The Last Sight of Zheng Haoran

There was no sound except for the crunching of snow underfoot, the donkey's hooves clipping against a stone, and the occasional chirping of birds. The four men glanced about nervously, throwing each other wordless looks as they led the small gray donkey drawing a rough wagon, following behind the tall, straight-backed figure of the monk,

Xuxian came abreast with Fahai. "Holy man," he said hesitantly. "Could Haoran possibly have been killed by the bandits? Are you certain it was a demon?"

Fahai did not look at him. "You will see. As a doctor, you should be able to tell that the wound is not an ordinary one. Why, Physician Xu? Are you reluctant to accept that there is a demon here?" he said frankly.

Ataken back, Xuxian said hurriedly, "No--that is, of course I hope there isn't one. It's just that we have lived here for so long, and we have never yet had anything like this happen. Of course, there have been the occasional stories, the rumours sightings of mysterious women bathing in the river, or the sighting of strange people-like creatures in the mountains; but that is to be expected. Only, there has never been violence."

Fahai's scorn was obvious, though his voice remained unchanged. "You are naive, Physician Xu. Living by a mountain like this, with all these forests and lakes, I am only surprised that you have not had trouble until now."

Xuxian bowed his head humbly. "I am ignorant. I lack wisdom in these areas, whereas you have much experience. I am only afraid for our village, what this means for us. Right after the bandits, too."

"Here it is." Fahai stopped suddenly, and gestured simply ahead. The three men behind froze immediately, peering gingerly from behind the monk and Xuxian. None of them had seen a body with its heart dug out before. All wanted the thrill of having seen it, but now that it was right before them, no one wanted to be the first. The donkey waited patiently, blowing a cloud of warm air from its nose.

Xuxian went forward resolutely, brows furrowed. He caught his breath sharply as he stood looking down at what was left of Zheng Haoran, but otherwise his face betrayed no other emotion.

Fahai stood silently behind him, calm and expressionless. The other men came fearfully up behind, and there was an audible gasp as they finally laid eyes on the body. Their faces paled slightly under their tans, and one of them--a young man still growing out his first beard--looked rather green.

Zheng Haoran was lying just off the main path, signs of a scuffle around him where the bare earth and pebbles showed through the snow. His arms were flung out as if he had thrown himself carelessly down onto his bed, except the fingers were contorted, straining stiffly in a horrible grasping motion. The eyes were popping from his head, livid with terror, all the more ghastly for the small dried leaf that had landed ontop of one, floating on its glassiness. The deathly grayness of his face made it look like a grotesque clay puppet's, contrasting oddly with the blood that spattered it.

The face itself was bad enough; the chest, which had been ripped open, was worse. Through the mess of mangled flesh and smashed ribs there was a gaping hole where the heart had been. Blood was everywhere.

There was a retching sound and the youngest man swung round to vomit onto the snow, stumbling a little on his feet. The other men looked away, faces white.

Xuxian said nothing, but his jaw was set in a stern line. He crouched down by the body and examined it without flinching, while they patted the back of the youngest man, still looking peaky. Fahai watched on, his eyes following Xuxian's hands but always darting back to note his face, watching his reaction.

"It's a strange wound," Xuxian said under his breath. "It looks as if someone tore open his chest with a powerful blow, breaking the ribs, and then dug out his heart, sinews and all. It seems humanly impossible for anyone to have such brute strength in their fingers. No, it can't be the bandits. They would not have been able to do this. There would have been knife wounds, and this is clearly not a knife wound."

He raised his head, looking pale and grim, to meet Fahai's gaze. The monk bent his head slightly, as if to say "I told you so."

"It's awful," gasped the young man, covering his eyes with a groan. "I wish I hadn't come. I don't think I'll be able to forget that sight."

Xuxian untied his cloak and laid it gently over the body, covering the twisted face and the ugly wound. For a moment he stood looking silently down at it.

He rolled back his sleeves and gestured to them to bring the wagon closer. "Let's get him onto the wagon."

Taking hold of the body's shoulders, he directed them to take its feet. "Get hold of the legs. Ready, now--one, two, three--lift--"

They got him onto the wagon, grunting, averting their eyes from the trail of blood the body left behind in the snow. The donkey snorted and stamped, getting impatient in the cold.

Fahai fell into step besides Xuxian as they started on their journey back with their gruesome burden. "Do you believe that there are demons among you now, Physician Xu?"

Xuxian turned desperate eyes to him. "How could anyone do such a thing to another living being? Human or spirit, it is unutterable. I have never seen a body so horribly mangled. To think that it is among us is awful. Zheng Haoran had many faults, but even he did not deserve to die this way. If it were to happen again, to anyone else--" He shuddered.

Catching Fahai's arm, he said earnestly, "Holy man. Please help us. We must get rid of this cruel and vicious demon, and we can't do it without your help. You must tell us what to do."