Chapter Twenty-Four: The Rainy Night of Lost Paths

"Let's not talk about that yet—why did you two leave me behind?"

"This afternoon, just over here—you fell asleep. I noticed something flickering in the woods on the other side of the road, looked like a tiger, only about twenty meters away. I fired a shot at it."

"Did you hit it?"

"I think so." The fat one gestured to his own backside. "Should have hit it right around here. I saw it leap and then it vanished. Then Wenbin and I chased after it—there was blood on the ground, so we followed the trail. Can't really blame us—the gun must have gone off right above your head and you didn't even stir. Besides, we thought we’d be right back. Who knew that once we got into the woods, we couldn’t find our way out? If it hadn’t been for this fellow here and his tricks, we might still be wandering around in there."

"What happened?" I asked.

Wenbin explained, "We must have fallen into some kind of ghost maze. No matter which way we walked, we kept ending up back where we started. We couldn’t get out until it was dark, so we tried to navigate by the stars. Only after we got out did we realize we’d gone four or five miles off course. Good thing you were alright."

"A ghost maze? That’s real?" My grandfather had told me about such things before. The most famous story was from the Three Kingdoms era—Zhuge Liang supposedly trapped Lu Xun’s hundreds of thousands of troops with a few piles of rocks. I always thought it was just legend, never thought there might be something to it.

"I don’t know," Wenbin said. "Could be that all the landmarks and terrain in the woods look the same, easy to get lost." As he said this, I saw him glance back toward the woods, his face a little more serious.

"Well, as long as we're all fine. What do we do tonight?" The fat one pointed at a tree beside us. "Sleep up there like him?"

Wenbin suddenly interrupted him, "Do you think the thing we shot at this afternoon was that fox just now?"

"No way. It was in the woods, but I really think it was a tiger—nothing else could make such a commotion. And anyway, are you sure it was a fox just now?"

"Look at the ground," Wenbin said, tracing a circle with his torch. Beneath our feet was a smooth stretch of stone, dotted with a few brownish spots that stood out.

"Blood?" the fat one asked.

Wenbin crouched, scraped up a bit with his fingernail, sniffed it. "It’s blood. Still fresh—must have dripped just now."

The atmosphere instantly tightened. We exchanged nervous glances. All three of us were unscathed—the blood couldn’t be ours.

"So, you’re saying this blood could be from whatever that was just now? Did you actually see it was a fox?"

Wenbin shook his head. "I didn’t really see it clearly, but it looked very much like a fox—pointed snout, long teeth."

Fatty patted his old musket, making sure the gunpowder was packed tight, and blurted out, "Is fox fur worth anything?"

"Someone probably wants it, but it’s definitely not as valuable as tiger skin," I replied.

"Damn, now it’s come for revenge. If it really was a fox, how big must it be?"

"Very big," Wenbin replied.

Fatty looked at me, tossing out another question. "If it’s a really big fox pelt, is that worth more than tiger skin?"

Back then, my mind was still stuck in the simple logic of size and value, so I answered, "How should I know? The bigger the skin, the more it’s worth, I guess!"

Fatty spat on the bloody patch. "Alright, if it’s valuable, let’s finish it off! It definitely took a bullet this afternoon, and that leap just now must have reopened the wound—hence the blood. Hurt twice in one day, we follow the blood, it can’t have gone far."

Wenbin looked up at the sky—a few clouds were drifting over, and he frowned. "Looks like it might rain. Should we wait?"

Fatty thumped his chest. "Don’t worry, it can’t get far—this time, we’ll get it for sure."

Wenbin looked at me; since they’d left me behind once already, this time I was determined to stick with them. "Let’s go—since we’re here, we might as well see it through. No point turning back now."

So the three of us set out, torches in hand, following the bloodstains into the forest. In truth, we were making a rookie mistake—the undergrowth was thick, and the blood was hard enough to spot by day, let alone at night by torchlight.

But we were young, and none of us would admit it was a bad idea. We pressed on, with Wenbin occasionally checking the stars to keep our bearings—something I truly admired. If it were me, every star looked the same.

Bad luck comes quickly—about half an hour after entering the woods, a mass of dark clouds rolled in. Sheltered by the trees, we didn’t feel the wind, but the rain clouds arrived fast. By the time Wenbin noticed the sky had gone pitch black, I could already hear raindrops drumming on the treetops.

The rain was heavy. Our torches were thickly coated with pine resin, but even so, two of them were snuffed out, leaving only Wenbin’s, its flame barely clinging to life.

We found shelter under an overhanging rock and huddled together. Our wet clothes clung coldly to our skin—it was late autumn in the northeast, and the rain could turn to snow at any moment. Our skin was growing numb, and we all pressed closer to the torch’s feeble warmth.

Just as Fatty had said, all we had brought were thin clothes. Supplies were scarce in that era, especially in a remote place like Wildman Hamlet. At least we didn’t go hungry, but we couldn’t expect much else.

My lips were trembling. "We’re not going to freeze to death, are we?"

Fatty, hardier than the rest, grinned at me. "When the rain lets up, I’ll find some firewood."

We waited an hour, but the rain never eased, and dry firewood was nowhere to be found. The ground underfoot was so thick with pine needles that stepping down squeezed water over our shoes—there was nothing left that could burn. Worse, Wenbin’s torch was down to a glowing nub, barely a pea-sized flame.

Fatty was loyal—he wrapped both Wenbin and me in his arms to share his warmth. That was the first time I truly understood what it meant to rely on friends out in the wild.

I was half-asleep when the first strange cry startled me. Fatty suddenly pushed me out of his arms, and I heard it again—a sound like an old woman with a sharp voice standing at the village entrance, strangling her own throat. In the rainy night, it was terrifying.

Maybe to bolster his nerve, Fatty stood and shouted into the woods, "Whatever the hell you are, come out and show yourself to your master!"

After a while, we clearly heard someone answering from ahead. The voice was rough and not very clear, but I could just make out the word "master."

Fatty cursed, "Damn you, who’s out there playing tricks? We’re the Wildman Hamlet volunteer workers! Who are you?"

As soon as he finished, the voice called out again, this time clear and loud. Just two words: "Volunteer workers!"

Wenbin stood up. I remembered Old Man Miao had told us there was only one village within a hundred miles—ours. And in our village, there were only four of us volunteers, sent here because this place was so remote. We’d never heard of any others.

Wenbin nudged Fatty and gave him a look. Fatty caught on and shouted, "Then come over here!"

But the voice answered back, "Then you come over here!"

"Well, I’ll be damned, it’s got an attitude!" Fatty turned to us. "You two wait here. I’ll go see who it is."

As he started off, Wenbin grabbed his arm and whispered, "Don’t go. Something’s wrong."

"Don’t worry—what’s there to fear? He wants me to come over? I’ll drag him back here for you to see. Messing with us—he’s asking for trouble!"

Fatty set off, musket in hand. The voice was only about ten meters away, but it was pitch dark, raining, and there was no light. I heard the squelch of his boots in the mud, then his footsteps faded away. Five minutes passed in silence.

I was scared, but tried to act casual. "What’s with this guy? Said he’d be right back."

Wenbin leaned close and whispered into my ear, "Xiao Yi, don’t say a word. Fatty might be in trouble."

A chill ran through me and I shouted, "Then what are we waiting for? Do something!"

Wenbin quickly clapped a hand over my mouth. "Shh, be quiet..."

No sooner had he spoken than I heard the same voice from the woods: "Then you come over here!"

I shot to my feet. It was Fatty’s voice!