When the Gu poison flared up, Yang Qiming felt as if centipedes were crawling through his veins.
Xue Jingyun pointed to the miasma-filled valleys of Yunnan on the satellite map. “To find Wu Changfeng, first dig up the corpse Gu he buried twenty years ago.” Armed with Luoyang shovels and black donkey hooves, we plunged into the rainforest. Then Zhou Siqi received a letter reading “Do Not Return,” written in the corpse oil of Gu insects.
Fat Tiger Cheng’s boots smashed through the threshold of Yiyuanzhai. “You dug up something you shouldn’t have.” Worse still, the eerie notes of Wu Changfeng’s silver-bell Gu flute rang out every midnight. The mountain monkeys following us looked more and more like our missing companions, right down to their eyes.
