The Fatty, positioned on the highest pavilion of the Heavenly Palace, peered down into the black abyss below and felt the slickness of the large tiles beneath his feet, a tremor of fear in his heart. When I posed my question, he casually replied, "What's strange about it? *******, it was just a sheet of human skin stretched over the head, complete with a wig—a head-covering. I stuffed my ears, so I couldn't hear that ghastly laughter. Just as you said, I yanked off that skin mask and burned it, clothes and all, with a single blaze."

I asked, astonished, "Was there only heavy makeup painted on the human skin mask? Then where did the banshee's piercing shriek come from? Could a ghost have possessed that shamanic robe?"

The Fatty ground his back teeth and whispered to me, "You didn't get close enough to see. The skin mask was painted with a white base and red lips, looking much like a corpse's face. ******, even now, thinking about it makes the tendons in my legs tremble. If there weren't some other ghost at work, how would I be alive here telling you this? As for that spectral laugh, I bet it was just a few holes in the skin mask. When the slight breeze from the palace roof blew through, and considering the great nanchin trees there that can produce a deep, resonant sound, we probably misheard. Stop overthinking and getting spooked."

I remained noncommittal after hearing the Fatty's account and reasoning, sinking into silence. I thought to myself, "This oaf has always been muddled and incoherent; his speech is often nonsensical. Although I watched him burn that shamanic robe, I can't feel completely at ease. That banshee's shriek could cover a person's hair with a layer of frost; the strange winds in Xinjiang's Devil City are potent, but not this fierce. I swear on Chairman Mao, that robe and the skin mask are definitely not that simple. We are in a place of extreme peril now; every precaution must be taken. I should test him again to truly feel secure, lest another oversight lead to lingering regret."

Fearing the Fatty might be possessed by the banshee, I prepared to use an item known to ward off evil on him. By then, the sun was slanting west, about to disappear behind the mountains, leaving us only this brief moment to act.

If the Fatty were truly possessed, using glutinous rice—capable of drawing out ghostly energy and corpse poison—would settle the matter instantly. However, acting directly might betray my mistrust of my brother, and if an evil spirit were truly present, a frontal confrontation would put me at a disadvantage. I might even hurt the Fatty in the process. Therefore, I had to circle around behind him first, waiting for the opportune moment.

After turning the plan over in my mind three times, I set down the equipment I was inspecting and stood up from the glazed roof of the Heavenly Palace, pretending to stretch languidly and loosen my muscles, using the movement to drift behind the Fatty.

Unfortunately, the maneuver appeared somewhat staged. The Fatty, busy tearing into a chocolate bar for sustenance, didn't notice. It was Inley Yang who sensed something was amiss with me and immediately asked, "Old Hu, what madness has seized you now? This is neither early nor late—why are you stretching like that? The glazed tiles are slippery; be careful."

I signaled frantically to Inley Yang to hold her tongue, thinking, "You're usually so sharp-witted; why are you so obtuse today? Though you don't believe in ghosts and only trust in God, in a moment you will witness the prescience of your Hu—I'll have you bowing in complete admiration."

Though Inley Yang didn't grasp why I was making faces at her, she was perceptive enough to see my intent and wisely restrained herself, giving a slight nod of assent.

The Fatty, his mouth stuffed with chocolate and dried beef, twisted his head to look at me and mumbled indistinctly, "Commander Hu, did you twist your back when you fell off the wooden beam? I say, we're both in our mid-thirties now, not like before. We have to take things easy. Back at camp, we’ll have Blind Man give you a massage. Hey, you can't deny Blind Man's skill is amazing; last time my muscle felt like it was twisting into a knot..."

I quickly interjected, "Are we considered old at thirty-something? Don't forget, revolutionaries are always young! Besides, I didn't strain my back at all. Being here at the pinnacle of the Heavenly Palace, looking down and taking in the magnificent scenery of our motherland, a surge of emotion welled up in my heart, prompting me to stand up specifically to recite a poem to commemorate the moment."

The Fatty burst out laughing, spitting out his food. "Commander Hu, don't make fun of us! With only those couple of half-characters you know, you want to recite poetry? Go rest. Save your energy; we still need to go down into the Profound Palace later to search for artifacts."

Seeing that the Fatty's demeanor was normal, not like someone possessed by a banshee, I thought it was best if there were no ghosts. If there truly were one, I would inevitably have to engage in a three-way battle, and I wasn't confident about handling a red-robed banshee. However, since I was already standing, I decided to proceed with my original plan—an extra layer of caution never hurts.

So, while rambling, I trod across the glazed tiles to get behind the Fatty: "Commander Wang, you shouldn't view new issues with an old perspective. Many great poets of antiquity were illiterate vagrants, yet they still left behind verses for the ages. I admit I didn't study as hard as you did when I was young because I was busy responding to the call of the times, constantly concerned with national affairs. But my love for the great rivers and mountains of our homeland is absolutely no less than yours. I..."

