Chapter 138: A Silent Reunion

Having fought side by side on several occasions, the sudden turn of events was not enough to make us lose our composure. I gently pointed my gun toward the left, where the shadowy figure had just vanished. Zha Wenbin understood tacitly and held a Sanqing exorcism bell in his hand. It is said that corpses undergoing ghostly transformation possess skin of copper and bones of iron, rendering them impervious to blades and firearms. Consequently, Taoists invariably employ bells when confronting such spectral aberrations. This particular bell was cast from brass, featuring a mountain-shaped handle at the top that symbolized the patriarchs of the Three Pure Ones.

This instrument carries profound significance. When placed on the left side prior to a ritual, it is designated as "lin," whereas on the right, it is termed "lang." Inscribed upon its surface are protective talismans, icons of the Three Pure Ones, and sacred scriptures. When agitated, it produces a clear, melodious chime, which is the origin of the idiom "a profusion of dazzling treasures."

The Sanqing exorcism bell is likewise known as the Emperor Bell. While to ordinary ears its ringing sounds crisp and pleasing, to demons, phantoms, and even corpses, it is exceedingly grating and deeply terrifying. In the collection of anomalies *What the Master Would Not Discuss*, authored by Yuan Mei of the Qing Dynasty, there is a tale titled "The Flying Corpse," which contains the following passage: "The master said, 'All corpses dread the sound of bells. When night falls, watch for it to fly out, then enter the burial chamber, hold two large bells, and ring them incessantly without resting your hands. Should you pause even slightly, the corpse will re-enter the chamber, and you shall suffer harm.'" Furthermore, volume five of the Taoist classic *Taiqing Yuce* states: "What the Taoists call holding the Emperor Bell in hand, casting fire for ten thousand miles, and setting the streaming bells flying in all eight directions refers to this." All of this attests to the formidable power of the exorcism bell in subduing malevolence. Zha Wenbin merely gave it a gentle shake in his hand, and the entire chamber responded as if through a chain reaction, echoing endlessly. The moment the bell chimed, he stepped forward and lunged directly into the left hall.

Before I could follow him into the left hall, I saw him drawing a talisman from his breast with his right hand. As I stepped inside and braced myself, I was astonished to discover that someone within the left hall was kneeling before Zha Wenbin. Upon closer inspection, was that person not Gao Cheng?

This was truly bizarre. It made sense for malevolent entities to fear Taoists, as everything has its natural conqueror, but wasn't his reaction a bit too swift? Before I could voice this thought, Zha Wenbin had already advanced. The bell in his hand rang out with a tremendous crash as he approached Gao Cheng and pressed the talisman onto his forehead. Then, the unexpected occurred: the talisman fluttered harmlessly to the ground without sticking at all!

What was going on? How could I possibly know? I had to ask Zha Wenbin. He wore an expression of utter bewilderment, turning to look at me with a look of supreme embarrassment. It was rather like a performer executing a magnificent routine up to the final step, only to bungle the concluding move—mortifying to the extreme.

I whispered, "Did you forget to apply glue? Perhaps you should pick it up, spit on it, and try pasting it again?"

Zha Wenbin's face flushed even deeper red. He bent down to retrieve the talisman, slowly straightened up, and tucked it back into his breast. Then, he reached out and placed his hand beneath Gao Cheng's nose, declaring, "The corpse-qi has dissipated. Now he is merely an ordinary corpse, no different from rotting meat on a butcher's block."

"Dead?" I hurried over to inspect him. Gao Cheng's head hung low, precisely like a repentant Japanese prisoner of war, and the burial garments on his body were tattered, apparently having been torn apart by Daidai.

"Aren't corpses supposed to be immensely powerful? How could he be bitten to death by a dog?"

Zha Wenbin replied, "He was no corpse, merely a walking corpse—nothing more than a puppet manipulated by someone else. By now, this puppet has evidently served its purpose. Its task was to lure us here, and once that mission was fulfilled, it was discarded here like trash."

"Wasn't that black shadow him just now?"

"No," Zha Wenbin said, touching Gao Cheng's cheek. "If it were him, the blood on the ground would not have clotted so quickly. Look at the bite wounds on his arms; the blood on the floor has long since congealed into clumps." Having said this, Zha Wenbin seemed to realize something and immediately turned to me, saying, "A ruse to lure the tiger away from the mountain! Quick, let's get out of here!"

I beat Zha Wenbin to the exit. Since I was slightly behind him, I saw that the lamps on the wall of the main burial chamber were still burning. In their illumination, a human shadow was cast long and slender against the wall. I stood frozen in place, and just as Zha Wenbin was about to step out, I grabbed him back. He looked up and froze as well.

I cannot describe my feelings at that moment. When you spend a long time with someone, you come to recognize their silhouette. And when you live with someone year after year, you learn to distinguish even their shadow.

