I pressed on, rushing my words to the Fatty and Shirley Yang. "I haven't yet seen the Four Modernizations realized, haven't seen Hong Kong return to the embrace of the motherland, haven't witnessed the completion of the Communist edifice, nor seen the Red Flag planted across the globe. I truly don't wish to die, but what's done is done, and talking of such things is useless now. I should stick to what matters. Don't grieve for me. For an old soldier, death is nothing. I merely follow the historical inevitability for the happiness of mankind, destined to sleep forever in the eternally blooming south of the rainbow-colored clouds."

Shirley Yang gripped my hand tightly. Though she wore a gas mask, obscuring her face, I could feel her weeping through the icy tremor of her fingertips. I heard her broken words: "Old soldiers never die, they just fade away."

I sighed. "I'm nearly covered by yellow earth, and you're still speaking that foreign tongue? How could I possibly understand? Save such words for when I'm reincarnated with an American household registration in my next life. I have urgent matters to discuss with you both. It's certainly proving difficult just to get down to business."

Just as I was about to dictate my final wishes, I felt nothing but some soreness throughout my body; no other anomaly had presented itself so far. The aches and stiffness were from being struck by that golden mask—even with quick evasion, the impact with the rock face had been hard. The moment I realized my gas mask was gone, I'd been completely flustered, but these few minutes had passed, and I felt fine, utterly unlike the symptoms of poisoning I was familiar with. A suspicion lingered: was this just a deathbed rally? But it didn't feel like it. Could it be that the vibrant red mist wasn't poisonous after all?

The thought of the "poisonous mist" flashed like lightning across my mind. What connection could there be between this red mist in the Gourd Cave and the white, miasmic fog in the valley above? The white mist is poison, but the red mist isn't? Could this strange bug possess some kind of internal conduit?

The Fatty, seeing my eyes fixed blankly, thought I had lost my senses. In desperation, he shook my shoulder repeatedly. "Commander Hu, haven't you finished giving your important final words? Why are you rolling your eyes already? Wake up!"

I pushed his hand away with my arm. "When did I roll my eyes? Are you trying to shake me apart? What was I about to say?" My urgent last will had flown out the window. I told Shirley Yang and the Fatty, "I think there's no poisonous gas in this level of the cave. This seems to be the source of the valley's Zhong mist—a factory producing the Zhong mist."

The two of them didn't react immediately, asking in unison, "No poisonous gas? Does that mean you aren't going to die?"

I was about to clarify the situation to the Fatty and Shirley Yang when my gaze flickered toward the corner of the Gourd Cave. The patch of red mist had expanded at some point, growing into a massive circle that enveloped the three of us. The heavy, mournful gasps from within the red mist sounded out again, shifting rapidly from left to right, suggesting swift movement. As the fog thickened, it became impossible to discern anything inside.

The strange creature beneath the golden mask was artificially encased in heavy, overlapping plates of armor. The shell plating was nearly as thick as that on an armored vehicle; even the flame from the butane sprayer likely couldn't harm it. Its only apparent weakness seemed to be the mouth hidden beneath the golden mask. I had taken a desperate risk earlier, pressing my submachine gun directly into its maw and firing, assuming I had killed it. My God, how much more effort would it take to kill this mountain god?

The red mist surrounding us was suddenly agitated by a strong airflow, parting to the sides. The gigantic, green-armored reptile with the golden mask thrust its body out of the air. The mouth of the golden mask had been shattered by the IAI; only a few scraps of gold leaf remained embedded in the flesh. With the mask gone, the monstrous mouth was even clearer: smashed-up flesh teeth and palps, revealing countless tentacles inside its oral cavity, still oozing yellow fluid where the bullets had penetrated. This time, it returned, trailing a plume of foul, bright crimson mist, making straight for the Fatty.

The monster attacked with thunderous force. The Fatty cried out in alarm, "Damn, that's disgusting!" He turned to flee, but in his panic, he tripped over the uneven, translucent rock floor and face-planted. Ignoring the pain, he rolled immediately and raised his gun to fire.

I shouted, "Bad news! That thing isn't completely dead! We must eradicate it this time." I grabbed the "Chicago Typewriter" from the ground and opened fire. No matter which part of the creature's body, clad in dragon-scale bronze armor, was hit, plumes of red mist would seep out from the seams of the plating or from its mouth.

