Das Grab von Qin Shi Huang

Kapitel 69

“But they are not livestock…” The astrologer’s green eyes burned like will-o’-the-wisps, “People! Living, breathing people with flesh and blood!”

"Good question!" the doctor exclaimed. "Then let me ask you, what is a human being? Is someone who has no feelings, is ignorant, and can't even speak a human being? Are fools and madmen who don't produce anything, only waste the wealth created by others, and even endanger others and social stability, human beings? Let me tell you!" He was so excited that he was spitting as he spoke, and he wouldn't be satisfied until he stood on the desk and lectured, "Only those who are needed by others and society are truly human! Those kinds of trash and waste that are abandoned and ignored by society and family are nothing but scum and beasts!"

The astrologer suddenly became interested in what was behind him. It was a landscape painting. At first, he hadn't paid much attention to the wall, assuming it was just an ordinary decorative painting in the hospital. However, as the doctor stood on the table, gesturing wildly at him, the dark moon in the painting rose above his head, creating a strange scene.

“…Moon?” A long-forgotten word was about to slip out, but he swallowed it back. He tried to lean closer to get a better look, but something cold and hard pressed against the top of his head. It was the doctor, grinning maliciously as he pointed a gun at him.

"Farewell." The sound of the trigger being pulled.

As the firelight flashed, a large black hole appeared on the astrologer's pale forehead, and the force of the impact sent his body crashing to the ground. However, before the doctor's smug smile could fade, he noticed something strange. From the hole that pierced the astrologer's head, a stream of blood had been gushing out, yet the astrologer, with incredible speed, had gathered it all into his hand. A pool of dark blood clung to his snow-white glove.

Then, the astrologer slowly straightened up, stuck out his long tongue, and licked his palm repeatedly. Once all the blood was gone, he rubbed the back of his head with satisfaction, "Thank goodness, not a single drop was wasted."

What... what on earth is going on? The doctor could hardly believe his eyes. His legs felt rooted to the spot, and he could only watch helplessly as the astrologer walked towards him unhurriedly. The man with the yin-yang hair, his lips now stained crimson with blood, wore a bright smile that only made him appear more sinister and terrifying.

“I told you long ago that your hearing isn’t very good, is it? You can’t even hear the wailing of ghosts at night.”

The doctor was terrified. His fingers went weak, and he no longer had the strength to pull the trigger. The poisoned needle and the bullet had no effect on the seemingly innocent man before him. He wasn't human; he was a monster—!

“Monster! Monster!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, “Help me!”

The astrologer grasped his hand, pressed the pistol against his heart, and gently shook his head. "You're wrong... You who have lost your humanity for greed are the real monsters..."

“And this time, it’s not someone else who’s angry, it’s me… The seven deadly sins I’ve collected are angry at me, how ironic.” He smiled and leaned close to the doctor’s ear.

"Now, let us listen to the concerto performed by the spirits of the dead, conducted by me!"

He pulled the trigger, and to the doctor's astonishment, a gunshot rang out. A bloody trail snaked erratically down his chest, across the floor, and all the way to the bottom of the basement, where it was absorbed by the foul-smelling, blackened soil before finally stopping. That moment felt eternal, an unusual silence, yet, to the doctor's ears, he could faintly hear a cracking sound as if earth was breaking apart. It was clearly the sound of human bones rubbing and colliding against each other!

First to rise was the freshly decomposed corpse, unconsciously clutching its abdomen as if to conceal the gaping, dark red hole in its bruised flesh, to hide the protruding section of intestines, swarming with greenbottle flies. Next came the mutilated body, buried for months, its left leg, infested with maggots, supporting its weight, while the other leg, bare and bony, was dragged along by barely edged white tendons. Clumps of rotting, bloody flesh trembled and clattered as the limbs swayed. 'He' might have been a woman, simply because clumps of her long black hair fell away from her skull. Her eyes were now just two empty holes, her lips gone, leaving only two rows of yellowed, large teeth. Seemingly embarrassed, she hastily raised her hands to cover her face, but through the gaping flesh and bone, her teeth, initially tightly clenched, now parted slightly, revealing a wanton laugh.

A long, slender, snow-white, translucent skeletal hand rested on her shoulder; it belonged to a victim buried deeper and for a longer time. Each skeleton, radiating a pale white glow, spontaneously formed a neat row as it emerged from the earth. The skeletons whispered amongst themselves, their empty, dark eye sockets filled only with faint green light, sending chills down one's spine.

