We expected to find some monk in the Buddhist temple able to answer our questions concerning what had happened. What we did not expect was the festival! The street vendors selling steamed pork buns, the red banners and lanterns streaming from trees and shops, the performers and music and frivolity... and the crown jewel in such a cultural experience, a vast line of dancers, and behind them, a great dragon puppet of some sort, controlled by at least ten to fifteen men, winding its way through the crowd as onlookers observed in intrigue. Sarah informs me that such "dragon dances" are common at Chinese festivals, and that this particular festival (she had asked another attendee) was intended to honor dead ancestors, hence the large amount of red and the flowers festooning the graves close to the temple.
Ah, the Purple Flower Temple, a fine example of Chinese architecture and culture as well as a symbol of Shanghai's Buddhist origins... at least, according to Miss Sarah McCain, our guide around this area. It was a stunning place - vast fields of violet flora, great stone stairs leading to a red and yellow decorated pagoda, festooned with red ribbons and paper banners bearing Chinese characters, and within, a great bronze statue of the Buddha. Mahmoud, being a religious man, immediately took off his footwear out of respect though this was not a place of his religion, while it took Sarah a little convincing to encourage us to do the same. I am told this is a sign of respect and is expected in these places. I was of course expecting religious artifacts. What I was not expecting was one of these artifacts to be a mummified monk, sitting in contemplative meditation, his body so prominently displayed! Ah well, I do suppose it is no different than the incorrupt saints so many churches back home display... and as intriguing yet macabre as it was, it was certainly not what we had come here for. No, we were here to investigate the fire that had happened.
One of the monks was kind enough to answer our questions concerning the fire. Yes, there had been an overturned brazier which started a fire, and many had been hurt. Yes, great damage had been caused in the flower gardens, and yes, many claimed it was like a great cloud of fire had come from nowhere. We did inspect the area, and after closer investigation we were forced to realize we had no strong answer, and could not refute or confirm the monk's claim. All that we could do was pay our respects to the temple and leave, back into the festival to consume a light lunch and watch the spectacle of the great dragon dance.
Here is where it becomes rather fuzzy. I do not recall what happened or when, but some time after purchasing and eating a steamed pork bun, a man ran into me, clearly drunk. There was a scraping against my arm, and I looked up to see him apologize, profusely, in Chinese and back away. It was not long after he vanished into the crowd that my vision began to blur, and after that, all went black. I awoke to a similar but more cramped blackness, and the strong smell of earth and mildew, not long after. It did not take long to realize what had occurred, as my groggy mind came to its senses and I pressed against the container I'd been placed in - I, and perhaps the remainder of my fellows, had been kidnapped, and more than likely, buried alive!
Panic gripped me as I pressed against the sides and top of the container, and eventually I heard something on the outside give way slightly. So, I was not buried alive, merely contained... not that this helped, as I had no idea how much air I had left! In the stifling blackness, I pushed hard against the lid with my back, and it eventually opened to show a dingy, decaying living room of some once grand place, as well as my fellows, all standing near tea chests similar to the one I had been trapped in, some with terrified shock and horror on their faces showing they had thought the same thing I had. None of us could find our weapons or possessions. We had even been stripped of our clothing, left in white funeral shroud-like robes made of thin fabric. Sarah McCain was nowhere to be found, but that was far from the most shocking thing we noticed as we looked to Muuzaji.
"Muuzaji!" Mahmoud gasped, astonished. "You... you are..."
"Yes, female, I know," she replied tersely.
"Yeah, of course she is," Francis murmured, giving us an odd look. "I kinda just figured everyone had found out already, and didn't give a shit."
"It was rather obvious," I added, and the others gave me withering looks. I suppose I must have more well-trained physician's eyes, owing to my thirty years of medical expertise... I must have forgotten that not everyone shares such a gift.
After reassuring that the others, particularly Muuzaji, were alright, Laurent suggested we begin trying to discern where we were. The building was filthy - dust and grime coated every surface, the papery screen windows were torn and decaying, mold stained the walls and ceiling, and nearby tea chests were piled up in the corner. Electrical wiring hung from the ceiling like artificial vines, and the smell of mold and earth was everywhere, as was humidity. It was as if we had entered a greenhouse, albeit one without plants. Before us was a glass door, coated with a slick of algae on the other side and difficult to see through, but clearly that of a greenhouse - a source of the heat and the earthen smell. To our right, a small hallway led to a set of stairs, one leading up and the other down. And to our left, a door behind which we could all hear the sounds of several people in another room, speaking in Cantonese. Where this place was, we had no idea, but the crates certainly gave us a clue, as three very familiar-looking Chinese characters were burned into each one - three symbols we had come to associate with the Order of the Bloated Woman.
