From far away came the woman’s piercing screams.

Even without being able to see, Bai Youwei could imagine the woman bound to the stone pillar, enduring the searing agony of living flames.

Before her, the little girl went on bouncing her ball, her face a picture of innocent guilelessness, as though the person about to be burned alive were someone of no consequence.

Bai Youwei suppressed the unease roiling within her and pressed on: “Why do you say we are all werewolves? Does that mean we will transform into werewolves at night as well?”

The girl said nothing, head bowed, bouncing her ball — as though she couldn’t hear Bai Youwei’s voice.

Bai Youwei asked a few more times and still received no answer.

Shen Mo said, “It seems she won’t give us any more clues. Let’s go ask the village chief.”

Bai Youwei pressed her lips together, gave a nod, and left with Shen Mo.

They went around the front, walking along the side of the house toward the plaza. After a few steps, Bai Youwei couldn’t help stopping and looking back at the little girl.

She was still bouncing her ball — bang, bang, bang — the rhythm never changing, hollow and strange, enough to make one’s scalp crawl.

Bai Youwei turned her gaze away and was about to leave when the corner of her eye caught a potted plant on the windowsill, and she froze.

“Look…” She grabbed Shen Mo’s hand, asking in bewildered surprise, “She didn’t burn all the plants. She kept a bundle.”

Shen Mo looked over, his brow furrowing. “You mean that blue one?”

“It’s blooming…” Bai Youwei stared at the potted plant and murmured softly, “Maybe… those plants have something to do with her mother transforming into a werewolf.”

Shen Mo thought for a moment, then glanced at the little girl bouncing her ball in the courtyard. “She doesn’t seem inclined to tell us any more. Let’s go ask the village chief.”

The longer they stayed in this place, the more uneasy it made them feel.

—

The agonized screaming had stopped at some point. By the time Shen Mo and Bai Youwei reached the small plaza, part of the crowd had dispersed. About a dozen people remained gathered near the stone pillar, watching the fire burn fiercely.

The person within the flames had long since lost all human shape — only a charred, indistinct body remained, surrounded by a smell that defied description.

The village chief stood nearby, unhurried, smoking his pipe.

There was no sign of Hans and the others. No telling what they were scheming now.

Bai Youwei and Shen Mo approached the village chief to ask about the little girl:

“She said that anyone who moves into Werewolf Village is a werewolf. Does a villager need some kind of trigger to transform into a werewolf?”

The village chief listened, showing not the slightest surprise, and replied in a matter-of-fact tone, “Ah… that’s not entirely wrong. We are, after all, descendants of both humans and werewolves — we’ve inherited the werewolf’s power, and with it the savagery in their blood. But we are a kind and gentle people. Only on nights of the full moon do we occasionally grow restless. Our village rules require every villager to remain indoors at night. As long as you are not bathed in moonlight, nothing will happen.”

This was also one of the game’s rules: each night, villagers were forbidden from leaving their houses.

Bai Youwei asked, “Besides being bathed in moonlight, are there any other ways a villager might transform into a werewolf at night?”

The village chief considered this, then replied, “Even a person of purest heart, one who never forgets their evening prayers, may still find themselves transforming into a wolf on a full moon night when monkshood is in bloom.”

“Monkshood…” Shen Mo’s brow creased. “That plant with the small blue flowers?”

The village chief was taken aback, then shook his head.

“…That’s impossible. Many years ago, all the monkshood growing near the village was burned and destroyed — it couldn’t have appeared again. The reason villagers transform is because of the curse… because they are cursed.”

Bai Youwei found his manner rather superstitious and mystical. “I don’t know if it was monkshood or not, but it looked like ordinary weeds — split leaves, blue-purple petals — right there on the windowsill of the woman who was just burned.”

The village chief shook his head again. “Impossible. You must have been mistaken. Monkshood has been extinct here for many years — there cannot be any monkshood in this village.”