Chapter 73: The Curse of Mahakala

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“Maha Kala, what is that?”

“He is a guardian deity in Tibetan Buddhism, also known as the Great Black Deva. In Esoteric Buddhism, the Great Black Deva is an important protector, revered as both a healer of diseases and a god of wealth.”

Aji searched on her phone and held the screen out before my eyes. Only then did I witness the true form of this black deity.

This black Buddha had six arms and three eyes, stood atop seven stars, and wore a tiger skin skirt around his waist, exuding a chilling and severe aura.

“Maha Kala was originally a righteous god in Theravada Buddhism, but over time, as doctrines passed down through generations, they gradually became distorted. In the minds of certain sinister individuals, this faith became a tool for their misdeeds. The worship of this black deity is found in many regions of our country, such as Tibet, Mongolia, and Yunnan.

Tibet and Mongolia are fine, as they have very strict religious systems and traditions, so there’s generally not much deviation under the lineage of Tibetan Buddhism. Yunnan, however, is different; too many outsiders joined halfway, and inevitably, some scheming people exploit this faith. For example, look at this image of a deviant tradition.”

After some searching, Aji found another picture. As I looked, I thought, this could hardly be called a Buddha!

This black deity’s body was entirely blue, dressed in tiger skin, with a necklace of fifty human skulls and a crown of five skulls. He was entwined with many snakes—his hair was bound with serpents, a large snake hung from his neck, and striped snakes coiled around his wrists and ankles, intensifying his terrifying and wrathful presence.

Each of his six hands held something: the central two crossed before his chest, the left holding a skull cup, the right a crescent-shaped dagger. The upper right hand held a mala of human bones, the left a trident, as if to pierce the heavens. Both hands also stretched open an elephant hide. The lower right hand held a drum, as if summoning and subduing female demons; the left gripped a rope, one end a vajra, the other a hook. His body stood upright, right leg bent, left leg extended, with both feet trampling the chest and legs of a white elephant-headed deity. The elephant-headed deity lay supine, head thrown back, left hand holding a skull cup, right a radish and a bag of cakes.

This black Buddha bore no resemblance to any traditional Buddha, but was wholly terrifying and bizarre.

“This is information I found before, when I encountered a ghostly talisman mark. I can’t believe I’ve run into it again here. This evil deity once killed someone from my Hu family. Now that I’ve encountered it again, I won’t stand idly by. Xu, don’t worry, I’ll do my best to help you.”

Looking into Aji’s resolute eyes, I felt deeply moved. These chivalrous wanderers, who had only just met me, were willing to go to such lengths for my sake, while Xiaowei, who grew up with me, had turned against me out of selfishness. It was truly lamentable.

With Aji in tow, I made plans with Old Liao to meet Hu Sandao at an authentic hotpot restaurant.

“Xu, I just came from the north and you’re taking me to hotpot? Aren’t you afraid I’ll get sick of it?” Aji grumbled.

I slapped my forehead, realizing I’d forgotten about that. “My mistake, my mistake.”

“Hey, this hotpot is different, it’s made southern style. Give it a try,” Hu Sandao said, already looking eager as he sat in his chair.

“Boss Zhang, about that classmate of mine, Yangzi, whom I introduced you to—how did things turn out?”

“It’s been taken care of for now, nothing serious.” I could tell Hu Sandao didn’t know much about the details of Yangzi’s ordeal, and had no intention of telling him more—sometimes, less is better.

“Huh? But I saw her post something really strange on her social media yesterday…”

“What did she post?”

“Something about disregarding life and death, karma and reincarnation, putting on this whole ‘life is meaningless’ act.”

Strange. We’d only just broken the centipede curse on her—why would she react with such despair? Besides, Kun’s vengeful spirit wouldn’t cling to her, so what on earth had happened…

After all, Yangzi had once threatened my life, so her bizarre reaction remained a giant question mark in my mind. But Hu Sandao was a master at lightening the mood, playing drinking games and spinning tall tales, making Aji laugh heartily.

After several rounds and many dishes, night had deepened.

“Oh no, it’s almost midnight. We have to get back to the shop!” Old Liao, unable to mention the curse in front of Hu Sandao, could only remind me gently.

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His words instantly cleared my drunken haze. “Right, right, we have to get back—the door’s not even locked.”

Hu Sandao slung an arm around my shoulder. “Why the rush? There’s nothing worth stealing in your rundown shop. Let’s not go back tonight—come to my place, have a bath and a foot massage, relax a little. A man should know how to live!”

