They arrived in Chengdu at 10 a.m. the next day, the air thick with humidity and the spicy scent of Sichuan peppercorns. The city's Chinatown was a labyrinth of narrow streets, red lanterns swaying from shop awnings, and vendors calling out to passersby. The sound of mahjong tiles clacking drifted from tea shops, and the air smelled like hot pot broth and roasted chestnuts.
The SPU's Chengdu office had set up a command center in a vacant tea shop, its windows covered with paper to block the sun. Li Na, the local SPU agent, was waiting for them, her short black hair tied back in a ponytail, a notebook clutched in her hand. She was wearing a black blazer and jeans, and a small silver cross hung around her neck.
"Thanks for coming," she said, shaking their hands. "Three victims so far. First is Zhang Wei, 35—owns a souvenir shop down the street." She pointed to a storefront with a "Closed" sign taped to the door. "His wife found the package on their counter yesterday morning. He opened it, screamed, and vanished. The only thing left was a terracotta warrior—she said its eyes were glowing red, like embers."
They walked to Zhang Wei's shop, Li Na unlocking the door with a key Mrs. Zhang had given her. The bell above the door jingled softly, and they stepped inside. The shop was small, filled with Chengdu souvenirs: plush pandas wearing bamboo hats, bottles of chili oil labeled "Extra Spicy," and rows of tiny terracotta warriors—similar to the one in the package, but smaller, their faces chipped from years of handling.
Mrs. Zhang was sitting behind the counter, her eyes red and puffy. She was wearing a black dress, and her hands trembled as she held a photo of Zhang Wei— a smiling man with a crew cut, standing in front of the shop. When she saw them, she stood, her voice breaking. "You're here to find him? I told the police, but they didn't believe me. They said I was crazy."
Rui pulled up a chair, sitting beside her. "We believe you, Mrs. Zhang. Tell us everything—what the package looked like, what Zhang Wei said, what you heard."
Mrs. Zhang wiped her eyes with a tissue. "The package was brown cardboard, no return address. It had a sticker with a terracotta warrior on it. Wei Wei laughed and said, 'Must be a gift from the tourist who bought the big panda statue.' He opened it with a knife, and I heard him gasp. I was in the back room, folding clothes, and I yelled, 'What is it?' He didn't answer. I ran out, and the package was on the floor. The warrior was there, its eyes glowing red. And Wei Wei… he was gone. No blood, no footprints—nothing."
Rui knelt beside the counter, her hand hovering over the spot where the package had been. Instantly, a cold tingle ran up her arm—Yin energy, thick and sticky, like wet clay. She closed her eyes, focusing on the whispers she could hear, faint but persistent. They were guttural, full of fear, and she could make out a single word: Trapped…
"He's in the warrior," she said, opening her eyes. "The zombie blood in the package turned him, but the warrior is a prison. It's holding his soul, keeping him from escaping. He's still alive—we can save him."
Ye pulled out his bronze mirror, the same one they'd used to reveal Feng Qin in NYU's dorm. He held it up to the counter, and the mirror's surface rippled. After a few seconds, Zhang Wei's face appeared: his skin gray, his eyes empty, his mouth open in a silent scream. "He's still there," Ye said, his voice tight. "The Yin energy is strong, but we can break it. We need to find the person sending the packages first."
Li Na handed them a list of tracking numbers. "All three packages were shipped from an abandoned textile warehouse on the edge of Chinatown. My team tried to go in yesterday, but the Yin energy was too strong—our radios shorted out, and one agent got a cold burn on his arm. We heard growling inside, like… animals. But bigger."
Dao Feng's jaw tightened. "Zombies hate sunlight. They'll be weaker at night, when Yin energy is strongest. We go tonight. I'll lead—this is my mistake, and I'm going to fix it."
They spent the afternoon interviewing the other victims' families. The second victim, Wang Li, was a 28-year-old teacher who'd opened a package at her apartment. Her roommate, Xiao Yu, said Wang Li had screamed, then run out into the street, her eyes glowing red. "She looked at me like she didn't recognize me," Xiao Yu said, tears streaming down her face. "I tried to stop her, but she pushed me. The police haven't found her yet."
The third victim, Chen Hao, was a 40-year-old chef at a nearby hot pot restaurant. His employees said he'd opened a package in the kitchen, then yelled so loud the customers heard it. "We ran back, and he was gone," said Liu Ming, the restaurant's manager. "The warrior was on the counter, and there was a blood cross on the wall. Same as the other cases."
That night, they met Li Na at the warehouse. It was an old, gray building, its windows broken, its walls covered in graffiti. The door was padlocked, but Ye kicked it open easily, his boot slamming into the metal. Inside, the air smelled like rot and zombie blood, so thick Rui had to cover her nose with her sleeve.
The warehouse was empty except for a table in the center, covered in terracotta warrior statues—dozens of them, their eyes glowing red. And in the corner, three zombies stood: tall, their skin gray and cracked, their nails black as coal. One of them was wearing a blue jacket— the same one Mrs. Zhang had said Zhang Wei was wearing the day he vanished.
"Zhang Wei," Ye said, his sword raised. "We're here to help you."
The zombies roared, their arms swinging. Ye charged forward, his peachwood sword cutting through the air. The blade hit Zhang Wei's arm, and black blood oozed out, smoking when it hit the floor. "Rui! Free the souls! Use your medium energy!"
Rui closed her eyes, focusing on the whispers. They were louder now, clearer: Help… please… the statue… She held up her hands, blue light glowing from her palms—her medium energy, bright and pure. "Zhang Wei! Wang Li! Chen Hao! I'm here! Hold on!"
The light wrapped around the zombies, and their bodies froze. Inside each one, a faint glow appeared—their souls, fighting to break free. Ye swung his sword again, cutting off Zhang Wei's zombie head. As the body fell, a glowing figure floated up—Zhang Wei, his face relieved, his form translucent.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice weak.
Rui smiled, sending a burst of blue light toward him. "Go to the Underworld. They'll help you. Your wife is waiting for you."
Zhang Wei nodded, vanishing into the light. The other two zombies dissolved into black smoke—Wang Li and Chen Hao's souls floating free, their whispers of thanks fading as they left.
"We did it," Rui said, catching her breath. Her head throbbed from using so much energy, but she ignored it.
Ye grinned, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Not yet. We still need to find who's sending the packages. The ledger—on the table."
Dao Feng walked to the table, picking up a leather-bound ledger. He flipped through the pages, his face paling. "Names. Addresses. All people with Xuanqing connections—descendants of Taoists, people who visited the mountain. They're not just building a zombie army. They're targeting Xuanqing. To break the zombie king's seal."
Rui's heart dropped. "The seal you mentioned? The one that escaped decades ago?"
Dao Feng nodded, closing the ledger. "If they break it, the zombie king will escape. He's stronger than any zombie we've fought. He could destroy Chengdu. Maybe even more."
They left the warehouse, the night air cool on their faces. The moon was bright, casting silver light over the street. Ye took Rui's hand, squeezing it. "We'll stop them. I promise."
Rui nodded, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Together."
Li Na drove them back to their hotel, and as they pulled up, Rui saw a figure standing in the parking lot— a man in a black cloak, watching them. When he saw the car, he turned and ran into the darkness.
"Vampire," Ye said, his hand going to his sword.
But it was too late. The man was gone.
Rui touched her peachwood talisman, feeling its warmth. They were getting closer. And whatever was coming next, they'd face it together.