Valley of Terror Read online

  Xu Xiaowen, who’d expected this, dodged to hide behind Luo.

  A blank, desolate look filled the patient’s eyes. Then a grumbling sound rose from his throat, and he let out a deep, bestial cry: “Ya Kuma! Ya Kuma!”

  “Ya Kuma? What does that mean?” Luo asked.

  But Xu Xiaowen shook her head. “That—I don’t know.”

  Dr. Liu and Professor Zhou frowned as they pondered the eerie words. Meanwhile, the patient was creeping closer to the bars.

  “Get back!” Xu Xiaowen cried, but it was too late.

  The patient had Professor Zhou by the lapels. Unable to overcome the man’s massive strength, Professor Zhou found himself pulled up against the bars. Normally so calm and capable, now he could not refrain from breaking into a cold sweat. The patient stared at him fixedly, their faces practically pressed up against one another.

  The man let out a howl: “Ya Kuma!”

  The despair and fear made Luo’s spine tingle. He and Dr. Liu grappled with the patient and, combined with Professor Zhou’s own desperate efforts to free himself, were finally able to wrest the men apart. Professor Zhou stumbled back, panting and red-faced.

  A moment later, when he’d regained his composure, he let out an embarrassed laugh. “When someone suffers a psychotic episode, he or she often becomes several times stronger than an ordinary person. Today, I can personally attest to the validity of that theory.”

  The patient returned to clutching the bars of the cell, still howling with rage.

  Luo studied the young man—the first in a string of phobia patients. Was this the same terror Yu Ziqiang, Chen Bin, Xu Ting, and all those others had felt? Would there be more? He shuddered and swore to himself that he’d solve this case no matter what it took.

  The four visitors stood there without speaking, each lost in their own thoughts. Luo finally spoke up: “Professor Zhou, what are your thoughts on the matter?”

  “All I can say is that Xu Xiaowen isn’t making things up and that this patient’s condition is similar to that of the patients in Longzhou,” Professor Zhou replied after a moment’s silence.

  Glaring at the professor, Xu Xiaowen muttered, “Thanks so much for trusting me.”

  Luo didn’t have time for petty grumbling, yet he was also dissatisfied. “But what about this patient’s prophecy? Can you make heads or tails of it? Are you thinking that the illness originates from the forest?”

  Narrowing his eyes, Professor Zhou stared intently at the investigator. “I wonder the same thing. But what does the Yunnan forest have to do with our patients in Longzhou? Is it possible they’d all traveled there?”

  “No.” Luo shook his head firmly. “My investigators interviewed all the families. They wouldn’t fail to report such a significant detail.”

  “So what other possibilities are there? Could someone have brought the illness from the forest to Longzhou? But this patient has been in Kunming the entire time and hasn’t been to Longzhou at all,” Dr. Liu inserted himself into the conversation.

  There was a flicker in Luo’s eyes. “He’s not just the first victim, he may also be an informant. What if he knows the criminal’s identity?”

  “Are you suggesting that all of this has been human-induced?” Professor Zhou tightened his lips. “But who would do such a thing? How? For what purpose?”

  Luo shook his head in bewilderment.

  Xu Xiaowen was looking at Luo with concern. Then she turned to study the patient. “If only he’d recover his senses . . .”

  Luo’s eyes lit up. He looked at Professor Zhou. “She’s right, you know. If this patient were to be cured, he might break this case wide open—”

  “You want me to administer my new treatment?” Once again, Professor Zhou intuited what his colleague was getting at. “No, I’m sorry, that’s not something I can do.”

  “Why not?” There was an obvious look of disappointment on Luo’s face.

  “It would be a breach of medical ethics. Even if I did agree to it, Kunming Behavioral Health Center would never consent. This treatment hasn’t undergone clinical trials.”

  “He’s correct,” Dr. Liu added. “From an institutional perspective, an untested treatment absolutely cannot be administered.”

  “What if we were to treat it as a clinical trial?” Luo angled. “Could we use it on the patient then? How could we go about it so that it wouldn’t breach your professional ethics?”

