Emerging from beneath my helmet was a pair of colossal golden eyes, emitting two beams of icy gold light that felt more piercing than the beam of my climbing helmet’s tactical floodlight, even when its aperture was adjusted to its widest setting.

As that electric gaze met mine, a jolt of terror shot through me. The more I stared, the more my soul felt scattered to the winds and my spirit utterly grounded, yet I knew for certain this was no zombified American pilot.

In that instant, time seemed to slow abruptly. The darkness flickered with intermittent light. Though I couldn't clearly discern the creature to which the eyes belonged, I recognized it as a rare, immense bird of prey. In its curved, hooked beak, it held half a bright green tree lizard; the other, bloody half lay at its talons below. It must have flown in through a rupture at the far end of the fuselage, intending to enjoy its meal undisturbed, only to be interrupted by me. That strange tapping sound was likely it pecking at the lizard.

Before I could fully process what I was seeing, the owner of those huge golden eyes burst from the fuselage, lunging directly toward my face. Inley Yang, standing beside me, hadn't grasped the full situation either, but seeing a dark mass rocket out of the wreckage, realizing I had no time to dodge, she swiftly shoved me hard. The momentum of her push allowed me to spring backward, but in my haste, my foot missed solid purchase, and I plummeted straight down from the tree, only to be caught and suspended by the safety line I’d pre-set around the trunk.

A swirl of brown, tattered material, threaded with twin golden lights, swept past my head like a gust of wind. The massive raptor had missed its mark, spreading its wings silently as it vanished into the night.

My heart finally settled back into my chest only after the great bird was gone. I used my ice axe to hook onto a vine wrapped around the old banyan tree and climbed back into the canopy. Inley Yang reached out and pulled me up, saying, “Thank God you’re alright. Did you get a clear look at that predator? It was enormous, truly rare.”

Climbing back onto the main branches, I took a breath. “Didn’t see it clearly, but those eyes… they looked like a Diao Hao Niao (i). At night, in this jungle, only a Diao Hao Niao is that formidable. Razor-sharp beak and claws. I saw one in the Northeast once; a single strike could tear a huge chunk of hide off a black bear. If that thing had gotten me, I’d be history.”

Inley Yang countered, “So, a large owl. They usually nest on sheer cliffs. Why would it be inside the fuselage? Are you certain you’re not hurt?”

I assured her, “Not a scratch, not even a hair singed. I certainly don’t want any more injections. There must be a bigger hole in the back of that plane that we missed. The Diao Hao Niao (i) probably flew in there to snatch the little tree lizards for dinner. It eats anything—field mice, rabbits, hedgehogs, snakes. It needs dozens a night to sustain itself. The tapping we heard was the sound of the Diao Hao Niao (i) dispatching those lizards. You had to complicate things by thinking it was Morse code, giving us both a scare.”

Inley Yang replied, “It really did sound like a coded signal at the time… Even if it was my mistake, don’t hold it against me. I’m going back inside the fuselage to see if there’s anything else in there.”

Knowing Inley Yang’s nature, I understood that finding wreckage from a US Air Force plane meant she wouldn't rest until she had thoroughly searched every inch, properly buried the remains of any unfortunate crew, read a passage from her Bible over them, and then moved on. There was no stopping her, and I actually agreed with her sentiment. After all, those Americans had helped us fight the Japanese during World War II. While their strategic motivations were certainly self-serving, they sacrificed themselves on Chinese soil. Burying them respectfully and notifying their government was the right thing to do.

Fatty, down below, heard the commotion above and couldn't resist yelling up again, “Did you find anything valuable up there? Should I climb up and help? Don’t wait for an answer,” he added, rolling up his sleeves, strapping his rifle across his back, and beginning to ascend.

I stared up at him, dumbfounded. “What the hell, didn’t you have a fear of heights? Why are you suddenly climbing trees? Did a wire snap somewhere?”

Fatty scoffed, “Fear of heights my ass. It’s pitch black tonight, impossible to tell high from low. Besides, how could I miss out on salvaging loot? Where’s the plane?”

