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Chapter 19: The Headless Corpse
Li Xingyuan awoke.
The first thing he felt was a splitting headache, followed by an unbearable tightness in his chest. He coughed repeatedly, feeling as though he had expelled his entire lungs.
His eyes, throat, and every bone in his body ached. Struggling to open his eyes, all he could see were bursts of golden stars, obscuring his vision. It took some time for him to regain clarity.
A sharp ringing filled his ears, as if someone were holding a buzzing device right beside him. Li Xingyuan steadied his mind, slowly piecing together his consciousness, until he regained the strength to act. “Old Liu! Old Liu!”
He called out several times, but no one responded. After catching his breath, he finally looked around. They were still in the car, and it was night outside—but eerily silent.
He sat in the backseat, his nostrils filled with the faintly sweet, metallic smell of rust. At first, he thought it was dried blood from when his nose had bled during the gravitational anomaly, but when he saw the sight on the driver’s seat, his insides twisted in horror.
A headless corpse lay sprawled across the driver’s seat. Its body appeared relaxed, showing no signs of struggle. If not for the missing head, it might have been mistaken for a living person.
“Old Liu? Old Liu!”
Li Xingyuan shouted again, his voice nearly tearing his throat apart.
“Mr. Li?” came Old Liu’s voice from the passenger seat.
Li Xingyuan’s heart leapt. He turned his head groggily toward the front and saw Old Liu blinking sleepily at him.
Exhaling deeply, Li Xingyuan felt some relief wash over him.
But soon, Old Liu noticed the headless corpse. Instantly alert, he reached for the rifle slung over his shoulder—the same one taken from Lin Song earlier.
The rifle remained untouched, suggesting that whoever—or whatever—had done this hadn’t cared about weapons.
Li Xingyuan recalled his dream about Shambhala. Just moments ago, the creature posing as a Buddha had declared itself a "ferry" before he abruptly woke up. Was there a connection between the dream and what was happening now?
Of course, more pressing matters demanded his attention.
“Old Liu, whose body is this?” Li Xingyuan asked, his stomach clenching painfully. “Is it Lin Song?”
Old Liu leaned forward to examine the corpse’s clothing and details closely. After a brief moment of panic, he quickly composed himself.
“No,” Old Liu replied. “It’s a Tibetan. He’s wearing a traditional robe, and his hands show calluses from holding reins and using knives.”
Li Xingyuan pressed on: “What happened?”
He remembered only falling asleep after a simple breakfast of butter tea and tsampa, then climbing into a Tibetan’s vehicle to rest. After that, everything blurred into the strange dream. He had no memory of how Old Liu ended up in the same car or who this Tibetan was.
“You fell asleep, and Lin Song and I took turns keeping watch over you,” Old Liu explained succinctly. “We alternated sleeping in other vehicles while one of us stayed awake in the passenger seat here, waiting for you to wake up—it’s been two days and three nights.”
So he really had slept for two days and three nights. No wonder he felt ravenous and parched.
Li Xingyuan licked his dry lips and watched as Old Liu glanced at the headless corpse. “This man was Tenzin Dawa’s appointed Tibetan driver—he didn’t trust me to drive, fearing I’d run off with the car. His name was Tashi Dorje. A good young man.”
“It should’ve been my turn to keep watch,” Old Liu said, frowning in confusion. “I never fall asleep on duty.”
Which meant Old Liu’s sudden drowsiness was also unnatural—likely caused by the same anomaly that decapitated Tashi Dorje.
“Old Liu, did you have any dreams?” Li Xingyuan asked. “A dream about Shambhala? Something like a Buddha inviting us to Shambhala?”
“No,” Old Liu shook his head. “I rarely dream.”
How strange.
“For now, let’s get out of the car and check the surroundings.”
Staying in the same space as a headless corpse wasn’t exactly comforting. Whoever—or whatever—could decapitate Tashi Dorje inside the car wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to them.
Li Xingyuan and Old Liu stepped out of the vehicle. Darkness stretched endlessly in every direction. Whether it was due to the eclipse or simply nighttime, they couldn’t tell. The convoy of Tibetans had stopped completely; the silence was oppressive, as if an invisible beast devoured all sound.
In such profound stillness, the pounding of their own hearts became deafening: thump-thump, thump-thump. Li Xingyuan clenched his fists tightly, forcing himself to stay calm despite the blood pumping furiously through his veins.
Where was the enemy? How many people were still alive? How should they handle this crisis? Unlike their ordeal in the sky, where problems were clear and dangers visible, now there was nothing but silence.
Li Xingyuan made a decision. “Wake everyone up. I’ll go to the front, and you take the rear.”
They split up, waking the sleeping Tibetans by tapping on car windows. Some cried out upon waking—no explanation needed; Li Xingyuan knew they’d discovered the grim reality.
The devourer of sound seemed finally sated. The convoy erupted into chaos: Tibetan chants, Chinese shouts, screams, wails from women and children, men cursing, and animals braying in distress. The cacophony made it impossible to settle their nerves.
By the time all the Tibetans had woken up, recovered from shock and fear, and assessed the damage, half an hour had passed. Ten headless corpses, including Tashi Dorje, were laid out on the ground.
Tenzin Dawa’s face darkened with rage, his hands trembling slightly as he stared at the bodies. Tsering Chokyi broke down emotionally, clutching one of the corpses and sobbing uncontrollably.
Lin Song was unharmed. He joined Li Xingyuan and Old Liu, his face etched with fear and bewilderment.
He had been resting in another vehicle, fortunately spared along with the two others inside.
But just then, a Tibetan man stepped forward, accusing them.
“Brother Tenzin! It must be these Han people’s doing.”
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