In mid-September, while South of the Yangtze still endured lingering summer heat, the “Qinling-Huaihe” line had begun to feel autumn’s cool breath.
Around ten at night, the Xingbazi Township area of Shihe County in An’kai City was almost completely dark, save for a few points of light in the western corner—surrounded by shifting mountain shadows and rustling forest winds, making those lights flicker like unstable lamp wicks.
The people of Xingbazi Township typically lived in the east, while the western area was wilderness. Before liberation, there had been temples built there, altars erected, and shamans invited to ward off disasters and drive away ghosts. Later, during the great movements, everything was smashed and burned, then abandoned. Somehow, after that, vast fields of corn sprouted there, though unfortunately of poor quality—only good enough for pig feed.
This season, most of the corn had been harvested, leaving only man-high withered stalks in the fields, thin and densely packed, creating an eerie rustling sound when the wind passed through.
Those few points of light came from a dilapidated temple in the middle of the cornfield and an SUV parked outside.
The driver’s side window was half-open, and Sun Zhou had his left hand, holding a cigarette, resting on the windowsill while talking on the phone with his girlfriend Qiao Ya. Caught up in the conversation, he hadn’t had time to smoke, letting the cigarette burn idly, so he had to tap off the ash now and then.
“It’s the countryside, not a soul in sight… I’m telling you, I’m getting the creeps.”
He glanced around, suddenly feeling unsafe with his left hand outside the car, so he stubbed out the cigarette and pulled his hand back in.
Qiao Ya had heard about this place: “It’s in the mountains, right? My grandfather said that area was bandit territory before liberation. Many people were killed there, and it was even haunted.”
Goosebumps rose on Sun Zhou’s arms as he instinctively looked left and right: to the left was a dark field of corn stalks swaying gently in the wind, creating an eerily cold atmosphere; to the right was the temple, where the light inside flickered like faint fireflies, drifting slowly.
“What can I do? Miss Nie wants to see the clay sculptures—she’s an artist.”
“It’s my fault too, I took a wrong turn on the way, so we arrived late. Miss Nie got absorbed in looking, and I didn’t want to rush her…”
He was a route driver, and Miss Nie was his client—whether to leave and when to leave was the client’s decision.
Qiao Ya complained: “To see sculptures, why not go to Longmen or Dunhuang? Why come to the countryside…”
Sun Zhou explained: “Didn’t I say she’s an artist? She’d seen all those famous caves by the time she was ten. Now it’s trendy to find these rural, primitive pieces for creative inspiration.”
Qiao Ya ran out of arguments, then asked after a pause: “I heard she can sell a single sculpture for tens of thousands?”
Sun Zhou had no idea, but he pretended to be knowledgeable: “How could art be that cheap? At least over a hundred thousand.”
After marveling for a while, Qiao Ya finally said: “This Miss Nie sure is brave.”
“Indeed,” Sun Zhou felt deeply about this, “in this pitch darkness, and the Qinba mountain region… I’m telling you, my heart’s pounding, what if some criminals show up and kill us…”
Qiao Ya snapped: “That’s not what I meant. I meant, as a young woman, she dares to go to such a remote place late at night with a male driver—isn’t she afraid you might get ideas and… you know?”
“I’m professional, I have a work ethic. Besides, we’ve known each other for several days now, we’re practically acquaintances.”
Qiao Ya sneered: “Acquaintances? They say half of sex crimes are committed by acquaintances. Women should be wary of men, familiar or not. If it were me, I’d never dare go to the countryside late at night with an unfamiliar male driver—not even male colleagues or classmates.”
Sun Zhou grinned: “What about me? Would I be okay?”
Qiao Ya spoke coyly: “You’re okay.”
Sun Zhou felt a tingle both in his heart and below as he was about to say something flirtatious when he suddenly saw a dark figure flash past in the left side-view mirror.
He jumped in fright, dropping his phone: “Who’s there?”
The only response was the rustling of corn stalks in the wind.
Sun Zhou opened the car door and looked around, feeling that the cornfield seemed both empty and full of possibilities at once.
