Uncle Jianguo raised his hand to strike, but Lin Danan, with absolute certainty, insisted that the female demon had appeared to him in a dream, only to be abruptly awakened at the critical moment.
I snapped impatiently, “Fine, stay if you want. But when you were drinking that king cobra soup earlier, seven or eight of them were eyeing you from behind. You’re not from this village—those snakes will come for you.”
Lin Danan jolted as if waking from a dream, breaking into a cold sweat. He hastily threw on his clothes, tied his shoelaces, and stammered, “The demon sister must be waiting for me somewhere else. I can’t end up as snake food.”
A rope descended from the window, and Uncle Jianguo leapt down like a cat. Lin Danan followed, landing like a clumsy dog. I slid down with Little Rascal and the kitten on my back, while the monkey bones landed squarely on Lin Danan’s shoulder.
Uncle Jianguo had already memorized the terrain and paths during the day. A seasoned scout in the dark, he led us out of the village, the sound of the mountain spring echoing behind us.
Soon, we reached the iron rope bridge. The water in the gorge had receded significantly since daytime, flowing more gently now. Uncle Jianguo raised a hand, signaling for silence.
Honestly, I dreaded that gesture—every time he did it, trouble followed.
A figure, still as stone, crouched by the roadside. It chuckled eerily, like a venomous snake. “It’s me, Nguyen Tam Giáp. I’m coming with you.” Uncle Jianguo squinted and indeed saw Nguyen’s dark, gleaming eyes.
Nguyen said he had been trapped here for decades and was finally leaving. Uncle Jianguo frowned. “You’re supposed to be some big shot. How’d you get stuck for so long?”
Nguyen sighed. “You’re unmarried—you wouldn’t understand. Marriage is like a rope tied to your foot. But Dao Cửu Nương? She tied one around my heart. The farther I go, the more it hurts.”
Uncle Jianguo was puzzled. “A rope around your heart? What does that mean?” I interjected, “She probably fed him a love-binding gu.”
Nguyen spat, “I’ve loathed this place for years. I’m going back to Vietnam—back to Hanoi.”
Clearly, Nguyen had never accepted his exile in these mountains. Dao Cửu Nương, unwilling to let him go, had trapped him here. I asked, “Can you really escape now?”
He smirked. “Help me, and I’ll help you.”
Uncle Jianguo narrowed his eyes. “How?”
Nguyen explained at length: after a certain distance, he’d stop breathing. Uncle Jianguo would then carry him to a specific location, where Nguyen could break the gu’s hold. In return, he’d lead us to the remains of the five heroes.
Uncle Jianguo’s face darkened. “So it was you who hid Tian Jingui and the others’ bodies.”
Before Uncle Jianguo could agree, I warned, “You’ve heard ‘The Farmer and the Snake,’ right? That farmer got bitten in the end.”
Uncle Jianguo scoffed, patting the gun at his waist. “That was an old-time farmer. I’m not afraid of him.”
Since Uncle Jianguo had made up his mind, I held my tongue. Getting out of this insect-infested village quickly was my priority.
I’d assumed we’d cross back via the iron rope. Instead, Nguyen led us down a narrow mountain path to a riverside trail. He handed each of us a bizarre lantern to light the way.
After an hour’s trek, a roaring sound grew in the distance. The gorge’s waters had plunged, forming a fifty-meter waterfall. Nguyen pointed. “We exit through there.”
True enough, a precarious stone path, barely half a meter wide, clung to the cliffside—likely carved with immense effort. Blood-sucking leeches littered the path, retreating under the lantern’s glow.
Lin Danan, terrified of heights, begged me to hold his hand. Midway, he froze, trapping us both. Nguyen had to drag him across.
Fear of snakes apparently outweighed his fear of heights—Lin Danan didn’t utter a peep. Past the gorge, we walked south for half an hour. Nguyen grew paler as dawn approached.