I actually agreed with him, but with my life at stake, I didn’t dare indulge in leisure. I made up an excuse to slip away.

Hu Sandao seemed quite drunk. We entrusted him to the restaurant’s front desk, asking them to find a driver to get him home safely, and the three of us hurried back to the shop.

By some twist of fate, we arrived at the shop exactly at midnight.

The symbol at the door was glowing with three jagged, crooked red bars, emitting an eerie light.

“Xu, see if your sense perception picks up anything!”

Old Liao’s words jolted me awake. I hurried to the wall and pressed my palm against the mark.

In an instant, the world turned dark.

This time, there was no black space, no apparition in colored robes.

I found myself in a cluttered room, quite spacious but in total disarray. It was clear from the makeup bottles scattered on the table and the clothes tossed across the sofa that the owner was a woman.

No one was visible in the room. The chandelier swung from the ceiling, the lights flickering oddly.

Why did this place seem so familiar?

I stood at the doorway, staring at the decor, racking my brains.

Wasn’t this Xiaoqi’s room?

I’d seen Xiaoqi’s livestreams several times; from the background, I could piece together her surroundings. I’d even visited her during the dog spirit incident. The ornaments and layout at the entrance matched her home exactly!

Something was wrong—could the Mortar Ghost tattoo have caused trouble?

I rushed towards the room where Xiaoqi usually streamed. She sat at her computer, headphones on, perfectly still.

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Xiaoqi, are you alright?”

As I spoke, I reached out to tap her shoulder.

At my touch, Xiaoqi slumped from her gaming chair onto the floor.

As she fell, her body rolled over, face up, revealing a ghastly visage.

Her entire face had rotted away, exposing flesh and blood beneath the skin; only a few teeth and her eyeballs made it barely recognizable as a human face.

It wasn’t just her face that was horrifying—she wore little, and her body had become so thin she could compete with any dancer on the streaming platforms.

But her body was covered in bite marks; the flesh was gone from her hands and feet, leaving nothing but white, gruesome finger and toe bones.

Each bite mark was so deep the muscle and bone beneath were visible.

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It looked as if she’d been mauled by a dozen rabid dogs, her corpse utterly inhuman.

Instinctively, I looked toward the Mortar Ghost tattoo on her body. The little ghost’s face was smeared with blood; its gaping maw still bore traces of gore and decayed flesh. This was not Xiaoqi’s own blood splatter—it looked as if the ghost had feasted on flesh before returning to her body.

The ghost’s inscribed charm glowed with an eerie black light. Its belly was grotesquely swollen, as though it had just gorged itself, and it was now staring at me with a venomous, sinister gaze.

Even the exposed eyeball on Xiaoqi’s face seemed to convey a look of resentment and hatred directed at me.

Terrified, I collapsed to my knees. But the scene before me kept shifting and distorting.

The vision twisted into a black vortex, from which emerged a man dressed in colorful robes.

He stopped in front of me, looking down with contempt. “Two days left. So this is the great Yin-Yang Embroiderer—how disappointing…”

Just as I tried to rise and strike at him, everything before me shattered like glass, dissolving into dust.

I awoke to Old Liao’s face and the dizzying sensation of being shaken.

“Zhang, what did you see? You were shouting and yelling—what happened?” he asked.

“Xia… Xiaoqi seems to be dead.”

I clutched my hair, haunted by the horror of Xiaoqi’s gruesome demise.

Was it my Yin Embroidery that killed her, or had the man in robes meddled behind the scenes?

“Are you sure what you saw was real? This sense perception of yours—is it prophecy, remote viewing, or just fantasy?” Aji asked.

I had no answer. So far, my sense perception had produced results that felt real—warnings about supernatural events, even saving me from danger a few times.

“Should we go to Xiaoqi’s place and see for ourselves?” Though Old Liao was shocked by my description, he still doubted anyone could die in such a horrific manner. Since the mark had changed, there was no point debating here—it was better to confirm the truth.

Now completely sober, I hailed a taxi and headed straight for Xiaoqi’s home.

Climbing the worn stairs, I found her door ajar and unlocked. Even before entering, a strong metallic scent assaulted my nose.

“This is bad—something really happened,” Aji said, his face grim, as he rushed in with Old Liao leading the way.

A few minutes later, Old Liao staggered out, clutching the wall as he vomited.

It seemed my sense perception had been confirmed.