The outline of this shadow was tall and intimately familiar. Suddenly, something welled up in my eyes—tears, hovering and trembling. I could not comprehend why the burial chamber was completely empty, yet that shadow appeared so vividly real. To its left and right, the shadows of Zha Wenbin and myself formed a triangular formation with it, yet the spots where the two of us stood still contained only the two of us.

"Shitou..." Zha Wenbin whispered softly. Instantly, the shadow moved. I watched as it stepped down from the wall, one step, two steps, swaying with a gait reminiscent of a penguin. This was the gait that had once climbed mountains with us, crossed rivers with us, and accompanied us through our youth. Yet there came a day when our paths parted, and we could never find each other again.

I opened my arms wide. Just as the murals foretold, at this very moment, I truly hoped a miracle would occur. Could it be him? If so, I wanted to give him a tremendous embrace...

*Master of tigers, Stone Defender; none may invade, the dragon endures.* This ancient proverb constantly echoed in my heart. Without you, who would banter with me, who would quarrel with me? Aren't you a general, famed as a heavenly deity descended to earth? Then descend to earth once more.

If a person could truly walk out from a shadow on a wall, this tale would belong in *Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio*. Regrettably, shadows are like dreams—visible yet intangible. When he was less than three paces away, I still watched that shadow take its stride. Yet this single step was like a reenactment of history; just like when he entered that coffin long ago and vanished from sight, this shadow stepped off toward some unknown destination, as if before it lay a bottomless abyss. Following that single step, everything dissolved into mist and smoke.

Gone. He had come out of nowhere and vanished into nowhere, as if playing a cruel joke upon Zha Wenbin and me. Suddenly, I recalled that night and that cigarette butt—how closely it resembled today. A thought flashed fiercely through my mind. I seized Zha Wenbin by the garment and demanded, "Tell me, did he truly never leave us? Tell me, you saw him just now too, didn't you?"

Zha Wenbin was struck dumb; he fell silent. I saw his lips twitching, and after a long moment, he turned his back to me, and I heard the sound of a man weeping without words.

"Fatty!" My cry was heart-rending, echoing and colliding within the empty, ancient tomb, shouting out in agonizing grief...

Were it not for that sound, I might have struggled long to emerge from Fatty's shadow. Yet that very sound instantly rekindled hope within me.

Unwittingly, a single knocking sound made my soul feel as though it had left my body.

"Where did that sound come from?" I scanned my surroundings. Zha Wenbin had already flashed ahead of me, moving with lightning speed. Clutching a length of rope, he dashed instantly to the side of the coffin and called out to me, "Come here!"

By the time I reached him, one end of the rope had already been tossed over. This was an exceptionally fine cord, barely thicker than the hemp thread women use to line the soles of shoes, dark in color and somewhat rough to the touch. Zha Wenbin stood on the right side of the coffin holding the other end, while I stood on the left. He exchanged a knowing glance with me; I understood instantly. This cord was prepared to prevent the corpse from suddenly sitting up and attacking when the coffin was opened. Evidently, he had already pinpointed the source of the sound—right inside this very coffin.

First came the outer shell of the coffin. We had previously discovered that this coffin had been disturbed by someone. Zha Wenbin immediately drew his Seven-Star treasured sword. The blade of this sword was extraordinarily thin, and he easily slipped it into a narrow diagonal gap at the head of the outer shell, sliding it all the way across to my side.

Disregarding everything else, I stripped off a thick woolen sweater I was wearing and wrapped it tightly around the blade. Zha Wenbin gestured with his hand on the other side, counting, "One, two, three!" With a great shout of "May you be promoted and grow wealthy!" we both exerted our strength together, using the Seven-Star sword as a lever. With a loud snap, the front corner of the coffin shell was instantly wrenched open by a gap of three centimeters. Without hesitation, I jammed five or six inches of the gun barrel directly into the opening. Seizing this opening, Zha Wenbin thrust his hand straight inside. Groping around along the aperture, he applied a slight exertion of force and pulled out a small wooden peg roughly the thickness of a chopstick. This object was the "coffin peg." In ancient times, nails were nonexistent, so all joints required mortise and tenon connections, and the coffin peg was the only removable tenon on the entire structure. The complication with this device was that it could only be unlocked from the inside out, rather than the outside in. It was said that this mechanism was designed to prevent someone who miraculously revived after burial from truly suffocating to death—such incidents were frequent in both ancient and modern times, both domestically and abroad.

With this obstacle removed, any adult could now push open the coffin lid. Zha Wenbin and I each took a section of the cord, fed it carefully through the gap, pulled it taut, and looped it around the bottom of the coffin so that it crossed over. Each of us held an end of the line, braced one foot against the top of the coffin for leverage, and simultaneously gripped the outer shell board, pulling backward with a sudden heave. With a whoosh, the lid slid open just like a drawer running on tracks...

Author's Note:

Thank you, friends. Our votes are accumulating rapidly. If we fail to secure a top-three spot this period, we shall simply aim for the next. However, the fault lies with me for my absence recently. Yet, seeing your undiminished enthusiasm upon my return fills me with boundless energy. Thank you all.