Yan Tuo put his phone back in his pocket and took off his coat, folding it neatly before placing it beside the tree. While it was certainly cold enough to warrant wearing a coat this season, his back was already damp with sweat from the intense mental strain, so it hardly mattered whether he wore it or not.
He followed the group to the side entrance, pausing briefly to collect himself before pressing his back against the wall and silently sliding into the corridor. In the darkness of night, he could barely see anything, but fortunately, the flashlight beams from the people ahead served as a convenient source of light. Once inside the building, their excitement became more palpable.
Feng Mi: “Aunt Lin, this darkness feels so atmospheric, doesn’t it remind you of Heibai Jian?”
Li Yueying snorted and responded flatly, “Not even close.”
Feng Mi protested coyly, “That’s only because we still have light. Why don’t you all turn off your flashlights?”
Yang Zheng retorted irritably, “How would we see where we’re going? You think this is like the old days?”
Feng Mi sighed, “Really now, I used to have such good eyes, and my nose too…”
Lin Xiru cleared her throat, “Stop trying to have it all. The past is the past.”
Feng Mi fell silent as Xiong Hei, who was in the lead, used his key to open the door. The grinding sound of the lock’s teeth turning felt particularly jarring in the silence.
Soon, the flashlight beams disappeared one by one into the darkness. Yan Tuo seized the moment, darting forward in a low crouch. He placed his palm on the ground and slowly crept forward until the edge of his hand caught the bottom of the heavy iron door just as it was closing. The door’s closing mechanism was strong, forcing Yan Tuo to lean forward and brace his shoulder against it while peering through the gap.
Fortunately, all five people were walking forward, with no one looking back.
Yan Tuo steeled himself and quickly slipped through the door. Almost simultaneously, Lin Xiru said to Feng Mi, “Did you close the door properly? Don’t be careless like earlier today.”
Feng Mi scoffed, “Aunt Lin, are there really so many thieves here that you need to be this cautious?”
Despite her words, she turned around. Yan Tuo noticed one of the flashlight beams swinging back and instantly dropped low. The beam passed over where he had just been standing, landing on the iron door.
The door indeed hadn’t fully closed. Feng Mi walked back impatiently while Yan Tuo’s ears rang with tension. Fortunately, the basement level was filled with stored items that provided plenty of cover. He held his breath, shuffled forward, and quickly ducked behind an abandoned packing machine.
“Bang!” Feng Mi slammed the door shut and gave it a firm pull. “Aunt Lin, are you satisfied now?”
Yan Tuo remained motionless behind the packing machine, partly to calm his nerves and partly to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He had made it through the first door, but there was still a second one to deal with.
The second door required a passcode, and once opened, there would be no cover—nowhere to hide. He couldn’t follow so closely anymore.
After waiting for the group to move away, Yan Tuo emerged from behind the packing machine and carefully made his way to the second door, half-feeling his way through the darkness, half-relying on memory.
The passcode panel ran on batteries, unaffected by power outages or lights being turned off. Its dozens of keys emitted a faint blue glow in the darkness.
Yan Tuo pressed his ear against the door to listen, then crouched down with one ear to the ground. Only after confirming there was no movement behind the door did he stand up again.
The basement’s second level used daily-changing passwords. Earlier that day, he had watched Xiong Hei enter the code—it wasn’t yet midnight, so today’s password should still work.
He swallowed hard and entered the numbers from memory, one by one.
A beep signaled the lock releasing.
Though the sound wasn’t particularly loud, and high-end doors typically had silenced hinges, that single beep terrified Yan Tuo into momentary paralysis. As he slowly pulled the door open, a bead of cold sweat rolled down onto his eyelashes.
Inside was pitch black.
The smell wasn’t noticeable during the day, but at night, the air carried the slightly warm, musty scent of long-stored earth.
While his eyes could somewhat adjust to the darkness on the first basement level, it was useless here on the second level. It was deeper, darker, and eerily quiet—not even the hum of electronics could be heard.
