A faint sound in the darkness sent a chill down our spines. Who was that extra person? What was he intending to do before the crematorium furnace? A deeply sinister premonition gripped me—surely someone wasn't planning to open that furnace door? The consequences of such an act would be unimaginable. But in the absolute blackness of the basement, we were blind and paralyzed. I managed a low whisper, urging Ding Sitian to strike a match and light a torch for illumination, but she was already tense, failing to strike a spark on her first two tries. Panic fluttered in her chest, and in her agitation, she pressed down harder. Clumsily, with too much force, she scattered the last few matches remaining in the box onto the floor. Just then, we heard the solid clack of the furnace door's iron bolt being swiftly and cleanly drawn back.

The torch went out. There wasn't a single glimmer of light left in the cold, dark cremation chamber. The four of us huddled together, refusing to leave each other's side. When we then heard the metallic sound of the furnace bolts from the distance, sheer terror mixed with astonishment struck us all. The immediate thought that flashed through our minds was: "It's haunted!"

The basement was so dark you couldn't see your own hand in front of your face, but I knew too well: "The moment that crematorium door opens, whatever is trapped inside will be released. Inside this small room, we stand no chance of resisting." Fear momentarily forgotten, I charged toward the sound in the darkness, desperate to slam the door shut again before it could fully open.

But several corpse-transporting trolleys—also known as Taiping carts—lay sprawled before the crematorium furnace. We had just been discussing why they were named Taiping (meaning 'peaceful' or 'tranquil'); perhaps it was because death brought release, leaving all worldly troubles behind, a quiet departure from the sea of suffering. Little did we expect the morgue to be anything but peaceful. Especially in the pitch black, unable to see a thing, I only managed two steps before crashing violently into a corpse trolley. My foot then caught on a shroud carelessly dropped on the floor, sending me sprawling onto the cold ground.

Just as I fell, the furnace door, its bolt now retracted, banged open with a loud clang. Accompanied by a grating, scraping sound, a ball of spectral fire floated out from the furnace. Simultaneously, a light flared behind me—Ding Sitian had finally managed to ignite the torch bundle made of wrapped shrouds with the single match she had left. I, still flat on the ground, looked toward the furnace through the flickering firelight: the door was wide open. Peering out was a head—square-jawed and broad-mouthed—with triangular features and eyes like mirrors. The creature was missing an eye, and its single remaining orb glowed like a red candle wick. Its entire body was smeared pitch-black from the coal ash inside the furnace, and the limited reach of the torch made it impossible to discern what kind of monster it truly was.

The one-eyed monster, having been confined in the flue for so long, lunged at the first thing it saw. Its dark body seemed covered in scales, and as it moved, it dragged a wave of foul air. Sensing immediate danger, I didn't waste time trying to stand up; instead, I rolled beneath a nearby metal autopsy table. A vicious wind rushed over my head as the table itself—like a whirlwind scattering dry leaves—was violently knocked away.

Seeing my metallic shield gone, I scrambled unsteadily to my feet to dodge, stumbling as I moved. Behind me, Fatty and Ding Sitian were frozen in shock. The heavy thud of the iron table hitting the ground finally snapped them out of their trance. They quickly lit two more torches and began waving them frantically, hoping to drive the creature back. While Yun Shen Wuji gave me a momentary reprieve, I managed to catch my breath and noticed the monster emerging from the furnace was coated in greasy, corpse-like residue. Fire was our only defense. Amidst the chaos, I shouted for Fatty to light the kindling quickly.

Although Fatty was a reckless brute who seemed unconcerned by most things, he was no ordinary person; he was, after all, from a military family, battle-hardened from countless street fights since childhood, ruthless and utterly fearless in a brawl. In middle school, he dared to slap a high school student. His psychological fortitude was exceptionally strong. To use Ding Sitian’s assessment from the mass struggle rallies: he possessed not only a mature and complete theory of struggle but, more admirably, the spirit and courage to engage in and master conflict. Put plainly, besides fighting, the man was unsuitable for any other job.

When I called for him to use fire, Fatty instantly grasped my intent. He leaped onto another steel autopsy table, using the height advantage to aim his torch directly at the menacing black shadow flashing its wicked eyes. But the creature was swift as the wind; with a rasping sound of scales, it dodged aside. Fatty’s torch sailed wide. I ducked into a corner, watching intently. As the torch neared the floor, I sprang up, catching it just before it hit the ground, and immediately threw it again in the direction the monster was moving.

