Out of all of us, I was the only one still holding a gun. Hao Wenming glared toward the direction the gunfire had come from, then turned back and reached out to take the rifle from me. "Give me the gun. You all stay here. With this much Buddha Ash around, even Yin Bai wouldn't dare come near..." He hadn't finished speaking when another volley of chaotic gunshots rang out ahead. A moment later, a fat silhouette emerged into view.
Huang Ran was covered head to toe in Buddha Ash. Sweat had cut streaks through the ash on his face, making him look utterly miserable. Po Jun wasn't with him, and that immediately set Director Hao off. He didn't even bother taking my assault rifle anymore—just charged straight toward Huang Ran and shouted, "Where is my man?"
Huang Ran pointed behind him, gasping for breath. "He's back there, covering the retreat..." Just as he said this, Sun Fatty and I also ran up. Hao Wenming was so furious he ground his teeth. He jabbed a finger at Huang Ran's nose and snapped, "If anything happens to him, you're going down with him!" With that, he turned and sprinted toward the source of the gunfire. Sun Fatty and I followed. We'd barely rounded the bend when we saw Po Jun barreling toward us like a madman. His assault rifle was gone. In one hand he held Huang Ran's short-barreled hunting shotgun, and in the other, he was gripping one of those landmines we'd seen earlier. As soon as he spotted us, he shouted mid-run, "Fall back! Run! It's chasing me!"
Even as he yelled, a white blur appeared behind him. In just the blink of an eye, the white wolf was less than ten meters from his back. Po Jun, as if he had eyes on the back of his head, suddenly flung the mine over his shoulder. At the same instant, he spun around and fired the shotgun at the airborne mine.
Boom!The explosion sent up a cloud of ashen dust. The white wolf halted abruptly, then turned and bolted the other way. Even though the mines had been packed with less explosive powder, the blast still had enough force to knock Po Jun head over heels. He hit the ground hard and passed out cold, completely unconscious.
Hao Wenming, Sun Fatty, and I rushed over and carried the unconscious Po Jun back to the spot where we'd found Zhang Zhiyan, laying the two of them side by side. Po Jun's injury was to the head—he must've struck a stone when he fell. Though his skull hadn't been fractured, the blood from the wound had soaked a large patch of his shirt.
Rummaging through Zhang Zhiyan's backpack, I found several rolls of clean gauze and a small bottle of medical alcohol. Finally, some of that battlefield first-aid training I'd had came in handy. I managed to dress Po Jun's wound well enough to stop the bleeding. Though he was still out cold, at least he wasn't in any immediate danger.
Seeing that Po Jun's condition was stable, Hao Wenming's anger toward Huang Ran softened a bit. He picked up one of the mines, gave Huang Ran a sidelong glance, and said, "Aren't you going to say something? You even brought this stuff out? You didn't just throw away your life—you tossed your next one in too. Let me be honest, Huang Ran—this kind of reckless desperation isn't your style."
He paused here, squinting slightly as he went on, "Huang Ran, tell me the truth. Is the Ruan Liulang Chronicles you showed me the real, unabridged version? You didn't keep a few pages to yourself, did you?"
Huang Ran was sitting on the ground, finally starting to catch his breath. Though he still looked disheveled, that familiar trademark smirk had returned to his face. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, making his face look even filthier, then sighed and said, "Director Hao, want me to swear an oath or something? With the way things are now, it's hard to say if we'll even make it out alive. If I keep anything back at this point, I might as well bury myself here."
He had just finished saying that when a wolf's howl echoed from the direction where Po Jun had been injured. The howl was intermittent, starting and stopping, making it clear that the white wolf was still hovering near the explosion site, pacing back and forth. It seemed the lingering cloud of Buddha Ash was keeping it at bay. As unwilling as it was, the wolf couldn't break through the thick fog of sanctified dust.
We all instinctively turned toward the direction of the howling. Sun Fatty stared at the lingering cloud of ash for a few seconds, then suddenly seemed to remember something. He turned to Huang Ran and said, "Hey, Old Huang, how exactly are you using these mines? That blast kicked up a whole storm of Buddha Ash, and yet that mangy mutt still ran off. You weren't holding back on purpose, were you?"