I warned him, “You better be careful. You’re clumsy as a bear. Being this high up isn’t a joke. Secure yourself with your safety harness first. And stay away from me; you’re so heavy you’ll snap these branches. I nearly fell earlier because of the shaking.”

After cautioning Fatty, I turned back to see Inley Yang positioned just above the hole in the fuselage, preparing to drop down. I rushed over, intending to take her place searching for the pilot’s body, but realized the opening was too small; only she could possibly squeeze through.

To fit into the cramped space, Inley Yang stripped off her portable pack and everything non-essential, including the inseparable steel umbrella, handing them all to me. She then used her headlamp to carefully illuminate the dark recesses of the cockpit, confirming no other animals were lurking, before bracing herself against the jagged opening and descending into the wreckage.

Fatty and I watched from outside. I called out, “Any remains in there? If there are, tie a rope around them and we’ll haul them up.”

Inley Yang’s muffled reply came from inside: “No. The nose is completely crushed. There are no bodies in the cockpit, just two flight helmets. Perhaps the crew bailed out before the crash.”

I urged her, “If there’s nothing, hurry back up. I feel these two old trees swaying badly. I don’t think they can bear this much weight for long; they could go at any moment.”

Inley Yang didn’t answer immediately. I heard her rustling through something inside the fuselage. After a noticeable pause, she spoke again, “I think there are several crates of ammunition and weaponry in here. Let me see if anything is still usable... We are very lucky; a small portion is still intact, after more than 40 years...”

Fatty and I were instantly energized upon hearing there was ordnance inside. We hadn't even entered the 'Worm Valley' properly and had already encountered so many beasts. We regretted not securing sharper weapons before entering the mountain. That BB gun was practically useless in the dense forest; any firearm that couldn't deliver sustained fire would just drive you mad. Even if the American gear in the transport plane was obsolete, it was a hundred times better than entering the mountain armed with bird guns.

I was about to ask what kind of rifles they had when I suddenly sensed something wrong behind me. There had never been any wind in this part of the jungle, yet a faint, chilling breeze touched my back. Although silent, I noticed it instinctively. Reacting instantly, I triggered the spring mechanism on the handle of the steel umbrella, snapping it open behind me to shield my exposed back.

This steel umbrella was an artifact centuries old, forged from finely tempered steel mixed with rare metals. Even a chainsaw would only leave a faint white mark on it. Passed down through generations of Mojin Xiaowei (Tomb Raiders), it had deflected countless booby traps and hidden darts in ancient tombs—truly the most practical tool in the traditional arsenal of the raiders.

Feeling that icy gust sweep past, I deployed the umbrella mid-action. I heard several sharp tsing-chah sounds, like steel blades raking across metal. Fatty, beside me, pointed behind me and shouted, “Damn it! That’s a huge night cat!” He raised his air gun, ready to aim and fire.

It was only then I realized the Diao Hao Niao’s talons had just grazed the steel umbrella. It had returned to attack. I hadn't expected the beast to hold such a grudge. If I hadn't reacted so quickly, and if I hadn't had the steel umbrella for protection, one swipe would have shredded my flesh.

Fatty’s shot rang out simultaneously. Despite its size, the Diao Hao Niao’s movements in the air were as elusive as a forest phantom. Coupled with the darkness, Fatty missed entirely.

Fatty rarely missed a shot and grew agitated, patting himself down and cursing, realizing he’d forgotten to bring the steel ball bearings that served as his ammunition. He hadn't brought his Type 64 rifle either. He ended up reversing his Jian Wei tool, gripping it like a club, prepared to ward off the Diao Hao Niao (i) should it circle back from the darkness.

We frantically swept the tactical spotlights from our helmets around. The clouds had covered the moon, leaving only our twin beams dancing wildly. But the Diao Hao Niao (i) could fly anywhere in the pitch-black jungle; its attack radius was vast, and it could emerge from any direction.

Suddenly, two golden lights appeared right behind Fatty. A pair of enormous golden eyes snapped open. I immediately yelled to him, “Hit the deck! It’s right behind you!”

