Heavenly Secret

Golden Flesh(II)

Exiting the lifeless village, Sun Zichu noticed the bronze drum was gone. Those drums were usually sacred tribal heirlooms, perhaps only brought out once a year—maybe for the Demon Expulsion Festival?

They walked through barren fields and returned to the tour bus. Some were still asking what “golden meat” really was. The driver claimed it was his first time eating it too. On past trips through this village, he’d only had common fare—wild rabbits or mountain pheasants—and had never even heard of "golden meat."

The bus continued deeper into the mountains, where the forests grew ever denser, and all signs of human habitation vanished. The tour group was scheduled to reach their next destination—the renowned Lanna Royal Tombs—by 2 p.m., and stay overnight in nearby Chiang Rai.

Ye Xiao remained in his seat, touching his clothes: a casual shirt and worn jeans. In the left pocket was a Siemens mobile phone, the screen reading 12:20 p.m., September 24, 2006—presumably local Thai time.

In his right pocket was a leather wallet, containing his ID card and a police badge. The memory hit him—he was a police officer. A man who had seen far too many horrifying things.

But still, he couldn't remember: Why was I in Thailand?

The wallet also held a Bank of China credit card, a few hundred yuan, several U.S. dollars, and a few thousand baht in cash.

Slung over his shoulder was a backpack with a Sony digital camera, some snacks, a PDA, chargers, spare batteries, and his Chinese passport. The most recent entry stamp inside read September 19, 2006 – Thailand.

He ran a hand through his hair. The bus window faintly reflected his face.

Twenty-nine years old—sharp, weathered, stoic. His eyes, like a hawk’s, remained his point of pride—piercing and intense, the kind that occasionally made women blush.

Outside the vehicle, Northern Thailand’s rugged mountains loomed. A perilous mountain road twisted along a cliff’s edge. One side rose into the clouds; the other fell into a bottomless chasm.

His heart instinctively tensed.

The driver maneuvered through sharp turns with casual ease, one hand on the wheel, the other on the gear stick, whistling a cheerful tune. Not another vehicle could be seen in either direction. On this long and treacherous road, it felt as though theirs was the only bus, the only living soul.

Suddenly, the bus slammed its brakes. Sun Zichu’s head smacked against the seat in front of him.

A girl had appeared at the roadside, dressed in a traditional Thai long skirt, with a deadly drop just behind her.

The bus had nearly knocked her into the abyss. The driver, furious, was about to curse her out when the girl calmly walked up to the door. She looked no older than twenty, her skin fair and face delicate. She had a graceful, poised figure.

Xiao Fang, the young tour guide, opened the door involuntarily. The girl boarded, palms together in a polite Thai greeting, then asked in Mandarin with a Thai accent, “Are you Xiao Fang?”

The tour guide froze. “How... how do you know my name?”

“I’m Yuling. We talked on the phone last night.”

Her voice was sweet and courteous, and her demeanor enchanting. Sun Zichu couldn’t help but mutter, “Top class… absolutely top class.”

“Oh, so you’re Yuling!” Xiao Fang finally came to, though his tone remained awkward. “Welcome, welcome.”

Facing the group, Yuling pressed her palms together and offered a Thai blessing, then switched to Mandarin: “Dear Chinese friends, welcome to beautiful Chiang Mai. I’m your local guide from Chiang Mai Rose Travel Agency. I’ll be assisting Xiao Fang in taking you to the Lanna Royal Tombs and Chiang Rai. You can call me Yuling. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask—I’ll do my best to help. I wish you all a safe and happy journey. Thank you!”

Xiao Fang added, “Yes, Yuling’s our local contact. She’s a native of Chiang Mai and knows the area very well.”

Yuling’s appearance, figure, and clothing reminded people of the Dai ethnic group from Xishuangbanna. She was an instant hit with the male tourists. Chiang Mai was known for its beautiful women, and Yuling’s fair skin and elegant features stood out starkly from the darker, smaller people of central and southern Thailand.

