Chapter Thirty: The King of Guiding Lights

The sudden appearance of the black silhouette and the crimson light left us breathless. I remembered it vividly: near the Tomb of the Ghostly Soldiers, it was precisely that peculiar cat’s howl and eerie red glow that had drawn forth the swarm of carnivorous insects. But this time, the master of that wail appeared in person, claiming all our attention.

Amidst the glow of fireflies blanketing the ground, the “black creature,” about the size of a throw pillow and strutting as if it owned the place, strode toward us step by step. It was a black cat.

Its entrance was nothing short of grand. With every step, a few fireflies would take flight, only to settle back down before this jet-black “monarch,” as though worshipping the return of a king. Quickly, treading upon the phosphorescence, as though cloaked in starlight and moonbeams, it emerged from the forest’s cover and stood alone before the three of us, head held high in proud defiance.

Bathed in moonlight, we stared in awe. I had never seen a black cat so beautiful and elegant in my life—though “black cat” was not entirely accurate, for a bold white stripe ran across its forehead like the “king’s mark” on a tiger.

Its eyes shone with an intense brightness, and, with its head held high and its tail like a flagpole, it exuded an overwhelming aura. Most astonishing of all, at the tip of that straight, flag-like tail, there was a “beacon”—a firefly, no less.

A crimson firefly, no larger than a thumbnail, crawled atop the flagpole tail, emitting a seductive red light. Though tiny, the glow was shockingly bright, almost as luminous as a lightbulb, revealing everything within a dozen paces except for the cat itself in stark relief.

This bizarre pairing of cat and insect struck us with a profound, bone-deep, utterly overwhelming sense of awe. It was unspeakably beautiful and unearthly. Indeed, the black cat’s presence was so commanding that I almost felt I was not looking at a feline, but at a ferocious beast—something akin to a tiger.

In the ghostly glow, I had no idea what manner of miraculous, jewel-bright “divine insect” clung to the cat’s tail, but I did recognize the cell phone clenched in its jaws as the long-missing device belonging to Xian Hongye.

Staring at the phone in the cat’s mouth, I was bewildered. My first concern wasn’t the cat’s origins or powers, but rather: why was Wang Hou’s phone at the Tomb of the Ghostly Soldiers? Why had Hongye sent that “Just go die” message to Wang Hou’s phone, and why was Hongye’s own phone now in a cat’s mouth?

Given the circumstances, only one possibility occurred to me: could it be that the death-summoning text message had been sent by this cat, and that the true recipients were not Wang Hou, but the three of us who had ventured deep into the tomb? Had it merely wanted to convey its rage and wish us dead?

A cat that could use a cell phone? Surely, this creature was supernatural!

Compared to our confusion, this “cat spirit” was poised and graceful. It opened its mouth with a taunting air, tossing Hongye’s phone to the ground near me, as if to intimidate us or to show us the sorry fate of both Hongye and Wang Hou.

Stunned, I looked down at the phone, quickly and carefully absorbing the aura of menace that radiated from it, feeling a chill spread from my head to my toes.

Hongye’s phone was shattered, as if hurled from a fifth-floor window. Even so, after the black cat’s toss, it flashed to life once more. Under the alternating glow of the phone and the moon, I saw a deep, fingertip-sized round hole piercing the device—a flawless wound, as if made by a bullet.

But I knew this was not the mark of a bullet, but rather the handiwork of the black cat before me. It was, without doubt, threatening us.

Then, the black cat suddenly let out a low, guttural growl—both a challenge and a gathering of power. The sound sent a shudder through my entire body, making me involuntarily retreat several steps.

At the same time, the strange insect on its tail flared with even greater brilliance, glowing blood-red and bright.

It was as if some unseen command had been issued: the legion of fireflies on the ground began to rustle in response, their light growing bloodier and more otherworldly, bathing the land in a purple-green “sea of light.”

Everywhere I looked, crimson streaked through emerald, the cat’s howl mingling with the chorus of countless insects. It was as if the underworld itself had manifested, as if the ghostly soldiers were assembling! The scene was utterly soul-stirring, the likes of which I had never witnessed.

Suddenly, Zhao Hong’s face twitched, and with a dull thud, he slowly knelt before the cat with the lantern on its tail. His emotions out of control, he began to sob and wail, “This… this is... the Lord of the Ghostly Soldiers! The ‘King of the Bright Lantern’!”

Immediately, Zhao Hong began to kowtow frantically to the black cat, repeating over and over the words “King of the Bright Lantern,” “spare me,” and “I trespassed by mistake.” After a moment, the scent of urine rose between his legs.

What was the King of the Bright Lantern? I did not know.

Later, I asked Zhao Hong why he had collapsed before a mere cat and what this “King of the Bright Lantern” meant.