One, two, three! They marched in unison, the sound of their bones rubbing and colliding like the resounding bugle call of their march. Snap, snap, snap! Their steps were slow but firm, leaving behind a nightmarish stench in their wake. Finally, they strode confidently and proudly, pushing open the door to the room with a single, overwhelming force.

The astrologer opened his arms wide, warmly welcoming the army of skeletons. "The show is about to begin," he called out. "Are you ready, audience?"

"Ah!" The doctor screamed in agony, "Help! Help!" The disabled people whose organs he had harvested like mowing grass, who had been trampled under his feet like dogs, were now being haunted by the spirits of the dead! Their enemies! In the dark, eerie eye sockets of the skull, a burning, fervent green light scorched, a prelude to the impending carnage. The doctor gripped the astrologer's coat tightly, pleading desperately, "Save me! Money! I'll give you any amount of money, just save me!..."

The astrologer merely stared coldly at him, her gaze sharp as a knife.

"Your life is too cheap, not worth a penny."

Book 1, The Seven Deadly Sins Special: The Necromancer's Concerto (Part 10)

Before the words were even finished, the doctor let out a mournful cry, his legs already gripped by the skeleton. The human will to survive is so strong; even as he was dragged into the hell of vengeance by the undead, he clung desperately to the astrologer. The power of hatred is immense, but a human on the verge of death is no less formidable. Even if his body was torn in two, even if his lower half went to hell, at least his upper half would escape—

“It’s a real shame,” the astrologer said, crouching down and gently cupping his face in her hands. “If they aren’t satisfied, even I will resent them.”

He gently extended two fingers, making a scissor shape. The movement seemed effortless and elegant to him, but to the doctor, it was the most terrifying gesture he had ever seen in his life...!

A snap.

The astrologer cut his own clothes.

The unfortunate doctor was swept away like a leaf in a storm, plunging into the sea of white bones. The skeletons tore at his body, gnawing at his flesh, desperately clinging the warm, bloody chunks to their withered frames, as if that would grant them life again. The doctor let out a horrifying scream, a series of pig-like howls that sent chills down one's spine. He struggled with his last ounce of strength, his struggles scattering blood and flesh, but ultimately he succumbed, sinking into the sea of bones…

The astrologer opened the door, the stench inside making him nauseous. He stared at the blinding, blood-red sunset and let out a long yawn. He didn't want to, and didn't wish to, turn back to see the horrific scene inside. He'd leave the rest to the police. A symphony of the dead—he hoped he'd never hear it again. He touched his chest; the gunshot wound had long since healed without him even noticing. And how many women would he have to consume to replenish the precious blood used to summon skeletons?

Oh, and there's one more thing—the "landscape" painting tucked in his arms. He'd misjudged it; he'd thought the center of the painting depicted a huge, purplish-black moon, but it wasn't. In the painting stood a man entirely in black, so black he almost blended into the dense night. His back was turned, and he held a massive, crescent-shaped scythe, its blade gleaming with a dark, shimmering light—just like the moon.

“The Moon of Hades… Why didn’t I think of that sooner…” He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. Almost simultaneously, his gaze swept over two people he had almost forgotten, who were still unconscious.

"Speaking of which, I'm actually a little hungry." He gave a mischievous grin as usual, then picked up Yan Wuyue.

Postscript: When Yan Wuyue woke up, she found herself lying on the hard mahogany table in the astrology shop, while the astrologer sat solemnly in a box, sipping yogurt and reading a newspaper. To her barrage of questions, he simply pointed silently to the newspaper, offering no further answer.

The report stated that yesterday, a foul stench emanated from a villa in G town near H city. Daring villagers then discovered a horrific scene: the villa contained thirty to forty skeletons in varying degrees of decomposition, piled high, with blood and flesh scattered everywhere – a truly gruesome sight. The villa reportedly belonged to a Chinese-American whose owner was missing, fueling speculation that it was part of a terrorist attack following the 9/11 attacks.

"What's going on?" Yan Wuyue asked, completely bewildered. "Where's the orphanage? And what about that Grace Cross Hospital? And where did that pile of bones come from?" She caught sight of the astrologer hiding behind the newspaper, grinning maliciously. She leaped over and grabbed his collar. "Tell me! Judging by that wicked grin, you're definitely hiding something from me!"

“No,” the astrologer waved his hands repeatedly, “In short, the ghosts took their revenge in their own way, and they will never appear again.”

"Really? That little silk won't sing in the toilet anymore?"