But what puzzled Ye Xiao was: Why was Yuling waiting on the roadside? If she was the local guide, she could’ve met them in Chiang Mai. This was the middle of nowhere, not a house in sight. Had she climbed up from the bottom of the cliff?

The bus continued along the winding road. Yuling took Xiao Fang’s microphone and, in charming Mandarin, began:

We’re about to visit the highlight of our tour—the Lanna Royal Tombs, Southeast Asia’s newest major attraction. Though it’s been open to the public for less than a year, it’s already welcomed over half a million tourists from around the world.

“Ten years ago, it was discovered by loggers deep in the jungle. The Lanna Kingdom was a mysterious empire eight hundred years ago. Its capital and royal palace have never been found, which makes the discovery of the royal tombs even more significant.

“What you’re about to see—though buried in the forest for centuries—is enormous in scale. Have you heard of the Eighth Wonder of the World?”

“Angkor Wat in Cambodia!” Sun Zichu stood and shouted. He’d actually visited Angkor Wat years ago for research.

“Congratulations, sir—you’re absolutely right! But the Lanna Tombs are even bigger. Not only are there exquisitely detailed Buddha statues and grand temples and mausoleums, but also a sprawling underground complex. Over a dozen Lanna kings are buried there, along with a mysterious curse—”

Yuling paused and smiled mischievously. “But I won’t spoil it. You’ll see when we get there, hehe.”

Her speech was eloquent and practiced, more poised than Xiao Fang, despite being several years younger. Xiao Fang, suddenly tongue-tied, could no longer rely on his youth as a shield. Yuling’s storytelling fired up the group’s enthusiasm—even the sleepy ones perked up, eager to take photos.

A man up front, holding a camcorder, asked, “Your Chinese is amazing! Who taught you?”

“I grew up here in a village with Chinese families. Learned Mandarin from them.”

Just as they began chatting, someone in the back stood up. “Sorry, can we stop the bus?”

It was the "Sunglasses Guy." He was drenched in sweat, staggering to the front, his face twisted in pain.

“No way! "Are you trying to die?” the driver barked.

“I... I... my stomach hurts. I can’t hold it anymore!”

His voice trembled, his face flushed deep red.

Yuling couldn’t help giggling, but others chimed in: “Yeah, stop the bus! I can’t take it either!”

Soon five or six people echoed the sentiment. Even Xiao Fang whispered to Yuling, “I can’t hold it either.”

Unexpectedly, the driver pulled over. It seemed he couldn’t hold it either. A gentle slope flanked the road, thickly forested. Yuling’s expression changed. “What did you all eat at lunch?”

“Golden meat!” several replied at once.

Before she could speak again, Xiao Fang was already off the bus, followed by Sunglasses Guy and six or seven other men. Ye Xiao was last, stomach was also cramping. Though it was indecent to relieve themselves outdoors, they simply had no choice.

The men dashed into the woods, each finding a patch of privacy. The women, sweating and distraught, debated their options. Yuling informed them the nearest restroom was an hour away.

Eventually, six women also disembarked, Yuling shielding them as they ran toward a more concealed grove, behind a large boulder.

Fifteen minutes later, everyone returned. Xiao Fang awkwardly recounted the headcount, then asked the driver if he was okay. The bus resumed its climb.

Faces looked pale, especially the women. Sun Zichu moaned in fear, “What did we really eat at lunch?”

Sunglasses Guy replied coldly, “I saw a pile of bones next to that pot.”

“You mean—” Sun Zichu didn’t dare say the words human meat.

“No, not human meat,” Yuling said flatly.

She then asked, “Was today their Demon Expulsion Festival?”

“Yes,” Xiao Fang said. “What was it?”

Yuling’s lips were turning purple. She whispered two words:

“Monkey brain.”

Everyone on the bus shuddered. Xiao Fang nearly collapsed onto the floor. “The ‘golden meat’ is... monkey brains?”

“Yes,” Yu Ling replied calmly. “And not just any monkey." It's a rare species unique to this region. That village migrated from China centuries ago. They’re different from us Tai people—they don’t believe in Buddhism. The ‘Demon Banishing Festival’ is meant to banish these monkeys, which they see as evil spirits. On that day, they kill the monkeys they’ve caught, take out the brains, and boil them into soup.”

