That night, Jiang Baichuan was indeed busy beyond measure. Lao Dao’s injuries were critical, and the county hospital said they couldn’t treat him, recommending transfer to a larger hospital in Xi’an. Jiang Baichuan wanted to accompany them, but because the South Ba Monkey Head was still hanging, he couldn’t leave.
He could only arrange personnel, dispatch vehicles, and ask favors from his Xi’an contacts to look after things. It wasn’t until past one in the morning that he finally stepped out of the county hospital’s outpatient hall, thick with the smell of disinfectant.
Everyone else had already left. Outside, only a Prado remained waiting for him. Xing Shen hadn’t gone either, probably finding the car stuffy, and was leaning against the hood, looking at the sky.
Jiang Baichuan wondered what the sky looked like through his eyes.
Age was catching up with him, and Jiang Baichuan felt utterly exhausted. He wiped his face perfunctorily to stay alert, then habitually pulled out his phone to quickly browse the messages he’d missed over these few hours. When he opened the “burn after reading” messages, he saw that Nie Er had sent several in succession. After reading them one by one, he was slightly stunned. When he tried to read them again, flames danced across the screen, and the messages were already destroyed.
Fortunately, he remembered them all, one by one.
Looking at the time—1:30 AM—Nie Er should be asleep by now. A phone call wouldn’t be appropriate; better wait until morning.
***
Nie Jiuluo woke up early.
Yan Tuo had already fallen unconscious and was surprisingly quiet, but this wasn’t a good sign. People injured by Di Xiao were always like this: first stage, mental confusion; second stage, unbearable pain; third stage, quiet as a chicken. The transition between the third and fourth stages was marked by roots taking hold and sprouting.
Of course, everyone’s constitution and tolerance were different, so the duration of each stage varied. Generally, the first three stages occurred within twenty-four hours of injury. The fourth stage lasted the longest—it was considered the terminal phase, also known as the last flicker before death. During this stage, people would return to normal, even becoming more clearheaded and quick-witted, giving those around them the false impression that “they’ve pulled through, nothing serious.” Then suddenly one day, they would lose all reason, biting people and dogs alike, no different from fierce beasts.
Nie Jiuluo opened the window and looked at the sky. The cloud cover was thick, and the sun hadn’t fully risen yet. At this time, she couldn’t harvest tiansheng fire.
She checked her phone again.
Jiang Baichuan had replied to her at 2 AM, leaving a number and instructing her to call back regardless of the time.
Nie Jiuluo went into the bathroom, closed the door, and called Jiang Baichuan.
***
The call was answered almost immediately. Nie Jiuluo suspected Jiang Baichuan hadn’t slept much all night, just waiting for her call.
Sure enough, Jiang Baichuan’s voice was tired and hoarse: “Nie Er, what do you make of this situation?”
Nie Jiuluo: “Uncle Jiang, you’re asking for my opinion?”
Jiang Baichuan laughed bitterly: “They say those in the thick of it can’t see clearly, while bystanders see things more clearly. I want to hear your perspective.”
That was true. She did consider herself a “bystander” who could retreat to her small courtyard at any time, drink Sister Lu’s soup, continue working on her sculptures, participate in exhibitions, win awards, then hold touring exhibitions, pursue fame and fortune, and live her mundane life steadily and firmly.
Ban Ya’s affairs weren’t part of her world—just a small door in her world that she occasionally passed through to settle old debts. She would never let what happened behind that door entangle her real life.
She said: “In my opinion, we should try to peacefully ransom our people back, and then let this matter rest.”
Jiang Baichuan didn’t understand: “What do you mean by let it rest?”
Nie Jiuluo said: “Uncle Jiang, we’ve always thought ourselves extraordinary as descendants of the Wrapped Head Army, with secrets unknown to others and abilities beyond ordinary people. Yes, that’s all true. But if you’re extraordinary, do you think your opponents must be ordinary?”
Jiang Baichuan fell silent.