“Yes, so Nurse Huang can rest easy,” he said to himself, “even though she disappeared yesterday and no one knows anything about her anymore…”

“But,” Yan Wuyue said, her expression unusually serious, “I actually think that back then, Xiao Juan’s ghost might not have been seeking revenge…”

“Her singing was simple and joyful,” she said sadly. “She sang whenever she wanted, and I can understand her feelings. Perhaps, because her time at the school hospital was the happiest time of her life, even though her body is dead, her soul still lingers here, continuing to sing… By the way, how is Dr. Du?”

The astrologer smiled slightly, "Driven by human guilt, he turned himself in."

“He was a good person, someone who truly cared about Xiao Juan… It’s a pity he went down the wrong path in his quest to avenge Xiao Juan. Even if he killed all those who harmed Xiao Juan, I believe Xiao Juan’s spirit in heaven wouldn’t be happy…” Yan Wuyue was immersed in her sentimental girlish feelings when she suddenly noticed the astrologer in the box looking strange and immediately asked, “What are you laughing at?”

“It’s nothing,” the astrologer said softly, covering his mouth. “Doesn’t someone never believe in ghosts or spirits? An atheist!”

"...Of course I don't believe it! That's just the last vestiges of human consciousness before death! By the way," she suddenly stopped looking, examining the painting on the wall suspiciously, and pointed at it, asking, "Where did you get that? The man carrying a big scythe?"

"Well," the astrologer took a big gulp of yogurt, "it's normal business dealings, a gift from a client."

Yan Wuyue was stunned for a moment, then suddenly exclaimed, "I don't believe it! You're hiding something from me again! There must be some secret here!"

"Perhaps," the astrologer smiled knowingly.

Short Story Collection: Nighttime Horror Tales - The Spell (Part 1)

Statement: This volume contains short horror stories that stand alone.

The red spot is not actually on Jupiter's Great Red Spot, but is just a common name for Europa, the human-inhabited area of Jupiter's moon Europa.

Every day, the red spot area looks down on the surging red spots, while the red spots, like a constantly turning eye, stubbornly stare back at the people in the red spot area.

Woolf stood in front of the only bar in the Red Spotted District. The neon sign "pink&pink" on the bar's porch, with its lazy pink lighting, couldn't help but evoke ambiguous thoughts, even during the day.

Woolf took the still-burning cigarette from her lips and stubbed it out—it was indeed a product from her home planet Earth, the flavor was strong enough, and of course, the price was exorbitant—thinking of this, Woolf's face twitched subtly. However, as a civil servant, especially one of the elite among the elite—one of the security leaders of the Red Spotted District, a third-level police superintendent—Woolf naturally had to observe the necessary courtesy.

Woolf gently pushed open the overly ornate Rococo wooden door, quickly scanning the interior of the bar—as he expected, it was empty except for her.

She sat quietly at the piano in the center of the hall, dressed in a black, off-the-shoulder gown. Her long, black hair, like peacock feathers, cascaded down her ivory-sculpted shoulders; her slender, white fingers moved nimbly up and down, weaving delicate, flowing melodies. In fact, the moment Woolf opened the wooden door, before he even realized it, he was already deeply captivated by this world of black and white, a world of shimmering beauty.

He stood there, stunned, for a minute, two minutes, until she returned from her reverie of music, raised her pale face, and smiled gently at him:

"Welcome, guest."

What a stunning Asian beauty! Woolf thought to himself. Although he was already amazed by her 3D photo in the immigration record, the vividness of her in person gave him the same shock once again. No, the shock was even greater than before. Her fair and delicate face was adorned with a pair of crystal-clear black eyes. If it weren't for her cherry lips, Woolf would almost have thought she was a fairy from an antique Chinese ink painting.

She looked at Woolf's face with a hint of curiosity, her hazy eyes clearing and brightening, while her professional smile remained.

"The proprietress and the waiters are not here. If you don't mind, may I serve you?"

Woolf struggled to suppress the urge to strike up a conversation, and adopted a businesslike tone, asking:

"Are you Miss Zhu Yan?"

Before she could answer, he frantically pulled out his ID and waved it back and forth in front of her.

“I am Superintendent Woolf, everyone in the Red Spotted District calls me Woolf. You must be Miss Zhu Yan?”

The other person's unfathomable black eyes gazed calmly at him, and then they nodded slightly.

"Yes."

"According to your entry records, you arrived in the Jupiter Union region's Red Spot area from Earth a week ago, on May 31, 2128 AD, aboard the interstellar short-haul flight 'Pomegranate', is that right?"

"According to your interstellar universal ID card, you are 93.75% Chinese, 21 years old, unmarried, and your father is..."

"Yes."

Zhu Yan's cold attitude effectively silenced Woolf. He awkwardly tugged at his loosely tied tie, unsure of what to say. Fortunately, she spoke.

