Chapter Thirty-Nine: Flame-Tailed Lian

PS. Here’s today’s update, and while I’m at it, let me give a little plug for the “Qidian 515 Fans Festival.” Everyone gets eight votes—casting them even earns you Qidian coins. I’m humbly asking for your support and appreciation!

Out of curiosity, Hongye noticed the look of shock and horror frozen on my face. She tugged at my hand and asked, “What exactly is a Fire-Tailed Lian?”

I forced a bitter smile. “If he hadn’t mentioned it, I might not have remembered. I’ve never actually seen one myself—I’ve only ever heard my squad leader talk about it. It’s a kind of ‘beast-eater.’”

After that, I shared everything I knew about the Fire-Tailed Lian with everyone.

I had always thought the Fire-Tailed Lian was nothing more than a legend, and legendary creatures tend to be shrouded in mystery and uncertainty.

It’s said this creature is drawn by the scent of human hearths, its tail ablaze, breathing venomous insects, chasing away ghosts and spirits, and it’s particularly skilled at hunting foxes.

Moreover, its abilities are formidable—it’s immune to all poisons, has a ferocious appetite, and devours with an insatiable hunger, savoring all the world’s flavors. Yet, it has a peculiar palate: it only eats filth and toxic things.

Because of its taste for “filth,” among cooks it’s earned another infamous title: “Fire-Tailed Wrecker of Fortune.”

“Wrecker of Fortune” naturally means the bringer of bankruptcy and ruin.

In the culinary world, it’s a symbol of “inauspicious consumption that ruins its master, tasteless to eat, shattering pots and scattering wealth, collapsing temples and extinguishing hearths”—an omen of great misfortune, known as the most dreaded “ferocious eater” in every cook’s temple of the five viscera.

As my old squad leader once put it, this wretched thing is nothing but doom incarnate for a cook!

In ancient times, superstitious chefs believed that anyone who saw—or even dreamed of—this fiery-tailed abomination was doomed. They’d be better off hanging up their knives, smashing their stoves, or even slitting their own throats; otherwise, utter ruin and death without a corpse would follow.

…So, when Old Nineteen spoke the words “Fire-Tailed Lian,” my first thought was—should I just resign myself to death? Or perhaps bid farewell to this trade forever?

Old Nineteen saw my troubled, shifting expression and suddenly shook his head. “You’re young, but you sure know a lot, though you don’t seem to have much sense. I’ve spelled it out for you, and you still don’t understand?”

That one sentence struck me like lightning!

Three tables of funerary feasts on crimson paper, moldy ancient sticky rice, the cats gathering under the moonlight, the robbery of our luggage, the hostile cat-man, and the Mingdeng King… Only one piece was missing from this puzzle.

I ventured a guess. “So… this Fire-Tailed Lian was deliberately summoned by someone? And that someone is a cook from the Five Viscera Temple? The summoning method was those three tables of sticky rice funerary feasts? We just happened to stumble into the ritual and disrupted it—so that’s why all this happened, isn’t it?”

Old Nineteen nodded.

But I still didn’t understand. “But… why would anyone summon such a ruinous, baleful creature? What could possibly be the point? Are they courting death?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and gazed out the window into the darkness for a long time before finally replying, “Maybe… it was for revenge. The human heart is far too complicated.”

Revenge… against whom?

I wanted to ask more, but Old Nineteen stopped me with a gesture.

Because, just then, the long, mournful cry of a fox rose outside the door, and Old Nineteen’s face changed dramatically.

He suddenly opened the wooden door and strode outside. Halfway out, he turned back to us and said, “I’ll go deal with the loose ends you left behind. You’ll be safe here—at dawn, leave as soon as you can.”

“You’re going alone? Don’t you need our help?” I pressed.

Old Nineteen nodded, then pointed to Wang Hou lying on my bed. “Don’t worry about your brother’s curse. When you get to Zhao Family Tower, find someone named ‘Zhao Haipeng.’ He knows how to save him—one of the few good men left in the Five Viscera Temple.”

His words sent a jolt through my heart.

Zhao Haipeng? That’s my old squad leader’s name! Does Old Nineteen know him too?

Who exactly is this man?

The man added, “One more thing—this is important for your brother’s sake: whatever you do, don’t mention my name at Zhao Family Tower. Otherwise, nothing you seek will succeed. Understand?”

With that, he ignored us, vanishing into the thick darkness, evaporating as if he’d never existed.

In the cold breeze and moonlight, I had a sudden premonition that he would not return.

After that, we entered a period of endless, aimless waiting.

In the silence, none of us could sleep, but there was nothing to say. What could we say? We’d only been swept up in this chaos by misfortune, left to passively deal with everything, trying to make sense of things without ever knowing the true cause.

Guessing? I didn’t have the energy.

At one point, I got up and retrieved the luggage Wang Hou had risked his life to recover, found some clothes for everyone to change into, and checked the bags. Though we’d lost our cigarettes, a lot of clothes, and some food, most of the herbs for suppressing the White Food parasite were thankfully still there.

As for everything else, we’d deal with it at my old squad leader’s house.

So, we waited, and waited for dawn to break.

But just before the light, I finally drifted into sleep.

And so, I found myself in that dream again—the one where my old squad leader tries to split my skull with a cleaver.

I dreamed I was back in the entryway to his house. As expected, he greeted me with a cleaver in hand, its old blade still stained with dark blood, glaringly bright in the sunlight.

