Uncle Ming asked Ah Xiang to point out where Ah Dong's Bardo body was hiding. The moment Ah Xiang raised her finger, both Fatty and I instinctively flinched backward, feeling decidedly like we had something to hide. But nobody expected her finger to point, without deviation, directly at the Buddha’s Protector—the Iron Cudgel Lama.

The Iron Cudgel Lama’s face shifted violently. He managed only a single gasp of alarm before slumping backward. My eyes were quick, and I rushed to support his back. Looking at him, his complexion was the color of pale gold, his breath shallow as silk thread. Fearing for his life, I quickly checked his pulse; it was erratic, fading in and out, suggesting he could depart for the Pure Land at any moment.

I understood nothing of what a Bardo body was, nor did it seem like a simple case of spiritual possession. In this predicament, I was momentarily at a complete loss.

Uncle Ming, standing opposite us, spoke, “How could Ah Dong be dead? Did you murder him?” As he spoke, he shot a look to his subordinate, Peter Huang, signaling him to stand guard.

Fatty, misinterpreting the signal, assumed Uncle Ming ordered an attack. He pulled out his paratrooper knife and lunged forward, intending to take down Uncle Ming. Peter Huang, however, drew his own dagger and stood like a veritable iron tower protecting Uncle Ming.

The ancient fort was suddenly rife with tension; the atmosphere was a massive powder keg, ready to explode at the slightest spark. Han Shuna, afraid for her goddaughter, quickly pulled Ah Xiang far away.

Seeing Fatty and Peter Huang about to engage in a fight to the death, I thought to myself that we wouldn't be at a disadvantage if a brawl broke out—just an old scoundrel and two women against us. Even if Peter Huang was skilled, at best he was a Southeast Asian guerrilla fighter; Fatty could certainly handle him—as long as nobody actually died.

Shirley Yang thought I was about to intervene, but seeing my stillness, as if I were enjoying the spectacle, she gave me a shove. Startled, I came to my senses—for some reason, I had never truly considered Uncle Ming’s group as allies. But if a true fight broke out here, it would benefit neither side.

I called out to the assembled group, “Comrades, everyone calm down! This is a misunderstanding, and we are not in Beirut. We can discuss anything peacefully!” I recounted how Fatty and I discovered Ah Dong stealing the Silver Eye Buddha at the Royal City ruins and the gruesome manner of his death.

Uncle Ming quickly seized the opportunity to de-escalate: “Brother Hu speaks sense. We can discuss anything! That scoundrel Ah Dong was just greedy for petty gains; he deserved to die long ago. Don't let this spoil our harmony…” He paused, then continued, “The priority now is this Lama Master; he’s finished. Burn his body quickly! Otherwise, we will all suffer! That ancient scripture I was studying had a section detailing the Bardo state…”

Uncle Ming told us that we didn't really know Ah Dong, that scoundrel. Despite his usual penchant for sneaking around and picking locks, he was timider than a rabbit, and even as a ghost, he wouldn't dare cause trouble for us. But the problem was that the current Bardo body must have been agitated by something, because the process described in the scriptures is terrifying, lasting forty-nine days. During this time, one sees horrors like bear-headed human figures, white goddesses wielding human corpses as clubs, or holding bowls made from bloodied skulls—truly terrifying sights. Once the Bardo body dissipates, it transforms into something called 'Chigou' (), and if not burned, it will cause further deaths.

However, Uncle Ming’s knowledge on the subject was superficial. Although he pored over the ancient scripture of the Reincarnation Sect daily, he mostly focused on passages concerning the Glacial Crystal Corpses, skimming over other sections. Moreover, the scripture’s explanation of the Bardo state was not very detailed.

I suspected that among us now, only Shirley Yang might know something about Esoteric Buddhism. But upon asking, Shirley Yang was also unsure how to save him. The Bardo state is a secret not taught openly in Vajrayana; only a few monks in Sikkim possess the true mysteries, and perhaps even the Iron Cudgel Lama, if conscious, might not have a solution.

My heart grew anxious. Were we truly going to stand by and watch the Iron Cudgel Lama die? He had traveled thousands of miles to help us; if anything happened to him… I would rather die in his place.

Shirley Yang said to me, “Old Hu, don't panic yet. Perhaps Ah Xiang can help us. Her biological parents were core members of the Science Cult. I don’t know much about the Science Cult, but I suspect Ah Xiang might possess the Instinctive Eye. Let her look at the Lama’s condition; maybe we can find a way.”

