The crowd, preoccupied with their arguments, had failed to notice the changes in the Iron Staff Lama. Now, taking a look, they saw his face had turned ashen, his body rigid. A layer of black fuzz was growing on his face and hands, and all his blood vessels had swollen, the dark veins clearly visible as if the nerves themselves were protruding through the skin. This once healthy man now looked like a zombie on the verge of reanimation.

I told the group, "Don't panic. This is just Shijin (Corpse Tendon). There’s still time to save him. Quickly build a smaller fire—and fetch a bowl of clear water and a straw at least twenty centimeters long. The faster, the better."

Uncle Ming understood that the Iron Staff Lama was a crucial figure. With him around, many matters concerning ancient Tibetan customs could be easily resolved. Moreover, the Lama was an expert in Tibetan medicine. Having his aid would make the search for the nine-story Demon Tower in the Kara Mil Range significantly more effective. For both public and personal reasons, he had to be saved, so Ming led Peter Huang and Han Shuna to assist.

I examined the Lama’s right palm, where the situation was most severe. The swelling extended to the elbow, and the small puncture wound on his finger had ballooned to the size of a broad bean. Half his arm was dark purple. When I pressed the skin gently, it felt like soft mud beneath, indicating decomposition starting from the inside out.

Given the Iron Staff Lama’s critical condition, I gripped the Heilv Tizi (Black Donkey Hoof) in my hand, constantly thinking how much better it would be to have more. One hoof was far too little. Although I had told everyone there was still time to save the Lama, now it felt like I didn't have even a one-in-ten chance. But to do nothing meant watching him slowly die.

As I weighed the pros and cons, hesitating for a moment, Inley Yang gently tapped my shoulder. "Everything is ready. But where on the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau would we find a straw? The guide, Zhaxi, has taken apart his brass water-pipe. See if this will work for you."

I took the object from Inley Yang; it was the thin, hollow brass tube from a shuiyan dai (water pipe). It was perfectly suitable. I moved the Iron Staff Lama closer to the small fire they had just kindled, poured out half of the large bowl of clear water, and placed the remainder under the Lama’s right hand. Then, I took out my paratrooper knife and sliced off a small piece of the old, hard Black Donkey Hoof.

Everyone gathered around the fire, intently watching my every move. Inley Yang asked me, "You still intend to make Master Lama ingest the Black Donkey Hoof? Eating this stuff is fatal, even in tiny pieces."

Fatty expressed his doubt too, saying, "Commander Hu, Uncle Lama hasn't kicked the bucket yet. Are you really planning to treat him like a big dried corpse?"

Uncle Ming also inquired, "Black Donkey Hoof can cure illness? Dian-gaiz-yiu (Why so)?"

I clicked my teeth together and said to the onlookers, "Comrades, can you stop all the chatter and obstruction? In this world, one thing counters another—it's the way of creation. The Iron Staff Lama is certainly not a Jiangshi, but his current state suggests he is entangled by Corpse Qi. The only way to save him is to burn the Black Donkey Hoof into a strong smoke and apply the fumigation to the sore. If you have any other methods, speak up quickly. If not, don't delay me in saving this man."

Inley Yang, Fatty, Uncle Ming, and the others looked utterly bewildered, asking in unison, "Smoked?"

I stopped arguing. First, I raked out a small piece of dried yak dung that was burning fiercely from the fire, and placed a small sliver of Black Donkey Hoof next to it to bake. As expected, the Black Donkey Hoof immediately emitted a noticeable blue smoke upon contact with the heat. Strange as it seemed, the smoke was neither black nor white, but a pale azure. The smoke rose slowly above the fire, carrying nothing but a peculiar scent of rotting leaves, with no other distinct odor, though it brought tears to the eyes.

I waved my hand, signaling everyone to step back a few paces, not to crowd so closely, lest their eyes be damaged by the smoke. Then, I dipped the Iron Staff Lama’s right middle finger into the clear water, allowing the pus and blood around the puncture site to dissolve.

A sudden thought struck me: the middle finger corresponds to the heart meridian. If the Corpse Qi had gripped the heart meridian, even the Black Donkey Hoof belonging to Zhang Guolao of the Eight Immortals wouldn't save the Lama’s life.

I added another small piece of Black Donkey Hoof. Seeing the smoke accumulate, I held the brass pipe in my mouth and blew the generated smoke directly onto the wound on the Lama’s finger, continuously fumigating it. In less than half a minute, I saw clear water dripping out of the puncture on the fingertip—more than a bowlful in total. Seeing such miraculous effectiveness, I became excited and my breathing rhythm broke. Taking a sharp inhale with the pipe in my mouth, I immediately sucked in a large mouthful of smoke, which choked me, bringing on a flood of tears and mucus. I felt an indescribable nausea churning in my chest, and my head spun violently. I quickly handed the pipe to Fatty, asking him to take over for a while.

I went outside and vomited for quite a while, taking several deep breaths of the post-rain air, before feeling slightly better. When I returned to the ancient blockhouse, no more clear water was flowing from the Lama’s fingertip. The wound seemed to be blocked by something from within. Shining the flashlight in, I could make out a dark mass inside.

Inley Yang hurriedly found a small pair of sterilized tweezers and gently pulled out the dark object lodged in the wound. To everyone's surprise, it was clumps of black hair, tightly twisted and knotted. No one knew how it got inside. After applying more concentrated smoke from the Black Donkey Hoof, clear water began to flow out again. After a while, another tangled mass of hair was extracted.