  “That might actually work.” Professor Zhou’s eyebrows went up. “But we’d have to find the patient’s next of kin.”

  “His next of kin?”

  “Yes,” Professor Zhou said sternly. “A patient needs to understand and consent to any negative effects an experimental treatment might cause. Since this patient is obviously not capable, his immediate family would need to sign consent forms.”

  Luo nodded. But how would they find the next of kin?

  As he contemplated the problem, Luo gazed at the patient inside the cell. Though the man’s face was contorted with fear, his features were still easily recognizable.

  It would be ideal if his family members could see him, thought Luo. He had an idea.

  Chapter 5

  A MADMAN’S SCIENCE

  As an online journalist, Liu Yun always had to be on the lookout for leads to stories odd and exciting, hard to believe, or even sensational. It was a restless society, and people needed stimulation.

  A strange fear illness had broken out in Longzhou. So Liu Yun did what he had to do and passed himself off as a medical student to get the scoop. When his story went live, the response was tremendous. He was beside himself with excitement. But he was also nervous. After all, deceiving the chief investigator was no joke, and if the police came after him, he didn’t know what he’d do.

  Then, a couple of mornings later, he got a message saying that Luo was coming by.

  Liu Yun sat on the edge of his desk, waiting for his visitor. When he saw the grim look on the investigator’s face, he tried to smile. “Heh, Chief Inspector Luo, so we, uh—we meet again.”

  Luo’s sharp look sliced through him.

  Liu Yun forced a laugh. “Sir, what happened last time, I think, was a misunderstanding.”

  “You can relax.” Luo’s expression softened. “I saw the story. You’re a talented journalist.”

  “Huh?”

  “In fact, I’m here because I want you to write a follow-up.”

  Liu Yun was baffled. “A follow-up? What kind of follow-up?”

  “About the origins of the illness. I just got back from Kunming, and there’s a patient there with the same condition, except he came down with it six months ago. I’d like you to do a story about it.”

  Realizing he wasn’t being toyed with, Liu Yun’s eyes lit up. He leaned forward. “Well, I would need all the relevant information in comprehensive detail—”

  Luo chuckled and tossed a folder onto the table. “All ready for you, including a high-res photo of the patient.”

  Liu Yun licked his lips, yet he did not reach for the folder. He rubbed his hands, trying to contain his excitement. “What’s your angle here?”

  Luo laughed. This fellow was sharp as a tack. “We’re having trouble identifying the patient, so I’m hoping that the media can help.”

  “Then you came to the right person,” Liu Yun boasted. “There’s no way traditional media can compete with our website in terms of audience. I’ll put this photo up on the splash page, and you’ll find out what the Internet is capable of.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Luo said coolly. What if the patient came from a remote mountain village without Internet access? But it was worth a shot. He’d do whatever it took to ID the man if it might prevent the spread of the horrifying illness.

  He never imagined the response would be so quick.

  The morning after the story was published, Luo received a call from an unidentified number.

  “Is this Chief Inspector Luo?” came an excited voice. “I saw the news this morning. My o
h my, I cannot believe it! The Internet truly is a blessing. It has changed our world!”

  “Pardon me? Are you calling about the photo?”

  “Yes! He found me on the Internet, and now it’s my turn to find him! This is very interesting. Very interesting, indeed!”

  “How do you know the patient? Are you a friend of his?”

  “Friend? You might call me that, but bosom buddy would be more fitting! I don’t know if I can express just how excited I am! But trust me, I am the person you’re looking for. In the past, all of you ignored me. Now you have to listen to every word I say, and I’m going to blow your minds! Oh, what a marvelous feeling, indeed!”

  Luo listened impatiently to the man’s blathering, one eyebrow raised. He asked brusquely, “Where are you?”

  “Are you going to come get me?” The man on the other end of the line let out a bizarre laugh. “No, there’s no need. I just left Longzhou Airport. When I saw the news, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand the wait! I’ll appear before your very eyes in half an hour. That’s right, you’d better call that Professor Zhou over. Heh heh, this is the first time in my life I’ve gotten to face them with my head held high!”

