Chapter Seven: The Song of Immortality

I hope Pam has gone mad. People who want to die have no reason to lie—only the insane would speak such falsehoods.

When I returned to the outskirts of the village, Dali opened the door for me and cried out in alarm, “Langji, quickly! Come back!”

Sensing the urgency, anxiety gnawed at me. As soon as the elevator touched the ground, I dashed toward the control room. Corpses littered the path, their faces twisted in agony. They were villagers, scavengers, and members of the Mushroom Society.

Four others—Mackins, Hecali, Canglian, and Bojan—were outside the control room, struggling to pry open its door with crowbars. Inside were Newt and Dali; Newt was wounded. The control room door was as sturdy as the one leading out of the village, able to withstand a hail of bullets. Even with all their strength, they couldn't break through. They tried shattering the glass, but it was impenetrable, impervious to fire and water.

I rushed forward. Bojan spotted me and swung a massive machete he’d found from somewhere. I dodged back, moving nimbly to avoid being surrounded. At the same time, I poured a hardening potion over my hands and head. As it took effect, Mackins and Hecali’s blades crashed down onto my arms. I merely shuddered, unharmed. Their eyes widened in disbelief as I seized the moment to thrust my dagger, piercing their palms and forcing them to drop their weapons.

Canglian and Bojan circled behind me, slashing at my back. Their skills, taught by Orchid, were formidable. Without turning, I parried their blades with my dagger, then retreated swiftly, the dagger now aimed at their throats. Though my blade was unpoisoned, fear was etched on their faces.

In a cold voice, I said, “If you force me, I won’t hesitate to kill.”

They fled in panic.

Dali opened the control room and threw herself into my arms, sobbing, “They suddenly turned on us! They wanted to capture me to threaten my father, and Uncle Newt saved me. Now things are out of control—they say they’re going to... settle accounts with him!”

“Him,” of course, meant Orchid.

I said, “Even if they all go together, they’re no match for Orchid.”

Newt snapped, “Who knows where they found guns! Orchid isn’t wearing armor—he’d better not get ambushed!” All guns in Waterless Village had long been destroyed, by order of the Sword and Shield Society. Some scavengers must have hidden them away.

I asked, “Are you all right? Where were you shot? We can get medicine from Aunt Ole’s place.”

Newt pointed to his right arm. The wound was ghastly, but he was strong, and it wasn’t fatal. “No time for that—we need to find the gentleman first!”

Pam’s words echoed in my mind; I prayed desperately that everything he’d said was only wild delusion.

Dali urged, “Hurry! Hurry!”

The village was in chaos. Those still loyal to Orchid had all suffered—some only wounded, others slaughtered on the spot. Seeing this, I raged, “Have they lost their minds? What have these people done wrong?”

Dali replied with sorrow, “Because Father killed their people, so...”

If I were Orchid, what would I have done? His opponents were all villagers he’d once sworn to protect—a vow made to his wife, whom he’d loved as his own life. What wrong had he done? The destruction of the culture vessel was already inevitable; Orchid only wanted to save this land. He’d worked himself into an incurable illness for the village, hiding his suffering from everyone. Yet the villagers showed no gratitude.

Newt cursed as he ran, “I always knew! The cowards in this village never liked the gentleman! They’ve been holding back their resentment, just waiting for an excuse to let it out! He was too kind, too soft with them.”

Yes, an iceberg doesn’t form overnight. My foster father’s righteousness and tolerance became his fatal flaws. If I were him, I’d never have allowed the Mushroom Society to be formed. I would have ruled with an iron fist, purged all opposition, and consolidated my power.

What am I thinking? Even if I’d done so, would the outcome have been any different?

Everyone was gathered in the cultivation chamber. Orchid stood at the far end, proud and imposing—so much so that no one dared approach and challenge his authority. None noticed us; Dali squeezed my hand, and I felt her palm slick with cold sweat.

Wend—a hot-tempered youth—shouted, “Orchid! Your days are over! As a tyrant, the only end for you is death!”

Orchid drew from his pocket the red statue and placed it on the ground. A faint red light shimmered across its surface, reminiscent of sunlight. People exchanged confused glances, uncertain of his intentions.

My heart pounded in dread. “No! No! Pam can’t be right!”

Orchid spread his arms, smiling, and replied, “No, no one will die anymore! The crisis is resolved. You needn’t worry about food or enemies. I have found a way for us all to live well.”

A gunshot rang out. Orchid’s heart was pierced; he looked down at the wound, frowning. Dali screamed, “No! Father!”

