Dragon Translator, taking the supposed dying wish of the crippled man and the treasures he’d extricated from the tomb chamber, returned to what he called home. In truth, his home had long since been under Japanese control. The moment they saw him, they seized Dragon Translator and delivered him straight to the so-called interrogation room used by the Japanese. Fortunately, Dragon Translator possessed some foresight; he had first deposited the stolen items with a Russian bank, storing them in a safety deposit box under the name of a distant nephew, before returning home himself…

Facing the crimson moon, Zhou Huan couldn't help but feel a swirling uncertainty about what events this particular Red Moon was destined to unleash.

Suddenly, the light from the crimson moon became intensely piercing. Unbeknownst to him, Zhou Huan drifted off to sleep, only to be jarred awake by a sharp screech of brakes, immediately followed by a sound like a car impacting something, and then a sudden burst of fire—the entire vehicle consumed in a blaze. Zhou Huan felt an unbearable heat engulfing him, as if a myriad of flames were scorching his very body.

“Brother, Brother, what’s wrong with you?”

“Brother Huan!”

“Master, Master!”

Zhou Huan lay still in Dongzi’s new residence. Everyone from the Fushoutang was gathered around him, calling out his name desperately.

Big Radish rushed out from the kitchen in a frenzy, shouting as he ran, “It’s ready, it’s ready! My Big Radish’s exclusive recipe, the Black Rice and Lotus Seed Porridge. Once this hits the stomach, every ailment vanishes. Forget a fever—even if you were burned by fire, this can cool you down.”

“Big Radish, stop making things worse! My brother has been struggling all night. You boil some useless gruel all night long? Hurry up and fetch a basin of cold water to apply to Big Brother’s body.” Dongzi shared the deepest bond with Zhou Huan; no one could truly grasp his feelings. If Zhou Huan were to pass before Dongzi one day, Dongzi would likely go mad.

Xiao He retrieved the thermometer from beneath Zhou Huan’s armpit. When he and Yang Xiaoling looked at the reading, tears welled up in both their eyes: “Brother Huan seems beyond saving. This time, it’s real. Last time he hit his head, he recovered in a short while, but this has lasted all night. Dawn is breaking, and not only has his temperature not dropped, it’s shot up significantly. The thermometer can’t even register it anymore; it’s maxed out.”

“Don’t argue with me! I said he’ll get better after drinking my porridge! When I was little, the village chief’s father cured me with this very thing. I even promised myself back then that when I married, if my husband had a fever, I’d use this to heal him. Now is my chance to put it to use.” Big Radish was a genuine country girl; her hands and feet were delicate yet strong. With ease, she pushed aside the people in the room and began spooning her porridge into Zhou Huan’s mouth, spoonful by careful spoonful.

Shi Bingyuan waited anxiously by the doorway for the arrival of the 120 ambulance. He looked up; the moon above was still a deep, fiery red, and the wind remained just as chilling.

Before long, Tian Xiong came running from the path intersection, and the wailing 120 ambulance pulled up in front of Fushoutang. Two paramedics rushed in with a stretcher, followed closely by two doctors carrying medical bags. The doctors first performed a quick examination on Zhou Huan, then announced, “Hurry and get him onto the stretcher, we’re taking him to the hospital for treatment.”

The two paramedics moved to lift Zhou Huan onto the stretcher, but at that exact moment, Zhou Huan began coughing violently. Soon, he spat out the few spoonfuls of porridge Big Radish had fed him—the expelled porridge was eerily pure white.

Dongzi, standing nearby, became agitated. He turned and angrily berated Big Radish: “I told you to feed him, and he just vomited it all up! Now Big Brother has to cough! Look, your porridge was supposed to be black rice, but look what color it is now.”

“Good, good! That’s wonderful! Master Zhou is better! Look, even the color of the porridge has faded! That’s exactly what happened to me; right after I threw it up, my fever broke immediately. Don’t believe me? Feel Master Zhou’s head.” Big Radish declared triumphantly, puffing out her chest with a profound sense of accomplishment.

The doctors glanced at Big Radish. “What kind of folk remedy is this? It shows a complete lack of scientific understanding. Saving the patient is the priority—let’s get him in the vehicle.”

As the paramedics attempted to lift Zhou Huan again, they suddenly noticed his body was no longer radiating heat. The two men carrying the stretcher exchanged bewildered glances, staring wide-eyed at each other. “Feel it—did I misjudge? Is the fever gone already?”