As I spoke, I had already maneuvered behind the Fatty, my voice never ceasing, but my hand was now digging into my haversack, retrieving a large handful of glutinous rice. This batch I had acquired the previous year, so it had sat for a while; the grains looked a bit stale, but glutinous rice repels the Yin, capable of driving away corpses and ghosts and counteracting the spectral. Overdue rice would still work.

I immediately flung the handful of rice like scattering flowers from behind the Fatty, showering him heavily. The Fatty, who had been sitting and talking with me, jumped, startled by the sudden downpour of rice, and quickly turned to ask, "Are you full from eating too much? Didn't you say you were going to recite a poem? Why are you throwing rice now? Are you trying to catch birds to test the air quality in that ancient tomb's underground palace again?"

Inley Yang was also looking at me strangely from the side. Seeing no banshee fall off the Fatty from the rice, I had to explain: "I intended to utter a few lofty lines, truly lines for the ages, but I suddenly remembered Little Fatty had just touched that human skin mask. Han Dynasty dead-skin must carry a heavy Yin energy, so I was cleansing the bad luck off him. But according to old traditions, this can't be announced beforehand; it only works when you don't know about it. Once this ancient gloom is purified, you will surely get promoted, make a fortune, and achieve great success in the future. See? For your sake, I forgot those immortal verses I was about to recite. Now I try to recall them, but they're gone—damn it, the inspiration fled."

I fabricated some reasons to temporarily smooth over the doubts of the Fatty and Inley Yang, unsure if they would accept my explanation. Just as I was continuing to elaborate, Inley Yang suddenly pointed to the sky and said to us, "Look how strange the clouds are up there."

The Fatty looked up and exclaimed in wonder, "Commander Hu, could it be the Dragon King showing his wings?"

In the area of the sky still holding light near the mountain ridge, a huge, long, dense black cloud stretched out, like a black dragon suspended horizontally in the air, or perhaps a black celestial river hanging in the firmament, gradually merging with the sky that had already fallen into darkness on our side of the mountain, instantly casting a shadow over the "Heavenly Palace" and the "Water Dragon Swirl" in the valley.

Normally, in the fresh air of the wilderness or on high mountains with thin air, when night falls and there are few clouds, one can see the brilliant Milky Way. However, compared to the galaxy in the stars, the "Black River" enveloping us now seemed ominous, saturated with a grim, desolate, and gloomy energy. The burial grounds in the quiet valley became even darker and more silent. It was as if we had suddenly found ourselves inside a sinister, dark underworld palace.

I said to Inley Yang and the Fatty, "This celestial phenomenon is recorded in ancient Feng Shui. When a dark energy spans the Han celestial path, this omen is called the 'Black Pig Crossing the Heavenly River.' Celestial Star Secret Arts label this as 'Rain Season Offense,' while the Green Bamboo Terrestrial Theory states that when a black bamboo crosses the river, it inevitably signifies an ancient corpse haunting the area, causing its corpse energy to rush from Yin to Yang, obscuring the moon and stars."

The Fatty looked confused and asked, "So you mean this isn't a good omen? Is it the Rain Season or corpse energy? By the way, what is the Rain Season? Is it going to block our path to fortune?"

I replied to the Fatty, "The Rain Season means a flood surge. We've arrived at an inopportune time, about to enter King Xian's tomb tonight, and we've encountered such a rare celestial event not seen in a hundred years. I wonder if this relates to King Xian altering the terrestrial layout. Perhaps these strange phenomena have become frequent here in recent years. This downpour is being suppressed, and sooner or later it will culminate in a massive change. Perhaps before long, this entire Insect Valley Heavenly Palace will be swallowed by a mountain flood. We mustn't delay; let's descend to the pool immediately."

As we spoke, the sky had turned pitch black, the kind where you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. The three of us quickly switched on the spotlights on our climbing helmets, gaining only a dim light. After briefly distributing the gear, we kept the water-sensitive weapons and explosives in our packs and descended by rope from the side of the hall, finding the stone slabs of the "Plank Road." We navigated the winding path down, which was utterly black; we could only inch our way forward, sometimes having to climb down vines where the "remainder path" was broken. The three beams of light seemed negligible in the boundless darkness, barely illuminating the ground beneath our feet, making it impossible to discern the outlines of terrain even five or six meters away.

We descended for what felt like a long time, estimating at least two hours had passed. Along the way, we continuously spotted white corpses beneath our feet—all those "Zhong People" who couldn't adapt to the outside environment. I presumed the remaining ones had retreated into the caves and would no longer pose a threat to us.

Feeling our way in the dark, after two hours of trekking, we finally reached the end of the "Plank Road" at the valley floor. However, I estimated it was only about five o'clock in the afternoon. The original view of the sky through the funnel had merged into the darkness along with the rest of the scenery. This 'Black Pig Crossing the River' had arrived quickly. Suddenly, I remembered that today was the nineteenth of the seventh month—this was terrible news.

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