The moment Sun Fatty said that, Huang Ran's eyes suddenly went wide. It was like something had just clicked in his mind. Without answering, he abruptly stood up and jogged over to the crater near where we'd first found Zhang Zhiyan—the very spot where one of the mines had gone off. Dropping to his knees, he started digging around the blast pit with his bare hands.
He searched for a long time, frantically, but whatever he was looking for, he couldn't find it.
Even Hao Wenming eventually couldn't help but ask, "What are you looking for?"
Huang Ran didn't respond. He kept his head down, eyes locked on the ground, and continued pawing through the dirt. All of us—except Meng Qiqi, who was tending to the two wounded—stood behind him, watching as he clawed and sifted through the mix of soil and Buddha Ash. He would pick out a handful, examine it closely, then shift slightly and repeat the whole process again. After a few rounds, he had nearly doubled the size of the original blast crater.
Just when Sun Fatty and I were getting bored of watching, Huang Ran suddenly leapt to his feet. Pinched between two fingers was a golden bullet casing. He let out a low shout: "I knew it!"
Hao Wenming and I still had no idea what he was talking about, but Sun Fatty had already put it together. "Someone set you up?"
Huang Ran looked at him in surprise—it was clear that Sun Fatty had hit the mark. Judging from his expression, if Sun Fatty hadn't been with us the whole time, Huang Ran might've thought he was the saboteur himself.
Huang Ran recounted their failed ambush on the White Wolf. After seeing the flare launched by Meng Qiqi, he had immediately set off for this location with Zhang Zhiyan and Po Jun. Instead of charging in to assist us directly, Huang Ran had a different plan—he intended to dig in and plant landmines here first. These mines had been modified with dual-trigger mechanisms, meaning even if Yin Bai didn't step on the pressure plates, Huang Ran could detonate them remotely using a wireless controller. The idea was for Po Jun to lure Yin Bai into the minefield, where they would greet him with Ashes of the Guardian Buddha.
The plan was relatively sound—risky only for Po Jun—until they got slightly delayed. Just as the mines were being buried, before Po Jun could set off, the White Wolf came charging down in pursuit of the Black Cat. They immediately scattered, but just as the White Wolf was about to charge through, several mines suddenly detonated on their own. The explosion knocked Zhang Zhiyan unconscious from the shockwave. Huang Ran and Po Jun were lucky enough to escape unscathed. The suddenness of it all left them confused—unsure whether it was the self-detonating mines or the Buddha Ash blanketing the air that threw things into chaos. Fleeing in panic, they ran straight into the equally disoriented White Wolf.
The White Wolf had been moving at incredible speed. Shrapnel and Buddha Ash slashed across the fur beneath its neck, and then a thick cloud of Ashes of the Guardian Buddha filled the air. Enduring the pain, the beast forced its way through the haze and encountered Huang Ran and Po Jun on the other side—triggering another deadly game of pursuit.
At the time, Huang Ran had been more focused on survival than figuring out why the mines exploded. But Sun Fatty's reminder brought the thought back into his head. Upon revisiting the blast zone, he found the culprit—embedded in the ground was a bullet that had caused the mine to detonate.
After explaining, Huang Ran looked at Director Hao, then tossed the bullet to him, saying, "There's another group inside this Tomb of a Transcendent Beast." Hao Wenming examined the bullet—it was a solid-steel rifle round, the kind specially made for armor-piercing. No wonder it had punched through the mine and buried itself deep in the ground.
Director Hao frowned at the bullet, then at Huang Ran. Finding nothing suspicious in Huang Ran's account, he reluctantly accepted it—an unusual moment of trust. Hao scanned the area and said, "Who would've thought you and I would end up tied to the same rope? Not to sound paranoid, but that person's been tailing us for a while. He at least knows the way in. Huang Ran, who else has read Ruan Liulang's journal?"
Huang Ran looked Hao in the eye, a brief dazed smile crossing his lips. "Director Hao, would you hand something like that out casually? Unless..." He suddenly paused. His expression tightened. "Unless... someone had a dead friend who came back to life. Been hiding long enough—aren't you coming out yet?!"
