Chapter 148: The Hua and Guo Families

Mo Bai said that a long time ago, the Guo and Hua families were actually two brothers who had apprenticed under the same master. Their master was incredibly powerful—so much so that words couldn’t do him justice. It was said he could even serve in the underworld, defying fate and wielding divine magic on par with the Celestial Masters of Dragon-Tiger Mountain. The master feared that after his death, his two disciples would turn against each other.

Mo Bai’s account was almost identical to the novel’s plot. Neither disciple would submit to the other, and without the master to restrain them, chaos was inevitable.

“Did the master come up with a solution in the end? If things had really gone that way, it would’ve been disastrous,” I asked.

Mo Bai replied, “First, compliment me a bit more on how handsome I am.”

Uncle Jianguo glanced at the wooden doll’s flat nose, small eyes, and thick lips, then said, “You? Too handsome. One in ten thousand. This nose, this mouth, these eyes—absolutely aquiline, with clear and delicate brows…” Mo Bai, pleased, continued, “Let’s get back to the master.”

The master’s favorite pastime was collecting all kinds of dried corpses and hoarding them at home. Every year, he would take the two brothers—Hua and Guo—deep into the old forests. Whenever they found a tomb with a powerful zombie inside, he’d be overjoyed—like a scholar topping the imperial exams, a widow meeting a lecher, or a lazy man finding a pretty wife. He’d get incredibly excited.

“After years of tomb-raiding, they gathered a few particularly formidable zombies. They’d bring them back and nurture them carefully, eventually producing bronze-armored and silver-armored corpses.

“One year—or so I’ve heard—the master was somewhere in Jiangxi, or maybe elsewhere, and found a tomb he believed housed an exceptionally powerful zombie. The three of them worked for over two months to open it. Inside was a blood zombie. Contrary to popular belief, blood zombies aren’t as terrifying as imagined. The master and his disciples had dealt with plenty of zombies before, using all sorts of tricks, and nothing ever went wrong. But that time, the blood zombie unexpectedly gravely wounded the master, who later died.

“A black cat emerged from that ancient tomb—no one knew how long it had been living there. To get back on track, before his death, the master made arrangements. He gave the Guo family a silver-armored corpse and the Hua family the means to counter it.”

I interrupted, “So you’re saying Hua Chongyang can actually deal with the silver-armored corpse? If that’s the case, the silver-armored corpse would definitely flee at the sound of his voice.”

It seemed Hua Chongyang had secretly refined a method to counter the silver-armored corpse—no wonder he seemed neither human nor ghost.

Mo Bai continued, “It appears the master also gave each family a copper urn and a silver urn.”

Uncle Jianguo, unaware of many details, soon lost interest and yawned, ready to sleep.

Mo Bai, slightly annoyed, cleared his throat. “Don’t sleep yet—here comes the climax.”

Uncle Jianguo opened his eyes, watching the slow-moving car ahead while the driver complained about the rough road, saying they wouldn’t reach Fufeng before dark.

“Go on, I can listen with my eyes closed,” Uncle Jianguo said.

Mo Bai said, “True to form, after the master’s mourning period, the Hua and Guo families began feuding. They fought over the distribution of zombies—you want a black zombie, I want a white one; you want an earth-nurtured corpse, I want a bronze-armored one. In the end, they were left with the weakest zombie, and neither would back down. They ended up brawling, destroying all the zombies they’d carefully collected, leaving nothing salvageable but ashes.

“The Hua family had the means to subdue the silver-armored corpse, while the Guo family possessed it. The stalemate dragged on for years. Eventually, the Guo family mastered insect breeding, while the Hua family turned to politics, using power to suppress the Guo family. Over the years, the Hua family oppressed the Guo family relentlessly. During the Qing dynasty, the Hua family even allied with the Aisin Gioro clan, while the Guo family sided with the Yehe Nara. In the end, neither family gained the upper hand.”

Listening to Mo Bai, it was clear that fraternal strife never leads to good outcomes—mutual destruction is the most common result.

The Guo family had the silver-armored corpse, while the Hua family knew how to counter it. The Guo family used insects, and the Hua family, with their political influence, surely devised ways to counter those as well.

“I know this part. When the Qing dynasty was founded, the Aisin Gioro clan nearly wiped out the Yehe Nara. But the Yehe Nara bided their time and eventually brought down the Aisin Gioro’s reign—because Empress Dowager Cixi was a Yehe Nara,” Uncle Jianguo couldn’t resist interjecting.

“Right. That’s what unofficial histories say. But one thing remains—no one has ever found that escaped spirit cat, Xiao Qi,” Mo Bai added.

