Chapter Three: The Demon Corpse General Chen

I hastily put together a makeshift shelter and crawled inside for a nap. When I awoke, the world was already shrouded in darkness. Still groggy, I rolled over, stretching my right hand out by instinct. The sensation that followed shot straight to my brain with a jolt of alarm, for my hand, separated only by thin clothing, had come to rest on a soft, bun-like mound. I couldn't help squeezing it a few times—Old Ma’s hairy chest would never be so yielding. Curiosity got the better of me, and I turned to see who it was.

All I remember next is being kicked out of the tent. The faint fragrance told me exactly who she was. Misfortune really does follow the unlucky—even drinking cold water can get something stuck in your teeth. And what crime had I committed, merely rolling over in my sleep? Yet here I was, ejected from the tent. As I tumbled out, I caught the sound of her hurried breathing—clearly, my inadvertent action had startled her as well.

Looking up at the sky, I saw even the moon was missing a chunk, though its light was bright enough. Everyone else was already deep in their dreams, so I knocked on the shelter that had been mine and apologized through the fabric.

I must have said “I’m sorry, please forgive me” hundreds of times, but all I got in response was snoring. “Damn it,” I muttered, “I’m here apologizing in earnest, and she’s using it as a lullaby.” Frustrated beyond words, I sat on a rock, lit a cigarette, and took a drag. The harsh smoke burned my throat, but the discomfort felt oddly relieving.

I hadn’t been a smoker before. But overwhelmed by frustration, I decided to try it. In the peak of summer, dressed only in shorts and a thin shirt, I became the prime target for every mosquito in the wild. Wave after wave of the bloodsuckers descended, driving me nearly mad with their relentless bites.

As I was about to lose my mind from the itching, a figure that looked like Old Ma appeared about ten meters away. It was too dark for him to notice me. Curious what he was up to—whether he planned to scare everyone or was up to something else—I crept behind my shelter and followed him in secret, thinking, “This old fox, tonight I’ll finally see what tricks he’s playing.”

Old Ma moved stealthily over several mounds, heading straight toward the massive earthen pile that had clearly affected him earlier. What business did he have there, sneaking out at this hour? Could it be the burial mound of some ancient emperor? Was Old Ma about to rob a tomb?

I’d never heard of any emperor being buried in Shennongjia, let alone with nothing but a huge mound to mark his resting place.

I crept after him, unaware that someone was following me as well.

A mile isn’t far, and before long we’d reached the giant mound. I hid behind a tree, watching Old Ma by the pale moonlight as he performed some ritual I couldn’t fathom.

Was it Taoist magic? Witchcraft? Could Old Ma really be practicing sorcery? A flood of questions filled my mind.

We were only a few dozen meters apart, and I could just make out what he was saying.

I heard him chant something like, “Lin, Bing, Dou, Zhe, Jie, Zai, Qian!” It struck me: “Isn’t that the Nine-Word Mantra from the Northern Ma family?” Just like in the movies. Had Old Ma finally lost his mind after these past few days?

I’d always been a skeptic, so I watched his actions with nothing but curiosity.

But what happened next shattered my disbelief entirely.

Old Ma pulled out talisman paper, ink, and a brush from his backpack, along with a peachwood sword I recognized instantly.

“Demon corpse of the appointed hour, I, Ma Tao, eighty-first generation disciple of the Ma family, have finally tracked your aura to this place! Show yourself!” His words sounded so theatrical I almost laughed—until a mournful wail rose, and a dark shadow shot out from the mound, lunging at Old Ma.

I was paralyzed, nearly screaming as I watched. Old Ma flung several talismans at the demon corpse, but they had little effect—only a few sparks flickered in the dark. Seeing this, he raised his peachwood sword and slashed at the creature. The glow from the talismans briefly illuminated its figure: long, filthy claws, tangled hair, tattered clothes, and teeth that were needle-sharp and grotesquely long.

My legs turned to jelly and I struggled to flee—only to realize someone was standing right behind me. In that terrifying moment, discovering a silent figure at my back would make anyone scream.

Don’t call me a man—because I refuse to claim that title. Men are fools, stubbornly persisting in what can't be done, with nothing to show for it in the end.

Before I could cry out, a hand clamped over my mouth, stifling my scream to a muffled “Mm!” Yet even that tiny sound was sharp enough to alert both Old Ma and the demon corpse.

I turned to see who had silenced me—it was A Shuang. She’d followed me after all and hadn’t slept.

Old Ma was already locked in combat with the monster, who looked like a deranged beggar. He’d been knocked close to where we hid. A Shuang formed seals with her hands, reciting the Nine-Word Mantra, and deflected the demon corpse’s claw just as it reached for me, then pulled me toward camp.

But my long legs refused to cooperate—I’d barely taken a few steps before collapsing to the ground. No matter how I tried, I simply couldn’t run. A Shuang, frail as she was, tried to help me, but how could she support a six-foot man? Realizing she couldn't drag me, she turned back to face the demon corpse, forming seals and thrusting her hands forward to force the monster back.

Old Ma proved himself formidable, roaring as he drove the peachwood sword into the demon corpse again and again. But a moment’s distraction cost him dearly—a punch from the corpse sent him flying, blood spurting from his mouth as he crashed to the ground, writhing in pain.

I was frozen with terror, more frightened than I’d ever been in my life. The last thing I heard was A Shuang crying out, “Father!” before everything went black.

What happened afterward I don’t know. When I finally awoke, I found myself and A Shuang in the critical ward of a city hospital. She had woken before me, her eyes red and swollen from crying.

I felt an itch at my neck, but nothing seemed wrong, so I didn’t pay it any mind.

It was only after questioning A Shuang about that night that I learned Old Ma was her father. He was undergoing surgery to save us both.

Like me, she’d fainted and awoken in the hospital. Her father had used the forbidden art of the Ma family, risking his life for us. If not for me, he’d never have been in danger. Even if he couldn’t defeat that thing, he would have escaped unharmed. Now, all I could do was silently pray for him.

... (Various pleas...)