Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Remarkable Doctor

It was that man, the one from Sichuan surnamed Qian. When he crawled out alone, he was barely alive, and the three of them—one woman and two men—lay on the ground for a full five minutes. After a while, the man named Qian seemed to remember something he hadn’t done, struggled to get up, and started searching around with great difficulty, finally fixing his gaze on the stones that Cha Wenbin and I had brought.

I watched as the man laboriously moved the stones; his strength must have been nearly spent.

“He seems to want to seal the entrance,” I said.

Cha Wenbin was startled. “So he’s not concerned about whether the others live or die?”

“He can’t afford to be. It’s common in this line of work. Everyone who does this has their head tied to their belt. They call you brother when things are safe, but when trouble hits, they’re stepping on your head to climb out. If you make it out alive, it’s luck. If you’re left inside, that’s your misfortune. Isn’t that right, Xiao Yi?”

Fatty’s words reminded me of what happened in Xi’an, and I shuddered. These tomb raiders never put human life above their own interests.

“Let’s deal with them, tie them up, and hand them over to the authorities tomorrow. People like this deserve to be paraded around for shame!”

Fatty disagreed. “Forget about handing them over. We’re not exactly clean ourselves. Leave some room for everyone; it’s better to part ways on good terms. They haven’t wronged us yet—no need to go all out.”

“So what should we do?” I asked.

“Do what we came to do.” Cha Wenbin turned to Fatty. “Are you sure they ran into a corpse?”

“Pretty much. Otherwise, how could so much happen so quickly? There are still several people down below.”

“They knew to send the woman out first, so they’re not entirely evil. Let’s go over, ask what happened, and get things straight.”

Cha Wenbin walked straight over. The man surnamed Qian was almost done moving the stones. Cha Wenbin bent down and whispered in his ear, “Need a hand?”

The man was so engrossed in his task that Cha Wenbin’s sudden approach startled him. His grip loosened, and the heavy stone crashed onto his foot. Unable to support himself, he collapsed.

The two women were nearly unconscious, their clothes torn in several places. The man was barely breathing; seeing us, he didn’t dare put on airs, only pleaded softly, “Please, brothers, help seal it…”

Fatty slapped him on the back of the head. The man couldn’t take it, and collapsed again. Fatty pointed at the hole and shouted, “Some leader you are! Those people inside are yours to look after, aren’t they? Their parents raised them just for you to throw away, huh? Where’s your responsibility? Aren’t you a leader from Beijing? You don’t act like one at all.”

The man didn’t argue, just looked at Cha Wenbin and continued to plead, “Please, brothers, hurry up, there’s no time…”

Just then, I heard another gunshot. The man grabbed Cha Wenbin’s trouser leg and wept, “There’s no time, please! That thing is untouchable!”

Cha Wenbin glanced down into the hole. It was pitch black, nothing to be seen. He lightly cut his middle finger with his sword, squeezed two drops of blood into the hole, and soon frowned. Without much explanation, he commanded, “Fatty, Xiao Yi, seal the entrance quickly. Take these three with us. When we get to the village, keep quiet. If word gets out, more lives could be lost.”

After blocking the hole with several large stones, we each took one of the three. Thankfully, we’d worked in the countryside for years, but by the time we got them into the village, dawn was near. For secrecy, we brought them to the village office, but the three were nearly comatose, likely from blood loss, especially the woman whose shoulder bore three finger-sized wounds, the edges already turning black.

To save them, we sought out Old Miao, telling him we’d found them while hunting and suspected a wild beast attack. Old Miao was alarmed—these were officials from Beijing! He wanted to report it immediately, but I stopped him. “Don’t report it yet. We don’t know what happened. Save them first. If word gets out and people say we failed to protect the officials, what then? Plus, a few are still missing. If this blows up, you, as village head, could be held accountable.”

Old Miao was an old revolutionary; his reputation meant everything. He grew anxious. “So what do you suggest?”

