Her initial crying wasn't a major incident, but the sound was so abrupt that it startled the local Tibetans, including the two blue-masked opera singers. They turned their heads toward us, slowly, suspiciously, chanting word by word, making sure their singing never fully ceased.

Our group was too conspicuous; evading detection was no longer possible. They spotted us quickly, and immediately three or four men drew the Tibetan knives at their waists, shouting a cry as they charged towards us.

I quickly pulled Zhuoma Yangjin and Wangmu behind me, stood up with my hands raised high to show I meant no harm, and Eighty-Seven also rushed to the front, shouting loudly at them in Tibetan. But it was useless; those men were already wild-eyed, rushing forward, and our identities forbade us from fighting them.

I touched the gun at my waist, hesitated for a moment, but ultimately did not draw it, instead grabbing Zhuoma Yangjin and dodging to the side. Only then did Zhuoma Yangjin snap back to her senses. She wrenched free from me, ran to the front, and shouted loudly at the people charging toward us—also in Tibetan. Strangely, those three or four men stopped obediently when they heard Zhuoma Yangjin’s shout, standing still and constantly observing us. The look in their eyes suggested they could lunge at any moment and tear us to shreds. Yes, we were at fault first; we shouldn't have wandered into the area they were using for sacrifice (or perhaps praying for the gods’ forgiveness?). So, we all cooperatively waved our hands to show we held no malice.

Wangmu also walked over and stood beside Zhuoma Yangjin, appearing aloof and looking down upon everyone as she spoke three sentences in Tibetan—only three, not a word more. Afterward, those people looked astonished, then relieved, and even the blue-masked singers, who had been singing non-stop, ran over. Disregarding the sharp stones on the mountain that could injure them, they immediately prostrated themselves in deep bows.

Zhuoma Yangjin accepted this composedly, offering no return gesture, only nodding at Wangmu to signal them to rise. But the people just kept bowing their heads, not daring to get up.

Strictly speaking, I shouldn't be familiar with Tibetan, yet watching their exchanges, I understood the meaning perfectly. It seemed I still hadn't accustomed myself to possessing someone else's memories; that "someone else" must have been a Tibetan in his lifetime.

Wangmu then spoke a few more sentences to the crowd, essentially stating that Zhuoma Yangjin was the Princess of Guge, and everyone here should be her subjects. Now that the Princess knew her people were suffering, she had deliberately walked here to ask forgiveness from the spirits... After these pleasantries, she beckoned the strong young men who had first rushed forward with knives and asked him what exactly was happening.

The man seemed to believe Wangmu’s words. He walked over respectfully, bent low, not daring to look directly at Zhuoma Yangjin or Wangmu, and cautiously reported the course of events, not daring to look at us either.

He said that this area was once a lush mountain forest where their ancestors had lived for generations without ever seeing any stone Buddha statue here. But about ten days ago, at the cliff face previously covered with vegetation, the plants suddenly began to wither and fall away, revealing the appearance of a Buddha statue. At first, people paid it no mind, thinking it a coincidence. Who knew that because of this, they had offended a spirit, which then took its anger out on the already sparse local population, causing all their livestock—sheep and cattle they grazed there—to die from a strange illness.

“Everyone feared this misfortune would soon descend upon humans, which is why they are begging Mima Champa for forgiveness here,” the man said, utterly terrified as he mentioned it. “The way those cattle and sheep died was horrific; all flesh was gone, leaving only a complete head and a skin. Beneath the skin were swarms of insects bringing the plague... Tell me, isn't this Mima Champa’s wrath?”

Mima Champa, in their belief system, was the deity who brought plague.

Zhuoma Yangjin remained silent. The man fearfully continued in Tibetan, saying that just as their livestock were about to be wiped out, someone discovered this stone Buddha in the mountains, weeping black tears. “No one dared approach to see what those black tears were; everyone feared it was the plague. But they couldn't flee, so they could only pray here for the spirit’s forgiveness.” Having finished, he repeatedly kowtowed to Zhuoma Yangjin, pleading with the Princess to save them.

Old Li curiously edged closer and whispered to me, "Technician Luo, why did they immediately believe Zhuoma Yangjin’s identity? She didn't even show any token of proof."

I was also puzzled by this, but they were locals, and Linzhi had once been a vassal of Guge. Perhaps there were things only they understood, just as Eighty-Seven’s use of Tibetan elicited a completely different reaction than Zhuoma Yangjin’s.

After hearing their account, Zhuoma Yangjin waved the man away. She then followed Wangmu, pulling some items from her pocket and distributing them to the assembled Tibetans. Zhuoma Yangjin said these were medicinal incense that could temporarily calm the god’s anger.

Upon receiving the incense, the people rushed to light it before the stone Buddha. Strangely, as soon as the fragrant smoke rose, the black tears that had just started to emerge near the Buddha’s eye sockets unknowingly dissipated.

I watched in astonishment, secretly admiring Zhuoma Yangjin’s thorough foresight. Seeing this, the Tibetans hurried over to bow and thank her profusely.

A persistent feeling of unease lingered in my mind. Although the stone Buddha had stopped weeping black tears, the description the Tibetans gave of their dying livestock—I felt I should be extremely familiar with that sight, that I had seen it somewhere, yet I couldn't recall where.