The moment she finished speaking, a young woman in the back row rolled down the window and vomited violently. Everyone else wore expressions of nausea. The man in sunglasses muttered to himself, “So those bones beside the cauldron... they were monkey bones? No wonder they looked so much like human bones.”

“There must’ve been something dirty in there. Why else would we all have diarrhea?”

“Could it be SARS or something contagious?”

As everyone broke into frantic discussion, a young woman suddenly snapped, “Tour guide! "Why didn’t you tell us about this beforehand?”

Xiao Fang’s face had gone pale. “I’m sorry... this is the first time I’ve heard of the ‘golden meat’ and the ‘Demon Banishing Festival’ too.”

“You’re our guide! You let us eat that disgusting stuff without checking. I’m going to report this to the travel agency!”

Yu Ling stepped in to defend him, her voice gentle yet firm: “The Demon Banishing Festival only happens once a year. Unless someone grew up here, outsiders wouldn’t know these details. When we reach Chiang Rai tonight, I’ll go with you all to the hospital. If anything’s found, the insurance company will compensate you.”

Her soft voice left the accuser speechless.

The bus continued its perilous journey along the winding mountain roads. In the distance, white smoke began to rise. This mist-shrouded wilderness, with its eerie peaks, looked like the mountain lair of the White Bone Demon from Journey to the West. Who knew how many wolves, tigers, bears, or fox spirits were watching them from the shadows?

Suddenly, raindrops began to splatter on the windshield. The sky above the mountains had shifted dramatically. Within moments, a torrential downpour consumed the landscape, draping everything in a curtain of white rain. The mountain road grew even more treacherous and sinister. In these inland regions, “ten miles brings a different sky”—and storms in September were nothing unusual. The windshield wipers swept frantically, but visibility dropped rapidly.

Ye Xiao felt his heart rate rise inexplicably. Outside the right window, torrents of water poured down like a waterfall. In the front row, a mother and daughter screamed intermittently, clearly terrified. Moments later, the tour bus braked hard again—thankfully Ye Xiao had been gripping the handrail.

Amid the swearing and shrieks from the passengers, Xiao Fang cried out, trembling, “There’s someone on the road!”

Just a few meters ahead, a man was lying directly in the path of the bus. Had the driver braked a second later, the wheels would’ve crushed his skull.

The driver and Xiao Fang leapt out into the rain. The icy raindrops hitting the mountain road felt like the chill of late autumn in southern China. They lifted the man and were shocked to find blood pooled on the ground and shards of glass scattered everywhere. Even more surprising—this man had a Western face, clearly a member of another tour group. His face was covered in blood, deep gashes crisscrossed his arms, and though his eyes were shut and face pale, he was still breathing.

Xiao Fang waved at the bus. Ye Xiao and Sun Zichu grabbed umbrellas and jumped down. Together with the others, four men carefully lifted the injured foreigner onto the bus. The back row was empty, just enough space to lie down.

A woman in her late thirties, who claimed to have medical training, volunteered to tend to him. Nervously, she checked his wounds, disinfected them with the supplies she had, and wrapped them in strips of gauze.

While everyone focused on the injured stranger, Ye Xiao noticed thick smoke rising from the side of the road. He walked to the cliff edge with his umbrella and saw a tourist bus lying tilted at the bottom of a ravine, about ten meters deep. Smoke was billowing out of the wreckage.

A crash had just happened!

This foreign man must’ve been thrown from that bus.

The driver and Xiao Fang saw the wreck too. Xiao Fang pulled out his phone to call for help—no signal.

“We need to rescue survivors first,” Ye Xiao said decisively. “Let’s go down and take a look.”

He led the descent. There was a narrow footpath snaking down the slope. The driver and Xiao Fang followed closely, and, of course, Sun Zichu wasn’t going to be left behind. Another man in his forties, with long hair like a rock star, joined them. Five men in total carefully climbed down, clinging to vines and rocks for balance.