That direction led straight into a dead end. I was certain this throw would be a direct hit, leaving it no place to escape. But the torch was just a wooden stick wrapped in shroud cloth, smeared with the black grease I'd picked up climbing the flue. Any sharp movement caused the flame to dim. After two frantic throws by Fatty and me, the wind had extinguished the fire on the torches; all that remained were two sticks tossed into the corner.

In that split second, the monster that burst from the crematorium had swept halfway across the basement, rushing toward Ding Sitian like a black whirlwind. At that moment, she and Old Sheepskin were busy lighting the remaining torches to support Fatty and me. They were at the opposite end of the basement, never expecting the attack to arrive with such sudden, storm-like speed.

Fatty and I, being flesh and blood, couldn't possibly charge across in time to shield Ding Sitian. We could only yell, "Smash its dog head with your torches!" Ding Sitian swung her torch horizontally at the creature. The scattered sparks landed squarely on its blackened body. In the darkness, with a sudden whoosh, the fire erupted, as if igniting a fiery dragon. Amidst a screech of pain, flames soared high. The dragon, nearly ten feet long, suddenly retracted into a massive fireball and was violently ejected backward. Its power was unimaginable; it was a final, desperate struggle, using every ounce of its strength. The impact shook the walls three times. Most incredibly, this recoil slammed directly into the basement's water pipe. Several pipes as thick as an arm burst open, spraying black water everywhere, instantly soaking the floor. The fireball rolled twice on the ground before the flames were extinguished.

The water pipes in the cremation room were meant for rinsing filth, and one still had the rubber hose attached for washing corpses. The pipe walls were coated in rust, and the shock of the impact caused residual sewage water to gush out. Ironically, the monster had accidentally extinguished its own fire with the flooding water.

Fatty and I seized the moment, rushing to Old Sheepskin and Ding Sitian’s side, and relit two more torches. The four of us looked at the burst pipe and all started in shock. The initial discharge of water was murky and foul, but it extinguished the flames instantly. The subsequent water flowing out was cleaner. Washed by the water, the creature whose eyes glowed like ghost lights revealed its true form. Its body was covered in patterns resembling ancient brocade, its scales shifting unpredictably. Near its anus were vestiges of atrophied hind legs, and its body was thick at the front, tapering toward the rear. Its tail was as thin as a steel needle, capable of piercing a hundred copper coins. It was a Jin Lin Jiao—a 'Brocaded-Scaled Serpent'—a creature that prefers to dwell on treetops and towers, preying on birds and bats. It only spits venom at the hours of Zi and Wu (midnight and noon). Though usually non-venomous, it possesses superhuman strength, capable of strangling and devouring humans and animals. This particular specimen was already blind in one eye, its remaining socket a tangle of red threads, its fierce gaze shooting out cold sparks.

Ding Sitian's father had once captured a specimen of this creature for the museum, and she had seen it there; she had told me about it. Jiao creatures often inhabit dense forests. In areas where fierce Jiao were active, locals claimed the thing was as long as a human arm, capable of generating wind when it moved, often rearing up to chase living people. It was considered a type of **dragon, or perhaps the largest of all snakes, notorious for its savage nature. If it entangled a woman and inserted its tail into her private parts, death was certain. Its flesh, however, was a potent medicine, possessing miraculous effects. The tailbone of the Jiao was known in folklore as the "Ruyi Hook." When fully formed, it closely resembled a copper coin. However, only the male Jiao possesses this, and a fully formed Ruyi Hook is exceedingly rare, worth ten thousand pieces of gold. Black and white Jiao are generally harmless, but only the Jin Lin Jiao spits poison around midnight and noon. If a woman is poisoned, she can be treated with snake-venom remedies, but even with timely and correct treatment, there will be lasting after-effects.

When Ding Sitian’s father led men to capture Jiao in the southern jungles, a local boy watching touched the gallbladder of a dead Jiao. Afterward, the boy developed Suo Yang Zheng (a condition causing retraction of the penis). Every remedy failed. It was said that young children under ten, whose genitals had not fully developed, absolutely must not touch a Jiao's gallbladder, or the organ would retract into the abdomen. The duration of the retraction mirrored the lifespan of the Jiao—it would only reappear when the creature died. There was no other cure.

Fatty and I had only heard tales, never seeing one firsthand, but seeing its steel-needle tail and fantastically patterned scales, we knew it was likely a Jin Lin Jiao. This creature typically lived in the south; it had never been seen on the northern grasslands or deserts. We wondered if the Japanese devils had brought it here.