Feng Mi had mentioned “Heibai Jian” earlier, asking if it felt like being back there. Could Heibai Jian have been Di Xiao’s original base?
Yan Tuo moved cautiously, reaching out with his hands like a blind man exploring his surroundings. He vaguely remembered the layout near the entrance: if he could reach the left wall and follow it forward, then turn left, he’d find the corridor leading to the rest area. At the end of that corridor, turning right and walking a bit would lead to an intersection. Beyond that, his memory grew hazy—the basement had changed significantly over the years, and his opportunities to visit had been few.
He decided to proceed based on what he could remember, carefully counting his steps. This was his way in, and it would need to be his way out as well.
At the intersection, he hesitated: three directions, an impossible choice.
Taking a gamble, he sighed and continued straight ahead. After just a few steps past the intersection, he heard Feng Mi’s giggling, which was quickly silenced.
The next moment, an orange-red glow appeared, flickering like firelight. It illuminated the intersection he had just passed, casting elongated shadows on the wall.
If they turned into his corridor, they’d run right into him. Yan Tuo’s mind went blank as he hurried forward. This corridor only turned right at the end, and looking back, he silently cursed his luck.
The firelight and footsteps drew closer—clearly, the group was heading in his direction.
When misfortune strikes, everything seems to go wrong. Earlier he had three paths to choose from, but now he was trapped on a single route. Yan Tuo held his breath, reminding himself not to panic. He quickened his pace while trying to stay quiet, testing doors along the way—facing them directly was no longer an option. Witnessing the “execution” had become secondary to finding a hiding place.
However, the first three rooms he tried all had coded locks. What made it even more nerve-wracking was that the footsteps and firelight behind him were getting closer, and no one was speaking. Since Feng Mi’s laughter had been silenced, not a word had been uttered.
Had the “execution” begun?
Mercifully, the fourth door opened. Yan Tuo slipped in silently, and as he closed the door, the faint light from outside revealed Gou Ya tied to a chair in the center of the room.
Gou Ya’s head was hanging down, his shirt front stained with blood. He appeared to be semi-conscious but still breathing, his shoulders rising and falling slightly.
Damn!
What kind of luck was this—was it good fortune or absolute disaster?
There was no time left, and the room offered no hiding places. Yan Tuo’s heart pounded wildly, but suddenly an idea struck him, and he rushed toward the wall.
The noise clearly startled Gou Ya, whose body twitched. He had just raised his head and opened his eyes when he turned away from the light: the door opened, and the first candle entered, its flame as red as blood.
In the darkness beyond the candlelight’s reach, a long “Operating Procedures” frame quietly closed, with Yan Tuo pressed behind it, covering his mouth and nose as he caught his breath.
To his side was a half-open door leading to the dark room where Gou Ya had been kept for months. In the center was a mud-water pool emanating a nauseating stench.
At this moment, however, Yan Tuo wasn’t bothered by the smell at all.
***
The long glass frame was merely a facade, essentially a poster attached to the inside of the glass. After catching his breath, Yan Tuo carefully scratched at the poster’s edge with his fingernail, creating a gap just large enough to peer through with one eye.
He saw Lin Xiru’s group enter in silence, maintaining half-meter intervals between pairs, their arrangement eerily matching the Excel spreadsheet’s numbering order. Lin Xiru led the way, with Yang Zheng at the rear. Each person held a lit white candle, the flames wavering in the darkness like restless ghost fires.
Moreover, Yang Zheng carried not just a burning candle but also a small porcelain bowl.
This eerie “ritual” atmosphere permeating the darkness was truly chilling.
The five people circled Gou Ya once before taking their positions, perfectly surrounding him in the center. Lin Xiru stood directly facing him, her eyes gleaming with cold intensity.
Gou Ya’s head swung like a pendulum as he looked from one person to another, finally fixing his gaze on Lin Xiru—from Yan Tuo’s position, he could only see the back of Gou Ya’s head.
