Chapter Thirty-Seven: Fear

The air turned deathly silent. In that instant, someone stammered out, "It's... it's the beast... no, it's the Immortal Yellow!"

"The Immortal Yellow is exacting its revenge!" another hunter screamed, his voice trembling with terror.

Chaos erupted instantly. The burly man, however, suddenly stood up and roared, "Shut the hell up, all of you!"

But it was in vain. No matter what he said, the hunters were consumed by a fear they could not overcome. This was understandable, as most of them were from the North—the Greater Khingan and Changbai Mountain regions. To hunters from these parts, there is an inexplicable, deep-seated dread of the Immortal Yellow. This is beyond doubt. Under normal circumstances, if a nest of weasels were wiped out and nothing happened, one might feel a slight unease.

But now?

The weasels' shrill cries, sounding like a cross between weeping and laughter, echoed endlessly through the night sky. Their shadows flickered within the campfire. The hunters knew all too well that they had not wiped out the entire nest. The survivors were now taking their revenge.

"Immortal Yellow! Have mercy!" Someone knelt and began kowtowing uncontrollably. As if possessed by the same paralyzing fear, all the other hunters collapsed to their knees.

"Immortal Yellow, we know we were wrong!"

"Immortal Yellow..."

"Damn it! Are you the one doing this?" The burly man’s face turned ghastly pale as he witnessed the scene. He glared at Old Chen and snarled, "Was it you? Is this your doing?"

Old Chen looked at him with an expressionless face. "Do you truly believe I have such power?"

"Damn you! I'll put you down!" The burly man raised his hunting rifle and pulled the trigger.

*Click!*

A faint sound echoed. The burly man looked down, only to find that the barrel of his rifle had burst open like a blossoming red plum.

"Damn it!" he cursed, drawing a knife and stalking toward Old Chen.

But halfway there, someone let out a blood-curdling shriek: "The Red-Eyed Old Woman!"

We turned to look and saw a hunter press his rifle against his own throat and pull the trigger.

"Don't..." the burly man started to intervene.

*Bang!*

The gunshot rang out. A brilliant spray of blood blossomed before our eyes, and the man collapsed, lifeless.

I stared, eyes wide, unable to comprehend what was happening. I never imagined such a situation could unfold. But the horror continued. The remaining hunters, as if under a spell, mimicked the first man, pressing their barrels against their chins. Each of them, after screaming about the "Red-Eyed Old Woman," pulled their triggers without a moment's hesitation.

*Bang! Bang! Bang!*

The thunderous gunfire repeated... In the blink of an eye, all the hunters lay dead, leaving only the burly man standing.

"How... how is this possible?" the burly man stammered, staring in disbelief at the carnage.

Old Chen spoke softly, "When dealing with weasels, one must leave none behind. Did you not know this? Now, you will die a miserable death."

Hearing this, the burly man snapped back to reality. He gripped his knife tightly, breathing heavily, and lunged toward Old Chen. "Damn it! Even if I die, you're coming with me!"

But, just as the blade stopped three centimeters from Old Chen's neck, his body suddenly froze. He gritted his teeth, straining every muscle to drive the blade forward, but his face turned purple with exertion, and the knife did not move an inch.

I looked behind him and saw the snow-white weasel standing three or four meters away, its eyes glowing crimson.

Three seconds later, the weasel slowly raised a paw. The burly man’s hand began to tremble, forcing the tip of the knife toward his own chest. Inch by inch, he drove the blade into his own heart.

*Squelch!*

The blade buried itself in his torso. His pupils dilated instantly, his body convulsed, and his breathing ceased.

It was over. Just like that. An elite squad of seven or eight hunters had been wiped out in a heartbeat by a weasel of immense age.

It was then that I gained a new perspective on these creatures.

In the distance, the mournful howling of wolves began to rise. The ropes binding us fell away as if by magic. Old Chen pulled me up, and together we watched the weasel standing before us.

A moment later, it glanced at us, leapt onto a distant branch, and a faint, blurred "Thank you" drifted on the wind before it vanished into the dense, dark forest.

Only Old Chen and I remained. Surveying the tragic scene, Old Chen sighed and sat down by the fire.

I swallowed hard and asked, "Old Chen, did you know all along? That the weasel’s true goal was to have us lead these hunters to it?"

Old Chen lit a cigarette and nodded slightly. "Yes, Sanqi. Weasels are the most vengeful creatures. I knew from the beginning that it didn't need us to avenge it."

"I see! By the way, Old Chen, what did they mean when they screamed about the 'Red-Eyed Old Woman'?"

Old Chen smiled faintly. "It wasn't a 'Red-Eyed Old Woman.' That was just a homophone. To be precise, it was Manchu."

"Manchu?" I was stunned.

Old Chen nodded. "Yes, from the base of the stone statue."

I froze as I recalled the blurred inscription on the base: "The debt is paid, and the mountain awakens."

With the matter of the hunters and the weasel settled, a heavy weight was lifted from my heart. I lay on the ground with Old Chen, watching the stars and eating the leftover snake stew. A warm, comfortable feeling washed over me, and for a moment, I almost forgot my surroundings.

Suddenly, a wolf howled nearby.

"Awoo!"

Old Chen and I bolted upright. In the forest ahead, countless pairs of oily, green wolf eyes were slowly emerging from the dark.