The other paramedic reached out, touching Zhou Huan’s forehead, then his hand. “Strange, he really isn’t burning up anymore.”

“Hey, look here,” said one of the doctors trailing behind, pointing at the floor. “The floorboards are scorched black! The stuff the patient just spat out has burned the floor.” Following the path of the two small spits of porridge, they watched as it rapidly dried, shriveled into clumps, and left a sooty black mark seared into the wooden planks.

Xiao He and Xiaoling were overjoyed and immediately reached out to touch Zhou Huan’s head—it was indeed cool now.

“What are you all gaping at? I’m fine!” Zhou Huan suddenly managed to speak. He then added, “Go outside and see if the crimson moon is still there. If it’s gone, send the doctors back home!”

Hearing Zhou Huan speak, Dongzi’s tears instantly streamed down to his heels. Weeping, he rushed out to the main hall, looked up, and his face instantly cleared as if a storm had passed. He shouted, “Brother, Brother, the crimson moon in the sky is gone! It’s gone!”

“That’s good then,” Zhou Huan sighed, slowly sitting up. He glanced at everyone standing inside and outside the room and gave a faint smile. “I’m exhausted. That night’s ordeal really took it out of me. Thank you, doctors; I’m fine now. Sorry to have wasted your time.”

Zhou Huan spoke with surprising ease and composure, yet the hospital doctors were utterly dumbfounded, unable to reconcile what they had just witnessed. Could a common folk remedy truly supersede science?

Meanwhile, Big Radish was already deeply engaged in conversation with one of the doctors, a chief resident from the city hospital. He had eagerly approached her, demanding the recipe. But when Big Radish recited the formula, the doctor looked bewildered. He frantically scratched his nearly bald head, repeating over and over, “This is absurd! This is clearly a formula for nourishing tonic food; how could it possibly treat a fever? Forget it, forget it!”

Big Radish then added with great pride, “Doctor, keep this formula. Next time you encounter a patient like my Big Brother, feel free to use this method. I won’t charge anything; I’m willing to contribute to the medical welfare of the people.”

The doctor nodded, turned, and walked away, muttering as he went, “Incomprehensible. A bunch of ignorant fools. And they call it Fushoutang? It’s only because of Master Zhou’s virtue that we show respect; otherwise, I wouldn't believe any of this superstitious nonsense.”

The doctor’s voice sounded incredibly familiar to Zhou Huan, resonating deeply. That raspy tone immediately brought back memories of the scarred man who possessed him after the corpse was illuminated by the crimson moon. Zhou Huan didn't pursue the departing doctor, but he felt a deep connection to the events that transpired during his unconsciousness—these people were bound by some karmic thread and were destined to cross paths again, unless the crimson moon truly vanished for good.

“Master, you were unconscious all night; you scared us half to death. What would you like to eat? We’ll make it right away. The sky is almost light now,” Shi Bingyuan stepped forward.

Zhou Huan waved his hand. “We’ll eat normally; nothing special. You all worked hard all night. Dongzi, you cook, and we’ll eat and then rest. Once we’re rested, you’ll come out with me tonight.”

“Yes, Master. Does your body feel alright otherwise? Otherwise, let us handle things.”

“No need. What happened tonight suggests many more events are coming. We’ll be busy. This is my destiny, a necessary path; I must handle it. It’s settled: the womenfolk must stay home tonight. Dongzi, you guard the door. Tonight, the rest of you will accompany me for the excavation. We must strive to find that female corpse’s arm.” Zhou Huan spoke with absolute confidence, and his apprentices, their faith renewed, quickly busied themselves preparing the meal.

After the food was ready, a few people ate and went to rest, but Zhou Huan remained seated in the main hall, desperately trying to piece together everything that had happened in the illusion, and carefully reconsidering the female corpse and that single hand. Many details eluded him. Since the excavator found the body, there should logically be another skeleton belonging to Yellow Cripple. Why hadn't they found it? Furthermore, there were so many graves on that mountain; was this the only skeleton they failed to unearth?

Lost in thought, Zhou Huan couldn't help but rise and walk to the doorway. He watched the lightening sky as the sun showed half its face. He left Fushoutang alone, got into his car, and drove straight toward the excavation site.