Chapter Forty-Two: Intestinal Parasite

Hu Bi still found it impossible to forget the terror he’d felt when he witnessed that humanoid creature, its entire body covered in scales, crawling out from the water to the riverbank.

In terms of sheer strangeness, his experience with Zheng Nanfang inside the domed fishery—where the hive structure had distorted and folded space-time—might have been more bizarre. But for pure visual horror, the creature in Qingxiu Mountain had struck a far deeper chord. The hive in the domed fishery had mostly left him dizzy—spinning, disoriented, as if the world itself were whirling about him. If he hadn’t had someone beside him to discuss and analyze the situation, someone like Hu Bi, thick-skinned as he was, could easily have lost his way in that warped dimension, oblivious to his own misfortune.

No one could deny Hu Bi’s courage, yet even the bravest soul harbors deep-seated fears. Old Hu was fearless of heaven and earth, but he dreaded nothing more than seeing a living human, warped by some irreversible force, turning into a mindless monster.

So when Zheng Nanfang speculated that something was lurking beneath the sand, a single remark unearthed a memory Hu Bi had long buried.

How eerily similar the scene was: the nomads had guessed there was something in the water, paying for that knowledge with a dozen lives; now, something was moving under the sand, and in an instant, it had devoured a dozen vehicles.

“Damn, I’m getting out of here!” Hu Bi flung open his car door, slammed his foot on the gas, and shot off like his tail was on fire—a complete reversal from his usual habit of seeking out trouble just for the fun of it.

Zheng Nanfang didn’t dare tarry either; he turned the car around and sped off in haste.

They were here for a road race, not a wild expedition. If they delayed any longer, even if the thing in the sand didn’t get them, they’d never make it to the relay station in time.

After being startled out of their rest, all the drivers were now on high alert. All around them for miles was this yellow, sandy desert—who could say whether another of those things was lurking beneath the racing earth?

Zheng Nanfang gripped the wheel and floored it. In the back seat, Shu Onion and Sha Man crouched, both terrified and fascinated, eyes fixed unblinking on the pit where the dust had settled, both expectant and anxious.

A few minutes later, Shu Onion and Sha Man shrieked so loudly it nearly blew the roof off the Viper.

“It’s coming! The monster’s coming! Go! Go!”

Their screams were like an adrenaline shot. Sweat beaded on Zheng Nanfang’s brow. He glanced in the rearview mirror, and his heart sank.

From the collapsed pit, a gigantic creature as thick as three or four men linking arms burst forth. He couldn’t make out the details, but its whole body glistened blood-red, serpentine yet not a snake, with no visible limbs—like a monstrous sausage shooting from the earth. It leaped high into the air, then dove down at terrifying speed, crashing into a car that couldn’t dodge in time, crushing both vehicle and driver into a metal-and-flesh pancake before slithering back into the sand with a tearing hiss, leaving nothing but a massive crater behind.

“A sand snake? How can it be that big?” Tang Suan’s face was ashen, her hands clutching the handlebar, eyes glued to the road ahead. “Look out—up ahead!”

Zheng Nanfang felt it too—the Viper’s tires were slipping, the sand beneath them shifting, as if the ground itself was starting to move.

At the same moment that Tang Suan screamed, the sand a hundred meters in front of them arched upward, forming a long trail that surged toward the convoy like some subterranean beast, kicking up a cloud of dust that blotted out the sun.

“This is bad. The whole area under the sand must be crawling with these things.” Zheng Nanfang yanked the steering wheel hard, risking a rollover as he drifted in place, flinging a wave of yellow sand as he veered toward firmer ground.

The Viper narrowly escaped disaster. Just as it did, the sand under the path they’d been on erupted, and a giant worm burst forth, flipping over a car whose driver, blinded by dust, reacted with impressive speed—he flung open the door and leapt out as the vehicle was still airborne. But he landed in the wrong place. Before he could get to his feet, a shadow loomed overhead.

He looked up in bewilderment—a huge maw opened above him. Scarlet tendrils writhed densely, no teeth in sight, just a glimpse of crimson, pulsing tissue within.

The mouth engulfed him in an instant, swallowing him whole. The worm’s faceless head twisted again, plunging back into the sand.

“It’s not a snake,” Zheng Nanfang spat, flooring the accelerator. “It’s an intestine worm.”

The three women exchanged terrified, bewildered glances.

