I stumbled back several paces, my jaw slack as I stared at Doctor Tsering, utterly bewildered by his intentions. The ground was already littered with nearly ten dead cattle and sheep, and the sight of him hunched over, shambling toward me, sent a chill down my spine.

Slowly, Doctor Tsering’s body contorted further, curling into a tight spasm, yet he still struggled to crawl toward the spot where I had just been standing. Yanzi, unable to bear the sight, softened her voice. “Tsering, it’s useless. That’s all necrotic blood and flesh. It won’t help you.”

Doctor Tsering froze for a moment, stunned, then resumed his crawl. Tiny fragments began to fall from his body. The light was dim, and I couldn't make out what they were—perhaps just tears in his clothing, I thought to myself.

Yanzi, however, seemed to sense grave danger, pulling everyone back several more steps. Seeing us recoil, Doctor Tsering lifted his head and glared venomously at Yanzi, then continued to crawl. He accidentally nudged the carcass of a yak with his foot, stared blankly at it for a long moment, and then slowly resumed his agonizing movement on his belly.

“What does he want?” I asked Old Li. Old Li shook his head, and Yanzi interjected, “He wants to find something to cling to for life—or maybe not life, he shouldn't be dying anyway.”

Xu Zhiwu asked, “What does ‘not dying’ mean?” Yanzi remained silent. I suspected she was talking about something spiritual. Those matters were difficult to discuss; they held their own religious beliefs, and we outsiders couldn't truly grasp their thinking. We could only wait for her to explain herself, lest a careless question tread on sacred ground.

But the more I looked at Doctor Tsering, the more something felt profoundly wrong. His convulsions were one thing; I could attribute that to exhaustion, mental strain, or illness. The real issue was the constant shedding from his body. At first, I assumed his clothes were snagging, but… but a sickly pale white was faintly showing through his sleeve, and the skin rubbing against the ground seemed to carry a strange whiteness too. Could it be bone? Every hair on my body instantly stood on end.

“Old Li. Look at his arm.” I pointed at Doctor Tsering and whispered to him.

Old Li whispered back, “It looks like bone. He’s been dropping shreds of flesh the whole way.” He shivered as he spoke. Hearing the word “shreds of flesh,” a wave of nausea washed over me, as if my own flesh were being boiled, stripped from the bone, and scattered across the ground.

“How could…” Looking closer at the ground, I confirmed they did indeed resemble fragments of Doctor Tsering’s flesh, and the white patches truly looked like bone. Yet, I still refused to accept the reality. “How could this be?” I repeated. “Isn’t he perfectly fine?”

Yanzi said, “Look again. How is he fine?”

As I watched, Doctor Tsering had crawled to the puddle of my spilled blood. He first picked up a strip of flesh (my own flesh—the sheer absurdity of it, skin that fell from me being handled by this grotesque figure), examined it closely, and then pressed it against a spot on his arm where the bone was most visible. As expected, the piece of flesh (mine) immediately dropped back to the ground. Seemingly unwilling to accept it, he picked it up and tried to place it back, but it fell away again. He tried this repeatedly. It seemed he desperately wanted the flesh to reattach to his exposed bone, but after several failed attempts, he finally gave up with a look of utter despair.

I expected him to stop then, but to my horror, he began to press himself against the ground, seemingly trying to absorb the bloodstains. A wave of retching swept over all of us, and Yanzi began to vomit uncontrollably, gagging and spewing.

Doctor Tsering himself seemed oblivious to the disgust, continuing to lick at the bloodstains. Soon, the visible stains were gone. He tentatively grasped a patch of still-intact skin on his arm, tugged lightly, and the skin peeled away, rotten and brittle. Doctor Tsering closed his eyes, threw his head back as if in agonizing pain, yet no sound escaped him. The scene was terrifyingly macabre.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Xu Zhiwu urged. “It seems he’s under some kind of religious curse. It’s not our place to watch. Let’s leave quickly.” I was overwhelmed by nausea and a chilling dread, and hastily agreed.

Yanzi was still heaving. After a moment, she calmed slightly, hesitating. “He… he is my countryman.”

Old Li scoffed. “Look at him now. Is there any saving him? If we take him back, who knows what madness might erupt. Besides,” he pointed at Tang Minghao, “we still have one patient who needs our care.”

Tang Minghao nodded cooperatively when Old Li gestured toward him, his face a mixture of confusion and perhaps something else.

Yanzi still hesitated, so I pressed, “Let’s hurry up and leave. We’ve done everything we could. He even wanted to bring strange animals to kill us!”

Hearing the word “animals,” Doctor Tsering suddenly lifted his head. “Ah… ah…” His voice was beyond hoarse or raspy; it sounded like a death rattle. One hand clawed at his throat while the other pointed frantically at the dead animals on the ground. Fortunately, the skin around his throat seemed relatively normal, not yet disintegrated into mere scraps.