“Instinctive Eye.” I had heard of it. Just a couple of days ago on the road, the Iron Cudgel Lama mentioned that this girl, Ah Xiang, possessed a pair of ‘Instinctive Eyes.’ In Esoteric Buddhism, the Lamas believe eyes can be divided into seven stages. The first is the ordinary human eye, belonging to those with normal vision. The second is called the ‘Ben Mu’ (), the Instinctive Eye—eyes possessing the keenness of wild animals. Untainted by worldly distractions, their visual range is far greater than a normal person’s. This range isn't about depth of sight but the ability to perceive things normal people cannot. Next is the ‘Heavenly Eye’ (), which can see the past and future lives of beings in two realms. The fourth is the ‘Dharma Eye’ (), like those of Bodhisattvas and Arhats, capable of clearly seeing events hundreds of eons before and after. The fifth is the ‘Saint Eye’ (), seeing millions of eons. The highest stage is the ‘Buddha Eye’ (), boundless and infinite, capable of seeing from beginning to end for eternity.

Reminded by Shirley Yang, I realized that Ah Xiang might be our only straw to clutch. I immediately adopted my kind, benevolent PLA uncle expression and pleasantly asked Ah Xiang to examine the Iron Cudgel Lama and tell us what was happening.

Ah Xiang hid behind Uncle Ming and said, “I can only see a bloody figure, it looks like Ah Dong, being entangled by black things wrapped around the Master Lama, most densely around his right hand.” This was the limit of what Ah Xiang could see, and looking too long gave her a terrible headache; she never dared look longer.

I pursed my lips. What use was this? What black things? It was practically saying nothing, but I couldn't force Ah Xiang. I turned to discuss countermeasures with Shirley Yang. Shirley Yang pulled up the Iron Cudgel Lama’s sleeve and examined his right hand, then said to me, “When we were examining the Himalayan wild man’s fur earlier, a stiff barb in the pelt pricked the Master Lama’s finger. None of us noticed at the time. Could this not be the Bardo body acting up, but rather that the pelt itself is cursed?”

Hearing this made me even more suspicious. I crouched down to look at the Iron Cudgel Lama’s finger; his middle finger indeed had a small puncture, but no blood was flowing. I urgently told Fatty, “Quickly go into the room and bring out that pelt to burn it. That hide is strange.”

Fatty rushed into our room in a flurry, then ran back out just as fast: “It’s gone! It was definitely in the room just now, did it grow legs and run off? Only a few strands of the wild man’s black hair are left…”

Everyone exchanged pale glances. I said to Shirley Yang, “Perhaps we were all mistaken. That wasn't a Himalayan wild man’s pelt at all, but the hide of a reanimated corpse—maybe that Portuguese priest’s. But since it’s the skin of a Black Fierce entity, we might still have a chance to save the Lama.”

Since ancient times, the primary concern for 'Grave Robber Colonels' (Mogul) has been how to deal with zombies and corpse poison. Although we had never encountered a genuine zombie, before leaving Beijing, Da Jinya and I had a long talk with the fortune teller Blind Chen. Blind Chen spoke of many rare and unheard-of things, such as the multiple uses of black donkey hooves…

Although Blind Chen often boasted, some of his information wasn't groundless. Forced to improvise, we had no choice but to try. Those black donkey hooves we had were procured by Yanzi when we were robbing graves at Black Wind Pass. There were many donkeys in the village, and we had prepared eight in total. Later, we used and discarded them as needed, never replenishing the supply. By the time we returned from Yunnan, seven were gone, leaving only one spare at the Beijing house, which Fatty had brought along this time.

Fatty rummaged through the luggage for a long time before handing me the black donkey hoof. I weighed it in my hand, completely unsure if it would work, but decided to try. If it failed, it was fate.

Just as I was about to act, Shirley Yang stopped me: “Are you going to make a living person eat a black donkey hoof again? Absolutely not, that could kill him. We must administer effective medical treatment to the Lama Master.”

I said to Shirley Yang, “The nearest settlement to this Guge ruins is eight hundred li away; finding even a herdsman would be a miracle. Where are we going to find a doctor? My method, though crude, has its historical precedent, and I am certainly not suggesting the Lama ingest the hoof. Saving his life is paramount; there's no time for detailed explanation. If we don't remove that Black Fierce hide quickly, not only will the Iron Cudgel Lama die, but more people will follow!”

That last sentence silenced everyone. The tension in the room grew thick again. Someone, I don't know who, spotted something and cried out, drawing everyone’s attention to the Lama’s face. Outside the abandoned fort, the rain had long stopped, but the muffled rumble of thunder persisted incessantly. The fire in the stone hut, having received no fresh yak dung fuel, was about to die out. The dim light illuminated the Iron Cudgel Lama’s face, and upon seeing it, everyone gasped. The Iron Cudgel Lama’s body was stiffening, and a layer of extremely fine, black fuzz was growing on his face. These hairs were interconnected, like tiny black nerve strands extending from his skin.