Nie Jiuluo spent the entire morning cleaning three clay statues. The marks of time and age were evident on them: broken heads, missing legs, multiple scorch marks, and severe erosion in some places revealing the inner grass skeleton framework.
Yet they remained beautiful.
In the modern era with advanced technology and information sharing, talented individuals, no matter how remote their location, won’t be buried in obscurity as long as they have a platform to showcase themselves. But old China was different. Back then, a genius living in a mountain valley might never leave that valley their entire life. Even the most brilliant works would only be displayed in front of houses and behind sheds, dismissed by villagers as worthless things that couldn’t be exchanged for food.
She believed whoever sculpted these clay figures was a master.
When one master encounters the work of another, it’s natural to feel a connection and mutual appreciation across time. She took many photos and carefully studied the techniques and lines until hunger and nature’s call became too urgent to ignore, and she finally left the abandoned temple.
Sun Zhou was gone, and who knew where he went? The surrounding straw fields provided natural privacy, but after some hesitation, Nie Jiuluo abandoned the idea of relieving herself in the open.
She hurried toward the east end, and as she emerged from the cornfield, she noticed an SUV parked by the road.
It was newer and larger than Sun Zhou’s, with protective guards installed on the front headlights. The pure white body was imposing yet simple, with hard lines and no decorations.
In such a remote area, it seemed unlikely to have outsiders visiting. Nie Jiuluo’s curiosity was piqued, and she approached the car window to look inside.
The car was empty except for a peace charm hanging from the front—a Five Emperor Coins ornament. Seeing this, Nie Jiuluo realized she was mistaken and was about to leave when she suddenly noticed a duck sitting in the passenger seat.
It was a yellow plush duck toy, sitting perfectly upright, its webbed feet neatly pointing forward, wearing a dazed expression while facing straight ahead. Most remarkably, it was even wearing a seatbelt.
Good heavens, a duck.
Nie Jiuluo burst out laughing, quickly clutching her stomach—she needed to use the bathroom badly and was afraid she might wet herself from laughing.
To the public toilet, she kept breaking into occasional chuckles.
To be honest, while the car’s interior and exterior decorations were quite stern, only that safety-conscious duck seemed out of place. She figured the driver either had children or maintained a childlike heart.
Back at the abandoned temple, there was still no sign of Sun Zhou.
Perhaps he too had gone to relieve himself. Nie Jiuluo opened the car door to get something to eat. At noon, the countryside was particularly quiet, with occasional bird chirps. There was a solar halo in the sky above, and Nie Jiuluo squinted at it, even reaching out her hand to place it in the center of the halo.
A solar halo at the third watch means rain—it might rain tonight.
After finishing a simple meal, Sun Zhou still hadn’t returned.
Nie Jiuluo found this strange. The area wasn’t particularly safe, and Sun Zhou, considering her safety, always stayed nearby. Even when nature called, he would hurry back quickly. Moreover, it had been so long that even if he had fallen into an outhouse, he should have climbed out and cleaned himself up by now.
Sun Zhou’s phone was left on the driver’s seat, so calling him wasn’t an option. Nie Jiuluo cupped her hands around her mouth and called out tentatively, “Sun Zhou?”
Her voice scattered into the air with no response. She tried walking further to search: “Sun Zhou?”
She walked into the straw field.
These stalks were truly bothersome, growing in clusters that not only blocked vision but also kept catching on clothes. Many stalks had been cut at the base by villagers for firewood, leaving only short stubble. She wore hard-soled ankle boots, and as she walked, they made crackling dry sounds.
After walking for a while, she stopped and crouched down to examine the ground.
There were several brownish-red spots in the soil as if blood had seeped in. She tested it with her hand—it was already dry.
Nie Jiuluo laughed at her own paranoia: if it were left by Sun Zhou, it wouldn’t have dried so quickly. Besides, this was the countryside where villagers often slaughtered chickens and geese in the open—this was probably just poultry blood.
Looking around, she noticed another anomaly: not far away, the straw stalks were bent in one direction, as if something heavy had been dragged through.