Is he thinking of eating those animals? I thought grimly, quickly urging Yanzi to leave again. Yanzi had even thrown up bile. “You… you all let me rest for a moment…” she gasped, struggling for breath.

Doctor Tsering was speechless. After waving his hands aimlessly for a moment, he suddenly clenched his hands violently around his own neck in utter desperation, his face flushing an unnatural, terrible white. “Save… save…” He strained to force out a single word, his face growing paler with effort. “Save me.” Having uttered the two words, his hands dropped limply to the ground.

“Is he dead?” Old Li and I exchanged glances. To our surprise, Tang Minghao stated with certainty, “No.” Seeing our puzzled looks, he uttered something even more baffling: “Just put him onto a yak, and it’ll be fine.”

“Brother Hao, what are you talking about?” I asked, feeling an urge to check his forehead to see if he had a fever. Before I could move, Tang Minghao said something that nearly made me vomit blood again. “I don’t know. Just putting him on will fix it.” He said this with a slight smile.

I began preparing for the worst. Tang Minghao’s erratic behavior reminded me of Section Chief Wang and Clerk Liu. Back when we encountered the Faceless One, at least there were Japanese soldiers who provided some help in saving his life. But now, shifting between lucid and nonsensical, we were utterly helpless.

However, Doctor Tsering’s hand actually twitched again. His head had been bowed, hiding his eyes, but as Tang Minghao finished speaking, he suddenly snapped his head up. His eyes blazed with a sharp, avaricious light, fixed solely on Tang Minghao.

“See? I told you he’s still alive,” Tang Minghao said seriously, pointing at Doctor Tsering like an innocent child. “If you put him onto my body, he will live.”

He was rambling utter nonsense now. It seemed we needed to find the exit and leave immediately, or we might lose the genuinely good man that was Tang Minghao. “Old Li, we need to keep an eye on him,” I worried.

Old Li nodded, his face etched with concern, and tried to pull Tang Minghao closer. “Minghao, why are you talking such nonsense? Let’s go back quickly.” His voice cracked with near tears. He must have realized what I was thinking—the cautionary tale of Section Chief Wang.

“Or just put him on the yak,” Tang Minghao suggested earnestly. “Swap his head onto a different body.” Upon hearing this, Doctor Tsering nodded repeatedly, seemingly agreeing with Tang Minghao’s suggestion. This was surely demonic—a madman and an imbecile, and we had encountered both.

“I know, I know, okay, okay, we’ll help him later,” I said, placating Tang Minghao like a child. “Let’s go take care of something else first.”

Yanzi finally caught her breath and stopped vomiting. She drew out her words, “Swap bodies? How could we possibly do that?” Doctor Tsering looked at her with pleading eyes. Yanzi waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t understand. I don’t know.” Her heart hardened, and she urged us all to leave immediately, not wasting any more time.

Hearing that we were leaving, Doctor Tsering panicked and managed to speak again: “Help! Help me, good countrymen, save me! I don’t want to die! I’m afraid to die!”

His brief resurgence of clarity startled me, and I felt a surge of disgust. “We can’t save you.”

“Yes, yes, you can!” If Doctor Tsering could walk, he surely would have crawled over to hug our legs. “That person, that person…” He pointed at Tang Minghao. “He’s going to die sooner or later. Give him to me, give him to me!”

Old Li exploded with anger. “Keep talking nonsense! I… I… I’ll shoot you dead!” Doctor Tsering paused, seemingly unfamiliar with the concept of a gun, but then quickly pressed on: “Little girl, you are a person who relieves suffering. Save me quickly. What good is a dying Han Chinese man to you? You can’t trade him for cattle, sheep, or salt. Please, give him to me, give me his body.”

Yanzi’s resolve seemed to waver. She looked hesitantly at Old Li, then at the rest of us, then down to ponder her own thoughts. Doctor Tsering watched Yanzi with wide, hungry eyes, then turned back to us: “I beg you, noble Han masters, you are all good people. Just bestow the shell of a dying man upon this humble servant.” He tried to say more, but since the desperate outburst had been fueled by adrenaline, now that he saw Yanzi faltering, his tension eased, and he instantly lost his voice again. Not only did he fall silent, but his entire body seemed to dissolve, collapsing onto the ground like a pile of mud.

Tang Minghao looked seriously at Yanzi. “Don’t give it to him. If you give it to him, I will die, just like Shepherd Tsering.” I had no idea which wire in this ancestor’s brain had snapped—was he truly confused, or pretending? Didn’t he just suggest putting Doctor Tsering’s head onto his own body moments ago? God, Jehovah, Jesus, Jade Emperor—who could tell me what was happening? Where had the name Shepherd Tsering suddenly come from in Tang Minghao’s mouth?