"It's them," Mahmoud whispered gravely, clearly distraught without his gear or weapons on him. "Those people that attacked us in the hotel... they have kidnapped us!"
"Check the chests, maybe," Francis suggested, and we all took to looking. I was fortunate enough to find only silks, but others found more sinister items. In one lay more silks, until they were brushed aside and dislodged several enormous venomous-looking centipedes. Yet others held the bodies of those not so fortunate as to have escaped as quickly as we had, and another had a vast pile of those sickles we had so come to associate with the cult. It was all too clear the intent of the cultists now - we had dug into their activities far too deeply, and they wanted us very much dead. The attack at the hotel had only been the beginning of a calculated campaign to destroy us. But who had found out we were in Shanghai? Who had tipped them off? Still this answer eluded us... and then we heard the nearby kitchen door creak open.
I needn't tell you how quickly the adrenaline sped me into hiding, perhaps faster than I had ever moved since the War. Fortunately, however, it worked, and the black-and-yellow clothed man seeking us, a sickle in hand, finally abated, leaving us able to sneak into the nearby greenhouse.
"Friends," I murmured, keeping my voice low so it would not echo. "These plants and animals... all of them are incredibly toxic. This is no less than a garden of death..."
"I don't understand," Laurent murmured, examining the trunk of an impressive Angel's Trumpet growing in one corner. "Why would anyone grow a garden full of...?"
His words cut off with a sudden gasp of horror as he nudged aside some of the dirt in the pot, and I turned to ask what the matter was... only for him to point out a tooth lodged there in the dirt. And not just any tooth, as I confirmed, but a human molar.
"You don't think they are...?" Mahmoud's eyes grew wide in dread, and our hearts sunk to match it as we realized what he meant. This was not the only atrocity we would see here, however. Little did we know how right we were!
There was a door further back in the greenery that was large and metal, and every instinct told me it was a freezer door, as did touch. I didn't wish to believe it, and Laurent didn't believe me either, so he entered alone... and we heard him give a shocked yell as he backed out. Then, before we could ask what was wrong, we heard the sound of a man come rushing into the other room, and a shadowy figure behind the greenhouse door...
We wasted little time in pulling open the door, and heading inside the freezer. Laurent instead opted to hide in the foliage, refusing to enter again, and I cannot blame him now for that. The freezer was dark, and smelled of meat, and it wasn't long before I clumsily stumbled into a large carcass of some animal hanging from a hook. My hand smeared with chilled blood, and I swung my flashlight around to look at what I had thought was a pig carcass. I so fervently hoped as I glanced the hanging dead thing over it was indeed a pig carcass. But no, it was clear, and painfully so, what I had run into.
It was a human corpse, skinned, coated with rime, all organs and even the limbs and head totally absent.
I lost my sense of composure then, and I am not proud of it. But mein Gott! You would have done the same, had you realized the sheer number of dead that were in that freezer, hanging from chains like slaughtered hogs. And that, I am told, is what caused the rest of the men to come running. I recall little, as my military instincts had kicked back into gear, as had Mahmoud's - a subtle change in a man's eyes and demeanor, you see, when under pressure. The Arab immediately took charge and began moving back out to the greenhouse, looking for Laurent. I followed, and soon realized that a figure was heading for the glass door of the greenhouse. Then I noticed the King Cobra hissing and swaying, hood splayed open, in a nearby cage... and got an idea.
Taking up a nearby hoe as Mahmoud pushed the terrified Laurent back into the freezer, I carefully pushed up the latch on the serpent's cage, and it was soon freed as I slid into the foliage to hide. It is not without a bit of schadenfreude that I watched the ensuing multiple fatal blows it dealt the cultist that entered, rendering him dead from its venom within seconds. From there, I heard the other three cultists come running, and I slid into the freezer quickly as they dealt with the cobra.
Beyond the freezer lay yet more awfulness, a slaughtering floor, strewn with the remains of ground meat that had once been human. It took all our effort to make our way through that killing floor to the door on the other side, which opened to reveal the kitchen all four - now three - of the men had been in, with bowls of noodle soup on the table. We waited for the men to move to the upstairs area of the building, then snuck out and moved towards the set of stairs leading down, hoping to find some sort of weapon or way out. It was Francis who pointed out the rack of gas masks on the wall, something all too familiar to the majority of us, and grim smiles of acknowledgement were exchanged as we took them, one for each of us. From there, we descended into the basement, and soon realized there was an oiled tarp over the door, and a strong stench of something musty and mildewed...
"Gas," Francis acknowledged, and we all quickly donned the masks and proceeded downwards, brushing the tarp aside.
