Chapter Four: Who Am I, Really?

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Night of June 22, 1938, Laojun Temple, Heyuan County

My name is Ding Bu’er, born in 1981, the year when the winds of reform swept across the land. From a young age, the education I received instilled in me the belief that I was destined to become a successor of the nation. I studied diligently, day by day, always striving upwards, dreaming of fulfilling a fifty-year pledge of service to my country. Yet, the trivial difficulties of life cruelly shattered my hopes.

By the turn of the millennium, despite my excellent academic and moral record, I struggled to enter a prestigious university. Mass university expansions meant more people were admitted, but with my modest family background, I found myself losing again at the starting line. Still, I believed I could make a difference.

After graduation, I realized that the employment prospects for my major, pharmaceutical chemistry, were mediocre at best. Without relentless effort, I could not even get into the organization I desired, let alone gain meaningful work.

Fortunately, my degree from a key university allowed me to enter a private firm by lowering the requirements, a place where innovation or research was hardly needed. I endured years of monotonous, uninspired work, gradually losing my sharpness, wearing down my edges—lost, helpless, with no goals, no ideals, no hope.

As I grew older, I thought it was time to marry, but housing prices were soaring. With my meager savings and salary, buying a house was impossible. Yet, without a house, there was no stability. Renting forever was unthinkable, especially since renting in this country is inherently unstable; landlords’ bizarre antics constantly shattered my expectations.

I exhausted my parents' savings to buy a cramped two-bedroom apartment, riddled with problems, but bearing decades of debt. At least I had some stability. I resolved to endure. I didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, didn’t dine out, gave up socializing, and our small family’s living standards were just bearable.

But having a child changed everything. There were fees for postpartum care centers, early education institutions, and once school started, the supposed relief of compulsory education never came. The hardships were only beginning: interest classes, tutoring, intensive courses, booster classes—all kinds of educational institutions found ways to drain the last coin from my pocket.

I felt I could endure it all for my child. I would drive for ride-hailing at night, do odd jobs by day, and deliver food on days off. A man must take responsibility. But then the frenzy over school district housing started again. My wife insisted on buying one, which sent our debts soaring once more.

In normal times, I might have gritted my teeth and persevered. But those years were anything but normal. Just as hardship subsided, a global economic downturn hit. By middle age, I was abruptly laid off. Even then, I hadn’t lost hope. I thought of selling the house to catch a breather, only to witness the real estate market collapse, with sky-high prices halved overnight.

The pressure was overwhelming. I eventually collapsed and spent months in the hospital. In the end, I gave up on further treatment for lack of money.

The following year, somehow, I found myself among the ranks of the divorced, unemployed, without savings or social security, barely surviving on my parents’ meager pensions.

By chance, I remembered a story my grandfather told me as a child—the legend of the Ming Dynasty treasure on Seal Island. It was more than just a legend; my grandfather possessed a map from the Ming military ministry. The fortress there was built during a military mutiny in Wuqiao and was ultimately abandoned. It was said that some treasures, which General Kong Youde’s forces could not carry off, might still be hidden there.

Back then, the area was strictly military-controlled, and my grandfather never had the chance to search the island. But now it had become a scenic spot, and the cost of visiting was low—off-season trips were even cheaper than tours around the city.

Thus, shortly after the Year of the Snake’s Spring Festival, I packed my bags and set off for Seal Island, hoping to strike it rich. If I succeeded, I could turn my life around; if not, I had a few million in accident insurance—after all, accidents were common in such places.

The treasure hunt went surprisingly smoothly. On the first day on the island, I found a small cave through a crack in the cliff face.

I didn’t question why there was a mummified official and a dilapidated torpedo boat relic from the Ming era inside. The mere fragments in the torpedo boat alone could make me wealthy. But oddly, I was immediately drawn to the faintly glowing mummified corpse’s abdomen. I pulled out my Damascus-patterned dog-leg knife, hoping to dig out what I imagined to be a luminous pearl.

What I didn’t expect was that my knife couldn’t pierce the zombie’s steel-like skin. Suddenly, the corpse moved and seized me instantly.

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That was not all. The creature opened a large, blood-red mouth, attempting to devour me. Its eyes blazed with red light. I even felt my spirit tearing away from my body.

