SES Chapter 225 Part 1

Chapter 225

The firelight from the bonfire flickered across their faces.

Mu Dai felt a little awkward. She wasn’t good at posing for photos—especially formal group shots like this. The moment the camera pointed at her, she stiffened up and instinctively wanted to ask: Is it done? Did you get it?

Across from them, the fortune-teller beamed. “One more! Let’s switch poses.”

Switch poses?

Mu Dai hesitated, not knowing where to put her hands or feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at Cao Yanhua—he wasn’t doing any better. His right hand had been resting on his knee, but now it hovered uncertainly, searching for somewhere to land. Then, in some inexplicable lapse of judgment, he suddenly propped his chin in his palm.

He looked like a lovesick girl daydreaming about romance.

Mu Dai couldn’t hold it in. She burst out laughing, then quickly apologized. “My fault, my fault. Let’s try again.”

She cleared her throat and stood up straighter.

The fortune-teller didn’t move, still holding up his phone. Slanted threads of rain cut through the air, shining in the glow of the fire.

A strange feeling flickered through Mu Dai’s heart. Her smile slowly stiffened. She didn’t even dare turn her head. “Luo Xiaodao?”

Luo Ren’s hand still rested at her waist—but he didn’t move. He didn’t answer.

“Cao Pangpang?”

She glanced sideways. Cao Yanhua was still holding his chin, fingers awkwardly splayed in an exaggerated pose.

Mu Dai stood there for a moment. She heard the wind battering the tent and saw the fortune-teller’s raised phone gradually dampened by the rain.

Then her calves began to tremble. Slowly, she stepped out of their five-person photo formation.

None of them moved.

Strangely, she wasn’t panicking—not yet.

She tried to steady herself.

The seven vicious bamboo slips had entered their bodies, and everything had gone so smoothly. That in itself had felt unbelievable. Something strange was happening now, almost seemed more reasonable. It was fine. Luo Ren and the others would be okay. They had to be okay.

She repeated that to herself over and over, until her feet went numb and her hands grew stiff with cold. She breathed warm air into her palms, rubbed them together hard, then began dragging each of them into the tent.

Back and forth she went, panting with exhaustion. This was brute labor—no clever tricks of light-footed skill could help her now. Each of them felt as heavy as a sandbag. She dragged and hauled with all her strength, finally getting everyone inside. When she pulled the zipper closed, she saw Cao Jiefang by the entrance—beak half open, wings half spread—like a lifelike statue.

The bonfire gradually died out. In the distance came a long, mournful wolf howl.

Mu Dai ignored it. She spread out the blanket, covered the others, then crawled underneath herself, sitting beside Luo Ren, gripping her stun gun tightly.

On either side of her, there was no warmth.

“Sleep. Maybe after sleeping, everything will be fine.”

She said it aloud, but she couldn’t actually fall asleep. She clutched the blanket tightly. Outside, the snow fell heavier and heavier. Tilting her head back, she listened blankly to the soft patter of snow against the tent. At the top of the tent was a flat section; as snow accumulated, it sagged heavily. She reached up and smacked it through the fabric, sending the snow scattering.

She kept doing it mechanically—staring, reaching up, striking—until suddenly she realized: the snow had stopped. A strange light was flowing outside the tent.

Her heart pounded wildly. Gritting her teeth, she crawled out from under the blanket and unzipped the tent.

There was no snow. No rain.

The three massive peaks of Fengzi Ridge stood silhouetted in the distance. In that moment, they looked exactly like a phoenix.

No.

Mu Dai shivered and instinctively stepped back, holding her breath. She had the uncanny sense that those were not mountains—but a real, colossal phoenix crouching there. If her breathing grew even slightly heavier, it might turn its head.

The strange shifting light came from the sky overhead.

It was the Big Dipper, forming a massive ladle. The handle rotated slowly, like the hand of a clock—or like a sword gleaming with cold light.

Suddenly, Mu Dai was furious. She shouted at the sky:

“What kind of trick is this?”

“What did you do to my friends?”

“What do you want? Stop playing ghostly games!”

In her anger, she crouched down, grabbed stones, and hurled them at the seven stars. She raised the stun gun and fired into the empty air. The electrodes shot out on long wires, found no target, and fell limply back down.

She stood there for a long time. The wind picked up, whipping her hair into disarray.

At some point, distant, hollow voices began to echo around her—like members of an ancient tribe chanting reverently.

“Break the bamboo, mend the bamboo; fling the clods, chase the prey…”

An ancient ballad.

Mu Dai spun around.

The platform where they had camped now seemed like an isolated island. The path they had come from was gone, and so were the uneven rocks and mountains. In the surrounding darkness were shifting silhouettes—like black shadow puppets, or primitive cave paintings come to life.

Crowds of people felled bamboo forests. Strong bows shot pellets. Wild beasts ran. Blades fell, blood sprayed. Someone was forced into the water; splashes erupted violently. Someone was hung in the air, neck stretched thin, body swaying like a dead branch. Someone was bound to a pyre, struggling before being swallowed by rising flames.

The images spun faster and faster. No longer just the simple scenes she had seen before—now there were sieges and defenses, galloping cavalry, slaughter. Giant catapults hurled boulders that smashed down city walls. Heads flew from bodies. Surrendered soldiers were executed. Cities massacred. Corpses piled high.

Gradually, modern traces appeared: trains on tracks, guns, explosions, airplanes breaking apart midair.

All the images were black outlines—no sound, no detail—yet they cut into her like the dullest of knives.

Mu Dai bit her lip and didn’t move. She didn’t want to close her eyes. On the contrary, she forced herself to watch.

What flowed before her eyes was the history of slaughter—perhaps the history of humanity itself. Since humankind’s birth, there had never been a single day entirely without war or killing. Even in so-called peaceful modern times, conflicts never truly ceased.

There was endless air in heaven and earth—enough for countless people to breathe. Yet people still fought to the death, unable to share the same sky.

Gradually, the images faded. Mist rose.

Within the haze appeared several faint, elongated human shapes, distorted in proportion.

They crowded together, shoving and jostling exaggeratedly. Their voices cawed like crows—clamorous and chaotic.

“They lost, they lost.”

“Are they dead?”

“Dead, dead. Maybe dead.”

Without hesitation, Mu Dai bent down, scooped up stones, and flung them at the mist. “Bullshit!”

The stones vanished into the fog. Her aim was off in her fury, but the shadowy figures seemed startled and didn’t dare move for a while.

After a moment, they began whispering again.

“She’s angry.”

“Not our fault. Humans kill. Not us.”

“Right, right. They turned bad first—we just took root.”

Mu Dai wasn’t afraid. Not like in her dreams. Maybe because her friends were in danger—when you have nothing to lean on, even weakness disappears.

She stepped forward.

The shadowy figures yelped and retreated in a fluster, stumbling over one another as if complaining about being stepped on.

Mu Dai paused, then crooked her finger at one of them, beckoning.

Absurdly, she felt like a wicked witch luring something closer.