Picking up his phone, the call hadn’t disconnected, and Qiao Ya was already anxious: “What happened? Who was it?”
A chill ran down Sun Zhou’s spine: “Never mind, I’ll… go hurry Miss Nie along.”
He hung up and jogged toward the temple—though he stood at 1.8 meters and looked sturdy, it was just for show. If anything happened, he couldn’t protect anyone.
Moreover, he had the frail Miss Nie to think about.
The temple was small—through the gate and courtyard was the main hall. It had been smashed and burned years ago, then the Cultural Relics Bureau had started restoration work, but halfway through, whether due to lack of funds or seeing little value in it, they abandoned the project.
On the altar in the main hall, clay sculptures were packed tightly together. Miss Nie—Nie Jiuluo—wearing a white shirt and black skinny pants, was straddling the top of a portable aluminum folding ladder, examining the eyebrows of a clay sculpture with a flashlight in her left hand, multiple very thin spiral bracelets on her wrist gleaming with a soft silver light.
The temple was dim, with dust floating up and down in the flashlight beam.
Sun Zhou remembered that when they arrived in the evening, these sculptures were all covered in gray dust, but the one she was examining now had clear features and vibrant colors, obviously having been cleaned.
He called out: “Miss Nie.”
Nie Jiuluo turned around.
She was twenty-five or twenty-six, slender, with pitch-black long hair and porcelain-white skin. Her hair was genuinely black, black to the point of shining, and her skin was truly white, a cold porcelain white of such good quality that any powder would be superfluous, which was why she wore coral red lipstick—people with cold skin tones tend to have pale lips, and without lipstick, they often appear somewhat weak.
As she turned, the face of the clay sculpture was also revealed. Though damaged, it was beautiful—but not in a proper way, more like a bewitching beauty. Nie Jiuluo’s bangs hung low over her eyebrows, her black eyes, snow-white skin, and red lips perfectly positioned beside the clay face.
Two faces, one living person, one inanimate object, one flesh, one clay—Sun Zhou was dazed, feeling that Nie Jiuluo’s face had more captivating allure than the one beside it.
He recalled Qiao Ya’s words about lustful thoughts and thought to himself: even if I had the chance, I wouldn’t dare do anything to her.
“Miss Nie, it’s past ten, let’s head back first and come again tomorrow. The security in this area isn’t very good, and the roads are poor…”
Nie Jiuluo understood immediately: “Alright, I’ll just take a few photos and we’ll go.”
After taking photos, Sun Zhou packed up the ladder and equipment into the trunk. As he closed the hood, he looked back.
There seemed to be a sound, mournful and resentful like a woman… sobbing.
Sun Zhou’s hair stood on end in his imagination, and he quickly jumped into the car.
Nie Jiuluo sat in the back, carefully reviewing the photos she’d just taken.
Sun Zhou cleared his throat: “Miss Nie, did you hear any… strange sounds?”
Nie Jiuluo looked puzzled: “What strange sounds?”
As expected, Sun Zhou knew he couldn’t count on her: these artistic types get too absorbed—once they’re immersed, even gongs and drums wouldn’t disturb them.
He changed the subject: “No, it’s just that you’re not local, you don’t know… this area used to be called the Southern Ba Old Forest, bandits killed people here, the yin energy is heavy…”
Nie Jiuluo said: “I know about the Southern Ba Old Forest. It used to be a primitive forest, restricted as imperial hunting grounds since the Eastern Han Dynasty. ‘Mountains all like seas, no tree stands alone in the forest.’ During the Qing Dynasty, many refugees poured in, and the White Lotus Rebellion started here. Later, bandits occupied the area until they were cleared out after the founding of the nation.”
Sun Zhou stared in amazement: “You know all this?”
Nie Jiuluo lowered her head to look at the photos again: “I was interested in regional history in college, took it as a minor.”
A minor, when her major was already so advanced—no wonder she could make big money and ride in cars, while he could only drive others around late at night.
Sun Zhou mused on this while starting the car.
The roads in this area were uneven, and Sun Zhou, caring for his car, drove slowly. Just as he was about to turn a corner, a woman suddenly appeared in the cornfield to the right.