Nervous, I shook his hand and hugged him. But just as we were about to part, he placed the cleaver before me.

In a weary voice, he told me he was glad to see me, and as a gift, wanted me to accept his family’s heirloom cleaver.

Though I remembered how he’d “chopped” me before, for some reason, I still followed a script, refusing it. “This imperial cleaver is your family’s treasure, I can’t accept it—even if you kill me, I won’t.”

As expected, he insisted, raising the cleaver high and threatening to kill me if I didn’t take it.

But just as he was about to bring it down, he suddenly looked past me, his expression changing, and withdrew the cleaver.

I felt a strange sense of confusion.

Shaking his arm, I asked, “Squad leader! Why didn’t you chop me? If you don’t, how am I supposed to wake up?”

He gave me a helpless smile, then gently pushed me away. “Bu Er, now that you’re here, let’s drink for a few days. And I—well, I’m waiting to smoke those cigarettes you promised to bring me. Beidaihe! Remember?”

With those words, he turned back into his entryway, ignoring my desperate calls.

I tried to chase after him, but as I took a step, a hand gripped me tightly from behind.

It was Hongye, who woke me up.

She gently shook me, and as I opened my eyes, she smiled sweetly, “Old Tian, the sun’s already up. Let’s go.”

Only then did I realize everyone was packed and ready. Zhao Hong was already panting from carrying the unconscious Wang Hou and was looking at me expectantly.

He was exhausted and clearly needed my help.

And, as I’d expected, Old Nineteen never returned.

Seeing Zhao Hong’s struggle, I smiled wryly, sat up, and helped him steady the barely conscious Wang Hou.

But as I stood, I suddenly realized my injuries—were nearly eighty percent healed.

Shocked, I looked at Hongye, a little excited. “My injuries—are they really healed? I’m not dreaming, am I?!”

Hongye nodded, smiling, and imitated Old Nineteen’s tone, “This is… the foxes’ reward. We helped them slay the Mingdeng King, so they saved us in return.”

That was perhaps the only good news I’d heard in days.

Without the pain and poison, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders, and even carrying Wang Hou didn’t seem so heavy anymore.

So, Zhao Hong and I hummed old army songs, pushed open the wooden door, and continued on our journey.

Outside, the first thing I saw was the undulating peaks of the Yimeng Mountains stretching into the distance. Among those hills, the closest one loomed before us, its summit flat and bristling with countless stone pillars and stone figures of varying size.

That was unmistakably the Shiren Hill we’d been seeking! Were we finally there? This journey had truly been as arduous as the pilgrimage to the West…

But just as I was sighing with relief, I heard Hongye exclaim, “Look! Quickly!”

She pointed ahead, and I followed her gaze.

My pupils contracted in shock.

How could this be?

Beyond the thicket outside the cabin, I saw the faint, white silhouette of a vehicle.

It was our pickup truck.

From where I stood, the truck was less than a hundred meters away, meaning that last night, we’d simply circled in the woods, only to end up right where we’d started.

Setting out from the origin, only to return to it.

“Why is that?” Hongye asked in astonishment. “When Old Nineteen and I left the cabin, I remember nothing but endless scrub and brush. We walked for ages and never found an edge. But now the pickup is right there…”

Hearing this, I thought I understood.

I turned and looked back at the wooden cabin.

It stood under a low, broken cliff, plain and unadorned, but under its eaves… there hung a black lantern, swaying gently in the wind.

I gazed at the black-stained lantern, smiled wryly, and turned back to help Zhao Hong carry Wang Hou to the pickup.

Around the truck, as I expected, everything except for the shattered glass had vanished: the stones on the seats, the three tables of the funerary feast in the middle of the Old Qi Road, and the sticky rice covered in black mold.

Everything was gone, as if it had all been a dream.

After settling Wang Hou, Zhao Hong kept asking if we were dreaming. He went to look for the cabin, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find it.

I patted his shoulder. “Don’t bother. The place we stayed last night… that wasn’t built by human hands.”

“What?” Zhao Hong stared at me.

“What? I don’t know either! Honestly, the questions you’re asking are ones I’d like to ask someone else,” I replied, disheartened.

To be honest, there was still so much about last night that we didn’t understand: who buried the dead cat Wang Hou dropped? Why was Hongye’s phone in the Mingdeng King’s mouth? What exactly were the cat-people? Why was Wang Hou’s phone placed on the altar in the Yin Soldiers’ Tomb? Who set the funerary feast and summoned the Fire-Tailed Lian?

But who could I ask? The only one who might have known was Old Nineteen. But whether he was man or demon, we never figured out.

Too tired to think further, the only things lingering in my mind were the black lantern and the name Old Nineteen.

Soon, under the rising sun, we drove the pickup along the flat Old Qi Road, finally reaching the Shiren Hill and Zhao Family Tower I’d longed for.

My old squad leader was waiting for me there. Perhaps the Mingdeng King and the cat-bodied man as well.

In any case, to awaken Wang Hou, to rid ourselves of the White Food parasite, and to help my old squad leader with his predicament, we had to go on, no matter what.

[“Food Curse: Volume II, Ghostly Feasts of Southern Shandong (Part One), End. 2016.3.26]

[515 is just around the corner. I hope to make the 515 Red Packet Leaderboard again, so that on May 15th, the Red Packet Rain can reward readers and promote the work. Every little bit counts, and I’ll keep updating diligently!]