I noticed that with every clump of black hair removed, the black fuzz on the Lama's face seemed to lessen slightly. Thank heavens, it seemed he was finally going to live. As long as we could clear out all the corpse hair before the remaining half of the Black Donkey Hoof ran out, he would surely be safe.

The Lama's life was saved, and the heavy weight on my mind finally lifted. I lit a cigarette and sat on the ground, smoking while watching Inley Yang and the others treat the Iron Staff Lama. At this point, Uncle Ming came over and asked me, wanting to understand why the Black Donkey Hoof was so effective against Jiangshi. He figured that before the expedition entered the Kara Mil Range of the Kunlun Mountains, we should prepare a large batch to take along for any contingency, and stock over a hundred back in Hong Kong as well. My knowledge of the Black Donkey Hoof first came from stories my grandfather told me. Back then, Grandpa often recounted tales, such as a young man rushing to travel at night who stayed in a dilapidated, deserted ancient temple midway. Halfway through his sleep one night, a Jiangshi flew down from the sky outside. This creature, called a Flying Corpse, carried a beautiful young woman it had presumably captured elsewhere. Upon entering the temple, it intended to devour the girl's flesh and drink her blood. The young man acted heroically, stuffing the Black Donkey Hoof into the Jiangshi's mouth, which immediately finished the creature. The young man and the girl fell instantly in love, and then they proceeded to... well, you know what happened next.

Later, when I was older and uninterested in such simplistic stories, my grandfather would share his real-life experiences or folk legends. However, he didn't know much about the origin of the Black Donkey Hoof, only that it was a tool exclusively used by professional tomb raiders known as Mojin Xiaowei (Grave Robbers of the Golden Seal) to deal with the Jiangshi found in ancient tombs and desolate mounds. Such creatures have existed for ages, with many legends surrounding them. The reason they attack the living is entirely due to the fine hairs growing on their corpses. According to Inley Yang’s view, this might be an intensified change caused by a certain type of corpse fungus stimulated by bioelectricity. But whether that is true, we cannot know for sure. We only know that certain items are very effective in counteracting corporeal transformation; this is not the only method.

Uncle Ming suddenly understood. "Oh, if that's the case, I get it now. It's like how the Maoshan sect uses peach wood, and the Mojin Xiaowei use the Black Donkey Hoof. To use your words, Brother Hu, every butcher has his own way to slaughter a pig."

I replied, "Uncle Ming, you have an excellent memory. In truth, our paths diverge, though we share the goal of delving into tombs for wealth. The methods and secrets we use are vastly different. Just like your ancestors who carried dried corpses to excavate graves—didn't they have to first worship the Thirteen-Bearded Magnetic Cat and bring along three double-yolked eggs before daring to start?"

I used to be narrow-minded, thinking the Black Donkey Hoof could only be shoved into a Jiangshi's mouth. In reality, there are many other uses for it that I had never heard of. Later, in a steamed bun shop in Beijing, I heard Chen the Blind man describe in detail the applications of the Black Donkey Hoof and similar items.

Legend has it that in earlier years, a Mojin Xiaowei was operating near Mount Yandang when he encountered a sudden violent thunderstorm. Lightning split open a fissure in the mountain. Looking inside, he saw the cavity resembled a large room—it was an ancient tomb. Based on his experience, he judged there must be precious artifacts inside. So, this Mojin Xiaowei lowered himself by rope. He found in the subterranean palace a massive coffin. Upon opening it, he saw a deceased person lying inside with a white beard reaching his stomach—a figure of great stature, clearly no ordinary person. He retrieved a bead from the corpse's mouth and an ancient sword from the coffin. Just as he was about to look further, the coffin and the entire palace turned to ash when a gust of mountain wind blew in from outside. The only things preserved on a stone tablet in the cavity were two recognizable ancient characters: "Daye" (Great Beginning), leading him to deduce this was a tomb from the Sui Dynasty.

The Mojin Xiaowei saw nothing else of value in the chamber, so he left the sword and wrapped up the bead. As he was leaving, his ankle accidentally struck something hard. He felt a slight sting at the time and paid it no mind. But after returning home and washing his foot with warm water, he noticed a small blister forming on the scrape, which quickly became intensely itchy and painful, causing his entire leg to gradually turn black and rot. Just then, an old friend, a physician with many inherited secret formulas, visited. Upon seeing the wound on the Mojin Xiaowei's foot, the physician immediately knew he had been pierced by Shizong (Corpse Bristles) and urgently ordered someone to find dried, chalky black dog feces. As they frantically searched everywhere without success, they discovered the Black Donkey Hoof kept in the Mojin Xiaowei's home. An ancient prescription stated that this substance was equally effective against ghostly Qi and evil entities. So, they burned it to create smoke and fumigated the wound, extracting many white, beard-like hairs. It was after this incident that the secret formula began to be used by the Mojin Xiaowei.

I recounted these stories to Uncle Ming mainly to distract my own mind. The Iron Staff Lama’s life hung by a thread, putting immense psychological pressure on me. What if the Black Donkey Hoof ran out? I dared not even entertain such a pessimistic thought.

Just then, Inley Yang seemed to notice something amiss with the Iron Staff Lama and quickly turned back to call me: "Come quickly and look, what is this?"