At nightfall, Li Ang opened his eyes. He silently got out of bed, walked over to his temporary roommate's bedside, and delivered a swift hand-chop to the back of the unfortunate passenger's neck.
The hapless traveler didn't even manage a grunt before decisively passing out.
To be sure, Li Ang pried open the man's eyelids and waved a flashlight beam back and forth over his eyes.
Only after confirming the man was unconscious did Li Ang put on his raincoat, cover his face, pry open the window, and slip out.
In the nighttime silence of Dusheng Village, only a few dim lights still flickered. Li Ang ran toward the ravine, using his flashlight's beam to find the grave of the village teacher, Meng Qixi.
Perhaps out of gratitude for Meng Qixi's selfless dedication, the villagers had built him an excellent tomb. Words of praise were inscribed on the headstone, and flowers lay before it.
In the dead of night, with a downpour concealing his movements, Li Ang used explosives to BLAST open the tomb and heave open the coffin.
The coffin was empty—not even a trace of blood or the slightest sign of maggot infestation.
Li Ang, flashlight clenched between his teeth, furrowed his brow.
Meng Qixi's body was gone. Or rather, it had never been placed in the coffin to begin with.
What exactly had the villagers of Dusheng Village done to Meng Qixi...?
* * *
At that moment, within Dusheng Village, Lu Maocai led four sturdy young villagers. Draped in raincoats and armed with hemp ropes, machetes, homemade muskets, and carrying poles, they moved stealthily through the darkness toward the home of villager Shi Kangjian.
Following Lu He's inexplicable death, Tian Yourong, Song Zhen, and Wei Linglan, who had originally been lodging at Lu He's house, were now staying at Shi Kangjian's home for the night, as arranged by the village chief.
The gale and torrential rain, which should have been unsettling, instead felt like a comforting shroud to Lu Maocai. He led his men to Shi Kangjian's doorstep, approached the window, and knocked gently.
Shi Kangjian's face appeared behind the first-floor living room window.
After confirming it was Lu Maocai, Shi Kangjian unlocked his front door and ushered the group inside.
Lu Maocai lowered his raincoat hood, gestured upstairs toward a side bedroom, and whispered, "Are they all asleep?"
Shi Kangjian nodded. Earlier that evening, he had added a large dose of sleeping pills to their drinking water to ensure they would sleep soundly.
Lu Maocai took a deep breath, tightened his grip on his homemade musket, and started up the stairs.
Dusheng Village, originally named Dushen Village.
Legend told that in ancient times, this place was ravaged by plague. Skeletons littered the fields, and every home echoed with wails of grief. A Daoist priest, taking pity on the people, gathered the survivors and established the village in the ravine, following the principles of Feng Shui.
He also passed down a Formation and a Ritual track designed to ward off defilement, ensuring favorable weather, bountiful harvests, and thriving livestock.
The only caveat was that this Ritual track, performed once every five years, required a specific offering according to its edicts.
In those ancient times of poor communication, the villagers of Dushen Village would venture out to kidnap simple-minded beggars. They performed the Ritual track according to its regulations, and true enough, they suffered no natural disasters or human-caused calamities.
The village enjoyed favorable weather and abundant harvests year after year. Its people lived in peace and contentment, a harmonious community, like a secluded paradise.
Unfortunately, as time passed, the efficacy of the Ritual track diminished year by year. Compounded by the ravages of war, the tradition was eventually lost.
Until seven months ago, when villagers began to die one by one. The village chief, Lu Gui, discovered the rites for the Formation in the ancestral temple's archives and re-established the Ritual track in his attic.
In collusion with other villagers, he had the bedridden village teacher, Meng Qixi, bound to the altar.
The one who cut out his heart was none other than Lu Maocai.
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Meng Qixi could never have imagined that after dedicating most of his life to Dusheng Village, he would be brutally murdered by the very villagers he had known as familiar and kind.
At the moment of his death, his small eyes were filled with immense bewilderment.
Lu Maocai didn't regret killing Meng Qixi. The man was already gravely ill and didn't have long to live anyway.
Besides, Meng Qixi had already given so much to the village; it was only fitting that he give a little more before he died.
True enough, after Meng Qixi's sacrifice, the deaths in the village ceased.
But perhaps because the world had changed and time had marched on, the Feng Shui Formation laid down by the Daoist priest had long since been disrupted by various new buildings constructed in the village.
The effects of the Ritual track lasted less than six months before people in the village started dying again.
Village chief Lu Gui tried to modify the village's layout according to ancient texts, attempting to repair the Formation.
