Volume One: The Hundred Coffin Tomb Chapter Two: The Curse

Time passed slowly, and before he knew it, half a month had slipped by. Whenever Liu Cheng ran out of money during this time, the weasel would appear with a handful of silver dollars—sometimes just one, sometimes as many as four.

That day, as usual, Liu Cheng returned home with a gourd of Daughter’s Red wine. Upon entering, he saw the weasel sprawled motionless atop the quilt. Assuming it was asleep, Liu Cheng walked over and called softly, “Brother Huang, I brought wine.” Normally, at the sound of Liu Cheng’s voice, the weasel would rouse itself and join him for a drink, mirroring Liu Cheng’s demeanor so closely that even its drunken mannerisms were identical. Yet in recent days, whenever Liu Cheng returned, the weasel would be asleep, requiring several calls to awaken. But today, no matter how many times Liu Cheng called, the weasel remained unmoved.

A sense of fear crept over Liu Cheng. He patted the weasel’s belly and gently shook it. At that moment, to his shock, the weasel slapped his hand away, parted its mouth, and slowly said, “Stop patting me, I’m trying to sleep.”

Liu Cheng leapt to his feet and staggered back in terror—his Brother Huang had spoken!

He stared in disbelief at the weasel still lying on the quilt. After speaking, the weasel slowly sat up, raised its forelegs like arms, and stretched just like a human. It then said, “Brother Liu, do I look like a person to you?”

At this, Liu Cheng’s mind flashed to a local legend: if a weasel wished to become immortal, it needed someone to grant it a title. If one said it looked like a person, the weasel would achieve immortality; if not, all its cultivated powers would vanish, and it would have to start over. Such was the folk tale—but could it really be true?

Liu Cheng certainly knew the story. Without hesitation, he said, “Yes, you do.” But after his answer, Brother Huang showed no reaction. The weasel sighed, “Alas… It seems your recognition cannot help me. After all, I am your double. My title must come from someone else.” With that, the weasel turned and headed outside.

By now, dusk had fallen. Liu Cheng, realizing what was happening, resolved to follow. “Brother Huang saved my life,” he murmured, “Today I’ll help him ascend to immortality.” With this resolve, he trailed after the weasel.

The weasel led the way, Liu Cheng following behind. The creature had torn a piece of red cloth from Liu Cheng’s home, fashioned it into a small garment, and wrapped its feet in more cloth, resembling a pair of red shoes.

They soon reached the main street, stopping at a gambling house Liu Cheng once frequented. A clerk was sweeping fallen leaves at the door.

The weasel stood upright before the clerk, who noticed something odd but, seeing only a weasel, paid it little mind. The weasel walked right up, lifted its head, and asked, “Young man, do you think I look like a person?”

The clerk was startled to hear the animal speak, but then realized what was happening. He glanced disdainfully at the weasel and replied, “You?”

Just as the clerk was about to declare that the weasel didn’t look human, Liu Cheng lunged to tackle him. But he was too late—the clerk had already uttered the words, “Not like a person.”

The moment those words were spoken, Liu Cheng watched in horror as Brother Huang’s plump body shriveled to skin and bones in less than five seconds. The weasel let out a wretched, piercing howl that seemed to tear through the clerk’s eardrums.

Seeing his Brother Huang reduced to this state, Liu Cheng was seized by fury. He snatched a large stone from the ground and, with all his strength, smashed it down on the clerk’s head, roaring, “Damn you! I’ll kill you!”

A spurt of blood and brain matter burst forth as the clerk collapsed into a pool of blood. Liu Cheng, seeing Brother Huang emaciated to the bone, fell to his knees, tears streaming from his eyes. “Brother Huang, I’m sorry! I didn’t stop him in time. If only I’d made him say you looked human, you wouldn’t be like this.”

The weasel lay weakly on the ground, saying softly, “Brother Liu, I’ll be fine. It’s only a body. Besides, I won’t die—because everyone in this village except you must die.”

At these words, Liu Cheng was stunned. Before he could respond, a jet of black light shot from the weasel’s crown, enveloping the entire village—although Liu Cheng could not see it. Still, a strange mark appeared on his body.

Thereafter, each day in the village, one person would die mysteriously—and always in a gruesome fashion: some would, mid-meal, uncontrollably stab their own throats with chopsticks; others, rising at night to visit the latrine, would be found dead in the pit by morning. The mounting horrors soon plunged the village into terror and chaos.

Yet Liu Cheng felt none of this fear. The only thing on his mind was how to get money, for without it, he would soon starve.

As he pondered his options, he saw a group of men descending from the mountain, all wearing white mourning caps and carrying shovels and picks.

They had come to bury the recent dead. At this, inspiration struck Liu Cheng. Some of the deceased were wealthy—surely their graves contained silver dollars or gold and jewels. If he could get his hands on those treasures, he could leave this cursed place for good.

His mind made up, Liu Cheng resolved to dig up the graves for gold that very night.

No sooner thought than done, he returned home to fetch a crowbar and shovel, fashioned a paper lantern, and sat waiting for night to fall.

As his stomach rumbled, he shook the nearly empty gourd of Daughter’s Red and took a small sip. Glancing up, he saw the moon hanging high, stars scattered beautifully across the sky. But Liu Cheng had no heart to admire the night’s beauty. Patting his belly, he said, “Stop complaining—just hold out a little longer. Tomorrow morning, we’ll have a grand feast.”

With that, he grabbed his shovel and crowbar, and made his way straight to the burial grounds on the mountain.