“This thing’s been the stuff of legend for ages—there are tons of stories about it in Mongolia. People used to call it the Death Worm.” The image of the creature’s mouth had triggered Zheng Nanfang’s memory, recalling the thing he’d seen as a child in an underground lab. “According to the old tales, they lurk in the desert, blood-red, shapeless, no head or feet, and their mouths can spit venom. Some say their eyes shoot lightning—anything living, human or animal, meets certain death if it crosses their path.”

The women had never seen such a thing, and the description sounded so fantastical that, like Hu Bi years ago, they could hardly believe it if they hadn’t witnessed it themselves.

“It can shoot electricity too?” Sha Man stammered, horrified. “If it’s that big and we’re in a car, wouldn’t we all be fried if it zapped us?”

Zheng Nanfang zigzagged among rocks and dead trees, glancing in the mirror—three or five of the intestine worms were chasing the convoy, some leaping, some burrowing. Each time one surfaced, it claimed another victim.

Among the fleeing drivers, only the two wild girls in the AC Cobra dared to fight back. The passenger had mounted a machine gun on the window, firing relentlessly.

The machine gun spat flames, repelling one attack, but didn’t seem to injure the worm at all.

Zheng Nanfang admired their ferocity. “No, the part about lightning eyes and venomous mouths is just folklore. Later studies found their bodies are indeed filled with corrosive poison, but their anatomy doesn’t allow them to spray it from their mouths, and they don’t even have eyes, so the electricity thing is nonsense.”

“You’ve seen one?” Tang Suan pressed.

Zheng Nanfang nodded. “When I was a kid. But back then, they were only as thick as sausages.”

“You mean you saw a juvenile?” Shu Onion gestured, trying to compare the size to the monstrous creature now hunting them, struggling to process it.

“No, that was a grown one. For them to grow this large, it must be artificial.” Zheng Nanfang sighed, his childhood memories blurred except for the image of someone dying horribly with one of these things burrowing into their ear—an image that had haunted him ever since. At least now, they were too big to fit into anyone’s ear.

“The organizers?” Tang Suan guessed, frowning. “Did they plant these monsters just to make the race harder?”

Zheng Nanfang hesitated. In the distance, he saw the Red Bird take a sharp turn down a narrow, descending path. That must be the shortcut Hu Bi had mentioned—he hurriedly gave chase.

“They were definitely put here on purpose, but it’s not about the road race.” Zheng Nanfang could only give this vague answer. The first time he’d seen these creatures in a lab, the walking corpse disaster hadn’t happened yet—let alone this race.

Seeing the odd look on his face, Tang Suan didn’t press further. She knew Zheng Nanfang had many secrets, but she didn’t wish to pry.

“Oh my god, will there be more of these things up ahead?” Sha Man’s face was deathly pale. She’d just watched a driver get swallowed whole by one of those things—the mouth didn’t even chew, just drooled a bit as it closed, and the man was simply gone.

“There probably won’t be more intestine worms, but there may be other horrors.” Tang Suan read something from Zheng Nanfang’s bitter smile and sighed. “I always thought the Lower City was the most chaotic, most dangerous place. Who would have guessed the wilderness had become a monster’s lair?”

“Upper city, lower city—it doesn’t matter. The space left for humanity is shrinking to the barest margin,” Zheng Nanfang suddenly muttered. “Once, the surface belonged to the walking dead. Now, they’re mostly gone, but we’re left with things even more terrifying.”

Tang Suan watched him closely, probing, “Where did these things come from? The hive?”

He smiled. “The hive hasn’t been around that long, and hives that can mutate creatures are even rarer.”

“Then these monsters…” She trailed off, a guess forming in her mind.

Instead of answering directly, Zheng Nanfang asked, “Do you know where the walking corpse disaster started?”

All three women shook their heads—they knew nothing. When the walking dead began to overrun the world, they’d been children, Tang Suan only two years older than Zheng Nanfang. Survival had been miracle enough; they’d had no chance to learn such secrets.

“Was it all man-made?” Shu Onion whispered.

Zheng Nanfang nodded grimly. “History repeats itself. If the walking dead disappear, there will be monsters. If the monsters vanish, humans will still remain. As long as those people exist in this world, these disasters will never end.”

A thunderous crash.

The speeding Viper lurched violently, flipping over and rolling down the sloping dirt track.

An intestine worm burst from the sand, undulating toward the overturned car, maw agape and tendrils writhing.

Shu Onion scrambled out the window, ignoring her injuries, wrenched open the warped door, and dragged Zheng Nanfang from his seat—only to find a shadow falling over them, a wave of hot, fetid breath at her back.

She froze, clutching Zheng Nanfang’s hand, her voice quivering on the edge of tears. “Help me, I don’t want to—”