At the same time, he asked his eldest son, Lu Maodian, who had some influence in the city, to find a solution.
Around the time Lu Maodian was hiring Li Ang and seeking out mules, Lu Gui's understanding of the Formation and the Ritual track deepened. He managed to call down a heavy rain, creating a temporary barrier.
Subsequently, a landslide trapped the passengers. The foul entity gradually breached the Formation's defenses and began its slaughter anew.
Had the situation not been so dire, Lu Gui wouldn't have wanted to target these passengers. He would have much preferred to find suitable "offerings" through familiar channels—ones that wouldn't attract widespread attention.
Lu He's death was the last straw. No one in the village could guarantee they would survive the foul entity's reckoning.
Tonight, Tian Yourong, Song Zhen, and Wei Linglan will give their lives for the village. Their deaths won't be in vain. Thanks to their sacrifice, the people of Dusheng Village will live peaceful, tranquil lives.
As Lu Maocai thought this, he recalled Wei Linglan in her white dress, a flicker of heat stirring within him.
Perhaps, before the Ritual track, he could still enjoy himself a little...
Lu Maocai touched the handrail as he rounded the bend in the staircase. A glance from the corner of his eye, a flicker of movement on the stairs below, and he froze—the number of people was wrong.
He had brought four young men; including Shi Kangjian, that made six of them.
But as a flash of lightning illuminated the stairwell, seven shadows danced on the wall.
The lightning vanished as quickly as it came, plunging the stairwell back into darkness.
Lu Maocai froze. An icy chill ran down his spine, his legs trembled, and his grip on his weapon faltered.
One of the villagers behind him, seeing Lu Maocai stop, asked in a puzzled whisper, "Why aren't you—"
Before he could finish, a hand silently punched through his chest.
The villager looked down. The last thing he ever saw was his own heart clutched in a strange hand.
SQUISH.
The heart was squeezed and burst.
The tall, disheveled black shadow withdrew its arm from the villager's chest. The man collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been severed.
Terror threatened to consume Lu Maocai's sanity.
This is impossible! Father already used most of the Mana gained from Meng Qixi's sacrifice today. The denser rain curtain should theoretically shield us from all foul entities.
Or... has it evolved again...?
The dark figure leaned forward slightly. Lu Maocai's vision blurred, and a pair of claws—neither human nor beast—brushed lightly against his chest.
In that critical instant, a slender bolt of lightning struck down diagonally, shattering the window and hitting the tall, dark figure squarely.
The strike, fueled by most of the altar's remaining Mana from Lu Gui, indeed inflicted severe damage on the tall, dark shadow.
It staggered back in panic, shoving aside the men crowded on the stairs and carving a deep gash across villager Shi Kangjian's abdomen, then burst out the door, limping.
Lu Maocai, still shaken, rushed to the landing. He saw the black shadow plunge into the rain. Plumes of green smoke rose from where the rainwater touched its body.
Just as it was about to disappear into the mountain forest, the disheveled creature suddenly halted.
It stood beneath a tree, silently turned its head, and fixed Lu Maocai and the others with a deep, lingering gaze before finally turning away and vanishing into the darkness.
Lu Maocai took a deep breath. Ignoring his companions' panicked shouts, he raced to the second floor and kicked open the door to the side bedroom.
Inside, Tian Yourong and the other two, who should have been in their beds, were gone. Only the wide-open window remained, swinging back and forth in the gale.
Without the support of Mana, the rain gradually began to subside.
Without the Ritual track, everyone will die soon.
Lu Maocai walked downstairs, utterly dejected.
Shi Kangjian, a deep gash sliced into his abdomen, leaned against the stairwell wall, gasping for breath. A few of the other men were frantically trying to bandage his wound.
"Move aside!"
Lu Maocai roughly shoved his companions aside. He tightly bandaged Shi Kangjian's torso while the man pleaded, "Save me! Save me!" Then, Lu Maocai let out a long, heavy sigh.
That sigh made Shi Kangjian instantly realize what was happening. His eyes widened, nearly popping from their sockets in fury. "What are you doing? You can't do this!"
"This wound... there's no saving you," Lu Maocai said. "It's your turn to give your life for the village."
Ignoring Shi Kangjian's curses and struggles, Lu Maocai fetched a hemp rope and tied Shi Kangjian's hands and feet. He threaded a carrying pole through the ropes and, with a call to his companions, they lifted Shi Kangjian like a trussed pig and sprinted towards Village Chief Lu Gui's house.