That last sentence erupted from Huang Ran like a roar. Just as he shouted, an eerie chill crept down my spine. A massive pressure descended on me from behind, making it hard to breathe. I wasn't alone—everyone turned around at the same time.
From the direction of the hot spring, a shadowy figure slowly emerged—less than a hundred meters from us. The figure was short, cloaked, and hooded, his face completely hidden. The strange thing was, none of us had noticed his approach. Had he not deliberately revealed his presence, he might've reached our backs without detection.
Huang Ran froze upon seeing him, frowning as though this wasn't the person he'd expected. The figure kept walking, stopping about ten meters away, then raised his head and scanned us.
I finally saw his face—and instantly wished I hadn't. His age was indeterminate. His skin looked like dried tangerine peel, flaking off whenever he made the slightest expression. His eyebrows were gone. Beneath the bare brow bones were yellowed, cloudy eyes that rolled chaotically in their sockets. The moment our eyes met, a chill ran through me, and I instinctively looked away. Fortunately, his attention soon shifted to Huang Ran.
"Heh heh..." the man laughed, though it sounded more like the hoot of an owl. Huang Ran responded with a cold chuckle, his previous uncertainty now gone. Then he said something that stunned me: "How should I address you? Ruan Liang... or Ruan Liulang?"
"Heh heh..." the figure chuckled again, then pulled back his hood, revealing a mostly bald scalp with nine monastic scars. He removed his cloak, revealing a loose-fitting green military uniform—the same uniform Ruan Liang had been wearing when he fell into the spring.
Seeing the monastic scars, Huang Ran's smile widened. "The legend goes that Ruan Liulang entered monastic life four times and renounced it four times. Seems like that story holds water."
The old man's smile faded. "Wrong. I've entered and exited the secular world six times. It's laughable—I even made it to abbot of Baoyin Temple once. But the worldly temptations were too great. Sigh…"
"Temptations of the world?" Huang Ran sneered. "You mean the scent of corpses in graveyards?" Ruan Liulang said nothing—his silence was admission enough.
The three of us from the Bureau were stunned. Hao Wenming finally asked, "So which are you—Ruan Liang, or Ruan Liulang?"
The man turned to him and said, "Call me either. They're just skins. My family name is Ruan. I'm the sixth son. No formal given name. Folks just called me Liulang. When I was sent to the temple as a young firekeeper, the monks named me Ruan Liang."
Even with his own admission, I could barely believe this was Ruan Liang. The transformation was too extreme. Before I could say anything, Sun Fatty blurted out, "Cut the crap. You were slick and fresh just a moment ago—what the hell happened? Some side effect of the spring?"
"You mean this look?" Ruan Liulang stepped forward with his right foot—and in that instant, his entire appearance changed. The wrinkled, weathered face became smooth. His skin tightened, his eyes sparkled with vitality, hair grew thick over his scalp, hiding the scars. His body became taller, stronger—indistinguishable from the Ruan Liang we knew.
But as soon as his left foot followed, the illusion vanished. He slumped against a stalagmite, gasping heavily, as if that brief moment of youth had drained all his strength. How had he managed to maintain that youthful form for so long earlier?
Aside from me and Sun Fatty, Hao Wenming merely watched coldly, unfazed. Huang Ran clapped his hands. "I thought everyone who could use the Displacement Technique was already dead. Didn't expect anyone alive to still master it."
Once he caught his breath, Ruan Liulang glanced at Huang Ran. "You're not wrong if this were forty years ago. I found it in Jia Shifang's tomb. Thought I'd discovered the secret to eternal youth... turns out it was just a fleeting trick."
As he spoke, Huang Ran exchanged a glance with Hao Wenming, then bowed his head slightly, seemingly listening carefully.
When Ruan finished, Huang Ran stepped forward. "When I saw your journal in Liu Chuxuan's tomb, I was puzzled. I get that you were documenting your experiences—but why put them back in the tomb? Who did you expect to read them? Liu's soul reincarnated centuries ago. That only leaves us, the grave robbers. You wrote over a dozen entries, all vague and rushed—except the one about this Tomb of a Transcendent Beast. That one was unusually detailed, like you wanted to lure us in. I thought you were dead, so I didn't think much of it. Who'd have guessed a tomb raider would live this long? Ninety, isn't it?"
