Volume 1 Chapter 18: The Floating Coffin

At dawn, no one in the tavern dared to step outside. They waited until noon, when the sun was at its peak and the yang energy strongest, before a few of the older men cautiously crept out, clutching their hunting rifles.

Upon stepping outside, they saw that around the tavern lay a trench more than a meter wide and about half a foot deep. The bottom gleamed smooth and solidly compacted.

Apart from this trench, there was nothing else unusual. The chickens kept in the backyard were all accounted for.

Old Dogskin Hat emphasized that although this was near the large soy vat, the ground beneath the tavern was incredibly solid. Without thousands of pounds of weight, such a deep trench could not be pressed out. A horse weighed only around eighteen hundred pounds; what kind of force could have made such a deep pit?

To prevent whatever it was from returning, the tavern folk worked together to fill in the trench and stuck peach wood stakes into it. Whether or not it warded off evil spirits, at least it bolstered their courage.

Strange occurrences continued, and with the dogs all dead, the people avoided sleeping at night. Instead, they slept during the day, eyes wide open at night, ears straining to catch any sound outside.

After a couple of days, something even stranger happened. The old forest suddenly crackled with a series of sharp sounds, the ground trembled slightly, and the noise was directed straight toward the tavern.

The tavern folk swallowed hard, thinking the Lord of the Underworld was coming to count heads. Everyone nervously gripped their weapons, preparing for a fight to the death.

But what came charging down the mountain were a group of animals—muntjacs, deer, wild rabbits. As the tavern folks gaped in confusion, bears and tigers followed, rushing downhill. Their demeanor was not that of hunters but of creatures fleeing for their lives.

Deer coming down the mountain made sense, but the striped tiger was known as the “King of the Mountain” in these parts. Not only did it have no natural predators, but even humans were often no match for it.

Besides the tiger, there was the bear, whose fighting prowess rivaled the tiger’s. Its tongue was covered in barbs. One tavern man had once encountered a bear in the mountains; half his face was licked clean of flesh, even his eyeball was partially devoured.

The tavern folks were terrified. What could force such great beasts down from the mountains?

Moreover, the tiger did not hunt the deer but paced back and forth, baring its teeth and growling lowly, all while staring up the mountain.

The animals disregarded the natural order: the tiger did not eat the deer, the lynx ignored the rabbits, and even large black rats climbed atop yellow weasels.

Herbivores and carnivores alike had gathered—somewhere near a hundred or eighty in total.

The yellow weasel stood on end, and all the animals fixated on the mountain.

The tavern people were even more frightened. Regardless of gender or age, everyone’s legs trembled, their teeth chattering uncontrollably.

Within half a minute, the animals panicked, as if seeing some terrible thing, and suddenly all surged toward the big soy vat.

The outcome was predictable: the leading beasts fell in, and those behind pressed on, stepping even on the heads of those ahead, desperate to rush ten meters in a single bound.

In less than fifteen minutes, over a hundred wild animals were swallowed whole by the vat, leaving not a single hair behind.

The tavern folk were dumbfounded. Even after a lifetime living in the woods, they had never seen such a scene. What could drive the striped tiger to leap into the soy vat to its death?

Before they could react, a gust of wind swept through, flinging several of them to the ground. When they came to, night had fallen.

Old Dogskin Hat was roused by the others. Upon opening his eyes, he felt piercing pain everywhere except for his hair. The others were just as battered.

No matter how they looked at it, they had at least survived. Crawling on hands and knees, they made it back to the tavern and lay on the heated platform for two or three days before they could stand straight again.

But that was not the end. Two days before our arrival, the large soy vat began bubbling strangely, sometimes with blue flames flickering atop the bubbles. Even more unsettling was the appearance of dozens of black lacquered coffins floating on the surface. Among them was one extraordinarily special coffin.

Old Dogskin Hat described it as seemingly made of bronze, adorned with intricate embroidery of varying depths. Dragons and phoenixes were carved upon it, and at the head of the coffin was a tiger’s head, also bronze, complete with nose, eyes, and whiskers dripping with dew.

Shortly after the coffins surfaced, the vat’s water level rose and waves surged, pushing the coffins toward the tavern and depositing them on the shore before the building.

Repeatedly startled, the tavern folk had grown fearless. What was death but death? They might as well fight back.

So they grabbed their weapons and hurried toward the coffins. Upon closer inspection, the coffins looked freshly made, their black lacquer gleaming oily and bright. There were exactly eight floating ashore—just as many as there were people in the tavern.

Faced with life and death, no one showed fear. They tried to pry open the coffins to see what lay inside.

But the coffins appeared seamless. No matter how they tried, they could not be opened. Using pickaxes, the first strike sparked, but left no mark on the coffin.

It was baffling. They were sure the coffins were wooden, yet knives left no cut, axes no chip, saws could not bite through, and crowbars could not pry them open.

Normally, wood soaked in water for years would become as fragile as tofu, crumbling with a touch. But these coffins were as hard as iron, showing no sign of rot.

Dogskin Hat confidently swore he had never seen such wood before, and the other older men agreed.

Unable to open or move the coffins, the few living men still residing in the tavern found them unbearably ominous. Who wanted to see coffins outside their door every morning?

So they gathered a large pile of dry wood and set the coffins ablaze.

Even the fire was unusual: the wood burned with blue flames, and the smoke was blood-red.

Inside the coffins, crackling sounds echoed, and faint ghostly laughter could be heard.

As the fire raged, a sudden explosion shattered one coffin, followed by others detonating like firecrackers.

The exploding coffins spewed a black, tar-like substance everywhere. Strangely, the goo emitted no foul odor but instead an intoxicating fragrance that left people dazed.

Despite the alluring scent, fear of the unknown prevailed. The tavern folk immediately washed themselves, fearing even a trace of the substance might linger.

The coffin boards were highly resistant. The fire burned for two days and nights before the coffins finally turned to ash.

The tavern folk had just begun to relax when we arrived.