Halfway down, the wrecked bus suddenly caught fire!

Seconds later—BOOM.

A deafening explosion shook the mountain. Their hearts felt like they were about to burst.

“Watch out!”

Ye Xiao shouted instinctively. The men instinctively pressed themselves against the cliff wall. Scorching flames shot several meters high, nearly singeing their clothes. The explosion felt like a giant, invisible hand shoving them hard. If they loosened their grip even slightly, they would plunge into hellfire.

Flames... flames... flames...

They were just a step from hell.

In that moment, the cold sweat on their foreheads evaporated. Their bodies burned as if set alight, the storm’s gloom mixing with the smoke in their chests. Faces pressed to stone, breath choking, all they could hear was the thunderous roar of the blast.

A warning from the devil himself.

Finally, the blast subsided.

Black smoke curled through the ravine. Ye Xiao’s eyes streamed with tears; it was a miracle they weren’t blown apart.

He looked down again. The wrecked bus was unrecognizable. Car parts lay scattered, trees flattened, and bits of fire still flickered.

A grim, typical mountain accident.

“No point going further,” said the long-haired man, breathing hard. “What we’d bring back now... would only be charred bodies.”

“Let’s head back to the bus, try to get a signal. "Once we reach the Lanna King’s Tomb, we’ll alert the local authorities,” Ye Xiao said calmly, like someone experienced in handling such disasters.

The long-haired man found a small ledge, pulled out a high-end camera, and took a dozen photos of the wreckage—clearly a professional photographer.

Then the five men climbed back up. Rain-soaked, faces blackened by smoke, they looked like half-burnt drowned rats. They changed into dry clothes, wiped the grime from their skin, but all of them were visibly shaken.

Everyone on the bus was now on edge. Seeing their faces only intensified the fear. Passengers whispered nervously, dreading the same fate.

The driver’s legs were trembling. After resting for several minutes, he finally pressed the accelerator and the bus moved forward.

The injured foreigner remained unconscious, but the bleeding had stopped. Ye Xiao searched his pockets and found a French passport. The photo matched the man. His name was Henri Pépin, aged thirty-five—six years older than Ye Xiao.

The woman tending to Henri had a mature, maternal aura—probably thirty-seven or thirty-eight. She looked up and briefly met Ye Xiao’s gaze before timidly lowering her eyes again.

The rain grew heavier.

Fog swirled across the mountains. The air inside the bus was suffocating. This was the kind of weather that bred accidents. That overturned, burning bus—they were probably all roasted alive.

Yu Ling said it would be another forty minutes to the Lanna King’s Tomb. There was a hospital there, and the police would be waiting to investigate the crash.

Ye Xiao returned to his seat, face grim, rainwater and sweat dripping from his hair. He noticed a faint trace of blood on his cheek, probably scraped by the rocks earlier.

Sun Zichu nudged his side. “Hey, you're trembling.”

“Maybe I caught a chill in the rain.”

“No,” Sun Zichu whispered in his ear. “You’re shaking from fear.”

Ye Xiao paused, then murmured, “I admit... I’m afraid.”

“What? Are you serious? That’s a first. I never thought you were capable of fear.”

“Because... "I have no idea why I’m here.” He gave a bitter smile and made a hush gesture. “Imagine waking up in a strange place, surrounded by strangers. Worst of all—you can’t remember anything from the night before. Not why you came, not how you got here.”

“Sounds like a nightmare?”

“It is a nightmare.”

Ye Xiao trembled again. He recalled the dream he had before waking—details were lost, only the fear remained.

He was a cop. He shouldn’t show weakness like this.

Damn it. He couldn’t even control his nerves. It was like walking straight into a trap laid by the cruelest criminal imaginable.

A sudden image flashed in his mind—a jungle trap, where a powerful tiger was caged, pacing and roaring in desperation.

God, let it all be just a nightmare.

Ye Xiao took a deep breath and looked at the unconscious Frenchman in the last row.

“What’s strange,” he whispered to Sun Zichu, “is how he’s the only survivor.”

