Heavenly Secret

Golden Flesh(III)

Ahead was a sheer cliff!

Beside him, Xiao Fang stared at the mountain ravine before them—it looked as if it were opening its arms to embrace them. But that was the embrace of death. At that instant, he was certain he was going to die.

At the critical moment, the young man sitting in the front row lunged forward, grabbed the steering wheel, and jerked it hard in the opposite direction.

The bus’s wheels had nearly rolled off the edge, but somehow they veered back just in time. It was as if the entire vehicle had taken a brief tour of the gates of Hell, only to be pardoned and dragged back to the world of the living.

However, the tour bus swerved straight into the bare rocks on the other side. It was too late for the driver to brake. The bus’s front slammed violently into the stone.

Fortunately, it had turned before impact, so it wasn’t a direct collision. The passengers only felt a powerful jolt through their bodies—and then the vehicle stopped moving.

Rain still poured outside, but inside the bus, a rare silence took hold.

They were still alive. The driver, secured by his seatbelt, was almost completely unharmed. Xiao Fang and Yuling, who had fallen to the floor earlier, were also unscathed. The rest of the passengers had clung tightly to their seats, escaping injury. Even the Frenchman lying in the back row hadn’t been thrown from his place.

As everyone silently rejoiced that the bus hadn’t exploded, and that they’d narrowly escaped death, the driver tried to start the engine—only to find it wouldn’t turn over. The damage wasn’t severe; the front had merely caved in slightly. But perhaps a component of the engine had shifted on impact. It would require opening the hood and inspecting it thoroughly.

But no one dared to get out of the bus.

There was still a vicious creature on the roof.

People kept checking their phones, but there was still no signal. The creature above, perhaps exhausted, was now sitting still. The silence was maddening. With only the sound of rain battering the windows, the air inside the bus grew thick with terror.

Minutes passed. Then hours. A few girls began sobbing again. They were trapped there, waiting for a passing vehicle to rescue them. But even by three in the afternoon, not a single car had come. Yuling guessed that the heavy rain had halted all traffic from Chiang Mai. It felt as if the world had forgotten them—left alone in this desolate corner.

Suddenly, a deafening roar erupted from ahead, followed by the trembling of the entire road. It sounded like explosions—like the booming cannons of war.

Was there a battle ahead?

Someone recalled that on the night they arrived at Bangkok Airport a few days ago, the atmosphere felt... wrong. Many airport staff wore grim expressions. On the way into the city, heavily armed soldiers were stationed at intervals along the road. When they reached their hotel, they saw tanks parked on the streets. The midnight city, usually so lively, was deserted except for troops. All Thai TV channels had switched to documentaries about the king.

That night was September 19, 2006. It wasn’t until the next morning that they learned a military coup had taken place. The Army Chief, General Sonthi, had seized control, while Prime Minister Thaksin, abroad at the time, had been stripped of power. The night the group arrived in Bangkok, the coup had shocked the world. It was a powerful omen—perhaps this trip was destined to be full of danger.

Some had suggested flying back to Shanghai immediately. But returning early would result in huge losses—the agency wouldn’t refund their fees. Besides, the coup had been bloodless, and the agency promised they’d be safe. A few thrill-seekers even welcomed the chaos, eager to continue this once-in-a-lifetime journey through a turbulent Thailand.

So they continued to tour Bangkok, then went on to Ayutthaya to see the ancient capital ruins. Afterward, they visited Pattaya and Phuket, sunbathed on the beach, and watched cabaret shows. The trip seemed unaffected by the coup—it felt like a passing event.

Just the day before, the group had followed their itinerary and arrived in Chiang Mai, the most famous city in northern Thailand. Surrounded by mountains, this ancient city was founded in 1296 and still retains its old walls and moat. A summer retreat in Southeast Asia, it was famed for its fair-skinned, statuesque women—nicknamed the “Rose of the North.” They visited Doi Suthep and the royal summer palace. The men eagerly ogled local beauties on the street. Had Sun Zichu been given three more days, he might never have wanted to return to Shanghai.

