“Ah!” He awoke from a nightmare. In the dream, a person fell from a high, cold cliff, their body split in two—it was his friend. He murmured to himself, “Achuan!”

“Young Master, are you alright?!” The maid heard the cry and looked toward Young Master Gong Le with a panicked expression. Gong Le forced himself to wave his hand dismissively without speaking, but his complexion was frighteningly pale.

“Young Master, should I inform the old madam?” The maid could see Gong Le’s weakness and asked worriedly.

“Don’t go. Mother went to bed early. Don’t wake her over such a trivial matter.” Gong Le accepted the tea the maid handed him, took a sip, and asked, “What’s the date today?”

“It’s already past the hour of Zi. It’s the ninth day of the tenth month now.”

“The ninth.” Gong Le smiled for no apparent reason. The maid lowered her head and said nothing.

“You may go. Tell Old Huang to have the carriage ready tomorrow morning. I’m going out.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

The faint wind carried a hint of coolness. The gates of the Gong Residence, the foremost merchant house in Jinxia County, opened early. Gong Le came out alone, and the residence gates closed once more.

The driver, Old Huang, had already prepared the carriage and stood outside asking, “Young Master, where would you like to go?”

Gong Le stepped into the carriage and said leisurely, “Yin Village.”

Old Huang’s hand holding the whip trembled. He understood that the young master was going to look for that person again. Old Huang didn’t remember the name, only that he was the young master’s friend—perhaps his only friend.

“Young Master, sit tight! Let’s go!”

At daybreak, the city gates were already open.

The carriage slowly passed through the city gates. Gong Le, his mind in turmoil, pulled aside the carriage curtain. At the city gate entrance, a man was walking into the city. His long hair covered his face, and his gaze seemed to harbor ice within.

Gong Le suddenly felt that he was no ordinary person, just like himself and Meng Chuan—different from others.

When he came back to his senses, the man with ice-cold eyes in his gaze had already disappeared into the city.

Gong Le gently let the curtain fall back.

True to its name, Yin Village was a secluded and reclusive village. It was hidden in the crevice between two great mountains, existing silently for over a hundred years. There weren’t many people in the village, only about twenty households, mostly elderly folk who had lived there for generations.

Old Huang stopped the carriage at the village entrance. Because the village roads were rough and difficult to traverse, Old Huang remained at the entrance as well. Gong Le once again traveled alone through the ancient village. Along the way, he would encounter two or three elderly people in their twilight years, leaning against stone walls, their clouded eyes gazing toward the outside of the village.

The first house in the eastern part of the village—Gong Le stopped and knocked on the yellow wooden door.

A woman with a face full of sorrow opened the door. When she saw Gong Le, she bowed and said, “Young Master has come.”

Gong Le walked straight into the courtyard and pushed open the door to the small room on the south side. Inside the door was pitch black, without a trace of light visible. Gong Le glanced inside, his expression dimming. “Achuan still hasn’t come home?”

The woman was none other than Achuan’s mother. She sighed, “He hasn’t returned. Achuan’s father searched both mountains front and back but couldn’t find him. I don’t know where that child ran off to during another episode.”

Gong Le stood quietly in the small dark room. This was Achuan’s room. Achuan always hid in the darkness of this small room, hugging his arms, waiting for his only friend to come and talk with him. But Gong Le had come, yet Achuan was nowhere to be seen—he had already been missing for ten days.

Achuan had a strange illness. When it struck, his entire body would convulse, his hands and feet would curl uncontrollably, and his whole body would bend into the shape of a bow. In severe cases, his bones would even break, accompanied by unbearable, intense pain. Every time Achuan couldn’t endure the pain any longer, he would bite himself with his teeth and tear at his cheeks with both hands, so his face was covered entirely in scars. He had become hideously ugly because of this, and no one was willing to be his friend. Everyone avoided him from afar as if he were a monster.

Except for Gong Le.

Later, every time Achuan had an episode, he would run into the mountains, not letting others see him. He would be gone for several hours or an entire day, returning only after the symptoms temporarily subsided.

But this time, Achuan had been gone for ten days. Gong Le was certain he must have encountered some accident—perhaps his life was in danger.

Find Achuan! Because he’s the same kind of person as myself, Gong Le thought.

Old Huang drove the carriage out of Yin Village. Outside the village stood two great mountains. In Gong Le’s mind appeared the scene of his first encounter with Achuan, right at the foot of one of these mountains. At that time, Gong Le had suffered an arrow wound, and the pungent smell of blood attracted hungry wolves. Gong Le thought he was doomed, but unexpectedly, a young man suddenly appeared before his eyes.

The youth carried Gong Le on his back and ran frantically. The wind howled in his ears, and hungry wolves chased madly behind them. In his dazed state, Gong Le lay on the youth’s shoulder and looked at him for the first time, seeing only a face covered in scars—Gong Le had thought it was an evil ghost from hell about to carry him through the gates of the netherworld.

Gong Le suddenly smiled.

Achuan, where on earth are you?