What we saw down there will haunt me for the rest of my days on this earth. It at first looked to be piles and piles of mulch for mushrooms, the kind for growing edible species. But then we took a closer look. The mushrooms themselves were grey with bluish spots, and I remember that vividly. The material they were growing on then moved ever so slightly, a mound of greenish fuzz, inward and outward. Then I heard a sickening gagging, and was horrified to see the pile open its eyes. Human eyes, looking to me, pleading for death... but we had no weapons, and no time. We could do nothing but attempt to keep our composure as we move towards the sliding glass doors and into the gardens beyond.
They were beautiful... and terrible. It was like a perverse sort of zen garden. On a trellis lay the body of a man, vines growing throughout his woven flesh in a beauteous tableau. Greyish flowers proved to be the split-open skulls of victims. The stench of rot was everywhere, especially from the covered pagoda situated in a koi pond amongst lotuses. The garden was walled, the grounds well-manicured... and the dismaying feeling of death and decay over all. Our stomachs churned, and our horrified minds could do nothing but endure this fresh wave of dread for what would happen to us if we were caught. Night had fallen, and the flickering fireflies and our torches were our only light source. The only way out seemed to be through the vast bamboo forest beyond, so thick that it must have been like a natural wall. Then, we heard a sound from a nearby guard shed, and dove into the Paulownia trees and great bamboo thickets nearby to hide and make an excruciating path to the forest. Grey robed guards armed with sickles soon came out wordlessly, along with the other three cultists from the greenhouse, and within seconds the grounds swarmed with them.
I am not entirely sure how we made it. I know there were a few who let their army instincts take control, Francis for one attempted to clobber a guard and failed, leaving Mahmoud to take a sickle he'd procured earlier to the guard's throat. Slowly, carefully, afraid for our lives, we crept through the undergrowth, not daring to look any further at anything in the garden, praying our instincts would guide us as we crawled on our bellies. It was the trenches, but with more greenery. The foxholes all over again. I could see it in Francis' eyes, and in Mahmoud's determination, and I felt it in my blood. It was in Muuzaji's quiet strength, and in Laurent's sharp breathing. Survival was the only way out. Failure was not an option. Had any of these fellows been under my command as a general, or assistants in my field hospital, I would have been proud to work and fight for life alongside them. To my dying days, I shall be proud of them all for their courage and tenacity - as friends, and as allies in these dark times.
It was some time before we reached the first sign of sophistication - a hidden outpost, somewhat like a sort of office or personal pagoda workspace. Inside we crept, seeking shelter, and what should we find but a small and cozy area for relaxation - and upstairs, a small bedroom and work space. Books lined the place, scrolls of countless knowledge, all in Chinese naturally... and to one side, our weapons and possessions, stored here and stolen from us! That was not the only treasure though - on the desk lay a curious-looking scroll, aged and trimmed with green silk, a black ribbon furled around it to keep it clasped shut. Although none of us could read it, we took it with us - at the least, Sarah could decipher the text. But still, we did not know whose office this was... perhaps the Order had taken the whole complex from some well-off couple, killing them in the process. Yet one more atrocity.
Redressed in our normal clothing and new treasure in hand, we slowly managed to find a way out of the bamboo thicket. It was early in the morning before we came to a road, and then followed it to a small village with closed fruit stalls. Nobody was outside to help us, nobody at all. A truck, however, had been parked nearby, crammed with crates all bearing that familiar marking on familiar tea chests...
In reflection, it was a clear setup. An ambush in the making. But God willing, we took it. We were desperate. The door of the truck was open and the keys were even inside it, we should have known better. But it was the only way out we could see, and having a vehicle was better than not having one. Sure enough, as soon as we got near the vehicle and began to pile into the back as Francis and Mahmoud took the front, we saw movement near the fruit stalls... and several men in grey and black robes began to sprint towards the truck. Francis and Mahmoud struggled to get the vehicle started and managed to, just as the attackers converged on us, clinging to the sides of the truck... and then, chaos.
I do not recall much from the flight from that little village. I know I shot more than a fair few of the guards, and reacted with horrified alarm when they shrugged off a clear shot to the chest like it was nothing. I then next recall a sharp pain in my gut, then a sudden loss of feeling in my hand and a blow to the head, and after that, all went black. I woke in the hospital the next morning, in pain and drugged. I will regrettably inform you that I am writing this entry from that very hospital. The doctors here tell me I am very lucky to have survived, and may require an amputation of a few mangled fingers, though I suspect their shoddy medical techniques have something to do with this. At the very least, I am alive, and should be returning to Germany within the next few days once the stitches heal some more.
Regrettably, I might finally be getting too old for such adventure. Perhaps this is a sign from God that I should retire, starting today, and so it is with a heaviness in my heart that I do so, leaving the others to further adventures. I shall never forget any of you, nor your kindness, bravery, and courage. Godspeed, my friends... and good luck.
-- Dr. Ludwig Hildebrand, Retired Army Surgeon (17 May, 1928)