People turned toward her. Newt and I drew our weapons, guarding the door to protect Dali, and for a moment, no one dared move.

Another head sprouted from Orchid’s neck, emerging from his blood vessels—it was Aunt Ole. The crowd stared, stunned almost to catatonia.

Aunt Ole sighed, “Ah, they’re still so savage—always resorting to violence. It’s terrible for one’s health.”

Orchid smiled, “But without it, how would our superiority be shown, right, dear Ole?”

Dali and Newt’s faces went ghostly pale, their eyes blank. I must have looked no better—this was no hallucination. Pam had spoken the truth. That statue... that uncanny statue had turned Orchid into what?

Beside Ole appeared another head—Dali’s mother, Aunt Sarah! She sighed, “Ole, all these years I’ve been gone, you’ve taken care of him. You’ve worked so hard.”

Dali, seeing her mother, showed not joy but uncontrollable terror. She stammered, “Why? Why is it... Mother? What is happening here?”

Orchid laughed, “Daughter, don’t be afraid. I resurrected Sarah’s body. This is the miracle brought by the statue. It is the true god! The god of life! The power of Jehovah! From now on, no one will ever die!”

The gunman fired again, shattering Sarah’s head, but in a flash she reappeared on Orchid’s other side. She lamented, “Oh dear, when will they learn that some things must be believed?”

Orchid said, “The most eloquent preacher I know is Chatterbox.”

He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his torso. Upon his abdomen was Chatterbox’s face, and Chatterbox laughed, “Friends! I admit I was wrong before! There’s no Mushroom God—only this god of life, this Sun King, our savior, truly real. We need only believe in Him, merge with Him, and we will have eternal life, never needing to eat again.”

One by one, Nona, Damo, and others appeared, their faces like parasites growing from Orchid’s body. They chattered away as if at a symposium, their talk fixed on this dreadful new faith.

Newt shouted, “You... why... Meze, why you? I saw you die with my own eyes!”

Meze replied, “The gentleman saved me. He made me realize we should never have been enemies. Brother, come—I've been waiting for you.”

Each spoke with the familiar voices of those we knew. It was as if they themselves were present. But I knew they weren’t. They were... ghosts, or worse—a kind of virus.

Wend yelled, “Kill him!”

They surged forward, blades flashing like an unrelenting storm. I snapped out of my daze and tried to intervene but was blocked. Orchid did not resist—he spread his arms like a martyr seeking salvation, a smile on his face, and let the weapons tear into him. Soon he fell, his body hacked to pieces by the furious crowd.

Dali tried to rush to him, but I held her back tightly.

Orchid was dead; even his body was destroyed. Even if... even if he had become that, he was still my benefactor.

I would avenge him—those who raised weapons against him, I would... I would...

A mass of blood rose from the floor like a carpet, enveloping Canglian. Canglian struggled for a moment, but then the carpet shrunk, and he vanished as if by magic.

Someone shouted, “What the—” but didn’t finish before another bloody carpet rolled him up like a cat pouncing on prey, and he, too, disappeared.

Only then did I realize—Orchid was no innocent victim. He had killed Chatterbox, Trash, Ole, and the others. He hadn’t waited for them to die before absorbing them; he had murdered them himself before devouring them.

We were facing an incomprehensible creature, a terrifying nightmare.

Before anyone could grasp the situation, many had already been taken by the living blood. I saw Bojan—the scavenger I’d wounded—encounter Canglian. Unaware Canglian was dead, he was unguarded; then Canglian turned to a mass of blood and fused with Bojan. Bojan screamed, his body quickly dissolving.

We three were furthest from the carnage, and thus the safest. We saw more than anyone else. In an instant, we understood the mortal danger we faced. Orchid—no, that creature—could become anyone he had absorbed, and now he could appear in multiple forms, attacking simultaneously.

Newt and I shouted in unison, “Run! Get out of the village!”

Several others fled with us, but Orchid caught up in an instant. He was as cunning as the sharpest sheepdog, and as terrifying as the most fearsome predator. He became a rising tide of blood—whoever got their shoes wet was doomed.

Newt stepped into the blood, fell, and with his last strength shoved Dali and me forward, yelling, “Go!” and pushed us out the door.

Dali sobbed, “Uncle Newt!”

Newt drew his sword and, in a flash, plunged it into his own heart. He closed his eyes and dissolved into the pool of blood.

...

But in the next moment, I saw Newt rise again from the blood. He shook his head, looked at his body, and smiled—an expression of sudden, profound understanding.

Orchid had stripped them of the right to die. Just as he said, the statue had granted them all eternal life.

A nightmarish eternity.