Chapter Thirty-Five: A Perfect Resolution (Third Update)

In the moment of crisis, the deep violet flames on Song Nianqiang’s talisman were about to burn out, and Song Nianqiang himself could barely stand, swaying unsteadily as if he might collapse at any second. Fortunately, the hefty man arrived just in time.

With a forceful slap, the fat man pressed his talisman onto Zhang Yu’s forehead and yanked it back hard. Instantly, a faint green figure was pulled from Zhang Yu’s brow, releasing a heartrending shriek that made the big man’s hand tremble—he nearly dropped the talisman. Luckily, at this crucial juncture, he managed not to fumble, stubbornly dragging the water ghost out from Zhang Yu’s body and sealing it into the talisman. Song Nianqiang then hurried over to the cup of clear liquor, quickly plunged the talisman into it, and the yellow paper burst with a sudden glow, disintegrating into a puddle of ash that settled in the wine.

“Hurry! Make Zhang Yu drink it!” Song Nianqiang cried, then his body gave out and he collapsed to the ground. His repeated extraordinary efforts had left him utterly spent; he had no strength left to hold himself up.

A middle-aged man nearby, hearing the command, immediately brought the cup over, propped Zhang Yu up, and poured the liquor down his throat. Zhang Yu exhaled a long, foul breath and then sank into a deep sleep. As for the fat man, his talisman had already burned away, and with it, the water ghost was destroyed as well.

Song Nianqiang’s mind swam with dizziness, and in the end, he succumbed and fainted. The hefty man and two others dragged Song Nianqiang and Zhang Yu deeper into the ruined temple, fearing that the water ghosts outside might break in.

A flash of lightning split the night, illuminating the world outside and revealing the lingering water ghosts who refused to depart. Time and again they tried to rush in, but were repelled each time. Even a dilapidated temple was not a place those spirits could trespass—let alone now, when Zhang Yu had drunk the talisman water Song Nianqiang had prepared, and his soul was slowly stabilizing.

That night stretched on endlessly. The fat man relit an incense stick before the temple’s Buddha statue; after all, they were on sacred ground, and even if the statue was lifeless, proper respect had to be shown.

Rain continued to pour outside, and by the latter half of the night, the fat man too could no longer hold out. Like Song Nianqiang, he had forcibly performed many forbidden arts, and lasting this long was already a miracle. His eyes rolled back, and he fainted, leaving only the two relatively robust ordinary men awake.

Now, those two dared not sleep. The water ghosts outside remained, howling with a piercing, bone-chilling wail that left the men restless and unnerved. Yet although they were ordinary, they had followed Zhang Yu for a long time and witnessed many extraordinary events. So, they sat as still as statues beneath the Buddha, unmoving.

Time trickled by. The rain outside gradually eased, though the thunder and lightning showed no sign of stopping, continuing to split the night sky now and then. Perhaps dawn was near, for the water ghosts finally began to disperse, one by one. Outside, only the patter of rain and the rumble of thunder remained—no other sound disturbed the silence.

The two men kept their eyes open all night. When exhaustion became too much, they pinched their own thighs to stay awake. At last, when the first ray of morning sunlight streamed in through the doorway, the two men, grown men both, wept tears of joy. The sunlight meant their lives were no longer in danger.

Perhaps those waiting for them at the rendezvous realized something was amiss, and sent people up the mountain to search. Around nine in the morning, Song Nianqiang and his companions were finally found, still unconscious. The two men were overjoyed at the sight of their rescuers—their phones had been lost in last night’s chaos.

“Get them to the nearest hospital, quickly!” shouted an elderly man, looking to be about sixty, to his companions. Then he turned to the two middle-aged men and demanded, “Where are the bodies?”

After a brief pause, the two hurried outside. Despite his age, the old man was nimble, following close behind them. Soon they reached the place where the corpses lay. At first glance, the old man gasped; the bodies were scattered in disarray, only a few still standing.

Those that had fallen had been struck by sunlight. Such corpses, their last breath not yet expelled at death, were still far from becoming corpse demons, let alone zombies. Even zombies fear sunlight, and these dead, once bathed in sunlight, became nothing more than true corpses—the final traces of life utterly gone.

They hurried to move the remaining upright corpses into the shadows. The old man searched the ground for a while and found the bell Song Nianqiang had thrown aside the night before. Evidently, the old man was skilled at corpse-driving too; he shook the bell, leading the bodies forward, but the result was disappointing: of over thirty corpses, only five could still move. This mission had ended in both loss and failure.

These last five corpses, however, could not be lost. If anything happened to them, the old master back on the mountain would erupt in fury, and none could withstand his wrath. Thus, Song Nianqiang’s mission ended in uncertainty.

Song Nianqiang was the first to awaken after three days in the hospital. He saw the white walls around him and instantly understood where he was. Glancing to either side, he found the fat man and Zhang Yu sleeping peacefully. Song Nianqiang smiled, but as he tried to lift his arm, a sharp pain shot through him—clearly, his injuries had been severe.

Bored, he sat in bed, and after about half an hour, the fat man and Zhang Yu woke almost simultaneously. At first, they were confused, but a look around soon clarified matters.

“How are my corpses?” was Zhang Yu’s first question upon waking—testament to his dedication. Song Nianqiang shrugged, indicating he had no idea. Just then, someone entered and said to Zhang Yu, “Only five are left; the rest are lost.” With a sigh, he added, “The old master won’t blame you. After all, you faced a natural disaster, not sabotage.”

Song Nianqiang wanted to interject that it was sabotage, but after glancing at Zhang Yu’s ashen face, he thought better of it. Zhang Yu clearly understood he was to blame, but kept the truth to himself.

Zhang Yu was otherwise unharmed and departed for Hunan the very next day. The five remaining corpses had probably already been returned to their base, so Song Nianqiang and his companions no longer had to worry.

The day after Zhang Yu left, a familiar face came to visit Song Nianqiang. Though the mission had failed, the sallow-faced man still handed Song Nianqiang fifty thousand yuan—after all, he had saved his most beloved disciple’s life. To appear stingy would have been improper.

Since someone offered him money, Song Nianqiang accepted it without hesitation. Though the mission had failed and he was badly injured, earning fifty thousand yuan made it all worthwhile.

They stayed in the hospital for seven days, the medical expenses covered by others. When Song Nianqiang and his companion were discharged, a car was waiting to take them back to their rented flat. The sallow-faced man had thought of everything.

In the north, September is a rainy season; when the overcast weather arrives, it can last a week. With this ordeal behind them, Song Nianqiang and his friend resumed the tranquil life of students: classroom, canteen, rented room—the simple routine of high schoolers whose single most important task is to bury themselves in study.