  Luo couldn’t take it any longer. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

  “Me? In the past, some called me a lunatic and others called me a quack. But I’m a scholar. My name is Yue Dongbei. And from this day on, everyone will know who I am!”

  Amid a fit of unbridled laughter, he hung up.

  As soon as he got the message from Luo, Professor Zhou rushed over. He paced the room, too agitated to sit. “Yue Dongbei—I went and looked him up online, and you could say I found a few things. He poses as a scholar—originally it was in history, then later Neo-Taoism. Because he propagated all kinds of superstitions, he was blacklisted in the academic world. In the past two years, he’s been active online, taking advantage of the open media environment to publish his own so-called research findings. He’s developed a following.”

  “Yeah, sounds like the guy.” Luo nodded. “I take it you’re not a fan?”

  “I’m a scientist. I’m firmly opposed to superstition! But what connection could he have to our case? Seems fishy.”

  “Don’t worry. Have a seat.” Luo gestured politely. “When he arrives, we’ll have all the answers.”

  Yue Dongbei didn’t keep them waiting long. He was a short, pudgy man around fifty and had neither a strand of hair on his scalp nor a whisker on his chin, which made his head seem round and plump, not unlike a meatball. His frumpy, long-sleeved shirt strained around his waist, looking as if a button might fly off at any moment.

  “Chief Inspector Luo? And the illustrious Professor Zhou?” Yue Dongbei looked them up and down. Without waiting for a response, he walked over to the sofa and plopped himself down. There was something unsettling about the way half his body seemed to be instantly absorbed into the sofa.

  “And you’re Yue Dongbei, the online scholar?” Professor Zhou’s voice held obvious derision.

  “Oh, an Internet hater, are we? When people like you suppress the truth, the Internet gives us one last battleground!”

  “Truth?” Professor Zhou couldn’t help laughing. “You call those superstitions ‘truth’?”

  “Superstitions?” Yue Dongbei wasn’t about to back down. “You scientists are so full of yourselves, but you refuse to see how science has already become the greatest superstition of all! You maintain an iron grip over the academic sphere, not allowing anything that might run counter to your own beliefs! Even when there’s a phenomenon that science has no way of explaining, you refuse to accept any other theories. The world of science has, in actuality, become a religious tribunal!”

  Yue Dongbei shook his plump fist in the air as he aired these long-simmering grievances.

  Professor Zhou laughed coldly. He seemed tempted to say something more, but Luo motioned for him to refrain.

  “Interesting, but let’s not get too far off topic,” Luo said calmly. “Why don’t you tell us how you know the patient?”

  “You must be willing to hear my theory out, as there are some things that you may find rather contentious. Otherwise, we will never be able to communicate.” Yue Dongbei folded his arms, a haughty look on his face.

  Luo nodded. “We’ll listen respectfully to whatever you have to say.”

  Professor Zhou groaned faintly, but all he could do was listen patiently as Yue Dongbei began.

  “I know it’s hard for you to see me as a scholar. But I’ll have you know that I was once a historian, and my subject mastery is in no way inferior to that of any expert. It’s just that I dug too deep into certain areas and uncovered secrets that had been buried for ages. And those secrets are a challenge for modern-day science to explain. I tried to provide an analysis of some of them, drawing on extensive sources and dabbling in esoteric fields. Ever since, mainstream science has rejected me.” Yue Dongbei paused. Though wrinkles of worry appeared on his forehead, they were soon replaced by a look of rapture.

  “Let me tell you about an episode that took place during the fall of the Ming Dynasty. In 1644, during the period we call the Southern Ming, most of southern China still hadn’t been conquered by the Manchus. The last claimant to the throne was the Yongli Emperor, Zhu Youlang. And the most celebrated military general under his rule was named Li Dingguo.”

  “What you’re saying is common knowledge to any educated person,” Professor Zhou interrupted coldly. “The Southern Ming troops retreated to the Yunnan border and, in 1659, the Yongli Emperor was forced into exile in Burma, which is now Myanmar. But General Li remained at the Yunnan border, fighting the Manchus right up to his deadly defeat in 1662.”