He turned to gaze out at the treacherous cliffs. “This really is a man-eating mountain.”

Then he closed his eyes, but still couldn’t recall a single detail from last night. Why did he come here? How?

It was like a dark mountain, slowly collapsing on top of him.

Just as Ye Xiao painfully opened his eyes, a heavy thud sounded from the roof of the bus.

Everyone heard it.

Terrified, they looked up—the sound was like someone pounding on a drum.

Sun Zichu thought of the bronze drum at the village entrance.

The sound continued. Was it hail? Ridiculous—this was September south of the Tropic of Cancer. How could there be hail? Rocks rolling down the mountain? No, the sound had rhythm and tempo, as if someone were walking on the roof of the bus—

Someone… on the roof?

Ye Xiao couldn’t see through the steel plate above, but it felt like he could see the footprints on top. The rhythmic thudding, like footsteps on a rooftop, gnawed at everyone’s nerves.

Who could be walking on the roof of a moving bus—especially in this torrential downpour? A single wrong turn from the driver, and whoever it was, would be flung into the abyss.

But the sound grew louder and more erratic, moving from the front of the bus to the back, then racing back to the front again. Something was definitely walking up there.

Everyone held their breath. The driver couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled over at a hollow in the road, grabbed an umbrella, and climbed up from the rear of the bus.

The moment his head poked above the roof, he saw a pair of gleaming, beady eyes, a pale blue face, a bright red nose, and a wide-open mouth filled with razor-sharp fangs. Long, wiry whiskers jutted out like steel wires.

“Ghost!”

The driver shouted in Thai, nearly tumbling off the roof. That grotesque, monstrous face had scared him senseless. He scrambled down and ran back to the bus, slamming on the gas and speeding off.

The look of panic and sweat pouring down his face sent a ripple of dread through the passengers.

Yuling asked him in Thai, “What did you see?”

“Ghost!” he cried again, hunched low over the steering wheel, eyes fixed dead ahead. But the sound on the roof hadn’t stopped—those strong fists kept pounding, as if they were about to punch through the steel.

The bus flew down the winding mountain road at nearly 100 km/h. Xiao Fang screamed, “Stop! You’ll kill us all!”

Several girls in the group burst into tears. Ye Xiao kept his eyes raised, tracking the direction of the sound. Suddenly, a piercing scream rang out—it was the American girl who spoke fluent Chinese. She collapsed onto her seat in terror.

Everyone turned toward her.

A face had dropped, hanging upside down outside the window. No—more like a mask. A terrifyingly grotesque demon mask!

The same pale blue cheeks, a nose long like a donkey’s snout, tiny glaring eyes nestled between massive jowls, and a gaping maw lined with jagged white fangs. It shrieked furiously at those inside the bus.

A demon straight from the underworld.

Then the face vanished again. The pounding resumed. The creature was still on the roof, unmoved by the rain or the shaking bus.

The driver finally hit the brakes. The girls huddled together in fear. The men exchanged nervous glances. At last, the long-haired man volunteered. “Let me go take a look.”

Xiao Fang hesitated but opened the door. The man, about forty, with a professional camera strapped to his back, stepped into the storm. He moved with practiced agility, crouching low in the rain, circling the bus silently like someone experienced in the field. Instead of climbing the roof directly, he grabbed a vine growing from the cliff and scaled it like Tarzan.

He climbed three or four meters high, then turned to look at the thing on the roof.

It wasn’t a ghost. It was a giant monkey.

It resembled a large dog, perhaps the size of a Tibetan mastiff, but with even more developed muscles. Its fur stood up in thick tufts, like it had just stepped out of a beauty salon, tapering into a triangle on its forehead. Its face was grotesque—feral eyes and a brutal jaw. The creature—this “super monkey”—was clearly agitated, slamming the roof as though it bore a deep hatred for those inside.

Clinging to the vine with one hand, the long-haired man raised his camera with the other and snapped a few photos. Then he carefully climbed down and returned to the bus.