But now, things had descended into near despair. A terrifying monster lurked above. Ahead, a war might be raging. Had this place turned into some nightmarish version of Baghdad?

“Let me go take a look-up front!” The long-haired professional photographer stood up. “Maybe we can find someone to help us.”

A well-dressed man in his forties said, “And what if there really is a war up there? We’re near the Golden Triangle—armed conflict is a part of life here. You shouldn’t take the risk.”

“Maybe so, but we can’t just sit here and die.”

“I’ll go with you,” Sun Zichu stood, brimming with excitement. “I’ve always wanted to see what war looks like.”

He and the photographer walked to the door. Xiao Fang, the guide, didn’t dare stop them and instead glanced helplessly at the driver. The poor man sighed, then reached under his seat and pulled out an axe and a sickle—precautions for dealing with highway bandits in remote areas.

The photographer grabbed the axe like he was holding a camera—calm and practiced. Sun Zichu clutched the sickle, but his palms were already sweating. As they carefully stepped off the bus, they were joined by a young man—Ye Xiao.

Ye Xiao held a heavy iron rod, also handed to him by the driver. Now there were three of them, standing in the rain-soaked road, casting wary glances at the creature on the roof.

The mountain demon glared back, then leapt down. It crawled on all fours like a beast, though its front limbs were unnaturally strong. Its soaked fur hung in clumps, its body ghastly like a demon from the depths. Its jaws opened, revealing dagger-like fangs over ten centimeters long. It crouched low—preparing to pounce.

Perhaps ever since the tour group ate that unforgettable “golden meat” for lunch, this creature had been stalking them, filled with hatred. The villagers must have known how to repel such beasts. That ancient bronze drum… it suddenly made sense to Sun Zichu—besides ritual purposes, it was likely meant to drive away creatures like this.

Unable to approach the drum-filled village, the mountain demon had set its sights on the tourists. With intelligence far beyond normal beasts, it had calculated their route through the mountains, taken a shortcut through the forest, and landed on their roof.

Ye Xiao, a police officer, stood at the front, his sharp gaze locked on the demon’s eyes. He knew the whole bus was watching him. He couldn’t afford a single misstep—one mistake, and they were all doomed.

Man and beast stood frozen for several seconds. Then, the mountain demon struck.

It lunged with a roar—eerily like a lion. Ye Xiao didn’t flinch. He stood tall, unmoving, like a bronze statue. His eyes cut through the rain, unwavering, even as death closed in—those fangs were just centimeters from his throat—

Screams erupted on the bus.

Clang!

Like the clash of metal, Ye Xiao’s iron rod struck the creature square on the skull.

Its steel-like claws raked across his chest. His T-shirt tore open, and blood seeped through.

But Ye Xiao didn’t budge. The one who staggered back was the monster.

Though the blow wasn’t fatal, it had made the demon wary. Its next attack came faster, more viciously—it soared into the air, claws aimed at Ye Xiao’s eyes like some move from a wuxia novel.

Ye Xiao had no real way to counter it—he simply raised his rod to block. As the claws neared his face, a cold flash streaked past, followed by a bloodcurdling scream. The creature crashed to the ground.

Gasping, Ye Xiao turned to see the photographer beside him, axe in hand, blood dripping from its edge. He had saved Ye Xiao’s life.

Now, the three men—Ye Xiao, Sun Zichu, and the photographer—stood side by side. Rod, axe, and sickle in hand, they formed a rough battle formation. They advanced step by step toward the wounded beast. Blood from its front paw mixed with the rain, flowing freely.

The demon howled again and launched a final, desperate assault. But the three didn’t retreat. Rod, axe, and sickle struck in unison, landing solid blows, finally driving it to the roadside.

The ground was now slick with blood. The creature, exhausted, let out a long, mournful wail—its cry echoed through the entire valley. It howled for its children. For its failed vengeance. It had no choice but to retreat for now, but it would never forgive these humans.

Its eyes still burned with hatred as it backed into the forest, slowly disappearing from view.

But it would return.