Joining Tiandao Company: Starting by mending a zombie world

The old man ignored the bald collector's teasing and turned a page with his withered fingers.

"March of the thirteenth year of the Shunzhi reign. Guarjia Wuxun, a Zuo Ling of the Bordered Yellow Banner. Cause of death—zombie."

Another page.

"May of the thirteenth year of the Shunzhi reign. Ming'an, a cavalry officer of the Plain White Banner, died—a zombie."

The causes of death marked in vermilion ink became more and more frequent. At first, they appeared every few pages, but later there was a person who died from a zombie almost every one or two pages.

The deceased's official rank rose from Zuo Ling (military officer) and Xiao Qi Xiao (cavalry captain) to Beng Jiang (military commander) and Fu Jiang (deputy commander), and the cause of death changed from a simple "died from a zombie" to a more specific description—

"December of the twelfth year of the Shunzhi reign. Guarjia Baturu, Vanguard Commander of the Plain White Banner. Cause of death—zombie."

"December of the twelfth year of the Shunzhi reign. Niohuru Esen, a cavalry captain of the Plain White Banner. Cause of death—zombie."

"In the twelfth month of the twelfth year of the Shunzhi reign, a cavalryman of the Plain White Banner died... cause of death—zombie."

From the third to the nineteenth day of the twelfth lunar month, the Jingzhou Bordered White Banner garrison lost more than thirty officers in half a month, all of whom were members of the Zheng Shen Banner and died from the same cause.

The words "zombie" in vermilion were written more and more densely on the document. By the last page, the color had changed from bright red to a dark, almost blackish blood red, as if the writer had not dipped his brush in vermilion at all.

His handwriting also became increasingly messy and sloppy as he wrote in the neat and formal style, and the more he tried, the more desperate he became.

In the bottom right corner of the last page, a few lines of small writing were hastily done, the ink so faint as to be almost illegible:

"December 20th. Heavy snow sealed off the city. A Taoist priest came to the Daotai's office, saying he was from Maoshan. He said there was a corpse king in the city, and if it was not eliminated, there would be no living people in Jingzhou City before the end of the first month."

Maoshan.

Chu Sheng's pupils contracted slightly. He turned to the back of the last page and found another line of writing there, even more cursive than the one on the front:

"The Taoist priest requested three things—"

"Mysterious Ice Marrow, three ounces."

"Dragon Blood Stone, five pieces."

"A thousand-year-old peach heartwood, one foot in size."

Chu Sheng heard a buzzing sound in his ears.

Mystic Ice Marrow, Dragon Blood Stone, and Thousand-Year Peach Heart Wood—of these three items, Mystic Ice Marrow is the only auxiliary ingredient on his Sky-Splitting Shuttle material list that can be purchased from the in-game store.

Dragon Blood Stone and Thousand-Year Peach Heart Wood are legendary materials that have never been seen through any channel.

He took a deep breath, read the line of text three times, and then looked up, trying to make his voice sound as steady as possible: "Mr. Zhou, where did you get this booklet?"

On the right-hand side, a middle-aged man in an iron-gray Zhongshan suit, who had been silent all along, finally spoke.

He was in his early fifties, with slightly graying temples, high cheekbones, and a thin build, like a knife hidden in its sheath—unassuming, but sharp.

"It's a family heirloom." Mr. Zhou picked up his teacup, took a sip, and spoke in a casual tone, as if he were simply remarking on the pleasant weather.

"My ancestor was a scribe in the Eight Banners garrison in Jingzhou, in charge of documents and archives. This list was recorded by his own hand back then."

He put down his teacup, his gaze falling on Chu Sheng, his eyes holding the cautious look of a seasoned hunter sizing up his prey: "Young man, are you interested in this booklet?"

Chu Sheng didn't beat around the bush and nodded directly:

"What I want is not the booklet itself, but the whereabouts of the three things your ancestor mentioned—the Mystic Ice Marrow, the Dragon Blood Stone, and the Thousand-Year Peach Heart Wood."

