Chapter 24

We needed to leave.

That was the only clear thought in my head.

What exactly was the purpose of the Kan Huoxing ritual? What did it mean to the Shengmiao people?

Everything about how they’d treated us was strange—guarded suspicion on one hand, and yet an invitation to their grand ceremony on the other.

Contradictions like that meant only one thing: there was something they weren’t telling us.

Why did I only realize it now?

It was Shen Jianqing’s gentle nature that had lulled us into a false sense of safety, making us assume the rest of the villagers were as welcoming as he was.

But I’d overlooked something—something my instincts had been trying to ignore. After that terrifying ordeal of being lost in the mountains, we were all desperate for safety. We clung to any sign of light, convincing ourselves dawn was near… when maybe all we’d seen was the lure of an anglerfish, glowing in the dark to draw prey closer.

They’d lived hidden in these mountains for centuries without being found. Was that really just luck? Truly just remoteness?

Had no outsider ever stumbled in before?

And if they had… had they actually left?

A chill swept through me.

When we returned to Shen Jianqing’s stilt house, and while he was still outside, I pulled Qiu Lu, Xu Zirong, and Wen Lingyu aside.

“We’re leaving tomorrow. Early morning.”

We’d been here for nearly a week. Our phones and cameras were dying. It was time.

Qiu Lu stared. “Leave? Suddenly?”

Xu Zirong added, “At least say goodbye properly, right?”

“I think we should go too,” Wen Lingyu whispered. “Tonight’s ritual was too strange. I… I’m scared.”

“I’ll tell Shen Jianqing,” I said. “But the rest of the village—there’s no point. They don’t understand our language anyway.”

Maybe it was our grim expressions, or the tension in the room, but the unease spread. Qiu Lu and Xu Zirong exchanged worried looks, then nodded.

Just then, the door opened. Shen Jianqing walked in. Seeing the four of us clustered together, he didn’t even look at me.

“It’s late. Why aren’t you all resting?”

Facing his indifferent profile, a knot of emotions twisted in my chest—I couldn’t even tell whether I was more hurt or relieved.

Qiu Lu nudged Xu Zirong with her elbow, and Xu Zirong shot me an exaggerated wink.

“We’re leaving tomorrow morning,” I finally said. “Shen Jianqing… thank you for everything.”

“You’re leaving?”
Shen Jianqing spun around. He paused for a long moment before lifting his eyelids, his gaze sinking into mine. His brow rose slightly. “Alright. Then I wish you a safe journey.”

Without another look, he walked straight out of the hall. The silver butterfly ornament on his head trembled violently with the movement, quivering as if it were alive.

I stared after him, dazed. A hollow ache opened in my chest.

Maybe the atmosphere between us had been too strange, because Wen Lingyu came over with concern written all over her face. “What happened between you two? He’s been odd all day… and so have you.”

“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “There’s nothing between us.”
Maybe I’d misunderstood before—but after tomorrow, there’d be nothing left to misunderstand.

We all returned to our rooms. After packing up our things for the next day, I lay down to sleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night, a frantic knocking jolted me awake.

“Li Yuze! Li Yuze!”

Who was calling me?

Wen Lingyu?

I pried my eyes open. My head felt murky and numb. My eyelids were so heavy it felt like a brick was weighing them down. My temples throbbed with a deep, pulsing ache that spread from my forehead to the top of my skull.

“Hss—” I pressed my fingers to my temples, forcing the pain down. The room was pitch-black. Guided only by memory of the layout and a sliver of moonlight, I fumbled toward the door. “What’s wrong?”

The door eased open. Wen Lingyu stood there holding a candle. In the wavering glow, her face was the only thing visible—a pale oval in the darkness, like something straight out of a low-budget horror movie. My heart lurched before I processed the worry clouding her features.

“Li Yuze… Qiu Lu suddenly has a fever. She’s burning up…” Her voice cracked halfway through.

What happened to Qiu Lu?

My head was thick with fog, as if someone had poured cement into my skull. Every word she said reached me clearly, but stringing them together into meaning took far too long.

After a sluggish eternity, it clicked.
“Cool her down first. I have some meds.”

I turned back, rummaged through my backpack, and found the fever reducer.

Wen Lingyu took it—but didn’t leave. Tears thickened her voice. “Xu Zirong isn’t answering his door no matter how much I knock. I’m scared something’s wrong… can you check on him?”

She was a girl; it wasn’t convenient for her.

“Maybe he’s just a heavy sleeper,” I said, shaking the fog from my mind. “I’ll check.”