He heard Gou Ya cry out hoarsely: “Lin, by what right? Who the fuck do you think you are? You have no right to kill me!”
Indeed, despite his injured and swollen tongue, he could still speak, though his words were somewhat slurred.
After this outburst, he suddenly twisted toward Li Yueying: “Aunt Li, are you really… siding with her? We’re the… the same, you and I. We’re both victims. If we hadn’t escaped, we’d still be living well now. Think about how much you’ve suffered. It’s all her fault. It’s all because of this woman…”
Lin Xiru stepped forward and slapped Gou Ya across the face. “Shut up!”
The force was so great that Gou Ya toppled over, chair and all, ending up face-up. He burst into maniacal laughter: “Aunt Li, are you just standing there watching me suffer? You’ll be next!”
He continued screaming: “Lin, you won’t die well, you bitch, you whore… The Cantou Army is already here, you’ll all die soon, every last one of you!”
Feng Mi couldn’t stand it anymore and stepped forward to kick his mouth, but Yang Zheng coldly interjected, “That mouth will be needed later!”
Understanding this, Feng Mi redirected her kick to Gou Ya’s chest, hitting him so hard he couldn’t catch his breath. Between coughs, he was forced to swallow any further vicious words.
Lin Xiru gestured for Xiong Hei to help Gou Ya up, chair and all, then said, “The Cantou Army has indeed arrived, and they’ll soon be wiped out. So, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.”
She extended her hand palm-up as if asking for something. Yang Zheng stepped forward and placed the small porcelain bowl he had been holding into her palm.
Strangely, Gou Ya, who had been raging like a mad dog moments before, trembled at the sight of the small bowl and suddenly fell silent.
Everything in the room seemed to freeze, save for the flickering candle flames.
Lin Xiru brought the bowl to her lips, as though it contained fine wine she was about to sip.
She said, “Gou Ya, we all come from the same lineage, and it wasn’t easy for us to finally emerge from the earth into daylight. You once swore an oath: born of the blood sac, nourish the blood sac. I’m sending you on your way tonight because you fed indiscriminately, polluted your blood, and broke the rules. You’re unworthy of worshipping the sun or dying under its light.”
Her expression darkened as she slowly extended her tongue, rolling it around the bowl’s rim. Short spines rose from beneath her tongue, and soon, transparent mucus slowly dripped from their tips into the bowl.
Lin Xiru withdrew her tongue and passed the bowl to Xiong Hei.
Xiong Hei held the bowl, looking at Gou Ya with disgusted disappointment: “Gou Ya, you’re truly worthless. Everyone else can do it, but you can’t? I’m sending you off—you deserve to die, and there’s no shame in it!”
He too extended his tongue, letting mucus drip from the spines underneath before passing the bowl to Li Yueying.
Li Yueying smiled, her powdered face terrifyingly pale in the candlelight.
However, she spoke calmly: “Gou Ya, when you do wrong, you must accept it. Don’t blame others. What victim? I have bad luck, but you brought this on yourself. We’re not the same at all.”
After speaking, she added her mucus and passed the bowl to Feng Mi.
Feng Mi smiled playfully and asked Gou Ya, “I pierced your tongue, making you suffer one last time before death. Do you hate me especially? You even cursed us to be killed by the Cantou Army. Your trash, letting you emerge from the earth was heaven’s mistake.”
Finally, the bowl reached Yang Zheng’s hands.
Yang Zheng maintained his usual expressionless demeanor: “If you had controlled yourself back then, you would have made a name for yourself by now. Since you couldn’t, you should have expected this day would come. So many people sending you off—we’re giving you face. Go in peace.”
After adding his mucus, he brought his candle flame to the bowl. With a “whoosh,” flames erupted from the bowl, and the others simultaneously extinguished their candles.
Now the only light in the room came from the bowl’s flames, initially bright red before gradually darkening to a terrifying purple-blue.