At that moment, the car’s lights illuminated the spot, and Sun Zhou saw clearly: the woman’s face was deathly pale, covered in blood, her eyeballs protruding, stretched to the point of nearly bursting from their sockets. She looked as if she was trying to rush out for help, but a thick, dark brown arm grabbed her neck from behind and instantly dragged her back into the cornfield.
The scene vanished in an instant, but the visual impact was so strong that even after she disappeared, those two bulging eyeballs remained burned into Sun Zhou’s retina.
Blood rushed to his head, and with an “Ah!” he instinctively hit the brakes.
The car jerked to a stop, catching Nie Jiuluo off guard—she nearly hit the back of the front seat.
Steadying herself, she looked up and asked Sun Zhou: “What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong?
Sun Zhou was breathing heavily. Left and right of the car, front and back, corn stalks swayed gently, their rustling occasionally punctuated by the brittle sound of dry stalks breaking in the wind.
Was it an illusion?
He felt it wasn’t an illusion. Right now, at this moment, something terrible was happening outside the car.
What should he do? Sun Zhou’s palms were covered in sweat: Should he help someone in trouble, or pretend he hadn’t seen anything?
Seeing Sun Zhou not answering, Nie Jiuluo grew more puzzled: “Is there something wrong with the car?”
“No, no,” Sun Zhou collected himself and started the car again, “something just darted across the front, and startled me.”
Nie Jiuluo didn’t suspect anything: “Probably a rabbit, or maybe a rat. In this kind of wild area near the mountains, there are lots of small animals.”
Finally reaching the county road, Sun Zhou’s mind was in chaos.
What happened to that woman? Would she die? If she died, would it be his fault?
He immediately justified himself: This was the right thing to do, stay away from danger. Not everyone can be a hero. What if the person who dragged away that woman was a murderer? If he got out to help, he might end up dead too, and Miss Nie in the car would also be harmed…
So, this was right.
He remained distracted back to the hotel.
Shihe County was a small place, and this Golden Light Hotel rated almost four stars, was considered the most upscale. Before returning to her room, Nie Jiuluo set up another appointment with him for nine the next morning, to go back to Xingbazi Township.
Going back, they had to go back.
Sun Zhou went to bed heavy-hearted, tossing and turning all night, having many fragmented dreams that combined various strange tales he’d heard, terrifyingly vivid—
In the dead of night, Nie Jiuluo was cleaning the demon woman statue in the ruined temple. She was alive, and the clay figure, absorbing her yang energy, gradually came to life, making faces, while she remained oblivious;
His car wouldn’t move. He got out to check and saw corn stalks wrapped around the tires. He desperately tried to tear them away, but the stalks grew wildly like living things, entangling his body, piercing his seven orifices;
That woman being dragged into the cornfield, him pretending not to see, the car speeding onto the county road when suddenly, crackling sounds filled the air, corn stalks growing through the asphalt road, shadows shifting in the stalks, the woman’s face floating, alternating between grief and eerie laughter.
…
At nine the next morning, Sun Zhou, with dark circles under his eyes, drove Nie Jiuluo back to Xingbazi Township.
This time they took the right road, arriving at the ruined temple just after ten.
As usual, Nie Jiuluo became completely absorbed once inside the temple. Sun Zhou waited outside, browsing Weibo, watching Douyin, sunbathing, and even climbing onto the car roof to look into the distance. All morning, only one motorcycle passed nearby, its engine puttering, carrying three burly men—overloaded and stacked on top of each other like a moving mountain of flesh.
At noon, under the blazing sun, Sun Zhou munched on bread and sipped an energy drink. As he ate, his gaze unconsciously fixed on the dense corn stalks near and far.
That woman, the woman dragged into the cornfield—was her body dumped nearby, or was she taken away and disposed of?
Or perhaps he was overthinking it, making it more serious than it was: maybe there was no bloody crime, just a couple fighting, and she was only beaten up.
Sun Zhou looked away and continued eating his bread, but as he chewed, his gaze inevitably drifted back.
A voice in his head kept saying: Look, go look, take a look, then you’ll know.