After surviving the ordeal, Zhao Hong explained that the King of the Bright Lantern was a legendary creature spoken of only in the Seventy-Two Peaks region. No one had ever seen one, but the tales said it took the form of a black cat with a glowing lantern—actually a firefly—at the tip of its tail. Whenever it appeared, it was said to tread in the realm of the dead, cloaked in starlight, dazzling and uncanny.

Because of the lantern at its tail, the superstitious mountain folk gave it that name: the King of the Bright Lantern.

In legend, it was said to have enormous power, even once saving Jiang Ziya’s life, for which the Jade Emperor bestowed upon it the title of “King of the Earthly Lantern.” It was said to serve as both night patrol officer and mount for the King of the Underworld, its powers rivaling those of the clairaudient “Di Ting.” However, due to its jealousy and grudge-bearing nature, it never gained the favor of the Kṣitigarbha Bodhisattva.

Perhaps because of its lack of favor, the tales claimed it often “went on assignment,” coming to the world of the living to command the ghostly soldiers at night—sometimes catching demons, sometimes spirits, neither wholly good nor evil. Elders whispered that its appearance always signified the presence of malevolent spirits nearby.

Despite Zhao Hong’s explanation, I could not understand: we were not demons or evil spirits! Why did this king appear as if it meant to apprehend us?

At the time, I was too numb to ask Zhao Hong about the King of the Bright Lantern or the Lord of the Ghostly Soldiers, because I could feel that a force beyond understanding had already shattered Zhao Hong’s psychological defenses—and that force emanated from the very “King of the Bright Lantern” he now worshipped.

From the earlier supernatural occurrences, I suddenly realized: this “King of the Bright Lantern” must be the mastermind behind all the uncanny events tonight. If it could be killed, the fireflies would surely scatter.

Silently, I reached into my pocket and gripped my knockoff Swiss army knife—my trump card.

I knew there would be only one chance. To kill the King of the Bright Lantern, I would have to strike a fatal blow. I had to wait for the cat to come closer—if possible.

So we stood there, locked in a tense standoff: us, a cat, and a swarm of insects, all poised.

Unexpectedly, the black cat did not attack, but instead turned and walked toward Wang Hou’s clothing.

On the patch of ground by the stone figure of Old Qi, Wang Hou’s tattered jacket and the gray cat I had kicked aside both lay there. The King of the Bright Lantern clearly made for the feline corpse.

As expected, after circling Wang Hou’s jacket, it approached the gray cat’s body. With a low, venomous purr, it suddenly raised its head and stared straight at me.

Its gaze was keen and filled with resentment and malice. In that moment, I felt as though I were facing a human, and involuntarily blurted out, “What do you want? I wasn’t the one who killed the cat—you’re blaming the wrong person…”

Halfway through my words, a realization struck me.

At last, I understood what had happened tonight. I surmised that during the earlier chaos near the pickup, Wang Hou must have encountered the gray cat—and likely, he was the one who broke its neck. The evidence was Wang Hou’s jacket, reeking of blood and covered in claw marks.

That gray cat, I guessed, had been a subordinate of the King of the Bright Lantern.

In this way, all of us had offended the black cat, which was why it used the cell phone and the fireflies to lure us to the Tomb of the Ghostly Soldiers, then unleashed its “ghostly soldiers” to kill Wang Hou and now come for us.

If this creature wasn’t a spirit, the heavens would hardly be just!

Just as I pieced this all together, the cat suddenly spun around and charged straight at me and Zhao Hong—it was attacking!

In a flash, I realized the cat was unimaginably fast—too fast for me to react. All I saw was a black shape streaking toward me, trailing a crimson glow.

I barely had time to cry out, “No!” and instinctively dodged, but not nearly quickly enough.

With a flicker of red light, a searing pain like fire swept over my hand and face.

The next moment, I realized that both my jacket, which I had used to ward off the fireflies, and the cigarette in my mouth—were gone!

Startled, I stretched out my hand and looked down at the jacket on the ground, then at my arm.

A raw wound marked my left hand, oozing blood in the moonlight.

So fast.

Having struck, the King of the Bright Lantern bounded ten meters away, then turned to look at us, the cigarette I’d been holding now dangling from its jaws.

The black cat let out an excited yowl, spat out the cigarette, and stomped it out with a paw before raising its head to regard us with mocking eyes.

With its successful attack, the fireflies that had been crouching now buzzed up again, swarming even closer.

Suddenly, I realized—the black cat was toying with us!

With its skill, it could have easily slit my throat, but instead, it targeted only the two things I had used to fend off the insects, clearly implying it had something more insidious in mind—most likely, to let those flesh-eating bugs devour us bit by bit.

What a vicious beast!

In despair, I bent to retrieve my fallen jacket, but as soon as I picked it up, the black cat’s shadow slashed across my arm again.

It was twice as fast as before!

In agony, my jacket slipped from my grasp again.

After this second strike, the King of the Bright Lantern turned elegantly to lick its paw, its razor-sharp claws stained with my blood.

Why? Why did it only attack me?