I deliberately pointed in the opposite direction. “Send people to search the mountain. We found these three on the southern slope, and five more are missing. The fewer people who know about this, the better. If this gets out of hand, we won’t be able to manage.”

“Fine, I’ll take my son-in-law and go to Greenhill.”

The village had a barefoot doctor. Old Miao brought him to us and then went off with Qingshan to the southern slope. This doctor had once worked as a veterinarian, and later learned by trial and error, becoming the only Western-trained doctor in the village.

The old man, glasses perched on his nose, examined each person in turn. “No problem, just superficial injuries. Apply medicine and bandage them up.”

The best medicine available was penicillin. The doctor was bold; he opened a bottle and sprinkled the powder directly into the woman’s wound. I watched as the pain jolted her awake for a moment, only for her to faint again.

Fatty noticed her lips quivering in pain and asked, “Are you sure she’s okay?”

“Don’t worry. Let them sleep. Once they rest, they’ll be fine.” Then he held out his hand to us. “Medical and consultation fees—seventy yuan. Who’s paying?”

“Why so expensive?” Seventy yuan was more than double a monthly wage; most villagers saved only four or five notes a year. He was clearly extorting us.

The doctor grinned, showing a mouthful of black teeth—one of them gold. “Not expensive. Three lives, after all.”

Fatty, exhausted and irritable, stood up and snapped, “For a few bottles of penicillin and some gauze you want seventy? Tomorrow I’ll burn your house down, believe it or not!”

The doctor’s reply surprised us all. He chuckled. “Go ahead, burn it. But let’s be clear: the woman wasn’t injured by a wild beast. You said you found them on the southern mountain, but last night I saw you head to the western mountain. The man reeks of death and coffins. What are you really doing? Surely you know the authorities are cracking down these days.”

I stepped forward. “Even if there’s a crackdown, what does that have to do with us?”

“If these people don’t wake, then it might have everything to do with you.”

His words made me bristle with anger. What kind of person was this? I was about to retort when Cha Wenbin stood up. “Doctor Niu, you said she wasn’t hurt by a wild beast. What was it then?”

The doctor actually smiled at Cha Wenbin. “Heh, something from below. Long nails, covered in hair.”

Cha Wenbin asked, “Since you know, can your medicine save her?”

“No cure, which is why I asked for seventy. If you pay, then there’ll be a cure.”

This answer caught Cha Wenbin off guard. In the north, few people studied such things. He was skeptical. “You know how to treat corpse poison?”

The doctor didn’t bother with modesty. “I’ve learned a thing or two. For this poison, it has to be me.”

“As long as you can cure her, we’ll pay seventy.” Cha Wenbin tugged at my sleeve and whispered, “Do you have money?”

“Here.” I reluctantly pulled out a wad of bills I’d saved for ages, counted out seven, and handed them over, glaring at the three on the floor. I thought, when you wake up, you’ll owe triple at least.

“Wait here. I’ll be back in half an hour. Don’t give them water.” The doctor counted the money happily as he left.

“Aren’t you able to treat it? Why do we need him?” I asked Cha Wenbin.

He shook his head. “I can’t cure this. My master might, but the poisoning is deep. If he can save her, he’s got real skill.”

“Is it really a zombie?” Fatty asked.

“Look closely at the wound.” Cha Wenbin pointed at the woman’s shoulder. “Notice anything? There are a few hairs stuck to it.”

I leaned in. Sure enough, the blackened wound had several fine red hairs, like threads from clothing, or animal fur.

“That’s zombie hair. This is a fighting corpse—only wounds from such leave hair behind. It’s something you see once in a hundred years.” Cha Wenbin hesitated, then admitted, “I might not have any good solution.”

He said:

Good night. The book is participating in some Golden League—if you can vote, please do. If there really is gold, I’ll make a ring engraved with ‘Treasure of the Celestial Master,’ and hold a lottery. Whoever’s lucky gets it. Ha ha.