  Frustrated by the history lesson, Luo wondered what they were going on about—until the Yunnan border came up. He sat up straighter.

  “Of course, it’s in history textbooks.” Yue Dongbei made a sour face. “But let me ask you something. When General Li fled to the border, he had no more than ten thousand troops. They were surrounded and outnumbered by the Manchus. Don’t you think it’s strange they were able to hold out for three long years?”

  “What’s so strange about it?” Professor Zhou countered. “Li Dingguo was a brilliant general. The soldiers under his command were experienced fighters and famous for their courage.”

  “You have nothing more than a superficial understanding.” Yue Dongbei stared the other man down. “At full strength, they suffered successive defeats. General Li’s last remaining fighters found themselves under siege in the forest. The emperor was in exile abroad. Morale was low. And yet they remained undefeated for three years. How?”

  Professor Zhou went on the defensive. “So let’s hear your theory.”

  Yue Dongbei chuckled proudly, leaning back into the sofa. “Today, General Li’s final stronghold has a name: the Valley of Terror!”

  “The Valley of Terror?” Luo and Professor Zhou exclaimed.

  “You’ve heard the name before, right? He was the one who told you.” Yue Dongbei’s face held immense satisfaction. “But what you don’t know is the origin of the name. According to Chinese history textbooks, it’s because, during bloody clashes of those years, there were unburied corpses everywhere. Ha! Lies!”

  All of the sudden, Yue Dongbei leapt to his feet. “According to my research, the valley got its name because General Li was endowed with the power to conjure demonic spirits. That’s how he won so many battles!”

  Luo shook his head dismissively.

  “Nonsense!” Professor Zhou barked.

  But Yue Dongbei was undaunted. “Of course it’s not nonsense.”

  He opened the briefcase he’d brought with him and took out a hard plastic case. He stood up and placed the case on the desk, opening it up to reveal its contents.

  Luo and Professor Zhou peered inside. All it contained was a strip of cloth a little less than a foot long. The cloth was old and decrepit. However, a faded column of dark red text in traditional Chinese character
s could be made out:

  One with the demons, joyous and carefree.

  May these schemes be hatched, and may you prisoners of terror be!

  “A soldier under General Li’s command wore this tied around his head. A few years ago, I had the good fortune to find this, which is how it all began. The text’s meaning is clear. General Li told his troops, ‘I have the power to conjure demons, my followers, and it is a glorious thing. If you should betray me, you will be dragged into the prison that is the Valley of Terror!’” Yue Dongbei crowed.

  Professor Zhou shook his head. “Demons were just a trick that officers used to motivate their soldiers in those days. During the Boxer Rebellion, weren’t there claims of spirit possession? Would you take that as fact, too?”

  “Fact? Anyone who sits at home reading books has no idea what facts are!” Yue Dongbei rolled his eyes. “I am a scholar. I have a rigorous approach to research. After I obtained this cloth, I undertook a substantial investigation and conducted numerous interviews. In addition, I listened to oral history accounts, which have corroborated my own theory.”

  “How so?” Luo lifted an eyebrow.

  “Just when the situation at the Yunnan border seemed dire, General Li manifested an almighty, supernatural strength. His men were filled with boundless courage, such that they died in combat, their faces beaming with joy. And those too cowardly to fight were punished by the demons—their fate was to die from fear! What a miracle of perseverance!”

  “But didn’t General Li ultimately die in battle? If he really possessed the power to conjure demons, how do you explain that?” Luo had noticed a flaw in Yue Dongbei’s theory.

  “Good question!” Yue Dongbei said. “That’s the missing piece that I’m still working out, and it’s the reason I’ve come here today. Nonetheless, I can provide an explanation of this strange phenomenon you’ve recently encountered!”

  Luo gestured for him to continue.

  “So General Li was entrenched in the forest for years. Not only were the Manchus terrified of him, but the locals became involved and there was tremendous suffering. By then, General Li had become tyrannical, the devil incarnate. Then a high priest from the local tribe concocted a scheme to bring about his demise.” Yue Dongbei paused, closed his eyes, and shook his head, his face sorrowful.