Zhou Huan, Scarface, and Old Cripple Huang each snatched up their tools and charged down the mountain. Little Four, breathing raggedly with tension, saw everyone else bolt. Gritting his teeth and stamping his foot, he dashed down after them, keeping tight to the trio ahead.

As Zhou Huan neared the cemetery area, he ran out front while the three behind him split into two groups, melting into the surrounding woods and thickets. Zhou Huan ran alone down the main path, approaching the cemetery's edge, well within the enemy's firing range. He slapped down a talisman, muttered an incantation, and launched a massive fireball. It struck the outer perimeter of the cemetery, and immediately, a horde of solitary spirits from within the tombs manifested, howling where Zhou Huan’s spell had landed.

Following this pattern, Zhou Huan had drawn four talismans to form a circle around the cemetery grounds. But as he set out the fifth, a thought struck him suddenly. He was setting up the Five Elements Divine Beast Formation: North governs Water, the realm of the Black Tortoise, requiring a water-element person to burn ghost money and ingots there. Little Four was precisely water-element. East governs Wood, the domain of the Azure Dragon, needing a wood-element person for the same ritual; Scarface happened to be wood-element. South governs Fire, the seat of the Vermillion Bird, which Zhou Huan himself occupied. Lastly, Old Cripple Huang was gold-element, and he was meant to guard the West, the location of the White Tiger. What troubled Zhou Huan was that they needed a fifth person, one of earth-element, to charge into the fray and wreak havoc among the Japanese soldiers. This left Zhou Huan utterly stranded; with only four of them, where could he find a fifth? Little Three was dead; if he hadn't been, he could have been pressed into service.

“Master Zhou, what do we do about the missing center for this formation?” Old Cripple Huang, who understood a bit about the Five Elements, saw clearly where Zhou Huan was heading—the four directions were covered, but the center was impossible to fill.

Zhou Huan’s brow furrowed. He turned back to Old Cripple Huang. “You stay put here. I’ll figure out the Middle Earth situation. Remember this: no matter how the devils attack you, you must not dodge. Trust these solitary spirits; they have the power to help you evade the bullets.”

“Oh, you can count on me, then. If necessary, I’ll just step in and kill these bastards myself.”

“No, you cannot kill a single one! You must keep yourself controlled!” After saying this, Zhou Huan moved alone from the woods, drawing closer to the Japanese campfire.

“Taishō, these few bandits are up in the hills, and we can’t get out. If this continues, we’ll starve to death sooner or later,” the Dragon Translator told the Japanese captain.

The Japanese captain frowned. “Starving is one thing, but dying in this place, buried alongside you Chinese devils—that would be an insult to the dignity of our Great Japanese Empire. That is unacceptable. You can die here, but we Japanese must return.”

The little devil’s words nearly sent the Dragon Translator into a rage. This devil was truly inhuman; he had served the Japanese with all his heart, only to be repaid with such disdain. Now, the Dragon Translator desperately wanted to slaughter these devils, but looking at their numbers, he suppressed the urge. He stopped talking to them, found a tree, and sat down, leaning his head against the trunk while gazing at the sky. When he spotted the crimson moon, a distinct sense of dread washed over him. Just as the feeling arose, Zhou Huan came running from the distance. The translator was about to shout, but Zhou Huan slapped a talisman onto his head, extended a finger, and beckoned the translator toward him.

The Dragon Translator had seen Zhou Huan before. Spotting him lurking in the brush, he managed to restrain his call. He waited until the Japanese soldiers had all fallen asleep before quietly creeping over to Zhou Huan, his rifle already cocked. He didn't know if Zhou Huan had come to kill him or command him.

“Dragon Translator, listen to me carefully. You didn't cry out when blood dripped on you under that tree—that proves you are still Chinese. Now, I need your help with something else.” As Zhou Huan spoke, he intently observed the translator's expression, finally breaking into a relieved smile.

The Dragon Translator nodded repeatedly at Zhou Huan’s words, then pointed at his own mouth. After Zhou Huan helped peel off the talisman, the translator whispered, “Amazing. A scrap of paper like that can silence me? I’m convinced. Tell me, what do you need me to do?”

