SES Chapter 158 Part 1

Chapter 158

Because of their very different experiences back in Caojia Village, among the five of them, Wan San was the only one who still firmly believed from start to finish that the cursed scroll was on Qingshan.

He was resting inside the car because of the bandage on his head, but nature called—probably from eating something bad a few days ago—and the stomachache hit hard. There were no proper facilities around, so after grabbing some tissue, he hurried off into the woods to relieve himself.

It felt good afterward, sure—but he’d been civilized for too long to feel comfortable about it. As he pulled up his pants, he kept glancing around nervously. What if someone saw him? If it was just some local villager, fine—but if Yan Hongsha suddenly came back and caught him like this, he’d lose every shred of dignity he had left.

And as luck would have it, what he feared most happened. Just as his heart was racing, he saw someone running toward him from the direction of Caojia Village.

Wan San’s scalp prickled. He quickly finished up, pulling on his pants just as the man reached the parked Hummer. The runner knocked on the door, pressed his face to the window to look inside, and when he saw no one there, he glanced around anxiously before running off again in the same direction.

That brief moment was enough for Wan San to recognize him—it was Qingshan.

What’s going on? Wan San’s mind spun rapidly.

Today was supposed to be the wedding day—so why did Qingshan look like he was fleeing for his life? Could it be that Yan Hongsha had succeeded? Impossible. That fiery girl wasn’t exactly a genius; there’s no way she could’ve turned things around this fast.

Watching Qingshan run farther and farther away, Wan San suddenly realized: No matter what, I can’t let him get away. The cursed scroll is with him.

He took off in pursuit. At first, he trailed quietly through the trees, careful not to be seen. But when Qingshan stopped at a fork in the road and flagged down a passing tractor, hopping into the trailer bed, Wan San knew he had no chance of catching up on foot. There was only one option—get closer from the inside.

He ran out of the woods, waving and shouting for a ride.

The tractor driver took one look at him and nearly fell off his seat. “Whoa there, buddy—what happened to your face?!”

Bless Yan Hongsha, Wan San thought. If she hadn’t mummified his face in bandages, this would be much harder to explain.

Completely unfazed, Wan San climbed into the trailer, under the driver’s and Qingshan’s curious stares.

As the tractor rumbled along, Wan San spoke in a deliberately hoarse, gravelly voice, explaining his “story.”

He was, he said, a cyclist on a mission to ride across China. He had even signed a publishing contract—planning to visit each province, collect stories, and sketch illustrations along the way. Unfortunately, just a few days ago, his brakes failed on a downhill slope nearby and—well—his face met the ground.

The tractor driver winced. “Your face hit the ground? Man, that must’ve peeled half the skin off!”

Wan San patted his bandaged cheek solemnly. “Exactly. I limped all the way to the county hospital. On the way, I lost a flash drive with all my research notes. That’s why I came back—to find it.”

The driver sighed sympathetically. “Find it yet?”

Wan San shook his head. “No luck.”

Qingshan stayed silent, taciturn as ever. The driver, however, was delighted to have a talkative passenger. That worked perfectly for Wan San—he began spinning stories about his “travels”: biking over the Zheduo Mountain Pass in Kangding, carrying a little flag covered in signatures from foreign friends, even a Zhejiang businessman who once sponsored him with 13,000 yuan.

The driver listened wide-eyed, hanging on every word, and even Qingshan couldn’t help asking a few questions.

Perfect, Wan San thought smugly. The more professional my story sounds, the less suspicious he’ll be.

The next step was simple: stick close to Qingshan—and find a way to contact Yan Hongsha and the others, if they were still alive.

He turned to Qingshan again, still pretending to be friendly. “You know, my book’s based on real people. I’m collecting one hundred everyday stories from across China—it’s called One Hundred People, One Hundred Days. It’ll be published by the People’s Publishing House.”

Qingshan blinked, looking uncomfortable. “I’m just an ordinary guy. Nothing interesting to write about.”

The driver perked up. “Wait, you mean if you write about me, I’ll be in a book?”

Wan San dashed that dream immediately. “Already got two tractor drivers. Can’t have a third.”

The driver deflated in disappointment. A book from the People’s Publishing House! The whole country would read about him—if only…

Meanwhile, Wan San kept pestering Qingshan. “So what do you do for work, brother?”

Qingshan frowned. “There’s really nothing worth interviewing. I just do odd jobs.”

“Perfect! That’s exactly the kind of story I need!”

“I’m busy. I don’t have time for interviews.”

“That’s fine, I’ll just observe you naturally—more authentic that way. Like a documentary!”

“Maybe you should find someone else.”

“Ah, but I think meeting you was fate!”

Qingshan, being polite by nature, couldn’t bring himself to tell the man to buzz off. Still, this “mummy” was seriously testing his patience. He kept his expression blank, neither agreeing nor refusing, while plotting to ditch him at the next stop.

The tractor driver, meanwhile, looked like he might explode with envy.

Qingshan’s frustration grew. No matter how many subtle hints he dropped, Wan San just smiled back, pretending not to understand, sticking to him like glue.

If they weren’t surrounded by people, Qingshan would’ve decked him already. Writers, he thought bitterly, are the worst kind of people.

When they reached the county, Qingshan transferred to a bus heading for another town farther away. Naturally, Wan San followed. On the bus, he tried calling Luo Ren and the others—no signal, no answer.

Either they were still stuck in the village… or worse, Yan Hongsha had already been taken out.

Could he handle Qingshan alone? Maybe his blood would work again. It had repelled the cursed energy before—but that was against affected people, not someone actually possessed. This would be far more dangerous.

He was sweating, trying to keep up his fake interviewer act. By evening, they reached a small town and stopped at a restaurant. Qingshan asked the owner about nearby lodgings, while Wan San stood by the door, calling again.

This time, Luo Ren answered.