Please support the translation by reading the translation and commenting on otakutl official site.
Thank you.
Everyone from Otaku Translation
Chapter 20: Factional Strife
The man who stepped forward was as tall and imposing as a black iron tower, his face contorted with wrath like an enraged Vajra. A Tibetan knife hung at his waist, and he clutched a hunting rifle in his hand, glaring fiercely at Li Xingyuan and his companions.
At the sight of the rifle, Li Xingyuan’s expression shifted involuntarily.
In this country, any firearm outside the hands of state-enforced agencies almost invariably marked its wielder as an outlaw.
“That’s Pasang Dorje,” Lin Song whispered to Li Xingyuan, explaining the man’s identity. “He’s the leader of a faction of herders and has never been particularly friendly toward Han Chinese.”
Old Liu, however, showed no sign of fear or retreat. He placed his hand firmly on his rifle, locking eyes with Pasang Dorje in a silent threat. “What do you mean by that?”
“What do I mean? You Han people eat our food, drink our water. Before you joined us, we never encountered such horrors!”
“Dorje, my brother,” Tenzin Dawa interjected, his voice steady. “Calm your wrath. If not for Mr. Li and Brother Liu, even with all your bravery, you’d likely have been decapitated in your sleep too.”
“How do we know it wasn’t a thief crying foul?” Pasang Dorje persisted, though his gaze had shifted from Li Xingyuan to Tenzin Dawa.
Li Xingyuan sensed something amiss. Whatever had happened here bore no resemblance to human capability. Pasang Dorje’s fixation on blaming them felt less about the crime itself and more like a pretext for something deeper.
Glancing at Tenzin Dawa’s subtly angered expression, Li Xingyuan began to understand. This wasn’t about hostility toward Han Chinese—it was about rivalry between Pasang Dorje and Tenzin Dawa. Lin Song might not grasp it yet, but Pasang Dorje, a leader among the herders, was exploiting the situation to challenge Tenzin Dawa’s authority as the convoy’s leader now that societal order had collapsed.
Though the insight came easily, it left Li Xingyuan feeling weary. Even amidst such dire circumstances, humans still clung to their petty power struggles.
When they first joined the convoy, everyone seemed united—but cracks must have existed long before the Epoch of Anomalies arrived.
It wasn’t just Pasang Dorje and Tenzin Dawa arguing; the surviving Tibetans were subtly dividing into two factions, aligning behind each man. Some carried weapons, shouting and shoving in Tibetan, faces flushed with anger.
“Stop fighting,” Tsering Chokyi, her face streaked with tears, raised her head to address the escalating tension between Tenzin Dawa and Pasang Dorje. “It’s the Zan gods. The Zan gods have found us.”
“Nonsense,” Pasang Dorje sneered. “If it were the Zan gods, there wouldn’t be bodies left—let alone scraps of flesh. They don’t waste like this.”
Tsering Chokyi fell silent, unable to counter him. But then she noticed Li Xingyuan crouching beside the headless corpses.
Earlier, inside the car, mistaking the decapitated body for Old Liu, Li Xingyuan had been too shaken to examine it closely. Now, with time to scrutinize, he noticed something peculiar.
Even without forensic expertise, the anomaly was glaringly obvious. The wounds were unnaturally smooth—blood vessels, bones, nerve cords, throats, cartilage—all severed cleanly, as if sliced through effortlessly. Yet it wasn’t surgical precision; no scalpel could achieve such immaculate cuts. Achieving this level of precision would require something akin to a laser.
But lasers left burn marks, and these wounds showed none. Moreover, the blood vessels that should have bled profusely appeared to be “sealed” in some miraculous way, as if reconnected instantly upon being severed—not stitched, but rather… healed.
Ten bodies—men, women, old, young—all had their heads removed in exactly the same manner.
“This is too elaborate,” Li Xingyuan muttered under his breath.
Exactly. It was unnecessarily complicated. If the goal was simply to kill, far simpler methods existed—beheading, destroying the heart. Why go through such trouble?
The killer—perhaps the mysterious Ferry from his dream—clearly had motives beyond merely killing these Tibetans.
“What are you doing, Han man?” Pasang Dorje barked. “Don’t desecrate our dead!”
Ignoring him, Li Xingyuan stood up and shared his findings with Tenzin Dawa.
Though he wanted no part in the Tibetans’ power struggle, he also refused to let them scapegoat himself and his companions.
He considered mentioning his dream about Shambhala, but reconsidered. Even though he’d exposed it as false, both the entity claiming to be a Ferry and the concept of Shambhala itself were likely sensitive topics for the Tibetans. Bringing it up might only deepen the rift within the convoy.
After listening to Li Xingyuan’s explanation, Tenzin Dawa nodded slightly. Raising his hand to quiet the crowd, he addressed the Tibetans: “Everyone, please listen! Our Han friends have made a significant discovery!”
Drawing all eyes to himself, he gestured toward the corpses. “Brothers and sisters, look at the wounds on those bodies. If the Han had such means and intended harm, they could have killed us all long ago.”
The Tibetans glanced around uncertainly. No one stepped forward to inspect the wounds—likely because those who moved the bodies had already examined them. As seasoned herders, they were familiar with countless wounds, far exceeding what Li Xingyuan or even Lin Song might comprehend. Surely, they recognized the strangeness of the injuries.
Though the deaths of ten people grieved the Tibetans, aside from the grieving families clutching the bodies, the others understood this wasn’t about whether the Han were responsible. It was about the factional conflict between Tenzin Dawa and Pasang Dorje.
“Dorje, my brother,” Tenzin Dawa turned to Pasang Dorje. “Go inspect the bodies yourself. If, after seeing them, you still believe our Han friends are responsible, then you’re deliberately slandering them—and me!”
“You!” Pasang Dorje unsheathed his Tibetan knife, pointing it at Tenzin Dawa. His face twisted in fury, resembling an enraged deity. Behind him, his followers drew their weapons, hinting at an impending confrontation. “Dawa, are you defending these Han over your own flesh and blood?!”
Please vote for this novel at
If you would like to support this translation, you may choose any one of the options below.
How to find a list of chapters
Please find the chapter label next to your favorite translator's name, and click the label.