Mr. Zhou was silent for a moment, then slowly opened his mouth and, in an almost cold tone, said, "Welcome to Cola Novels! A vast collection of novels awaits your exploration!" He then laid bare a story that had been buried for nearly three hundred years.

In the twelfth month of the twelfth year of the Shunzhi reign, a strange plague broke out in the camp of the Eight Banners garrison outside Jingzhou City.

The infected soldiers first developed a fever and became delirious, then their bodies became stiff and their joints could not bend, and finally they even stopped breathing.

The military doctors thought it was typhoid fever and prescribed medicine accordingly, but none of them could be saved.

Even stranger things happened after the burial. The soldiers who died from the disease would break out of their graves in the middle of the night, biting anyone they saw, no more than three nights after they were buried.

Those bitten would fall ill within two days, with symptoms exactly the same as the initial infected soldiers—then die, be buried, and emerge from their graves. A cycle, one end connected to the other, growing ever larger with each turn.

"That Taoist priest said it was a Corpse King," Mr. Zhou said. "The so-called Corpse King is a special kind of zombie. Ordinary zombies leave behind corpse poison when they bite people, but the Corpse King leaves behind 'corpse seed' when it bites people."

"When people who have been infected with the Corpse Seed die, they become zombies, and new Corpse Seeds will be born. As long as the Corpse King is still around, this cycle will never end."

Chu Sheng's heart skipped a beat. He had heard his master, Mao Xiaofang, mention this ability once—it wasn't corpse poison, but a corpse seed.

The corpse poison is dead, but the corpse seed is alive.

A single zombie king can expand its swarm of corpses exponentially, like army ants, and can turn an entire city into a dead city in less than a month.

"What happened to this Taoist priest Zhang, as recorded by your ancestor?" Chu Sheng looked at Mr. Zhou.

Mr. Zhou picked up his teacup; the tea had gone cold. He took a sip, and the wrinkles between his brows deepened.

"Master Zhang...did not leave Jingzhou City alive."

The hall fell silent for a moment.

Chu Sheng's fingers tightened slightly on the armrest. He didn't press for details, but simply looked at Mr. Zhou, waiting for him to continue.

Mr. Zhou remained silent for a long time.

"That Taoist priest Zhang stayed in Jingzhou City for an entire winter."

"In the spring of the thirteenth year of the Shunzhi reign, after the snow melted, Master Zhang led three hundred elite soldiers of the Eight Banners stationed in Jingzhou into Wild Boar Ridge outside the city."

"Of the three hundred elite soldiers, only thirteen returned. Master Zhang did not come back."

Chu Sheng frowned.

"What about the Corpse King?"

"The Corpse King is dead," Mr. Zhou said. "That night, the Wild Boar Ridge was illuminated by a golden light that could be seen for miles around. Master Zhang also disappeared without a trace, neither alive nor dead."

He paused, then pushed the map in front of Chu Sheng.

"The three things he demanded—mysterious ice marrow, dragon blood stone, and thousand-year-old peach heartwood—were all left in the Taoist temple on Wild Boar Ridge. At least, that's what my great-grandfather wrote in his notes."

Chu Sheng looked down at the yellowed map, his heart pounding faster than usual.

The materials left behind by a senior Maoshan master three hundred years ago were exactly the few ingredients he needed to refine the Sky-Splitting Shuttle. This luck was simply too perfect.

But then I thought, whether it's a coincidence or not depends on whether I can actually get my hands on it.

Jingzhou three hundred years ago, and today, three hundred years later, who knows if that Taoist temple is still there?

"Mr. Zhou," he looked up, "did your great-grandfather write the name of that Taoist temple in his notebook?"

Mr. Zhou picked up his teacup, took a sip, as if recalling something. After a moment, he put down the teacup and uttered three words: "Fuxi Hall."

Read Ganfan Li's masterpiece, "Joining Tiandao Company: Starting by Mending a Zombie World," click to read now!