Leaning against a rock, he gasped, “If I go another hundred meters without turning back, I’ll die bleeding from every orifice. That vicious Dao Cửu Nương… I’ll feign death now. Carry me to Thất Gia Sơn.”
Before finishing, a tiny snake slithered from his ear into his mouth. Nguyen collapsed instantly.
Uncle Jianguo kicked him—no response. Checking the map, he cursed. “Thất Gia Sơn is fifty kilometers into Vietnam. Dying’s easy for you, but hauling your corpse won’t be.”
As he kicked again, the lanterns hissed, revealing rows of sharp teeth. I threw mine down—damn “Seven-Star Insects” disguised as lanterns! Lin Danan followed suit. The creatures fluttered away.
Clearly, Nguyen didn’t trust us. These four gu bugs were his insurance—attack him, and they’d defend him ruthlessly.
Fifty kilometers wasn’t impossible—ten per hour for a fast walker. But the rugged terrain and lack of urgency slowed us. Uncle Jianguo fashioned a stretcher from branches and vines, further reducing our pace.
By noon, the forest was suffocatingly hot. Oddly, with the gu bugs as escorts, Uncle Jianguo grew talkative, recounting Sino-Vietnamese history—like how Lưu Vĩnh Phúc repelled the French in northern Vietnam.
Lin Danan, however, was preoccupied. “I’ll never see the demon sister again. She called me handsome in my dream last night…”
I nearly spat blood. “Lin Danan, what exactly happened in that dream?”
He pouted. “We were just getting started when you woke me!”
Uncle Jianguo roared with laughter. “Kid, you were having a wet dream! Too much porn, huh?”
Suddenly, Lin Danan rolled aside, white as paper. Uncle Jianguo and I lowered the stretcher. The monkey bones rattled ominously.
“Leeches,” Uncle Jianguo grimaced. Lin Danan, inexperienced, hadn’t secured his pants properly. Five fat leeches clung to his legs.
I groaned. “How could he not feel that?”
Uncle Jianguo flicked them off with his knife. “Many soldiers died from these. They’re sneaky, and when you’re exhausted, you ignore the itch.”
When Lin Danan came to, he shrieked, “Whose ugly legs are these?!”
Uncle Jianguo smirked. “Better check if your ‘little brother’ is still yours—I didn’t look.”
Lin Danan frantically checked, then sighed in relief. “Still mine. No one else’s is this big.”
As he fretted over his torn pants (his only pair), Uncle Jianguo suddenly shoved him down. I ducked just as a volley of poisoned darts whizzed overhead.
Uncle Jianguo muttered, “Who still uses poison darts these days?”
The monkey bones trembled in fear.
His Vietnamese was rough, but he managed: “We’re friends. One of us is… Nguyen Tam Giáp…”
A Vietnamese woman in her forties, dressed traditionally, stepped forward, speaking Chinese. “Nguyen Tam Giáp? He’s alive?”
She approached cautiously, tears welling as she saw Nguyen. “Tam Giáp… you’re back. Hồ Tam Muội waited twenty years for this.”
Uncle Jianguo quickly clarified, “He’s not dead—just in suspended animation.”
Hồ Tam Muội checked Nguyen’s pulse, then ordered him carried away. The rest marched us to Thất Gia Sơn.
My stomach dropped—Nguyen had a wife back in Vietnam too.
By 8 PM, we reached Thất Gia Sơn. Lush rice fields sprawled below.
The moment we entered, we were force-fed a strange broth…
Lin Danan collapsed, writhing. Uncle Jianguo clenched his teeth, refusing to cry out.
I realized too late—they’d fed us gu. I joined Lin Danan’s screams.
Hồ Tam Muội loomed over us. “Who killed Nguyen Tam Giáp?”
Uncle Jianguo punched the wall, realizing the betrayal. Nguyen hadn’t been home in years—how could he have the soldiers’ remains?
Defiant, Uncle Jianguo growled, “Do what you want. Kill me if you must.”
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