SES Chapter 77 Part 1

Chapter 77

They stumbled and staggered the whole way, nerves stretched taut, seeing shadows everywhere. By the time night had fully fallen, the old man Yan was finding it harder and harder to navigate. He led them the wrong way several times. Twice, Mù Dài even thought they’d gone in circles in the forest, and a sinking sense of hopelessness washed over her—like survival was slipping further and further away. She wanted to cry, but forced herself to hold it back.

She reminded herself she was the bodyguard here. The people beside her were either old or very young—she couldn’t afford to lose her composure. Even if she had to fake it, she had to at least look confident.

They wandered through the forest, confused and disoriented, feeling their way forward for a long time. It wasn’t until midnight that they finally stumbled back onto the path that led to the stone hut.

On the way, no one spoke about anything other than urging each other to find the right route. Only when the outline of the hut appeared in the distance did they all slowly let out the breath they’d been holding.

Yan Hóngshā asked her, “Mù Dài, that had to be a wild man, right? Someone with that kind of strength—dragging both of us at once—no normal person could do that.”

Mù Dài agreed. Its hide was thick, too—the whittled wooden dart she’d thrown barely scratched it.

Still, the sudden attack had, oddly enough, eased some of her earlier suspicions about the Rain-Caller woman.

She pulled Yan Hóngshā aside and, lowering her voice, told her about the strange woman.

The idea of a doll walking on its own was absurd; from the start, Mù Dài had been more inclined to believe there was someone else lurking around. What had happened in the forest today felt like proof.

Yan Hóngshā shivered. “Then you’re saying… even if we make it back, the place we’re staying isn’t safe either?”

“It’s still better than the forest.”

Yes—still better than the forest.

When they returned to the stone hut, they lit torches, the bright flames pushing back much of the darkness. Mù Dài and Yan Hóngshā went to the well, drew up some water, and boiled a pot. They washed their faces, then poured some into a basin to soak their feet.

On the road, they hadn’t felt it much, but now they realized they’d gotten blisters in several spots.

The heat seeped from their feet into the rest of their bodies. Even the dry bread didn’t seem so hard to chew anymore. Their bodies felt soothed, their stomachs comforted, and the mental fog began to lift.

In the corner, Old Man Yan muttered, “Why… why was there no body in the well?”

The words made Yan Hóngshā’s temper spike. She felt that, in this life, even if she had to smash pots and sell them or beg on the streets, she’d never want to go treasure hunting again.

Mù Dài hesitated, then asked, “Grandpa, the… friend you buried in the well back then—was it a man or a woman?”

Old Man Yan was silent for a long time before rasping, “A woman.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Ten… maybe twenty years.”

“Was she really… dead?”

His body jolted, and he looked up at her. “What do you mean?”

Mù Dài chose her words carefully. “It’s just… since there was no body in the well, I was wondering… could it be that she got out somehow?”

Old Man Yan snapped, “Impossible! Her throat was cut—blood sprayed all over the well—”

He suddenly realized he’d said too much and stopped cold.

The room went dead silent.

Yan Hóngshā’s whole body went cold. Her voice wavered with tears. “Grandpa… didn’t you say she died of illness?”

In truth, when he’d told Mù Dài that, Yan Hóngshā had had her doubts. But she’d forced herself to believe it. He was family—she didn’t want to think her grandfather had truly killed someone.

But now… a slit throat, blood everywhere.

That was murder.

In the heavy silence, Yan Hóngshā hugged her knees and began to sob softly.

That night, Mù Dài couldn’t sleep no matter how she tried—and it wasn’t just her. She heard Yan Hóngshā tossing and turning on her bunk. Only Old Man Yan’s steady breathing remained.

He, at least, slept soundly.

Drip. Drip.

Was it… raining again?

Mukai had been listening quietly for a while when she suddenly sat up and whispered, “Red Sand?”

Yan Hongsha also sat up. “What is it?”

Mukai crawled over from her bed.

That wasn’t the sound of rain—it was dripping water.

It sounded close, like right outside the door. Why would there be dripping? Was it the rainwater from yesterday’s storm suddenly leaking from the roof again?

The sound was irritating.

Yan Hongsha grew tense, clutching Mukai’s arm and lowering her voice. “Mukai… let’s just stay inside. We’ll go out when it’s light.”

Stay inside? Mukai glanced at the wooden door—thin, with gaps that let the air through. A single kick would break it open.

Still, she felt it would be safer indoors.

The two of them leaned against each other. After a while, Old Man Yan suddenly rolled over and got up.

Yan Hongsha jumped. “Grandpa, where are you going?”

In his deep, muffled voice, the old man replied, “Bathroom.”

Yan Hongsha’s scalp prickled. Her first instinct was to say, “Just go in here,” but then she realized—men and women were different, and there wasn’t exactly a bathroom indoors.

The old man slipped on his shoes. His eyesight was already poor, so he didn’t bother with a light, feeling his way to the door, opening it, and stepping outside.

Mukai hesitated, then asked Yan Hongsha, “Should I follow him?”

“This… isn’t that a bit awkward? My grandpa’s just… you know…”

She trailed off as the sound of urination came from outside. Clearly, the old man hadn’t gone downstairs—he was still on the upper floor.