"I've heard about some strange things happening here, but the police have remained silent. It's a rare honor for a superintendent to grace us with his presence. Please tell me in detail what's going on, would you please?"

Her clear eyes were fixed on Woolf, who seemed to have completely abandoned his original plan. He sighed deeply, and his whole body relaxed.

The initial incident occurred three days ago, on June 4th of the Earth calendar.

Anne Asti was a young girl who had just turned twenty on the day of the incident. On the evening of June 4th, all her relatives and friends gathered at her home, preparing for her birthday party and waiting for her return.

However, they waited all night.

She never showed up.

Early the next morning, her body was found in a back alley of the air traffic control center not far away, which was the only way she could go home.

Her mind went completely blank.

The precise description is this: her skull was neatly pried open above her forehead, revealing her brain matter... gone. The incision was unusually smooth and clean, without a trace of blood. The girl's expression was serene, her wide-open eyes as beautiful as they had been in life. According to one particularly imaginative police officer, "It was like an opened can of food!"

Her belongings were undamaged, and there were no signs of assault. The investigation ruled out revenge killings and crimes of passion. At this point, the police were completely stumped and could only hastily conclude the case as a "sudden, transient crime."

Before they could even catch their breath, a second case followed.

The victim was Billy Butterworth, a toy store owner. His death was almost identical to Anne's: his skull was ripped open, leaving his head empty, and there were no other injuries on his body. However, unlike Anne's slightly surprised expression, Billy's ashen, stiff face bore a smile that, while perhaps sweet to him, sent chills down one's spine.

What was it that he saw in his last moments? Billy embarked on his journey to the underworld with a happiness unknown to anyone, leaving behind a lasting mystery for those still living. Woolf, as one of the few police strategists in the Red Zone, also deeply felt the unease brought about by the dead.

The Red Spot District is not large in terms of habitable area and population; roughly equivalent to the size of an average city on Earth. The people are hardworking and honest, and serious criminal cases are rare. Therefore, the police force is somewhat lacking in manpower and investigative experience. In Woolf's memory, the last murder occurred four years ago when a tourist from Pluto killed a car computer repairman in the Red Spot District out of revenge, and then committed suicide. Obviously, for this "serial brain-draining mega-murder case," the Red Spot District police, led by Woolf, naturally focused their attention first on outsiders.

“According to the data from the air traffic control center, in the past ten days, from May 28th to June 7th, no one except Miss Zhu Yan has entered the red zone. And the exit records…” Woolf sighed deeply, clearly filled with frustration.

Short Story Collection: Horror Night Tales - The Spell (Part 2)

"Has no one left the country?" Zhu Yan asked.

“Yes, there are, but… we’ve completely lost track of them,” he said helplessly. “The air traffic control center can’t receive any information from the outside world, whether it’s Earth headquarters or the various moons of Jupiter. The Red Spot is like… a small boat abandoned alone on the ocean of space.”

The woman smiled; she gently pursed her lips, the corners of her mouth curving upwards into a beautiful and charming angle. "If I'm not mistaken," she casually lifted her smoothly shaped chin, "that imaginative police officer is you, Mr. Woolf, isn't it?"

Woolf scratched his head awkwardly. He was still a young man with little experience, unaccustomed to chatting easily with beautiful women, and even less comfortable with her subtle mockery. He suddenly remembered the true purpose of his trip, and had to force a serious expression, waving his bright red-covered ID card again, as if that small document was his lifeline:

"Excuse me, Ms. Zhu Yan, please come with me to the police station to assist with the investigation."

In fact, Woolf had long anticipated that the routine questioning would yield no results. No one would suspect that Zhu Yan was involved in the incident. Such a beautiful and refined young woman… Woolf couldn't help but recall the chief's attitude towards her, and a knowing smile appeared on his face. When it comes to beauty, men's eyes are always the same. He thought it would be better to investigate the "Grenade" directly—since arriving in the Red Spotted Zone, it had never returned.

Even so, he waited happily in the skid outside the police station, legs crossed, reading the newspaper, his eyes fixed on every move in front of the gate. This important task of "approaching and monitoring" was one he had fought tooth and nail for.

Zhu Yan appeared. She looked around blankly, when Woolf seized the opportunity and drove up to her.

"Hi!" he said solicitously as he opened the car door. "It's my pleasure to serve you, Miss Zhu Yan."

She smiled slightly and did not refuse.

"Where are you going? I'll give you a ride."

"casual."

Woolf couldn't help but glance back at her. She wasn't usually a frivolous woman, but her expression didn't seem to be joking. So he tried asking, "Aren't you going back to the bar?"