward. Just then, a crystal chunk fell from above, striking a nearby stone figurine, sending crystal dust flying. The crystal struck the sky-beam, and the stone figurine wobbled, then toppled with a crash, blocking Shirley Yang's path forward.

I'd completely forgotten the danger of falling crystals behind me, staring intently at Shirley Yang's every move, heart pounding. She stood before the stone figurine, gazing at the water pool, her chest rising and falling as if taking deep breaths. Amid the cavern's ceiling, where thunder rumbled like a torrential downpour, Shirley Yang focused completely, placing the "Phoenix Gallbladder" and "Crystal Eye" according to the positions indicated in the mural ritual into the water pool. The "Phoenix Gallbladder" and "ghost eye" represented the two energies of the ghost cave world, while the two eye-socket-shaped pools in the Dragon Eliquid were the convergence point of yin-yang life and death in the "unity of heaven and man"—in other words, the intersection of the xuan and huang in the "cosmic holographic theory." The yin-yang life-and-death qi at the end of the dragon veins gathered here like two vortices; opposing energies could materialize the ghost cave's substance in our world, making it truly remain, thus severing the link to the ghost cave's imaginary-number space, stopping the curse—no longer would the ghost cave slowly drain our blood's hemoglobin. But the brand of the ghost cave sacrifice would not fade, lasting until death.

These ancient religious secrets are mostly hard to grasp, and with pure speculation, who knows if they'd really work? At this critical moment, we had no real confidence. I watched Shirley Yang finally cast the "Phoenix Gallbladder" and "Crystal Eye" into the pool, yet felt no relief or ease—only an indescribable sense of loss. We'd paid too high a price for this moment. Shirley Yang turned to look at me—probably still trembling from earlier tension—as the black air in the crystal layers began to recede, nearby areas regained their cold fluorescence, the crystal layer stilled, but many crystal cones still trembled high above, ready to fall.

Suddenly shifting from dense noise to silence, I still felt unadjusted. I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead and said to Shirley Yang: "Is it finally over? We've held on until the end, endured the darkness before dawn, suffered half a lifetime of bad luck—at last we see a glimmer of victory's light."

Shirley Yang's face remained gloomy, but now, like the black air in the crystal layer, it began to fade. Though tears shimmered in her eyes, they were tears of relief: "Yes, we've finally made it through—thank God I met you; otherwise I truly couldn't imagine facing all this. Now we should think about going home..."

She'd spoken only half her sentence when gunfire from beneath the sky-beam cut her off—amid the rifle shots came Pangzi and Ming Shu's shouts. I silently cursed my bad luck, unaware what new trouble had arisen. Shirley Yang's expression shifted—bad, had the sacrificial method gone wrong? What else had changed?

We had no time to think—we drew our guns. Now we didn't need to carefully step on corpses; we ran toward the sound, heading for the corpse pile beneath the sky-beam. Just as we reached it, something felt off—a clump of ice-chip-like transparent substance darted swiftly across the dark-purple corpse heap, like suddenly animate crystal. I thought my eyes were playing tricks, but on closer look, there was indeed a transparent thing rushing toward us at high speed—I couldn't make out its shape. All I could see was a roughly flat, elongated outline, moving fast. I immediately raised my M1911 and fired—but after the gunshot, nothing remained on the corpse pile. That ghostly, fish-like thing vanished in an instant.

Shirley Yang and I asked in unison: "What was that thing we just saw?" Then I felt a faint sound behind me—no time to turn—I threw myself to the ground. Only then did I feel my left shoulder sliced simultaneously by a barrage of blades, my shirt torn, my vision blurred again—a fuzzy transparent shape shot from behind to front, visible on the corpses but vanishing upon nearing the crystals, evaporating without sound.

That fuzzy transparent thing moved extremely fast—and there wasn't just one; two or three appeared on the flanks. Hard to aim, bullets limited, no confidence to fire recklessly—we had to retreat backward. Perhaps on the narrow sky-beam we could pin down the target.

Shirley Yang and I retreated along the original path to the altar mouth at the end of the stone stalks. At that moment, gunfire from Pangzi and Ming Shu's side had ceased—we didn't know what mishap they'd met, but here we couldn't escape, and anxiety grew in my chest. Shirley Yang suddenly said: "Quick—shoot upward."