“Huh? Oh? Wow.” I was nearly stunned.

Could He Qingling—or rather, He the cat—be the one that escaped from that tomb?

I pressed Mo Bai for more details about the tomb, but he admitted he didn’t know much. The secrets of the Hua and Guo families had taken him great effort to uncover.

If the tomb was so well-hidden and the spirit cat so cunning, how could it be easily found?

Was it really He Qingling?

The car suddenly stopped. It was already dusk, and the biting wind cut like a knife. Shivering, I realized I rarely traveled north, especially in winter. Stepping out of the car, my feet felt frozen stiff. Traffic ahead had stalled—an overturned truck blocked the road.

Horns blared as the sky darkened, promising even colder temperatures. We had no choice but to stay in the car with the heater on.

Uncle Jianguo got out, stomping his feet, and handed me a cigarette. Jiese, from the car behind, joined us. Rolling down the window, I saw Hua Chongyang’s piercing gaze.

“Looks like we’re spending the night here,” Jiese said.

He had changed back into his monk’s robes, his nose red from the cold. Uncle Jianguo and I went to inspect the situation. All kinds of vehicles clogged the highway—a coal truck had skidded sideways, its cab jutting off the road.

Fortunately, no one was hurt. The truck driver had managed to stop in time, and despite the icy rain, spirits were high—except for a few drivers arguing over fender-benders.

The truck driver, exhausted, stood anxiously calling for help while a crowd of drivers offered opinions.

Uncle Jianguo stepped forward. “Brother, no need to call. I’ve got a solution.” The driver brightened. “What do we do?”

Uncle Jianguo organized the drivers, instructing them to back their vehicles up. With so many cars and opportunistic drivers squeezing into gaps, it took effort to clear space.

Uncle Jianguo lit a cigarette, directing the crowd to hold positions. He then got back in the truck and slowly maneuvered it straight with some final tugging from a rope.

Xie Xiaoyu stepped out, and a few men hesitated—”How can we let a girl help?”—but she gave the truck a decisive shove, and it moved. Uncle Jianguo adjusted the clutch, aligning the truck perfectly.

Within minutes, traffic resumed. By the time we reached Xinglin Town in Fufeng County, night had fallen. The final stretch to Famen Temple was too treacherous in the dark, so we settled for the night in Xinglin.

We ate lamb stew, warming our frozen feet. Hua Chongyang ordered a dog meat hotpot, devouring it with relish.

We checked into the town’s best hotel—two vans parked outside. Uncle Jianguo and I shared a room, Jiese and Hua Chongyang another, the drivers took one, and Xie Xiaoyu and Little Scoundrel had their own.

Watching Uncle Jianguo do push-ups, I remarked, “I never knew the northwest could be this cold. First time experiencing it.”

Uncle Jianguo grinned. “Sitting by a fire at home, roasting lamb—now that’s the life.”

Mo Bai added, “Throw in a woman with big hips and big breasts, and it’s heaven on earth. Shaanxi women are sturdy—none of that delicate Jiangnan nonsense. When they get going, it’s unbearable.”

I scoffed. “Should’ve hung that kind of charm on you.”

The hotel phone rang—”Hey, lonely tonight?” A woman’s voice. Uncle Jianguo snatched the receiver. “What’s on the menu?”

“What do you want?”

Before Uncle Jianguo could continue, I warned, “Uncle, we’re strangers here. A setup would be bad news.”

He scoffed. “With our numbers? And a monk in tow? Local cops wouldn’t dare mess with us.”

“I’ll step out.” I left the room as Uncle Jianguo eagerly dialed back.

I checked my phone—”Leftist Jinxia” had posted: “Leaving Xi’an soon. This trip helped me find the meaning of travel. Perhaps only the silent terracotta warriors understand my heart. If you’re well, it’s a sunny day. Oppa.”

A woman in a padded coat, clutching a black bag, knocked on the door.

Assuming Uncle Jianguo would be busy, I went to Xie Xiaoyu’s room. She was watching *Pleasant Goat and Big Big Wolf*—episode 3,816—laughing as Lazy Goat stole Pretty Goat’s cake.

What caught my eye was how the wife, Red Wolf, also had a teardrop mole but lived a charmed life with her hardworking husband—far from lonely.

Compared to her, Zhong Li, the mortician back in Jiangcheng, seemed pitiful.

Once I figured Uncle Jianguo was done, I told Xie Xiaoyu to rest early and patted Little Scoundrel’s head before leaving.

In the hallway, a seductive woman walked toward me.