“I need you to kill every Japanese soldier here and save yourself. Do you have a way?” The moment Zhou Huan uttered this, the Dragon Translator collapsed onto the ground.

“Master, please don’t joke with me. There are twenty of them, and I only have six bullets in my gun. How can I possibly kill them all?” The Dragon Translator was drenched in sweat, having already recognized Zhou Huan’s terrifying power from the single talisman cast earlier.

Zhou Huan pondered for a long moment. “Here’s the plan: you go and kill them. I’ll give you another talisman. Remember this: this talisman carries a great demon. It will help you fight the devils. But one thing is crucial—you must never let the talisman get lost. If it’s lost, you will end up down there accompanying that great demon. Also, you won't be able to kill them all in one go. After you’ve killed some, run outward, toward the light of the fires. Run in circles, but you must absolutely not run outside the circle.”

“The circle?”

“Yes, the circle. Look up at the sky. The circle isn't complete yet; the firelight is currently just a broken ring. I am going to take the South position now. Remember, you must run fast, or you will be the one who dies!” Zhou Huan started to leave, then turned back. “Watch closely: when the lights in the sky connect to form a whole circle, that’s when you strike.”

The Dragon Translator clutched the talisman Zhou Huan gave him, gazing at the firelight in the sky—the incomplete semicircle—his heart pounding with anxiety. He paced back and forth, glancing up at the firelight, then at the crimson moon, then down at the talisman in his hand. He managed to light a cigarette. The moment the smoke curled up, the lights in the sky connected to form a perfect ring, making the deep red moon within it appear even more vivid.

“What is that thing?” The Japanese soldiers erupted into chaos, staring at the sight above them in panic.

“Taishō, it’s bad! The moon in the sky has turned red and has a bloody halo! We must run quickly and hide in the woods!” The Dragon Translator tucked the talisman away, bowing and scraping as he approached the Japanese captain. His plan was to lure the devils into the forest before killing them one by one.

“Red? The moon? What’s happening?” the Japanese captain kept demanding.

The Dragon Translator adopted an expression of wide-eyed alarm and terror. “Our local people have a saying: when a scarlet moon hangs in the sky, disaster and death are certain to follow.” He then fell silent, fearfully pointing his finger toward the graveyard. “Furthermore, we are here in this gloomy cemetery, and it is nighttime!” As he spoke, sweat poured down the translator’s forehead. He was terrified, utterly petrified, his hands trembling as he drew his pistol.

“Baka yarō! Who told you to draw your gun!” The Japanese were cautious seeing the translator raise his weapon; after all, he was Chinese, while they were Japanese.

The Dragon Translator crouched low. “I’m a little scared. I drew my gun just to bolster my courage.”

“You? Your courage is terribly small! Very, very small!” The little devil threw his head back and laughed arrogantly.

Taking advantage of the opening, the Dragon Translator raised his hand and fired a single shot, hitting the Japanese captain directly in the heart. The captain never suspected an attack from someone standing right beside him, especially not his long-time translator. A flicker of humiliation crossed his expression of pain, along with a shadow of the supposed honor of the Great Japanese Empire.

As soon as the translator fired, the other Japanese soldiers immediately turned to capture him. But no one anticipated that the translator, having committed himself completely, fired five more rapid shots, felling several approaching devils. He then snatched the pistol and military saber from the captain’s fallen body, preparing for a final stand.

The crack of several Arisaka rifles answered, and the Dragon Translator felt multiple bullets strike his body. Everywhere he touched, he felt agonizing pain. This time, the translator’s eyes truly rolled back; he thought his life was over. Clutching the places where he’d been shot, he turned and ran, following the method Zhou Huan had instructed. As he ran, he didn't know how far he could possibly make it. Wounded, he was bleeding, and when the blood loss reached a certain point, his body would naturally give out. Thinking this, he decided that living long enough to be a hero in the anti-Japanese resistance was reward enough. He strained every muscle in his legs and sprinted away as if his life depended on it—which it did.