As he spoke, Huang Ran continued to inch closer.
Ruan Liulang sneered. "Stay where you are. Just because you slipped a Binding Talisman under my foot doesn't mean you've got me. I see everything that happens here. And are you blind? Look at my feet—do you see a shadow?"
He had a point. The Tomb was pitch black; only those with enhanced senses could navigate. He then pointed at Huang Ran's backpack and chuckled again. "You thought I was dead? Please. Your pack still holds something meant for me. Go ahead—take it out. Let's see how well it works."
That wiped the smile off Huang Ran's face. He suddenly shouted, "Now!"
At the same time, he lunged at Ruan Liulang. As his shout echoed, a red flare shot past Ruan's back and arced into the air before slowly descending.
It was fired by Director Hao. None of us had noticed when he'd made his way to Zhang Zhiyan's unconscious body. Just as Huang Ran shouted, Hao swiftly pulled a flare gun from Zhang's pack and fired behind Ruan Liulang.
Since when were Director Hao and Huang Ran working this well together?
Under the glare of the signal flare, a human-shaped shadow appeared at Ruan Liulang's feet. As the flare descended, that shadow stretched longer and longer. Before Huang Ran had taken more than a few steps, he stamped down on Ruan Liulang's shadow, and immediately Ruan Liulang froze in place—just as if he had been paused on a screen. The moment Huang Ran's foot landed on that shadow, he had already swung his backpack around to his front, dug inside with one hand, and pulled out a tiny glass vial. He hurled it forcefully toward Ruan Liulang's feet.
The little vial shattered without any suspense, sending a slick, oil-like liquid spraying across the ground. The instant it met the night air, it seemed to boil, fizzing with countless bubbles from within. In barely ten seconds, the entire pool of liquid vaporized into wisps of white gas. Those wisps, as if drawn by something inherent to Ruan Liulang's body, drifted toward him, slipping into his pores and vanishing inside him.
Once the final ribbon of white gas slithered into Ruan Liulang's frame, the signal flare flickered out and darkness reclaimed the scene. Ruan Liulang remained standing motionless. Instead, Huang Ran took a few steps backward, edging closer to Hao Wenming. But Hao Wenming—his superior—seemed anything but welcoming: "Stay where you are. Take off the insoles from your boots."
Before Huang Ran could even reply, the statue-like Ruan Liulang suddenly stirred. He took a step forward and opened his mouth, spewing out a jet of ink-black fluid. Startled, Huang Ran reeled back in alarm, and Hao Wenming also retreated, maintaining over twenty meters of distance. Ruan Liulang spat one mouthful of that inky liquid, then another, a third, a fourth—until eventually the fluid turned into deep-red blood. Only after vomiting that final torrent of crimson did he cease.
Huang Ran glanced over at Hao Wenming; both wore expressions of outright disbelief. Later, I learned that the tiny vial Huang Ran had smashed contained an oil rendered from a special kind of sepulchral worm. These worms subsist on the corpse qi and death qi of the deceased; they distill it into a potent essence that, upon exposure to air, vaporizes—and that vapor both carries and amplifies any corpse qi or death qi it encounters. In effect, this worm-oil converts a target's own corpse qi and death qi into a sulfuric, corrosive poison. The original purpose of this oil was to deal with grand tomb robbers like Ruan Liulang: normally, a thin porcelain vial of the worm-oil would be rigged inside a coffin's lid so that, when opened, it would shatter—its oily vapors drifting inside the robber, transmuting his accumulated corpse qi into lethal poison, causing him to die a hideous, liquefying death from within. Of course, the downside was that the same oil would damage the tomb's owner's remains, so that technique vanished within a few years.
Normally, robbers of Ruan Liulang's caliber would have amassed such vast reserves of corpse qi and death qi in their bodies that they could rarely live past fifty—and they would endure excruciating deaths. A figure like Ruan Liulang—still living at around ninety—was probably unique in centuries. When Huang Ran first met him, something had seemed off, but Huang Ran never imagined that this ninety-ish man would still be alive. He had always suspected that disciples or descendants of Ruan Liulang's might be playing tricks with his reputation. So he had secretly stashed a vial of the worm-oil just in case. He never expected to use it on a tomb-robbing legend.