Holding her candle, I walked to Xu Zirong’s room.

I knocked. Nothing.

I waited two full minutes. Still nothing. My patience burned out.

“Xu Zirong, I’m coming in!” I warned, then pushed the door open.

The room was completely dark. By the candlelight, I found the wooden bed by the window. A lump beneath the blankets rose and fell—him.

“Xu Zirong…”
I moved closer. His face came into view—eyes shut tight, cheeks blazing red, sweat beading across his forehead. His lips were cracked from dehydration. The usually huge, energetic guy looked terrifyingly fragile.

He was burning up—barely conscious.

This was bad.

I hurried back out. “I’ll go find Shen Jianqing. You get water and wipe Qiu Lu down. Try to bring her fever down first.”

With instructions in hand, Wen Lingyu seemed steadier. She nodded quickly and rushed off for water.

I ignored my own pounding headache and stumbled down the stairs to Shen Jianqing’s room. I took a deep breath.

Knock, knock, knock—

No answer.

What was going on tonight?

Growing uneasy, I tried the door. Locked. Completely unmoving. I glanced around—and noticed his window was slightly open. I could see inside.

It was rude to peek into someone’s room, but given the situation, courtesy wasn’t my priority.

I stepped up to the window and tapped it.
“Shen Jianqing? Are you in there?”

Silence.

Moonlight poured into his room—he always kept the curtains open—making the interior faintly visible.

I squinted.

There was no one there.

Where had he gone?

Just then, a strange, familiar sound rose behind me.

Sha—sha—sha—
Sha-sha—

That sickening sound—like insect legs scraping across the ground.

My heart lurched into my throat. I instantly remembered those black bugs that had followed us in the mountains.

A cold numbness climbed my spine. Goosebumps exploded across my skin. The mountain wind swept by, and I shivered hard.

I needed to go back. Fast. Seal every door and window. Block every crack.

But I didn’t.

Something compelled me forward instead.

Clutching the candle, I walked toward the sound.

The moonlight was bright tonight, bright enough to faintly illuminate the forest.

Step by slow step, I followed the source of the noise—until a dark figure suddenly appeared up ahead.

He had his back to me, unaware of my presence. Instinctively, I blew out the candle and slipped behind a tree wide enough for two people to wrap their arms around.

Shen Jianqing.

What was he doing out here in the middle of the night?

My instincts screamed at me to leave—quietly, immediately. But curiosity clawed at me.

I peeked out.

Under the soft, murky moonlight, shadows swayed. The wind was as cold as water.
Shen Jianqing stood beneath a tree, his half-long hair—usually tied—loose around his shoulders. He had turned slightly, showing the faint outline of his profile.

He lifted one hand, as if waiting to catch something. I squinted, and finally realized that something tiny was dangling in front of him on a thin thread—its other end tied to the tree overhead.

Rustle—rustle—rustle—

That unnerving sound rose again, and the scene that followed made my eyes fly wide in disbelief.

Countless black insects were swarming toward him from the darkness. They moved like a tide, like a ribbon of ink, like black blood surging across the ground. Under the moonlight, they gathered with frenzied devotion, as if worshipping their sovereign—their ruler, their deity.

They rushed forward yet dared not cross an unseen line, clustering before Shen Jianqing in reverent submission.

Those bugs.

I didn’t have trypophobia, but my legs still went weak. My arms trembled violently, my stomach twisted so hard I nearly threw up everything I’d eaten. Cold sweat gathered at my hairline. I stood frozen, paralyzed by a kind of terror so sharp it numbed me; even my neck felt like an ancient glacier refusing to melt.

These were the same disgusting things that had been trailing us the whole time—like shadows glued to our heels.

From the moment we left the Dongjiang Miao village…
When we got lost on that concrete path…
When we camped in the wild…

They hadn’t been following us for food or by coincidence.

They were following orders.

The thought chilled me to the bone.

My mind, perhaps from sheer fear, became frighteningly clear. Everything we’d experienced during this trip flashed across my memory—every oddity, every detail I had brushed off or failed to understand. And suddenly, they all connected.

The sudden disorientation.
The inexplicably blown rear tires.
Getting lost even with markings.
The white flower that appeared on our windshield at dawn.

And that dark blue shadow walking alone in the dim morning light—pointing us toward a path that seemed endless.

Go even further back: the dew-covered white flower I saw outside my window at the inn in the Miao village. Fresh. Pure. Innocent. A symbol of everything beautiful—yet now it filled me with dread.

I slapped a hand over my mouth, terrified I’d make a sound.