Xiong Hei stepped forward, one hand controlling Gou Ya’s head, the other forcing his mouth open by the corners.
At the last moment, Gou Ya’s courage failed. He struggled and screamed, his tone desperate: “Aunt Lin, I won’t dare anymore! Aunt Lin, I’ll reform, give me a chance, please give me a chance…”
Through the glass, Yan Tuo watched helplessly as the purple-blue light slid into Gou Ya’s mouth, while Xiong Hei covered it immediately after.
The only light source now consumed by Gou Ya, the room plunged into complete darkness.
All was quiet, inside and out, save for Gou Ya’s muffled struggles. Finally, Yan Tuo heard Lin Xiru’s cold laugh: “Never saw the sun in life, won’t see it in death—serves him right.”
Then came a crash as Xiong Hei released his hold, and Gou Ya slumped to the ground, still bound to the chair.
Feng Mi whispered, “Now in this darkness, it does feel like Heibai Jian.”
***
Yan Tuo stepped back, using touch to smooth out the corner of the poster he had scratched.
He heard Xiong Hei’s voice: “Sister Lin, what about… the body? Leave it here?”
Lin Xiru: “Isn’t that too messy? Put it in the room, we’ll deal with it later.”
Before Yan Tuo could react, a sudden bright light pierced the darkness—someone had turned on their flashlight. After being in darkness for so long, the strong light made his vision swim with black spots.
But his hearing remained sharp: footsteps were approaching his direction.
He suddenly understood that “the room” meant Gou Ya’s dark chamber.
The light quickly reached him, separated only by the poster-covered glass. Yan Tuo quickly retreated into the room, barely steadying himself before the glass frame was pulled open.
In the dim light filtering in, Yan Tuo saw the murky, gleaming mud water in the circular pool.
No time to hesitate. Steeling himself, he stepped into the pool, took a deep breath, pinched his nose, and submerged himself.
Almost simultaneously with his submersion, Xiong Hei entered, one hand holding the flashlight, the other dragging Gou Ya’s limp body, which he threw into the pool with a single motion.
***
It was past 2 AM when Yan Tuo finally left the main building.
Truthfully, he wanted to abandon all his clothes, but he couldn’t exactly leave naked, and he hadn’t brought any luggage to the farm. Was he supposed to wrap himself in just an overcoat tomorrow?
He couldn’t walk in these clothes either—they were soaked through with foul water, leaving muddy footprints with every step that would trail back to his room.
So, in the bitter cold, he was forced to take a cold shower in the second basement’s bathroom, using a lighter he’d found in the break room for light. He washed all his clothes under the tap, wringing them until they barely dripped before putting them back on.
That wasn’t all—he had to carefully check and wipe away his footprints as he went. Otherwise, what would Lin Xiru and the others think tomorrow when they saw two trails of dried water footprints?
The night wind cut through his wet clothes, giving him a double dose of bone-chilling cold. Fortunately, he found his coat along the way, and wrapping it around himself provided some relief from the cold.
By the time he climbed back through the window into his room, he was nearly frozen stiff. He hung up his clothes to dry, took a quick hot shower, and dove under the covers, needing several minutes to regain sensation.
As he reached for the bedside lamp, he suddenly remembered he needed to “check-in.”
He grabbed his phone, was about to dial, then hesitated.
It was past 2 AM—would it be inappropriate to call? Nie Jiuluo might be asleep.
After some consideration, he compromised and sent a message instead.
—I’m back safely.
The message disappeared into the void, with no response from the other end.
Yan Tuo smiled wryly—asleep.
He turned off the light and wrapped himself tightly in the blankets. The night had been too eventful, his emotions too turbulent, leaving him almost too exhausted to review and analyze each scene, each word.
At least he was safe for now.
As his eyelids grew heavy, he heard his phone “ding.”
A message?
Yan Tuo’s drowsiness vanished instantly. He rolled over and grabbed his phone.
It was indeed from Liu Changxi’s number, just one word:
—Good.