In practice, though, the worm-oil's effect fell far short of intentions. All Ruan Liulang had done was cough up a few mouthfuls of ink-like blood—though the dark color was hardly novel. After that, his previously waxy-yellow complexion actually gained a livelier flush, as if some internal blockage had been cleared.
Ruan Liulang fixed his gaze on Huang Ran and Hao Wenming, spat out a few more mouthfuls of blood-foam, then said, "You two underestimated me. Up there you fought as if to the death, but you showed real teamwork. Don't forget, I've plundered several major tombs and seen things like this before—if you hadn't acted together, I might have had to explain myself to you."
He spoke while slowly shrugging off the cloak draped over his shoulders. Then, unbuttoning the shirt beneath, he revealed skin as loose and rippling as frayed parchment. When he had undone every button, there was a palm-sized, purplish-black blotch centered on his navel.
That blotch didn't look like a birthmark—it resembled a bruise that had never dissipated. I stared in confusion, and right then Hao Wenming silently crept up beside me and murmured, "Lazi, at this distance, shooting him in the navel—easy enough, right?" I was about to raise my rifle for a quick demonstration, but Hao Wenming stopped me: "Hold on! Not yet. Wait for my signal. Shoot only when I say so."
The moment Huang Ran saw that purplish-black imprint, his face drained of color and he lurched a few steps back. As he moved away, Sun Fatty suddenly coughed and asked, "Old Huang, what did Director Hao just say?" Huang Ran paused, then removed both boots and walked toward us with bare feet. I couldn't fathom why they were so on edge just because Ruan Liulang was shirtless.
Ruan Liulang, as if oblivious to Huang Ran's actions, drew a gleaming black dagger from behind his back with his right hand. I recognized it instantly—identical to the Thousand-Cuts Blade in Gao Liang's hand. Sun Fatty whispered to me, "Lazi, didn't we say there should be only one of those blades? How come Ruan Liulang has one too?" Huang Ran answered for me: "The one Gao Liang wields is a Ming-era replica. The authentic Thousand-Cuts Blade was forged in the Five Dynasties period and disappeared after the fall of the Song. Ruan Liulang's ancestor must have found it in someone's tomb—because its murderous aura could subdue a tomb owner's soul. Since then, Ruan Liulang has carried it on every raid; it's his trademark."
As Huang Ran and Sun Fatty spoke, Ruan Liulang ignored them completely. Holding the dagger over his navel mark, he made a precise slash. The imprint split open like a blood pocket, exuding purple pus. A nauseating tang of decay filled the air. As that pus drained, the navel mark faded somewhat—the old man's contorted grimace proving just how agonizing it was.
Sun Fatty frowned and said, "Ruan Liang, come on—are we corpses to you? At least have some consideration when you bleed out in front of us! This footage ought to be censored!" Ruan Liulang did not flinch; he pressed and squeezed around the mark until every drop of that filthy pus had been forced out. The process took nearly twenty minutes. By the time he was done, Ruan Liulang was sweating profusely, leaning against a flowstone stalactite, panting hard.
Then, without warning, Hao Wenming shouted, "Fire!" I didn't hesitate: I raised my rifle and aimed for Ruan Liulang's navel. A sharp report rang out, metal clanging on metal. I realized immediately something was wrong: as I squeezed the trigger, Ruan Liulang had shielded his navel with the Thousand-Cuts Blade. The bullet struck the blade, sparking on contact, and knocked it against his abdomen—but did not harm him at all.
Seeing my shot fail, I quickly adjusted my aim upward, targeting his forehead. The instant I fired, Hao Wenming and Huang Ran both shouted, "Don't shoot elsewhere!" But their protests came too late. My bullet struck Ruan Liulang squarely between the eyes, and he collapsed backward.
