Chapter 46: Main Text Chapter Forty-Six Doomsday

Main Text Chapter Forty-Six Doomsday

Doomsday

I watched helplessly as the sheepskin scroll fell to the mountain's base, feeling vexed beyond measure; the prophet's prediction was clear—when the scroll touched the ground, a sandstorm would bury Zhagelama Mountain, and sure enough, whatever I feared came to pass.

With things as they were, I could only leave it to fate, climbing the summit with hands and feet, when suddenly a piercing woman's wail rose behind me, sounding faint yet distinct, barely audible over the crashing rocks, yet it struck straight to the heart.

The voice sounded like that of the little girl Ye Yixin; my body suddenly felt heavy, as if some force were pulling me downward, trying to drag me down the mountain.

My hair stood on end—sure enough, there was a ghost. At that moment the desert sun had sunk halfway below the western horizon; I stood in the mountain's shadow, surrounded by black stone, and it felt as if I had touched the gates of hell.

I struggled to climb the peak, but the foothold beneath me had collapsed; I could only cling desperately to the mountainside with both hands, unable to look back—and even if I could, I wouldn't want to, for fear that a moment's panic might loosen my grip and send me tumbling into the ghost cave below.

I tried desperately to shut out the sobbing, but the wails grew ever more piercing, each one stabbing my heart, filling me with sorrow and making my body feel heavier; I could not help but want to let go.

Pangzi and Shirley Yang saw me dazed and unwell on the summit; they reached to pull me up, but were just out of reach, seeing the mountain's cracks widening and the whole peak about to collapse, with no rope at hand they lowered their belts instead.

When the two above called out, it was like a bucket of cold water flung on me in midsummer—I shuddered, came to my senses, the crying faded, the pulling force behind me vanished, and without delay I grabbed Pangzi's belt and scrambled to the top.

The setting sun over the desert had grown dim, gusts of wind carrying fine sand swept across, and a vague shadow blanketed heaven and earth; Old Man An Liman had once said this wind heralded an approaching black sandstorm, and the prophet's foretold doom of Zhagelama had finally arrived.

Pangzi and I hauled Professor Chen to his feet; the old man showed no response, limp as a doll, following whoever led him without tiring—but if we stopped, he would sit down and refuse to stand again.

All we could do was drag and pull him down the mountain; the side of Jingjue Ancient City's mountain had completely collapsed, that hollowed-out massive half just happened to cover the ghost cave's entrance, sealing it forever; our side of the mountain led into the Zhagelama Valley, where we had planned to descend and meet An Liman's camel caravan, but though the sandstorm had begun, without camels even the No. 11 wouldn't get us out.

I hadn't expected that, as soon as we reached the mountain's base, we'd hear hoofbeats stirring in the valley; An Liman looked panicked, shouting loudly as he drove the camels outward.

Pangzi cursed: "Old man, your oath with Hu Dafu is pure bullshit!"

An Liman also hadn't expected us to appear at the valley's entrance; he hurriedly said, "Praise Allah, it seems we're meant to meet here—surely Hu Da arranged this."

We didn't have time to chat further; we lifted Professor Chen onto a camel, each found a mount and climbed up, while An Liman kept asking where the others had gone.

I said, "Never mind that now—everyone's gone; this isn't the time to talk. How can we dodge the great sandstorm? Quickly lead the crowd that way."

The sky had plunged into total darkness; this wind was a column, its eye seemingly the ghost cave in the mountain, its strength growing steadily, sand stinging our faces; An Liman hadn't expected the sandstorm to hit so fast, with no prior sign, and aside from the relics of Zhagelama and Jingjue Ancient City, the endless desert offered no shelter—but since it was a column, the farther from the eye the safer, so we just kept running in the right direction; whether we'd escape depended on Hu Da's mood.

An Liman let out a long whistle, raised a gas lamp as a signal, mounted the lead camel to blaze the trail, and drove the camel herd westward in flight.

At first we heard strange sounds from behind—like ghosts wailing and wolves howling, or the sea surging—then instantly a gale erupted, a sand‑laden wind blotting out the sky; with darkness falling, visibility dropped to near zero, and even with our mouths covered by scarves, countless grains of sand still poured into our ears and noses.

After we'd run a considerable distance, the camels began to ignore commands; An Liman had the herd halt, and since no one could hear anything over the noise, he gestured to gather the frightened camels into a circle.

I took his meaning to be that if we kept going, the camel caravan would scatter; once dispersed, nobody could survive, so we had no choice but to dig in, building a sand‑wall and sheltering among the camels, leaving nothing to do but pray to Hu Da.

I nodded to show I understood; the group gathered on higher ground, and Shirley Yang wrapped Professor Chen in a blanket to ride out the storm.

Pangzi and I dug sand frantically; after An Liman had settled the camels, he came to help, we raised a simple sand‑barrier around them, covered their eyes with blankets to prevent panic‑induced bolting, and everyone else also wrapped themselves in blankets and huddled together.

Fortunately we were already clear of the eye; the wind‑sand at the storm's edge was fierce enough that nearer the eye it might tear a person to shreds.

An Liman's camels were relatively experienced; now, huddled together, they ceased to panic, shaking off the sand that buried them partially and shifting upward a bit so they wouldn't be completely buried.

Not until the next morning did the wind and sand finally subside; we had spent the night digging sand‑walls nonstop, exhausted to the point of collapse, and only when the storm passed did we dare rise and look out—rolling dunes stretched everywhere, the wind‑blown sand forming fixed ripples, the landscape uniform in every direction.

Jingjue Ancient City, the black Zhagelama Sacred Mountain, the queen's coffin, the corpse‑scented arum, the tombs of the prophet and the sage, together with countless ancient secrets unknown to history, plus Hao Aiguo, Ye Yixin, Chu Jian, and Sa Dipeng—all lie forever buried deep in the yellow sands.

Professor Chen also poked his head out of the blanket, grinning foolishly at the sky; Shirley Yang brushed the sand from his head, An Liman knelt on the ground to pray, thanking Hu Da for his mercy, Pangzi rummaged through all the packs for water, found nothing, spread his hands toward me in a helpless gesture.

The sun rose slowly in the mid‑sky, radiating fierce heat that ruthlessly stole moisture from our bodies.

I too shook my head in resignation, focused only on fleeing, having given no thought to water; moreover, we had already passed the safe return point seven days earlier, and turning back was out of the question—the route to the Zidu Dark River had been completely buried, a handful of us could never dig it out, we had not a drop of water, and in the desert we could not last a day; drinking brackish sand‑pit water or camel blood wouldn't help, and the thought of dying of thirst in the wastes made me think it would be less painful to have perished in the ghost cave.

(Thanks for the votes—two big chapters updating at 12:30 tonight.)