“That’s where Xing Shen stumbled. He’s a mad dog, accompanied by Grasshopper, and Lao Dao is one of the Dao family’s best. He thought with such a combination, they’d be unstoppable, that kidnapping two people would be easy. But what happened? Just one of their people disabled Lao Dao, and if that person hadn’t suddenly left on business, I doubt even Xing Shen would have survived.”
Jiang Baichuan stammered: “That person… was a Di Xiao? How did they suddenly lose their scent…”
Nie Jiuluo retorted: “Maybe this ‘humanized’ branch of Di Xiao lost their scent long ago, and you just haven’t encountered them before.”
“Then Gou Ya…”
“Can Gou Ya represent all of them? Maybe Gou Ya happened to be one whose evolution was imperfect? Remember, Gou Ya was being carried in a box at the time.”
While Xiong Hei was moving independently.
Jiang Baichuan fell silent. He had previously declared that “fundamentals never change, no matter how they evolve, their weaknesses remain constant,” but now thinking back, he had indeed been arbitrary.
“Uncle Jiang, up to now, on your side, Sister Hua is dead, four people including Pai Die are missing, and Lao Dao is severely injured. On their side, you could say they’ve barely suffered any losses, and apart from knowing about Yan Tuo and Gou Ya, you know nothing else about them. Comparing like this, can’t you see the difference in strength?”
“Your people mostly walk the Green Soil path for money. Now that lives are at stake, how many do you think will still be willing to wade into this murky water?”
“And about Yan Tuo, when I first looked into his information, I noticed his father’s generation had already made their fortune. Over all these years, their assets have only grown. Imagine a group of humanized Di Xiao, controlling vast wealth and having established long-term operations—would it be better to clash with them head-on, or to cut losses and ‘let it rest’?”
Jiang Baichuan was unwilling to accept: “But our people—some injured, some dead—should we just accept this?”
Nie Jiuluo smiled: “Let me make an imperfect comparison: they have heavy artillery, while you have swords and spears. You’ve already lost half your force—would you still eagerly send the remaining half? Even if you want to counterattack, shouldn’t you first preserve your strength, improve your equipment, and then plan for a reversal?”
Jiang Baichuan sighed.
He wasn’t a fool. Nie Jiuluo had no close ties with the Ban Ya group, watching from the sidelines, speaking without bearing the consequences. But everything she said made sense.
At first, he had indeed been ambitious, wanting to probe Yan Tuo’s background, believing that with their strength, nothing would be difficult.
But when people get hurt, they feel pain and fear. One time, two times, with personnel constantly being lost, and now, the Gou family might not even be able to smell this type of Di Xiao…
Continuing to fight might be brave, but assessing the situation and retreating when necessary would be wiser.
Jiang Baichuan said: “There are two problems now. First is how to ransom our people. We have no channel of dialogue with them, no one who can build a bridge between us.”
“Second, I’m afraid it’s not as simple as us wanting to ‘let it rest.’ We did hurt Gou Ya and Yan Tuo first, but they rescued their people and burned down the pig farm, even killing Sister Hua—by rights, that should have vented their anger. But they’re not stopping, kidnapping Pai Die, setting traps for our people at South Ba Monkey Head, and injuring Lao Dao. I feel it’s no longer just about venting anger; there seems to be some other scheme behind it. If only we knew what their purpose was.”
—No one who can build a bridge.
—If only we knew what their purpose was.
Nie Jiuluo’s heart stirred, her gaze unconsciously glancing toward the door.
The person outside might be able to help with both these matters.
She considered carefully: “Uncle Jiang, do you remember that Yan Tuo once called me?”
At her reminder, Jiang Baichuan remembered: that when the incident first occurred, he had tried the “drawing the snake from its hole” tactic, deliberately letting Yan Tuo’s accomplices “accidentally” rescue their person. He planned to kill two birds with one stone—have them cause trouble for Nie Jiuluo while gathering new intelligence, and perhaps even force her to join their cause through her involvement fully.