Just as I wondered whether the insurance would cover death by zombie, something extraordinary happened again.

——

My name is Nalan Xinde, born in the eighth year of Emperor Mu’s reign. I am the fifth son of the main Nalan family, known simply as “Number Five.” I inherited the position of first-class guard at the Sticky Pole Department and led the Vigorous Sharp Regiment as a thousand-commander.

Later, by imperial decree of the Empress Dowager, I entered the Kunming Lake Naval Academy to train as a naval officer. But it was short-lived. Within a few years, the academy was suppressed by the imperial faction. In the eighteenth year of Emperor Guangxu’s reign, 1892 AD, I joined the Beiyang Navy as Chief Military Secretary, overseeing correspondence and confidential affairs.

In truth, my role was to monitor the Beiyang Navy—standard practice from the Sticky Pole Department. Other naval forces were treated similarly.

In 1894, when the Japanese invaded our dynasty, the imperial faction sought to exploit the chaos, using the Japanese to weaken the Beiyang Navy and the Empress Dowager. She was aware but hoped the ordeal would strengthen the Emperor. At that time, the Sticky Pole Department’s administrator, Vice Minister of the Naval Office, and imperial attendant Ama risked his life petitioning against this plan, but the Empress Dowager was resolute and did not foresee defeat.

In September, at the fierce Battle of the East Ditch, I commanded the battleship Zhenyuan alongside Captain Lin. The situation deteriorated rapidly. Reluctantly, I invoked the Sticky Pole Department’s authority to order Captain Lin to use the ship as bait, enabling the torpedo fleet to strike the Japanese flagship Saikyo Maru. Unexpectedly, the well-regarded substitute commander Cai of the Fulong Regiment lost control and failed. Subsequently, Zhenyuan attempted to ram the enemy flagship Matsushima but drew concentrated fire. I was wounded in the barrage, saved only by foreign officer Majifen who pushed me aside just in time.

At the Battle of Lüshun, I temporarily commanded the elite Red-clad Troops, defeating the Japanese at Tuchengzi. We should have launched a joint sea-land counterattack in Liaodong, but Admiral Ding hesitated. The various garrisons gave conflicting orders; traitor official Gong sided with the enemy, and rebel Weng undermined the court. Tens of thousands of soldiers remained trapped in the fortress, powerless to turn the tide.

On November 22, under secret orders from traitor Weng, the Lüshun garrison abandoned the fortress, surrendering munitions, cannons, money, and supplies to the enemy. I received secret instructions from the Sticky Pole Department via telegraph to destroy the South Ammunition Depot. However, we were thwarted by Gong’s retainers and Japanese spies. The Sticky Pole agents suffered heavy losses; only a dozen escaped. During the battle, I lost a leg to an explosion and led the remnants south to Liugong Island aboard the Zhen’er torpedo boat.

In December, the Empress Dowager bestowed upon me the title of Brave Baturu, promoted me to deputy general, awarded the imperial yellow jacket, and granted me double-eyed feather insignia. I was authorized to make independent decisions and strictly guard against the imperial faction’s attempts to defect to the enemy. The next day, I received a secret letter from Ama warning that if we lost this battle, I must sacrifice myself for the country.

In January 1895, the Japanese threatened Shandong Province. The Naval Office anticipated this, ordering a scorched earth defense to delay the enemy while awaiting reinforcements. Yet, unexpectedly, some abandoned duty for personal gain.

Shandong Governor Li received secret orders from traitor Weng to retreat without fighting, allowing the Japanese to besiege our navy at Liugong Island. He even supplied the enemy with money, supplies, livestock, and vehicles, and later stationed troops to block reinforcements.

Our naval vessels were in poor condition, unmaintained and unprepared for siege. Despair prevailed both inside and outside. Worst of all, some coastal battery troops were Li’s henchmen.

We lacked strength, unity, and ammunition. Retreat was forbidden by the court; the Emperor forbade it, the Chancellor dared not, and the Empress Dowager refused.

After the loss of Commander Cai’s torpedo fleet, morale collapsed. The batteries fell, communication was severed. We were trapped. Admiral Ding and dozens of officers chose death for their country, ordering the destruction of remaining ships and equipment. But no one obeyed. Corrupt foreign officers conspired with traitors, stealing the Admiral’s seal to surrender to the enemy on February 17.