Old Sheepskin had never even heard of such a thing. Seeing its complete set of scales, he assumed it was a divine manifestation, a King Dragon descending to earth. Utterly lost, his knees buckled, and he fell to the ground, preparing to kowtow and beg for mercy. He mumbled to himself, "Great spirit, do not be angry! We are simple herdsmen. We break no laws, we eat no wickedness, we spend our lives content with enough food to live, thanking heaven daily. Please spare this old man and these educated youths, Great Spirit."

The Jin Lin Jiao, startled by the flames, curled up on the ground, trembling slightly, seemingly at a loss. It kept its head pointed toward Ding Sitian, perhaps gathering strength to strike. Knowing the situation was escalating—once the creature regained its composure, it would lunge at her—I grabbed Old Sheepskin by the collar of his jacket and hauled him up. "It probably won't understand your simple expression of class sentimentality..."

The four of us and the Jin Lin Jiao stared at each other under the fluctuating light and the splashing sound of water. Though the moment felt incredibly protracted, as if time itself had frozen, the standoff didn't last long. The Jin Lin Jiao's resolve hardened; it could no longer be suppressed. Its eyes flashed red, it reared up, and with manic energy, it lunged furiously at Ding Sitian. I held a torch in one hand and pulled Old Sheepskin with the other, intending for the group to retreat upstairs, but seeing it was too late, I could only meet the charge with full force.

Fatty, Ding Sitian, and I simultaneously raised our torches, forming a wall of fire to block the Jin Lin Jiao's savage approach. A black gust flashed before our eyes—the creature had already skirted the fire wall and was behind us. Behind us stood an empty cabinet with a glass door. Amidst the wafting stench, the Jiao's head probed down over the cabinet.

It was too late to turn and defend ourselves. In desperation, Fatty and I crouched low and slammed our backs against the cabinet, knocking it over onto the Jin Lin Jiao. The white-painted wooden frame crashed down with a deafening sound, pinning the creature underneath. As we turned around, the Jiao had already shredded the cabinet, reared up, and sprung out from the pile of glass and wood shards. Its movements were too swift, sending shards of broken glass flying outwards in all directions. The wind generated by its movement nearly extinguished all four of our torches. In that brief, pulsing interval of light and dark, we felt several cold flashes cross in front of us. Fatty and I shielded Old Sheepskin and Ding Sitian; streaks of blood appeared on our faces. When I touched them, it was sticky with blood. The cuts were shallow, but they bled freely.

Seeing the blood, Fatty and I felt our eyes burn with fury. We hurled our torches at the Jin Lin Jiao. Seizing the moment it dodged, we heaved a Taiping corpse trolley together and shoved it toward the creature, aiming to pin it down. The Jin Lin Jiao moved with dazzling, elusive speed and possessed terrifying brute strength. We could only keep it occupied for a few rounds using the torches we still held. If we continued this passive defense, one of us was bound to be caught and killed. We had to find a way to trap it with the steel cart to break free from evasion and counterattack.

Biting down, we heaved the Taiping trolley forward, nearly trapping it. But the Jin Lin Jiao's movements were as unpredictable as a black gale. With a flicker of shadow, the trolley missed its mark again. Attracted by the scent coming from Ding Sitian, the creature ignored our entanglement, dodging the trolley to pursue her instead.

Ding Sitian had retreated to the side of the crematorium furnace, with nowhere left to run. Seeing the Jin Lin Jiao pouncing, her beautiful face turned pale with terror. Fortunately, she came from a military family and had been a Red Guard; the past six months in the vast countryside hadn't been in vain. She swung her torch down at the creature's head, shouting, "Down with you, rotten hooligan of the landlord, rich peasant, counter-revolutionary, bad element, spy, or capitalist roader..."

But the Jin Lin Jiao generated its own wind; how could Ding Sitian’s torch possibly stop it? In the black rush, its scales flashed, and it instantly swept Ding Sitian off her feet. Fatty and I would have needed wings to reach her in time. In that moment of extreme peril, a massive explosion rocked the basement, filling the air with smoke, fire, and flying debris. No one knew when Old Sheepskin had fired his hunting rifle. The gunshot left everyone's ears ringing violently, and the air before the crematorium furnace stung with gunpowder.

It turned out that when Old Sheepskin saw the Jin Lin Jiao, which looked like a Dragon King, he shook like a sieve. Even if the deity had come to devour him, he wouldn't have dared to resist. But the moment he saw Ding Sitian in danger, Old Sheepskin completely forgot his own safety. This was partly because he regarded Ding Sitian as his own granddaughter, and partly because if an educated youth met with disaster, it would be a failure to Chairman Mao—a major political incident. At this critical juncture, he didn't care what kind of god this was; without thinking, he raised his gun and fired.