SES Chapter 92 Part 1

Chapter 92

Because the mules needed rest, Luo Ren and his group stayed in Qiju Village for two days.

During that time, news spread like it had sprouted wings. Hunters and villagers from all the surrounding settlements came to gawk, dressed in festive clothes, catching up with relatives and bartering for daily necessities. Qiju Village bustled like a marketplace. Since there wasn’t enough room in people’s homes, visitors camped in sheds or slept out on drying platforms under the open sky.

As Cao Yanhua put it, even if his buddy Little Luo and their young “Master Sister” wanted to sneak away for a discreet rendezvous, there wasn’t a chance.

Killing the savage had put Qiju Village in the spotlight, as if they’d been written into the local heroes’ record. The only pity was that the report had already been sent up to the township, and officials would be arriving to haul the corpse away. Unlike past hunts, the villagers wouldn’t be gifted a wild boar’s head or a wolf pelt to keep as a trophy.

Amid all the noise and excitement, the most downcast of them was Yi Wansan. At one point, he asked Luo Ren, “Could we bury the wild man ourselves?”

He meant to bury him as one would a fallen friend—mound the earth, plant grass on the grave, stick incense in the soil. That way, whenever they remembered him, there’d be a place to mourn.

Luo Ren turned, glanced at the uproar of the village, smiled faintly, and said nothing.

Yi Wansan gave a weak smile too, and never mentioned it again.

When the day of departure came, it happened to be market day again. Zha Ma sat perched on the driver’s bench, cracking his whip in the air. With so many people loading their goods onto the cart, Luo Ren’s group had to sit squeezed together, hardly able to move.

Yi Wansan, lost in his own thoughts, kept glancing back. At the village entrance, a large wagon rolled in, its passengers shouting greetings to Zha Ma. Judging by the noise, they too had come to see the savage.

Yi Wansan turned his face away in disgust.

The two wagons passed—one heading out, the other heading in—growing farther apart with each turn of the wheel.

On that incoming wagon, a young man with a cloth band tied around his head gave Qiju Village a scornful look as it drew closer. Curling his lip, he muttered, “So what if they caught a wild man? Big deal. Back in the day, my old man and his lot handled ones even bigger…”

Midway along the road, the mule cart stopped at Luo Ren’s designated spot. It almost made him laugh—since the location was so remote, they’d simply pulled up by the mountainside and tossed a few branches over the cart as a makeshift sign that it was “already claimed.”

Mu Dai and the others climbed aboard. After Luo Ren and Zha Ma gave their final instructions and reminders, the cart rolled off.

No one spoke. Cao Yanhua, who had wanted to liven up the mood, opened his mouth, glanced around at the others, then swallowed his words.

Silence filled the cart, while outside the window, the shades of green shifted light and dark as the scenery slipped by. Only once, when the cart turned and dust rose into the air, did Luo Ren speak:

“Mu Dai, is your seatbelt fastened?”

Mu Dai was in the passenger seat, dozing off. When she heard someone speak, she instinctively reached up to touch her face and murmured a reply.

Then came the monotony of the road—drifting asleep, waking half-dreaming.

At one point, Cao Yanhua offered to drive for Luo Ren, but Luo Ren refused. He gave himself fifteen minutes of rest instead. During those fifteen minutes, Mu Dai fell into a deep sleep.

She was roused by Luo Ren gently patting her cheek.
“Come on, Mu Dai, wake up.”

She blinked her drowsy eyes open.

The car door was already open. Morning air, crisp and fresh, swept in. Familiar cries of street vendors, the swell of a bustling crowd, the click of cameras snapping, mellow music floating in the air. Looking up, she saw the old tiled eaves of ancient houses, bathed in sunlight and curling skyward.

Mu Dai said brightly, “Wow, we’re here!”

Stepping out of the car, it all felt unreal—as if the villages, forests, and wild tribes were a distant memory from another world.

Luo Ren’s house was empty. Uncle Zheng had likely taken Ping Ting to the bar again. The group got to work first—fetching a basin of water, pouring in the rouge-colored amber from the water pouch along with the chunk they’d taken from the wild man’s body, mixing it all.

The two quickly fused.

But the water’s surface rippled endlessly, unable to stay still. Cao Yanhua asked Wan San, “Can you sketch out the water’s reflection?”

Wan San gave a dry laugh. “What do you take me for, a god? With all those ripples, it’s like trying to sketch the surface of the sea. You think that’s possible?”

Yan Hongsha hesitated, then suggested they pour the rouge-amber mixture into the large fish tank to see what would happen.

Inside the tank, the phoenix clasp had already turned pale red, and the first two ominous bamboo slips floated motionless in the water.

With a splash, the basin’s contents were poured in.

Everyone crowded closer.

As before, the amber sank to the bottom, and the third bamboo slip began to take form.

It was the same length as the first two, but noticeably different.

The first two remained completely still. This one kept moving.

The first two were straight and perfectly shaped, but this one’s edges were frayed—alive, thrashing and ramming about like a struggling creature.

Cao Yanhua’s eyes widened. “What does this mean?”

He didn’t know about Luo Ren and Mu Dai’s earlier speculation. Leaning closer to the tank, he squinted. “Freshly caught, maybe? Temper’s extra stubborn?”

Wan San muttered gloomily, “Maybe it thinks it’s unfair.”

Everyone turned to look at him. He stiffened his neck like he was picking a fight. “Well, isn’t it?”

Luo Ren told him evenly, “Wan San, the bamboo slips aren’t the same as the wild men. Don’t confuse the two.”

Wan San sneered, then suddenly swung his bag over his shoulder and stormed out.

Cao Yanhua called after him, “Brother San? Brother San?”

He didn’t expect Wan San to respond, but the man suddenly barked back, “What’s there to see? Think you’ll find anything new? We don’t even know if we’ll have a place to sleep tonight!”

Luo Ren hadn’t expected this—Ping Ting was at the bar, helping Uncle Zhang wash dishes.

She wore an apron, standing at the sink like she belonged there, focused and serious, water droplets glistening on the tip of her nose. She didn’t say anything when she saw Luo Ren, but when she spotted Wan San, she lit up with a warm smile.

“Brother Little Knife.”