Before I could relish that moment, both Hao Wenming and Huang Ran's faces had gone ashen. They neither dared look at Ruan Liulang's prone form; instead, they shouted to me and Sun Fatty, "We can't stay here—let's get out!" Sun Fatty grumbled, "There's still a mangy mutt out there! No way to flee!" Then I understood why Hao Wenming and Huang Ran had reacted so—Ruan Liulang rose unsteadily to his feet. The bullet, a five- to eight-millimeter round fired from a Type 95 assault rifle, had pierced the flesh of his forehead but left his skull intact: it was somehow impervious to being fully penetrated. The round lodged in his cranium, but it caused no lasting damage.
"Heh heh…" Ruan Liulang let out a strange chuckle. "Nice shot—too bad you aimed in the wrong spot. You want me dead? Fine—but not by methods meant for 'men'." I blinked in confusion. Without thinking, I blurted out, "You're not human?"
It sounded like an insult, yet there was no mockery in my voice. Ruan Liulang sneered but did not answer. Hao Wenming, seizing my arm, pulled me back and said to Ruan Liulang, "I mean, you're a tomb robber—how on Earth could you live this long? So you've become a liǎng—a revenant, have you? No wonder you don't feel human!" Before Ruan Liulang could reply, a wolf's howl echoed from nearby. In the next instant, a massive shape barreled through the swirling Buddha Ash (Buddha Ash is short for Ashes of the Guardian Buddha) and loomed before us. Every one of us—Ruan Liulang included—went pale at the sight.
A gigantic wolf stood before me. It was the same white wolf that had attacked the outpost before—but now its fur was nothing but charred, curling bristles, smelling of burnt hair. It planted its paws firmly, bared its fangs, and let out a furious roar aimed squarely at Ruan Liulang. That moment snapped me awake: earlier, the wolf had led hundreds of wild wolves to assault the outpost, but its target had never been us; it had been Ruan Liulang all along.
I still couldn't understand why that wolf would appear here now. Even if it had found an underground passage, how would it reach this spot—what about the shallow, cerulean spring? Did it swim? But there was no time to ponder. The wolf barked again, then crouched low, thrusting its hind legs into the earth, and launched itself toward Ruan Liulang.
Instinctively, I raised my rifle to fire, but Huang Ran yanked my weapon downward. He took his eyes off the wolf and Ruan Liulang, glanced at me, and smiled: "Kid, who were you about to shoot?" Realizing the implication, I unclenched my finger from the trigger. Huang Ran laughed again: "Don't put that rifle away—let's save it for the winner's prize shot." As soon as he said that, I lowered the muzzle and looked at him: "Old Huang, why don't you try? If you were in there, I'd definitely let you have that prize shot—what a perfect ending it would be." He only chuckled awkwardly and returned his gaze to the wolf and Ruan Liulang.
When Ruan Liulang saw the monstrous wolf, his face drained of blood. He stumbled backward, trying to create distance, but the wolf closed in before he could flee. Ruan Liulang raised his dagger to block. The wolf attacked with reckless abandon, rushing toward the blade. Ruan Liulang slashed along its throat, carving a blood-soaked gash. But the wolf's jaws still snapped at his neck, driving him to the ground. In an instant, man and beast writhed on the earth.
Ruan Liulang's bones—whatever they were made of—seemed indestructible. His neck was a grisly ruin of torn flesh draped over exposed bone, and the wolf's teeth rasped that bone audibly. Even so, the wolf could not tear his neck asunder. As I raised my rifle to help the wolf by firing at that exposed vertebra, Ruan Liulang suddenly released his grip on the wolf's head. He let the beast gnaw on him while using his other hand to withdraw a small, red wax sphere from inside his cloak. The sphere was about the size of a glass marble; wisps of dark vapor seeped from it continuously.
Hao Wenming's brow snapped up as he recognized that wax bead's origin a split second before Huang Ran did. Huang Ran's grin froze, and he yelled to me, "Shoot his hand—don't let him reach that bead!" I realized the danger too late to wait for Hao Wenming's signal. I fired at Ruan Liulang's wrist. As before, the bullet shredded his flesh without breaking any bone—but its force was enough to knock the wax sphere from his grasp. The bead tumbled to the ground.
