The rain was heavy. Even with an umbrella, Wan Ying was soaked. She hurried to the stilted house, the wet hem of her skirt weighing her down, looking quite disheveled. She scanned around anxiously and spoke in a rushed voice:
“Li Yuze, something has happened outside the village. I came to bring you… some insect-repelling herbs.”
I froze. “Insect-repelling? What exactly happened?” But Shen Jianqing had already hurried off.
Wan Ying stepped onto the raised platform of the stilted house, stumbling over her words as she tried to explain. “In the mountains… dangerous… many insects. Every few years… outbreaks of insects happen. We… Miao people in the village… brew talismans… can repel insects. Just now… we found… the talisman forest… new head insects appeared… dangerous to the village.”
I only caught fragments, but I had a rough idea.
The mountains were damp, full of marshes—prime breeding grounds for insects. For those living here, these pests were a serious threat. I had seen countless reports of forest insects capable of harming humans.
The prolonged summer rain had undoubtedly created perfect conditions for their reproduction.
“I saw Shen Jianqing leave quickly with a girl just now. He must be rushing to deal with it,” I said.
Wan Ying nodded. “In the village, the strongest in talisman crafting… is the chief. Because talismans can repel those hateful insects. Shen Jianqing… like Aunt Aqing… very skilled.”
No wonder he could become the next chief despite his young age—he could protect the village. Now I understood why the villagers had treated him with such reverence before.
This branch of the Miao had survived in these mountains for centuries, and they had long studied ways to coexist with nature. Using insects to control insects… though I had no idea how they tamed and refined them.
Shen Jianqing’s Honghong looked obedient, almost intelligent. But with such a tiny brain, barely the size of a fingernail, refining an insect seemed nearly impossible.
“My grandfather is old. He can’t go to the talisman forest anymore. He would use his talismans to protect us in the village. I thought of you… worried about you alone… so I brought this,” Wan Ying said, producing a small cloth pouch, about the size of a palm. Long kept close to her body, it still retained her warmth. “Sprinkle it in the corners of your room. You don’t need much… the insects… won’t come.”
Half-soaked, she had preserved it so carefully. I couldn’t help but feel touched.
“You… why?” I asked.
She curved her eyebrows and smiled. “Just… think of it as my kindness. Seeing you… reminds me of Shen Siyuan Anai.”
Her mention of Shen Siyuan pressed heavily on my chest, like a stone weighing me down. I paused before asking, “You asked me before if I wanted to leave… you meant—”
After the last escape, I knew clearly: without help from people here, I could hardly make it out of these mountains alone.
Wan Ying’s brows furrowed slightly. “If he treats you badly… and you want to leave, I can help you… find a way. But… not now.”
I understood. She had to deal with the village crisis; she had no energy for me. But this alone was enough for gratitude.
She quickly turned and ran back into the rain.
By evening, the long rain gradually eased, eventually stopping. Shen Jianqing had left food in the kitchen. I ate hastily, then returned to my room.
Outside, the rain had stopped. The leaves no longer rattled; the world fell into an eerie stillness.
No insects, no birds, no frogs, no wind—nothing. A silence so absolute it made my chest tighten. Something seemed to lurk in the shadows.
Following Wan Ying’s instructions, I sprinkled the herbs from the pouch into the corners of the room. Dried, grayish-blue, brittle under my fingers.
With nothing else to do, I blew out the candle and prepared for sleep.
No moon tonight; the sky still heavy with clouds from days of rain. The extinguished candle left the room pitch black, a darkness cities never truly have, where even at night, neon lights refract faint hues across the darkness.
I drifted into a shallow sleep, half-dreaming, half-aware. Somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, a strange sound reached me.
“Shh… shh… shh—”
“Hiss… shh, shh, shh—”
A dream?
It was a sound that made my scalp crawl, a sickening feeling all over, like fingernails scraping across a blackboard.
“Shh—” I blinked groggily. Darkness surrounded me, yet my hearing sharpened. The sound hadn’t stopped.
It wasn’t a dream.
“Shh… shh…”
The sound grew closer… they were approaching.
The realization made the hairs on my arms stand on end. I froze, barely able to reach the table, and lit a candle.
A tiny flame flickered, casting light over a narrow patch of space.
I scanned the room, heart clenching.
Countless black insects swarmed along the walls and corners, their glossy shells slimy and repulsive.
Now I realized the “shh” was the sound of their mandibles and forelegs rubbing as they moved. One made a faint noise; thousands moving together became a wall of sound.
They lingered in the room like a living shadow, a black abyss ready to devour all.
I nearly vomited.
I didn’t dare move, afraid that a single wrong motion would draw them onto me. One insect was nothing, but countless insects… I had no doubt they could reduce me to bones in an instant.
Fortunately, these insects had almost no intelligence and no sense of cooperation. If they had all attacked at once, it might have even been possible to topple the stilted house.
I stood alert for a while. They didn’t make the first move; a few hesitated to approach, taking tentative steps, only to retreat as if something was holding them back.
Encouraged, I lifted the candle and approached. The insects immediately withdrew, leaving a gap around me.
Every previous encounter with these disgusting black bugs had been at night—could it be that they feared light?