But the plan had backfired spectacularly—far from killing two birds, the stone hadn’t even made a sound when thrown. First, when Yan Tuo was rescued, they lost Sister Hua. Though Sister Hua was just Pai Die’s late-life companion with no real connection to him, he still felt ashamed whenever Que Cha mentioned it. Second, surprisingly, they never troubled Nie Jiuluo—just that one phone call. He had expected a storm to follow, but nothing came of it.
Jiang Baichuan found this very suspicious: “Yes, why was there no movement after that? Could they be brewing something big?”
Nie Jiuluo: “At that time, the number showed as unknown, so I couldn’t call back. This morning, I saw another ‘unknown’ missed call, and calculating the timing, it was after last night’s incident. Could it be him? I doubt scammers or salespeople would call in the middle of the night.”
Jiang Baichuan felt overwhelmed, his mind struggling to keep up: “It’s possible, but what would he want from you?”
Nie Jiuluo said: “I’m guessing, just as we have no channel to dialogue with them, they have none with us either. We can’t always have Ma Hanzi relay messages. When he calls again, I’ll answer and try to probe their intentions. Let’s… keep each other updated.”
***
Though in his warm bedroom, after hanging up, Jiang Baichuan still felt winds blowing from all directions.
He had indeed been rash, just like Xing Shen last night—full of confidence, acting freely, only to realize the situation was completely beyond his control.
Someone knocked on the door. Jiang Baichuan snapped back to reality, adjusted his robe, and cleared his throat: “Who is it?”
Outside was Xing Shen: “Uncle Jiang, they’re serving breakfast downstairs. Should we go down, or have it sent up to eat separately?”
For this trip, being cautious, they hadn’t returned to Ban Ya or booked a hotel, but rented a three-story house in a nearby village. It was well-equipped with enough rooms, and for additional payment, the landlord would provide meals at set times—quite convenient.
Jiang Baichuan said: “Have it sent up, we’ll eat separately.”
…
Country places weren’t so particular about formalities. Breakfast was brought in directly on a kang table, placed on the bed, and ready to eat.
Jiang Baichuan quickly washed his face and rinsed his mouth, then sat opposite Xing Shen. Not knowing how to begin, he politely offered food: “These oil cakes are well-made, authentic farmhouse flavor. Have more.”
Xing Shen picked one up with his chopsticks but had no appetite: “Uncle Jiang, it’s the eighth today.”
Jiang Baichuan replied casually: “Yes, it is.”
Xing Shen: “We didn’t go to South Ba Monkey Head, and last night brought another mishap. Who knows how they’ll react.”
Jiang Baichuan hesitated on how to broach the subject tactfully: “Xing Shen, last night, Grasshopper never attacked that big fellow. That’s strange, isn’t it?”
Xing Shen nodded: “Yes, this has never happened before. But Grasshopper can’t speak, so we can’t get answers. This isn’t simple—if it happens a few more times, it’ll be very troublesome.”
Since you also think it’s “not simple,” this might be easier, though Jiang Baichuan, testing the waters: “Do you think that big fellow might be a Di Xiao?”
Xing Shen fell silent, then put down his chopsticks and raised his head so Jiang Baichuan could see his face.
“Uncle Jiang, are you doubting my abilities?”
Jiang Baichuan sighed internally. He understood Xing Shen, and knew his strong pride, which was why he had been so roundabout—but since Xing Shen was being direct, there was no need to be overly careful anymore.
“I just spoke with Nie Er. She said when she left last night, she saw Yan Tuo being rescued and overheard some information. That big fellow was a Di Xiao.”
Xing Shen: “Impossible.”
Jiang Baichuan grabbed an oil cake with his bare hand, took a big bite from one corner, then lowered his head to sip some noodle soup: “It’s possible. They’ve evolved to be just like humans, even evolved away from that distinctive stench. Not surprising.”
“Gou Ya…”
Jiang Baichuan knew he would mention Gou Ya: “There’s a phrase ‘drawing general conclusions from isolated cases.’ Gou Ya might be the ‘isolated case,’ not representative of the others.”