At that sight, Hao Wenming finally recalled what that bead represented. Even though it lay near Ruan Liulang, it remained within his dark influence. Hao Wenming gritted his teeth and strode toward Ruan Liulang's position. He covered only a few steps when the battlefield shifted again: Ruan Liulang collapsed, his palm extending toward the wax bead. But a massive, bear-sized wolf still lay atop him, pinning him immobile. Ruan Liulang could only stretch out a trembling arm, desperately clawing for the bead—still centimeters out of reach.
Just as Hao Wenming was mere strides away, Ruan Liulang let out a fierce shout. I braced, thinking he would wrest free from the wolf. Instead, Ruan Liulang's body did not move—only his fingernails exuded an inky black vapor matching that of the wax sphere (though his was dimmer). The two plumes of black gas, as though magnetized, converged: the bead rolled across the ground back toward Ruan Liulang. With one hand, he slapped the bead. A (
"crack!") echoed, as if it had detonated. The flattened wax erupted, releasing a billowing cloud of dark vapor that immediately dissipated into the night—as though it had never existed. Hao Wenming, recognizing its import, leaped back in fright.
By the time Hao Wenming returned, he saw Huang Ran had already removed his boots and produced from the folded layer inside the boot several thin, alloy talismans—exactly like the one he had stepped on earlier. Apparently Huang Ran had stashed not only this talisman but at least one more. Without hesitation, Huang Ran knelt, scooped together the surrounding Buddha Ash, and drew it toward him. Then, unsheathing a short sword from behind his waist—identical to the ones I and Sun Fatty had gotten from Wu Rendi—Huang Ran slashed diagonally across his left palm. He handed the sword to his right hand, repeated the slash on his right palm, and smeared blood over both hollow talismans. Only then did I realize the talismans were deliberately laser-cut—delicate alloys, hollow at the center.
At that moment, Hao Wenming reappeared. Neither he nor Huang Ran spoke as they dropped to one knee together and, using the blood-soaked hollow talismans pressed against the circle of Buddha Ash around us, traced out an enormous, archaic circular sigil.
Next, Hao Wenming motioned for me, Sun Fatty, and Meng Qiqi to lift Zhang Zhiyan and Po Jun into the talisman circle. No sooner had we carried them inside than the scene shifted on Ruan Liulang's side. The wolf that had been pinned atop him suddenly released his neck, then spat a glutinous, blood-red puddle from its jaws before its legs gave out and it collapsed over Ruan Liulang's chest.
Ruan Liulang shoved the wolf off, then staggered upright. Blood covered his entire body; his neck was a mangled ruin of muscle and bone, yet he barely registered any pain. He took the shredded flesh from his neck and pressed it back over the exposed vertebra. Each step he took caused more flaps of skin to slip off, exposing that single vertebra again.
"Lazi, I can see his lymph—those stringy things. Gross, right?" Sun Fatty pointed at Ruan Liulang's neck. It was rare to see him worry about Ruan Liulang's anatomy—perhaps Hao Wenming's presence emboldened him. Watching Ruan Liulang in this state made my heart pound: he was no longer human. Less than a day ago, this man masquerading as Ruan Liang had been greeting us in the airport's arrival hall, holding a sign that read "Tianshan Pears • Hao Wenming." That so-called sharpshooter second lieutenant would never return.
At that instant, the wolf beside Ruan Liulang rose in a drunken sway. It lurched forward, aiming for Ruan Liulang's back. But halfway there, it collapsed again, lying on its side, gasping only exhalations of blood-tinged fluid from its mouth and nose. Its ribs heaved with bloodless breaths. Ruan Liulang turned, glared at it, and the wolf let out a final, mournful howl—hauntingly similar to the screech of a black-cat revenant.
Then the wolf found strength again. It rose and charged but moved in slow motion. As it neared Ruan Liulang, he braced with the Thousand-Cuts Blade and drove it straight into the wolf's mouth. I heard the wolf yelp weakly, struggle a few more seconds, then fall still—its jaws frozen around Ruan Liulang's arm. The moment the wolf drew its last breath, another howl echoed from the Arcanobeast's Tomb. It sounded both distant and right beside us, making my blood run cold—because that howl was laced with the same horrid undertone as a black-cat revenant's call.