On the night of the 16th, I planned to seize the Zhenyuan’s secondary cannon to bombard the rebel Kangji ship but was stopped by mutineers. Severely wounded, I lost consciousness. The remaining Sticky Pole agents escorted me aboard the Zhen’er torpedo boat to Seal Island, into a water cave that only appeared at low tide. Just as we settled, we were discovered by the Japanese patrol fleet.

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On the evening of the 17th, the Japanese bombarded Seal Island, causing rocks to block the water cave. The Zhen’er could no longer escape. The nine Sticky Pole agents boarded small boats to confront the torpedo boats’ attackers. Though outmatched, they upheld their loyalty and all sacrificed their lives for the court and Empress Dowager.

The Japanese continued bombardment, sealing me inside the cave. Three days later, gravely wounded, I died in despair. My spirit seethed with rage, and for three days and nights, lightning and thunder roared over Seal Island. Thanks to shamanic secrets taught by the great national shaman, my soul remained undying.

Thus, as time passed swiftly over a century and a third, nourished by the ascending energy of Bohai Bay and the dragon spirit of national fortune, I became a corpse cultivator—an immortal, undying being.

In February 2025, just as I prepared to devour an intruder’s soul, the heavens unleashed a thunder tribulation. Nine heavenly bolts struck us both, reducing us to ashes.

——

My name is Wang Yue, born in 1905, the youngest son of the Northeastern Army’s God of Wealth, Wang Jiang. In my youth, I was a prodigal, reckless and unruly, with a record of misdeeds. Later, I entered the logistics department of the Northeast Military Academy. Upon graduation, I served as staff officer in the Marshal’s Guard of the Land and Naval Forces. In April, the sixteenth year of the Republic, I led the Marshal’s Guard in storming the Shuntian Prefecture embassy district, capturing and killing several progressive figures, earning the Marshal’s favor.

Later, the Marshal was assassinated at Huanggu Pavilion, and I was seriously wounded, returning home to Jin County to recuperate. During the Middle East Road incident, I fought despite my illness but suffered repeated defeats, though I inflicted significant casualties on allied forces—a rare bright spot in that conflict.

In the twentieth year of the Republic, a division of the Jin-Sui Army was absorbed into the Fifth Division of the Northeastern Border Defense Army. I led a contingent to join and was promoted to colonel and head of logistics for the division. In essence, controlling logistics kept the Jin-Sui troops in check.

At the start of the twenty-sixth year, fearing political sidelining due to the incident, I considered retirement. Before I could act, war broke out. The sixty-eighth division, now back in Jin-Sui, fought in the Battle of Xinkou. After defeat, several were punished, and the remaining Northeastern officers despaired about the future.

In early the twenty-seventh year, the sixty-eighth division moved to Xiaoyi. I took my savings and trusted aides north to Suiyuan, hoping to make a “business” deal and later move to Shanghai as a resident, nominally to procure horse feed for the division. However, before arriving, I learned of the sixty-eighth division’s crushing defeat at Xiaoyi.

Soon after, Commander Meng was secretly demoted and fled to avoid purges. The Northeastern faction within the sixty-eighth division was nearly eliminated. Under these circumstances, returning meant certain execution. The division’s failure was severe, and someone must be held accountable.

So I planned to hide out until the situation calmed, then head to Shanghai or the rear areas. But misfortune struck again: my trusted adjutant absconded with funds. Now, not only was I penniless, but I had to support my own security detachment. Though only a single company, it was still costly.

Worse, to avoid leaving a trace, I brought core personnel from logistics with me. Feeding just these men was a challenge—65 men each needing 1.5 pounds of grain daily, totaling 97.5 pounds. Twenty horses each required at least 8 kilograms of fine feed a day, adding up to 400 pounds. This was only grain, excluding other necessities. In the occupied zones, any movement meant expenses.

By selling firearms, horses, and other goods to bandits, landlords, and puppet forces, I managed to survive two months. By a stroke of luck, I seized Laojun Temple from a bandit gang, finally gaining some stability. But barely had good days begun when, in the main hall of Laojun Temple, before my comrades, I was struck by a bolt of lightning from a clear sky and instantly lost consciousness.

——