The creature tried to charge several times but was driven back by the IAI. Finally, irritated by the continuous barrage, it grew frenzied. It charged through the dense rain of bullets, sweeping at us with its massive body. Its movements were too fast, and it kept vanishing into the red mist, making it impossible for the submachine gun to target its mouth. I realized that unless I got close enough to hit its vital spot, I wouldn't stop it. But right now, evasion was all we could manage. Out of options, I let out a sharp whistle and retreated rapidly toward the curved rock wall of the Gourd Cave, using the jagged, translucent stones near the underground water as cover.

With water on one side and a narrow path, coupled with the monster’s immense size, nearly the entire cavern was within its attack radius. The three of us, who had initially spread out, were now squeezed together in a corner by the relentless assault of the creature’s bulk; we had nowhere left to retreat.

We heard the harsh, heavy sound of armor plates grinding against the gravel underfoot as it squeezed horizontally toward us. The initial surge was so violent it stirred up air currents in the cave, creating a painful pressure against our skin.

At this point, we could neither retreat nor evade; the situation was critical. There was no time for discussion. Shirley Yang made a swift gesture toward me and uttered a single word: "Dynamite."

I immediately grasped her meaning: she wanted the Fatty and me to distract it, buying her time to rig the explosives. We instantly split left and right. The Fatty and I focused on the right flank. The monster indeed took the bait, turning to pounce on us. Shirley Yang was about to seize the opportunity to slip through the gap on the left flank toward the nearby rocks, but the creature was cunning, using feints. Seeing the interlocking fire from me and the Fatty—bullets raining down like hail—charging in directly would be costly. It deliberately showed a weakness, turning suddenly to bite at Shirley Yang.

This turn of events caught us completely off guard. We never expected an insect, regardless of its size, to be so crafty. Shirley Yang's rifle was out of ammo, and her Type 64 pistol was useless for repelling it. Fortunately, she reacted instantly, drawing the "Vajra Umbrella" from her back, just managing to block the creature’s jaws. The impact sent the umbrella flying off to land on a nearby rock.

Shirley Yang used her agility to execute a side roll and evade to the side. However, this position had become a dead angle formed by the uneven rock floor, making further maneuvering impossible. She had no choice but to draw her ice axe, preparing for a final stand. The armor plates clanged heavily, its roar like thunder. A golden glint shot out from the red mist, plummeting toward her. Knowing she couldn't possibly block a frontal assault, Shirley Yang leaped upward, hooking her ice axe into a crevice on the overhead rock, then kicked off the wall to swing her body sideways. The instant she left the ground, the creature’s massive mouth, full of tentacles and flesh palps, bit down exactly where she had stood. With a deafening crunch, the rock beneath was nearly pulverized.

The entire sequence, from our dispersal to this moment, had happened in a flash. We watched clearly from the sidelines but couldn't reach her in time. At that point, the Fatty and I were seeing red. Without a second thought, and before the creature, deemed the mountain god, could make its next move, we dropped our now-empty IAIs. Both of us drew our ice axes, and without a word, we used the axes to hook onto the dragon-scale bronze plating and vaulted onto the creature’s massive body. I had one goal: blind its eyes first. This one-eyed beast had only a single eye hidden behind the golden mask, an eye disproportionately small compared to its enormous bulk. If we could blind it, the rest would be easier.

Using both hands and feet, we scrambled quickly to its head. The Fatty and I roared in unison, swinging our ice axes in wide arcs, smashing them down onto the eyeball centered in the golden mask. We heard several sounds like punctured rubber balls, causing the monster intense pain, making it thrash wildly. Yellow fluid splattered everywhere from its head—was this its blood? The smell was intensely foul, like sea fish left to bake under continuous sunlight. We were drenched in it, but fortunately, it seemed non-toxic.

Seeing our initial success, I prepared to press the attack and deliver more fatal blows, but the violent shaking of the body destabilized me, causing me to lose my grip on the ice axe and tumble off.

The Fatty, however, clung tightly to the creature’s body. He jammed his ice axe firmly into the heavy dorsal armor, ignoring the reddish vapor constantly venting out and the yellow fluid coating his face. He reached into the monster's eye socket and yanked outward forcefully. We couldn't tell what he pulled out—red, green, and yellow bits, like a spilled paint shop, perhaps even some thick nerve fibers. The monster shrieked in agony and thrashed its head like a mad thing. This violent movement made the Fatty lose his hold, and he was flung into the water. The "dead floats" darting in the water swiftly scattered outward, then coiled back in a vortex, enveloping the Fatty in the center. In an instant, he vanished from sight.