Turns out, by then there were already dozens of fuzzy transparent masses following us up the sky-beam—shaped like snakes, like fish. I suddenly understood Shirley Yang's intent to have me shoot upward—no delay, I raised my gun and fired at the crystal veins above. The impacts shook loose several six-sided crystal pillars, which crashed down with a few heavy thuds—only large patches of foul blood seeped onto the ground, still no clear shape. But these few shots weren't wasted—they triggered a chain reaction: large amounts of crystal stone rained down at the heart of the passage, blocking the return route completely.

But we couldn't dwell on that now—hearing Pangzi call from below, I replied, checked left and right—nothing moving—so we found a way around to descend. There we saw Pangzi with tape on his nose, face streaked with dried blood, Ming Shu and Ah Xiang also present.

Pangzi's group had encountered much the same as us—except Ah Xiang had spotted it early, giving them advance warning. Little did they know their gunfire would end up saving Shirley Yang and me—we'd been completely unprepared, things happened suddenly, we hadn't even felt it—now, thinking back, it was pure luck we'd survived. We'd weathered great storms, nearly capsized in a gutter—but what exactly were those things?

Pangzi's nose was taped, so his speech came out muffled. He pointed to a bloody, flesh-like mass above and below, saying he'd hammered and stabbed it, killing a few—like… fish. As he spoke, he kicked the thing: "Damn, it's kinda like a person too—you guys see, is this a person or a fish?"

I found it strange: "Like a person and a fish? Either a monster fish or a monster person—or a mermaid. How can this thing's form look so blurry and transparent?" Full of questions, I crouched and turned over the mass Pangzi had killed. Since it was soaked in blood, its shape was now visible: over a meter long, flat head—whether from Pangzi's blow or natural, I couldn't say—its midsection thick, tail long and thin, covered in ice-crystal-like transparent scales, also emitting a faint night glow. Were it not drenched in blood, in this strangely lit cavern we couldn't see it at all. Touching the icy scales, my finger was instantly nicked—sharper than a blade. It had no legs, but two fin-like appendages that looked eerily like human arms, complete with hands nearly identical to ours—but so small that even counting the arms, it was only the size of a normal person's palm.

I examined it carefully several times, then told the group: "This thing looks somewhat like a baby fish—could it be that kind of amphibious silver baby fish that extinguishes lamps? Legend says it truly has lamp-extinguishing power, extremely rare, about the size of an ordinary infant, feeds on small snakes and shrimp. In the past, powerful officials and nobles often kept one alive in a jade glass basin, extinguishing all the lights in the mansion at night to admire its rarity—truly a showy display, even more impressive than a night pearl. But they don't live long—after capture, at most a few dozen days—and after death, they carry heavy resentment; without a house-guarding charm, ordinary people dare not keep them at home. But I've never heard of one directly harming people."

Shirley Yang shook her head—didn't seem right. She used her "paratrooper knife" to pry open the creature's mouth—we looked and gasped: no tongue, the mouth full of backward-pointing bone spurs, plus hundreds of dense, tiny meat suckers—clearly this thing lived by sucking essence and blood.

Shirley Yang said perhaps those slaves made into sacrifices, after having their eyes gouged out, were drained dry by these things—she wondered if this blood sacrifice was also part of the ghost cave worship ritual...

At this point Ming Shu interjected: "This thing really does resemble the silver baby fish that extinguishes lamps—I kept a couple as specimens a few years back, though later an Indian bought them—I never got to see what their mouths were like."

I looked up at Ming Shu and said: "Ming Shu, just now you didn't even think to save yourself—looks like we didn't help you in vain, your awareness has improved." I saw at that moment your soul walk from darkness into light. Since the major matter was settled, I relaxed—was about to tease Ming Shu a few words, but hadn't finished when I noticed only Pangzi and Shirley Yang remained beside me—Ah Xiang was gone. I jumped up and scanned the area—this stretch of dry corpses we'd moved onto the sky-beam, leaving many spots where the crystal layer below was now exposed. On the ground, a long trail of bloody footprints.