After saying this, he continued slurping his soup, not looking up at Xing Shen. He didn’t need to see to know the expression was ugly, but it didn’t matter—they weren’t children anymore, let him process it himself. These days, only people bow to circumstances; whoever sees circumstances makes way for people.
After a very long time, long enough for him to almost finish his meal, Xing Shen finally spoke: “Maybe A Luo didn’t hear everything correctly. Those like the big fellow might be the exception.”
“Correct, they might be the exception, or maybe those like Gou Ya are the exception. Xing Shen, let me be honest with you. Lao Dao was one of the Dao family’s best, and he’s already down. If the Gou family proves useless too, then your old Uncle Jiang is scared and needs to think about an exit strategy.”
Xing Shen’s expression remained neutral, his mouth slightly downturned: “Uncle Jiang, what do you mean by that?”
Jiang Baichuan chuckled: “Exactly what you think I mean. We’ll try our best to rescue our missing people, but after that, let’s live more cautiously.”
Xing Shen: “What do you mean by ‘live more cautiously’?”
Jiang Baichuan felt a headache coming on. He admired Xing Shen, but when Xing Shen became stubborn, it was quite vexing.
Xing Shen said: “Now there are Di Xiao who look just like humans. These creatures feed on blood and raw flesh, treating human consumption like a game. We don’t know their numbers, they’re mixed among the population—they probably didn’t crawl out to do charity work, right? Uncle Jiang, are we just going to ignore this?”
“Our ancestors, the Wrapped Head Army, when they hunted Di Xiao in caves, why did they lock the Jin People’s door? Because they feared Di Xiao entering the world. Once these creatures taste human flesh, they’re like drug addicts, they can never stop. That Gou Ya has eaten people in Xingba Village. As long as he lives, he’ll feast again. Are we just ignoring this?”
“The Dao, Gou, and Bian families—why was the Dao family established? The Dao family hunts and kills Di Xiao. A Luo took the Life and Death Blade—the Life Blade for hunting, the Death Blade for killing. If Di Xiao enters the world, it’s her responsibility. Is she ignoring this too?”
This series of “Are we ignoring this” made Jiang Baichuan’s temper flare. He slammed his palm on the kang table, nearly spilling Xing Shen’s noodle soup: “You mentioned ancestors and the Wrapped Head Army—that was an army! Whether in manpower, strength, or equipment, they were the best of their era! What about now? Talk about responsibility to Nie Er—will she abandon her sculptures to chase and kill Di Xiao?”
Xing Shen looked at the bowl on the kang table that had barely stabilized, its soup still rippling with waves of light.
He said: “A Luo should come back.”
***
Yan Tuo was awakened by a heart-piercing, burning sensation.
It wasn’t a dream—it was real. An orange-red flame passed by his eyes as Nie Jiuluo moved the fire stick away.
It was the kind used for cupping therapy, long-lasting, with a handle. The tip was steel mesh covering non-combustible asbestos, very practical.
The room was bright, curtains pulled to the window edges, letting in floods of warm sunlight.
Nie Jiuluo said: “Awake?”
She peeled off the tape covering his mouth, then cut away the bindings on his hands and feet: “It’s going to be extremely painful soon, you’ll need your mouth to breathe. I’m freeing your hands and feet so you can control yourself. I don’t have the strength to hold you down—consider your options carefully, you’re already sprouting.”
Yan Tuo’s mind exploded with a boom, his face changing color: “Where?”
Nie Jiuluo pointed to his lower abdomen, chest side, and thigh: “See for yourself.”
Yan Tuo looked down.
Indeed, at those wound sites, there were things like curled hair, dark brown and coiled. Perhaps it was psychological, but Yan Tuo truly felt those areas itching.
Nie Jiuluo described it to him: “Want to touch them? They’re soft but resilient, spring back when pulled.”
Damn, touch them? Just looking made him nauseated. These disgusting things grew from his wounds—just thinking about it was enough to make him break down.
Yan Tuo turned his head away, hands gripping the ends of the sofa: “Go ahead and start.”