Chapter Five: A Hero Rescues a Maiden — The Southern Maos and Northern Mas

Should I rush forward or stay here, watching with eyes sharper than most? In the end, reason prevailed over sentiment, and I pulled myself up and started walking, though I wasn’t sure if this counted as the classic “hero saves the beauty.” If it did, then I might as well add some flair. I approached until I was about five or six meters from them; they hadn't noticed me yet, so I blurted out the most popular phrase of the time: “Beast, let go of that girl.”

It worked. There were six punks in total, armed with gleaming knives that looked all the more sinister against the dark beach. To my eyes, the night was as clear as day. I saw their heads covered in long green hair, which inevitably brought to mind the idea of cuckolds. These guys were truly pathetic.

Upon hearing my voice, the six thugs stopped what they were doing and turned to face me. If I said I wasn’t excited, I’d be lying; I didn’t think much, just wondered: “Since I’ve become a first-generation demon corpse, will I be as impossible to kill as those zombies in ‘My Date with a Vampire’?” And so, with reckless heroism, I stepped forward.

The leader, green-haired and swaggering with a knife, staggered up to me and pressed the blade against my chest. I wanted to say to him, “Are you sure you can even reach my neck?” But instead, he flicked his thumb from behind his neck, gestured to his crew, and said, “Who are you running with? In Y City, you don’t even know me, Ma Cha Chong?” His tone was full of arrogance.

Who could I possibly be running with? I was a model student—well, perhaps not the best academically, but certainly a follower of the Communist Party. And thinking about ‘Ma Cha Chong,’ his name together spells ‘obscene.’ I wondered whether his father was truly cultured or just pretending.

Without much thought, I replied, “I follow the Communist Party, brother.” The whole group was left speechless.

The thugs didn’t waste any more words; they surrounded me, cursing. What kind of world breeds such mediocrity? I couldn’t afford to lose face in front of the beauty, so I leaped in front of the girl, striking a pose that startled them—making them assume I was a black belt in Taekwondo. While they were caught off guard, I grabbed the girl’s hand and bolted, shouting, “If not now, when?” The girl was clearly still in shock, moving woodenly with my pull, uncertain whether from fear or admiration.

The six thugs shouted, “Stop!” and chased after us. Though my long legs could carry me swiftly, they were hampered by the burden beside me, and in no time, we were surrounded.

I struck a crane fist pose, and the leader barked, “Beat him up!” Next thing I knew, I was on the ground, pummeled by fists and feet. The girl tried to pull me out of the fray, bringing me a touch of warmth—it felt as if my luck with women was about to begin.

I couldn’t let her suffer for my sake. I sprang up, fighting the six thugs. Fighting wasn’t my strong suit, but now that I was a first-generation demon corpse, I couldn’t afford to be bested so easily. I threw a right hook, landing it on the leader’s face, which gave me great satisfaction, and I chased him relentlessly, ignoring the blows from the others.

It’s not the obvious danger that worries me, but the hidden one. Unprepared, I was stabbed in the lower abdomen by Ma Cha Chong. I fell instantly. Sensing things had gone awry, the thugs scattered in all directions without looking back.

Such is the unpredictability of life—when real trouble arises, those who posture the most are the first to cower. The knife remained lodged in my abdomen, the pain excruciating. I wondered, “Is this what dying feels like?” Fortunately, the girl wasn’t completely paralyzed by fear. I pulled the knife from my abdomen; it hadn’t struck a vital organ, merely pierced through. Strangely, not a drop of blood flowed.

Aren’t zombies supposed to be immortal? Why did I feel as if I was dying? Damn those misleading movies. I pushed the girl away, mimicking the scene from films, urging her to leave. To my surprise, she obeyed instantly, fleeing without a backward glance.

“Am I doomed to die in frustration on this wretched beach?” As I waited for death, my wound began to heal before my very eyes.

A miracle unfolded right in front of me. Excitement surged within me; my back itched, as if something was about to emerge.

Within moments, the wound was as good as new, as if nothing had happened. The itching in my back intensified, and my mouth tingled. I was both exhilarated and terrified—excited because I was about to transform, afraid because I had no idea what monster I’d become.

At last, pain shot through my back, and my canine teeth grew long and sharp. A bat-like wing appeared on my back, covered in dense golden script. Crouching by the beach, I felt my body’s power grow stronger and stronger, all thanks to General Jiang Chen, the demon corpse.

The heavens changed as well; the once pitch-black sky turned blood red. I marveled at the strange power coursing through me, and spread my wings to soar into the sky, savoring the pleasure of this perfect body.

On the outskirts, outside a cluster of low houses, a middle-aged man observed the sudden shift in the heavens, pinched his fingers in calculation, his expression darkening, and entered one of the houses.

Inside, an altar was dedicated to the Heavenly Lord, indicating this was a temporary base for a righteous religious order. Within a small house, in the span of two hours, over a dozen people arrived with their disciples. They all performed the same ritual—first bowing to the Heavenly Lord, then taking their seats. Old Ma was among them, sitting to the left of the three elders, suggesting he held considerable status here. Ah Shuang stood obediently behind him.

The middle-aged man who calculated the heavenly signs sat next to Old Ma, silent.

Old Ma was the first to break the silence: “Uncle Mao, the Ma family observed signs of the demon corpse’s awakening tonight. It seems these lesser demon corpses are about to pledge allegiance to this newly emerged first-generation zombie!” Despite being a fellow middle-aged man, Old Ma addressed him as Uncle Mao, showing that within the order, seniority was determined by initiation, not age.

Old Ma didn’t mention my existence, nor the trip to Shennongjia, hinting at hidden motives.

The man called Uncle Mao nodded gravely. “Years ago, our Southern Mao and Northern Ma clans united to seal the destructive zombies for thousands of years. It seems we must go through the ordeal once more. Tonight, my calculations revealed that this first-generation demon corpse is no ordinary descendant. He’s the eleventh survivor spoken of by General Jiang Chen—the sole first-generation Golden Corpse King.”

Uncle Mao’s words stirred chaos among the assembled. Only the masters seemed to grasp the significance of the Golden Corpse King; the disciples were likely clueless.

Uncle Mao, seated at the center, was the most esteemed figure among the Southern Mao and Northern Ma, with unmatched talent in Taoist arts. His words left a deep impression on all: “The Golden Corpse King is the most formidable high-level demon corpse beneath General Jiang Chen. The odds of one appearing are vanishingly small—only once before, during the Western Zhou, when it proved ferociously lethal. In the end, Southern Mao and Northern Ma sacrificed countless disciples to destroy it. Now, our disciples have declined, and fewer and fewer pursue the Tao, even fewer are gifted. We must destroy the Golden Corpse King before he tastes human blood, or he and General Jiang Chen will become unparalleled scourges.”

Having finished, Uncle Mao instructed the elders of each sect to return and prepare, organizing their disciples to head to Mount Fengdu, where the corpses were gathering, to block the revival of lesser demon corpses. As Uncle Mao prepared to leave, Old Ma grabbed his arm, sending Ah Shuang away, leaving only the two of them in the small house.

…