Eighty-Seven came over and asked for my opinion. I only said, "Tell them to leave. There is something very strange here; I fear it's not simple. It’s best not to let too many people know."

Eighty-Seven nodded and called Wangmu over to distribute two stacks of banknotes—estimated to be worth tens of thousands—to the Tibetans, telling them to use it to buy more cattle and sheep to raise. I didn't know how he managed to prepare so thoroughly.

The Tibetans, delighted with the money, came to thank Zhuoma Yangjin, then thanked us, repeatedly urging us not to linger there and under no circumstances to anger Mima Champa. Finally, they warmly invited us down the mountain to be their guests. Wangmu handled declining all these offers one by one.

After some time, the Tibetans finally descended the mountain.

We went to the stone Buddha to examine it closely, only finding a few tiny, hard-shelled insects. These insects were also familiar; it seemed I had seen them in more than one location.

"Ah!" Old Li suddenly cried out. "Technician Luo, aren't these the strange bugs we saw at that... that abandoned communication station on Qiangbake Mountain? The strange bugs that were near the dead Japanese man and followed the bloody spring water—weren't they exactly like this?"

His reminder instantly brought the memory back, sending a chill through my body, raising goosebumps across my skin... At that time, those strange bugs forced us to flee blindly up to the second floor of the communication station, which led to the subsequent incident of the Faceless Wang Weicheng, and that was where we met Zhuoma Yangjin.

I felt a chill run through me. Even though I had prepared myself mentally, I hadn't expected danger to arrive so quickly. "Eighty-Seven, do you recognize these insects?" I asked.

Eighty-Seven squatted down, examining the few insects carefully, and mused, "It's said this thing exists near Qiangbake Mountain and at the bottom of Fuxian Lake, but I have never seen it. Only you and Li Zeng would know if it is."

Old Li looked at me, his face ashen, and uttered only two words: "Faceless."

What I feared most was this. Wang Weicheng becoming faceless was too terrifying, too dreadful. It was said that Director Wang, whose back was torn open and had tentacles inserted, was still hospitalized.

At this moment, an even more horrifying thought struck me: Didn't the Tibetans say their livestock were eaten until only the intact outer skin and head remained? Didn't Doctor Ciren also possess a complete, black object resembling a 'head'?

If fate were truly intent on killing, history would repeat itself. Would we once again encounter the Faceless, or zombies rising from the dead? When I voiced this to everyone, Eighty-Seven suddenly reverted to his chipper merchant persona, grinning, "Wouldn't that be perfect? I enjoy watching these bizarre things the most."

Zhuoma Yangjin glanced at him faintly and said, "I’m afraid what you enjoy isn't just their bizarreness, is it?"

Eighty-Seven chuckled sheepishly and admitted with unusual candor, "Of course. Our objective is the same as yours: to uncover the truth behind why those Japanese devils and Germans are so interested in these things. And I certainly won't deny that I am extremely interested in the sudden disappearance of your country."

Zhuoma Yangjin rolled her eyes at him. "You seem interested in too many things."

Eighty-Seven laughed it off with a playful grunt.

Wangmu was likely so frightened by our story that she forgot about seeking Mima Champa’s forgiveness through self-immolation. She followed Zhuoma Yangjin closely, fearing the slightest harm might befall her.

After being fumigated by the medicinal incense earlier, the vicinity was much quieter now, and the murderous aura brought by the Snow Demon had completely vanished.

Perhaps we should go look at the stone Buddha's eye sockets; those two deep black holes were deeply unsettling. Eighty-Seven asked if we had the guts to climb up, joking that if we were scared, he, Forty-Three, and Thirty-Eight could lead the way.

Before his words had fully settled, Zhuoma Yangjin decisively stated, "No need. Luo Lian and I must go up first. Eighty-Seven, you should understand; this is, after all, technically my territory."

Zhuoma Yangjin was right; this was indeed her domain. A Tibetan who had hastily left earlier suddenly doubled back, solemnly urging her to leave this place immediately, imploring the Princess to prioritize her subjects and protect her own body. He mentioned that similar strange events were being reported elsewhere, causing widespread concern, and people were considering inviting a Grand Lama or a Living Buddha to offer blessings.

After that man left, Zhuoma Yangjin’s expression grew grave. She called everyone over to discuss what should be done.

My stance was clear: What else could be done? Even inviting a highly revered Grand Priest would be useless, because everything happening was unprecedented. Among us, only Old Li and I had experienced all the preceding events. Therefore, following the original plan and continuing was the only way.

Eighty-Seven naturally shared my attitude, but Zhuoma Yangjin hesitated. She strongly wished to invite the Grand Priest, or perhaps send someone to find Hu Bugui, as he seemed knowledgeable and had mentioned something about "failed test subjects."

This was clearly a naive thought of a young girl. Hu Bugui was elusive, already vanished without a trace. Furthermore, even if found, looking at his pale, frail appearance, could he truly fight various terrifying monsters deep in the mountains, underwater? If we actually brought him here, we would likely have to assign a main guard just to watch over him to prevent him from being captured by the monsters.

Eighty-Seven also objected to calling for more people. Linzhi was now crawling with Japanese devils, Germans, and their spies. They were hoping we would reveal ourselves quickly so they could rush over and claim a share. If we left now, the trouble we’d invite would only be greater.

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