Nie Jiuluo stood up, about to go investigate, when hurried footsteps came from behind.
She turned to look and saw someone stumbling towards her, their figure obscured by the dense straw stalks. The footsteps were urgent and heavy, mixed with the sound of breaking stalks, rapidly approaching.
Judging by the sound, they were heading straight for her. Nie Jiuluo instinctively stepped back, and almost simultaneously, a man with disheveled hair and a blood-covered face burst out from the straw stalks.
Even though she was mentally prepared, Nie Jiuluo couldn’t help but cry out.
The man suddenly stopped.
It was Sun Zhou!
Blood covered his head and face, with flesh protruding from a wound on his neck. His eyes were empty, and even though he had stopped, his body wouldn’t stop trembling. The trembling even affected his jaw, producing a light chattering sound.
Nie Jiuluo sensed something was wrong: “Sun Zhou, what happened to you?”
The question seemed to pull Sun Zhou back to reality. His eyes gradually focused, his lips moved rapidly, and he suddenly burst out: “Run!”
Before the words faded, he had already shot away like an arrow.
Nie Jiuluo froze for less than a second before taking off running as well.
She had no idea what Sun Zhou was running from, but it was habitual: on the street, when everyone looked up at the sky, she would look up too; when everyone fled in panic, she would never go against the flow.
Whatever it was, running was never the wrong choice.
As she approached the car, despite her hurry, she couldn’t help but look back.
There were no zombies, monsters, or psychotic killers as she had imagined. The straw field was almost eerily peaceful. However, she wasn’t sure if her eyes were playing tricks on her: in a moment when the wind pressed down the stalks, she thought she glimpsed a human figure.
The engine roared to life. Nie Jiuluo had barely grabbed the car door and put one foot in when the vehicle howled away.
Damn it!
Caught off guard, Nie Jiuluo nearly toppled over. For an instant, the world turned upside down as her body tumbled. Her palms burned from trying to brace against the ground, and when she quickly straightened up, she felt the air scorching—that was the undispersed cloud of exhaust the car had violently spewed as it left.
Sun Zhou, that bastard!
She gritted her teeth in hatred, but didn’t waste time cursing Sun Zhou—she knew her priorities: there was still something dangerous in the straw field, and with Sun Zhou gone, she’d better not become the substitute target.
Nie Jiuluo grabbed a stone in her hand, kept her eyes on the straw field, and slowly stood up.
The surroundings were extremely quiet, each second seeming to stretch endlessly. Fortunately, the sea of straw stalks remained peaceful, only occasionally rustling in the wind.
It seemed that thing had… gone.
However, even if it had left, she didn’t dare linger. Nie Jiuluo moved cautiously but quickly toward the east—the eastern part of the township was inhabited, and she would feel safer among people.
She walked faster and faster, occasionally observing her surroundings. Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks.
The white SUV’s rear door was wide open, and a man was forcefully throwing a large canvas bag into it, then heavily slamming the door shut.
Nie Jiuluo felt no excitement about “finally meeting someone” or “finding help.” People appearing near an incident site were either genuine passersby or involved parties—perhaps this man was the one who had injured Sun Zhou and scared him witless?
If that were true, her reaction would be crucial: she couldn’t show panic or fear, couldn’t show suspicion of him, but also couldn’t completely ignore him.
She maintained an appropriate distance, walking neither too fast nor too slow, with a cold expression, her gaze sweeping past him casually—very much like a passerby’s casual glance.
The man also glanced at her, coincidentally, like a passerby’s casual look.
He was a young man, tall and well-built, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, possessing attractive features and a firm, strong jawline. He must not smile often, because people who love to smile always have gentle eyes and brows.
Nie Jiuluo withdrew her gaze but “casually” glanced at his license plate number.
The man with a plush duck in his passenger seat might not have a childlike heart or be a father—he might be a bloodthirsty, violent psychopath.
Therefore, memorizing his license plate number was very necessary.
After passing the small shop at the eastern entrance of the township, where more people began to appear nearby, Nie Jiuluo finally let out a long breath.