Everyone crowded around him. He spoke calmly, “I know what that thing is. I’m a professional wildlife photographer. I’ve shot animals all over the world. What’s on our roof is a mandrill.”

“Mandrill?”

“Yes. Also known as the ‘ghost baboon,’ it’s a critically endangered species native to Central and West Africa. Mandrills have dense olive-green fur, long horse-like faces, red snouts, and enormous jaws. The larger their fangs, the higher their status. Adult males are temperamental, aggressive, and incredibly strong—extremely dangerous. Five years ago in Africa, I barely escaped with my life when a mandrill troop attacked me.”

The young man with the DV camera asked, “But if it’s from Africa, what’s it doing here?”

“Chinese records also mention mandrills,” said Sun Zichu, standing at the back with the hair of a history professor. They’re extremely mysterious, almost spectral creatures, said to still exist in remote mountainous regions. Because of their huge size, terrifying appearance, and savage behavior, ancient people often mistook them for wild men. There’s even a short story titled "Mandrill in Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio.”

Yuling suddenly interrupted. “Do you know what you ate at lunch—the ‘golden meat’? That was the brain of this giant monkey.”

The entire bus fell silent.

Even the mandrill on the roof seemed to hear them and crouched down, waiting. Only the rain drummed relentlessly outside.

“You’re saying that monkey brain we ate… was from a mandrill?”

Tour guide Xiao Fang clutched his chest, looking like he might vomit.

“Yes. These monkeys are extremely rare. Only herbalists and loggers have seen them. But every year there are reports of mandrills attacking people. The worst case was last year—two villagers were torn apart and eaten.”

“No wonder they have a ‘demon-banishing festival’! Their ‘demon’ is this mandrill!”

The photographer shuddered. “An adult mandrill is incredibly powerful. They’re nearly impossible to capture—unless it’s a baby.”

Yuling nodded. “Maybe… the monkey brain you ate today belonged to that mandrill’s child.”

“What?! "We ate its baby?” one girl cried, hugging herself. “It’s going to take revenge! No wonder it’s after us—it’s going to kill us all!”

Yes. If someone murdered a human child, the parents would be inconsolable. They’d stop at nothing to take revenge.

Animals, too, know the love between parent and child. They grieve the loss of their young just as humans do. Blood ties transcend time and species.

Humans may exact revenge with reason—but animals? They do it with madness.

And that mad mandrill was right above their heads.

Ye Xiao suddenly recalled the “Infernal General” at the village entrance during the noon festival, slashing at him with a sword. That blade reeked of blood—could it have killed the baby mandrill?

But why had that performer targeted Ye Xiao? Did he sense some evil aura around him? Was he trying to protect him with the sword?

As Ye Xiao pondered, the pounding on the roof intensified—like metallic drumbeats, echoing the bronze drums from the village. Could the invention of bronze drums thousands of years ago be linked to the mandrill?

The driver’s hands were trembling, but he stomped the gas. The bus shot forward, drifting wildly on the rain-slicked road.

“It’s like Initial D,” Sun Zichu shouted, almost flying into the front row. “He’s trying to throw the creature off!”

The road was more treacherous than Mount Akina, but the bus twisted and turned at violent speed, jerking and braking. If it were a human on the roof, they’d have been thrown off long ago.

But the mandrill clung tight, pounding harder than ever. Its strength was monstrous—like a miniature King Kong.

“It wants revenge! It’s going to kill us all for what we did to their baby!”

Sun Zichu wouldn’t stop lecturing, even as the American girl nearly passed out next to him. He reached out to steady her shoulder and said a long string of comforting words in English.

The girl, barely conscious, still remembered her Chinese: “Shut up.”

And then, a face suddenly appeared on the windshield.

The driver and Xiao Fang both gasped. Yuling fell to the floor.

Screams erupted as the upside-down face glared into the bus, its savage eyes burning with purple flames.

A massive claw smashed down on the windshield.

With a sharp c***k, the supposedly indestructible German-made glass split open with a long fracture.

The driver instinctively raised his arm, but the steering wheel turned sharply, and the bus veered off the road.