In his panic, Fatty lunged forward, forgetting he was up in a tree. With a loud, agonized cry, he fell away from the old banyan, only to be caught by the safety line I’d secured earlier, dangling mid-air just as I had, saved from hitting the rocks below. However, given his weight, it was doubtful the tree trunk and rope could hold him for long. Fatty thrashed his legs in terror; the more he struggled, the more violently the tree shook. Leaves and shallow-rooted plants rained down, and the entire banyan groaned under the stress, threatening to collapse at any moment.

Before I could figure out how to pull Fatty up and stop him from breaking the branches, my vision suddenly plunged into blackness. Something had eclipsed the light from my helmet. The spectral Diao Hao Niao (i) swooped down from directly above me.

This time, I didn't have time to deploy the steel umbrella. One hand was occupied gripping a vine to maintain balance, leaving the other hand unavailable to fire my weapon. I could only hold the closed steel umbrella out to block the raptor’s descending talons. But the Diao Hao Niao (i) was ferociously powerful; it managed to clamp its claws firmly onto the umbrella in my hand, attempting to wrench it away. Its strength was immense; I couldn't hold it steady with just one hand, and the creature was nearly dragging me right off the tree.

Just as this tense standoff reached its peak, the sound of automatic gunfire suddenly ripped through the air. Tracers streaked through the darkness. The Diao Hao Niao (i) was blown apart like shredded cloth, falling straight down from the sky to land motionless at the base of the tree. The vicious hunter that ruled the night forest had suddenly become someone else's prey.

It was Inley Yang, emerging from the fuselage wreckage holding a firearm, who had shot the Diao Hao Niao (i). In the dark, we couldn't tell what weapon she carried. Both Fatty, suspended in the air, and I couldn't help but exclaim in unison, “What ferocious firepower! What gun is that?”

Inley Yang patted the submachine gun in her hand and replied, “It’s a Thompson submachine gun. The American mobsters preferred calling it the Chicago Typewriter. It’s just too heavy.”

Since the transport plane was delivering munitions, its cargo had been strictly sealed. Furthermore, because mii type weapons are susceptible to moisture, the guns and their ammo pouches were all sealed in plastic bags. The new guns still had protective oil on them. Miraculously, a very small portion had survived the crash and the harsh conditions of the jungle. This was entirely due to the fact that although the forest behind Dragon’s Coil Mountain is crisscrossed with underground rivers, it rarely sees heavy rain from the sky. Otherwise, after several major downpours over the decades, even perfectly sealed submachine guns nestled in the treetops would have had their ammunition ruined.

I completely forgot about examining the American gear then. I immediately asked Inley Yang for help to lower Fatty, who was dangling from the tree trunk. All this commotion had taken up an entire night. In about half an hour, dawn should break, but the darkness before dawn is the darkest of all—a saying that felt acutely true here. The forest was now so black I couldn't see my hand in front of my face.

In this absolute darkness, a clear series of drip-da sounds suddenly emanated from the very old banyan tree we were perched on. Inley Yang and I were completely unprepared. We had assumed the earlier noise was caused by that feathered brute in the fuselage, but we had dealt with it. Why was this signal sounding again?

Wait—this was the same sound we heard from beneath the tree earlier. Now, comparing them, it was clearly different from the sounds the Diao Hao Niao (i) made while feeding. We hadn't noticed before, mistaking it for the same noise, but now, situated higher up, we could clearly hear the sequence coming from the section of the trunk directly beneath the fuselage wreckage.

I cursed, “Damn it, what fresh hell is this? This sound is truly uncanny.”

Inley Yang signaled me to quiet down and listen closely. As she listened, a shadow of deep-seated fear flickered across her usually composed expression: “Now you hear it clearly too. It’s repeating, just one sequence of Morse code, but the content of the signal has changed this time...”

I strained my ears for a long time. This time it wasn't the previous pattern of three shorts and three longs. It was slightly more complex than the first signal, but recognizably repetitive. I don't know Morse code, but seeing Inley Yang so solemn told me this was serious business. Yet, I had no idea what the signal meant, enough to cause her such alarm.

Inley Yang stared intently in the direction of the sound and slowly recited the sequence back to me: “Da-dih-dih... dih... dih-da... da-dih-dih...” She whispered, “This really is a phantom signal. A death signal sent by a lost soul.”