Good, she was safe now and could settle accounts later. Her concern for Sun Zhou’s injuries had long been overshadowed by her anger at nearly being run over.
She walked to a thick old locust tree, staying as far as possible from the old women playing cards beneath it, and called the travel agency to complain.
Nie Jiuluo had come to Southern Shaanxi on business and would stay for about half a month, but her affairs were leisurely. Not wanting to waste time idling in a hotel, she had contacted a travel service provider, requesting a customized route with a chartered car to see temple sculptures in nearby counties and townships, preferring the older the better, not minding if they were damaged.
Since it wasn’t a regular route, and some destinations were quite remote, the travel agency quoted a price twice the market rate. Nie Jiuluo had agreed readily, with only two requirements: first, safety; second, visiting all designated locations.
“Safety” indeed—looking at her scraped palms, she prepared to make a big fuss.
Those who never argue or get angry are often mistaken for being without temper.
The call connected, and Nie Jiuluo began narrating events in a gentle voice. She never ranted like a shrew: shrewish ranting might seem impressive, but it releases anger too quickly, unsuitable for a prolonged battle.
After she finished explaining, the other end was already trembling, repeating “sorry” countless times.
Nie Jiuluo: “I don’t think this can be resolved with just a couple of ‘sorry’s. The driver I hired abandoned me and ran when something happened. Is that reasonable?”
Travel agency: “Yes, yes, it’s completely unreasonable.”
Nie Jiuluo: “If I hadn’t reacted quickly, wouldn’t I have been crushed under the car? I can understand that Sun Zhou encountered an unexpected situation, but that’s a separate issue. I paid money, and I demand service equal to that payment. Can a professional driver with nearly ten years of experience, no matter how panicked, disregard a client’s life safety like this?”
The travel agency clearly understood the principle that “the calmer the tone, the bigger the issue,” and almost wanted to kowtow through the phone: “Yes, yes, Miss Nie, this is our work failure.”
Nie Jiuluo was preparing for a third round of eloquent questioning to build the atmosphere to a climax when she suddenly heard someone nearby say, “She just went to meet her lover, oh my, she has no shame…”
What “lover”? Nie Jiuluo was distracted, and her elegant words completely vanished.
“Still lying about going to play cards, staying out all night…”
“Her husband went looking for her, oh my, someone’s going to get killed…”
“Miss Nie, how about this: we’ll immediately arrange for a nearby driver to pick you up, and we’ll contact Sun Zhou as soon as possible to understand the situation…”
It seemed that was all that could be done for now. Nie Jiuluo multitasked, now more interested in the floating gossip. Objectively speaking, she wasn’t a gossip monger, but when gossip reached her ears, there was no need to pretend she hadn’t heard it.
She vaguely responded a couple of times, hung up the phone, and walked closer to the card-playing old woman.
The old women were talking animatedly and indignantly, not finding Nie Jiuluo’s sudden appearance as an outsider strange at all. They actively tried to include her in the discussion, asking for her opinion after every few sentences: “Don’t you agree, young lady?”
Soon, Nie Jiuluo understood the whole story of this rural romantic scandal.
It turned out that just last night, a woman from Xingbazi Township said she was going out to play cards but didn’t return home all night. Her husband thought she had gotten carried away with the game and stayed at a friend’s house, so he didn’t think much of it.
But by this morning, the woman still hadn’t shown up, and her phone was turned off. Her husband became upset and went to look for her, only to discover she had never gone to play cards at all.
This was trouble. With the person missing and unreachable, her husband threatened to call the police. The card-playing friends, afraid of the situation escalating, told the truth: playing cards was just an excuse—the woman had a lover in the neighboring village, and that’s where she had gone last night.
The woman’s husband flew into a rage, called up two of his cousins, and they rode off on motorcycles, heading to the neighboring village in a fury to catch the adulterers.
As of now, the “battle report” from the adultery bust hadn’t come back yet, but the old women were certain it would be a bloodbath, or in common terms, “someone’s going to get killed.”