Vol 6 – Chapter 17

Feng Mi had said there were about ten days until the New Year.

That meant there would surely be another feeding within ten days at most.

Yan Tuo divided this delivery’s six steamed buns using a one-to-five ratio, creating thirty portions in total, forcing himself to eat one portion per meal, three meals a day, determined to stretch them until then.

However, people who live in darkness for extended periods tend to develop disrupted biological clocks. Normal people sleep at night and wake up knowing it’s time for breakfast, but Yan Tuo had no way to judge: he couldn’t tell if he had slept for eight hours, three hours, or merely half an hour.

Six buns for ten days was far from enough for a young, healthy man to begin with. Add to that his lost sense of time, and after sweeping up even the last crumbs from the bag, he once again found himself without food.

Nevertheless, he still managed to save one small tangerine.

People say you can quench your thirst by thinking of plums or satisfy hunger by drawing pictures of cakes. This little tangerine was his New Year’s Eve feast. Even death row inmates got meat during festivals—he believed his New Year’s meal, however modest, would surely be better than just steamed buns and water.

On the second day after running out of food, he fell ill.

In truth, he was lucky to have lasted this long before getting sick. He didn’t know what illness it was—someone who couldn’t even see sunlight had no right to talk about being sick—he only knew his upper abdomen ached dully, he felt nauseated, and his head burned with fever.

Sick people are especially sensitive to cold. He curled up shivering into a ball, wrapping the blanket tight, wishing it could meld into his flesh. Burning with fever, he kept drifting into dreams.

He dreamed of a white-feathered duck with a yellow flat beak, waddling ahead of him. He chased after it desperately, calling out, “Duck! Duck! Xinxin, let’s chase the duck!”

He dreamed of his mother Lin Xirou, who had been bedridden for over twenty years, slowly sitting up. Her body was hunched and tiny, her face gaunt, making her eyes appear unusually large as she stared at him intently.

His head roaring, he said, “Mom, I’m sorry, I lost.”

He dreamed of running desperately as if being chased by invisible demons. As he ran, through swirling sand and roiling black clouds ahead, a familiar small courtyard appeared.

He ran to the courtyard gate in one breath, staring at the wooden grain of the door, hesitating to knock.

The door creaked open by itself, and behind it, Nie Jiuluo smiled at him, saying, “Come in.”

He saw her.

Yan Tuo’s tense body relaxed, feeling that at this moment the sky was crystal clear, perfectly peaceful.

He stepped into the courtyard.

The courtyard was just as before, with blue bricks and gray tiles, eaves slightly upturned, weathering the passing years like the wind.

Where the white plum tree had once grown, there was now a kumquat tree, its branches laden with bright yellow, perfectly round little fruit.

Yan Tuo was startled and asked her, “Why did you plant kumquats?”

Nie Jiuluo said, “The seasons changed, so naturally the flowers changed too. Want to try one? They’re quite sweet.”

She walked over, picked one from a branch, and tossed it to him.

Yan Tuo caught it.

How wonderful—now he didn’t need to ration anymore. He had a whole tree of kumquats to eat freely.

Yan Tuo peeled the fruit and put half in his mouth, intending to offer the other half to Nie Jiuluo, when he suddenly realized she had vanished.

Not only had she disappeared, but the courtyard had changed. The roof tiles had fallen, the wall plaster had peeled, and the flourishing kumquat tree withered before his eyes branch by branch.

Yan Tuo suddenly came to his senses, a terrible thought flashing through his mind: Was he dreaming? Had he just eaten his last remaining tangerine?

He forced his eyes open.

Indeed he had—the dry, sweet-sour taste was in his mouth. He had eaten it whole, peel and all.

Yan Tuo angrily slapped himself. How could he have so little self-control?

After a while though, he made peace with himself, offering self-consolation: Being sick meant he should eat something good. In his current situation, he shouldn’t be so hard on himself.

When Lin Xirou came, his illness had just flared up. He was sleeping in a daze when he felt someone prodding him with a stick.

Food! There was food!

Yan Tuo swallowed and opened his eyes.

A snowflake-white brightness filled his vision. He quickly shielded his eyes with his hand, and after a good while, slowly sat up.

Standing was impossible—he had no strength.

Looking up at the visitors, he saw Lin Xirou and Xiong Hei. Lin Xirou looked down at him coldly, her face somehow different from before.

What was different? Yan Tuo stared at her for a while, confused.

Lin Xirou’s face showed contempt as she said to Xiong Hei, “Doesn’t he look like an idiot?”

Xiong Hei said, “He’s slow now. I say we should trade him for the grasshopper. Sister Lin, he’s your son, living like a dog in someone else’s hands. You’re letting this garbage suffer just to avoid the trade—it’s not worth it.”

Yan Tuo weakly said, “Your face…”

He had little strength, so he kept his words brief—the meaning was clear enough.

Below Lin Xirou’s left eyelid was an egg-sized mark, like a dark brown birthmark. In his weakened state, with his eyes alternating between dry and sore, he couldn’t see it.

Lin Xirou said, “My face—I have you to thank for this.”

At first, it was just a needle prick, and Lin Xirou didn’t think much of it. To her, such an injury didn’t even warrant medicine.

A few days later, a tiny red spot the size of a sesame seed appeared where the needle had pricked.

Maybe it would leave a mark? She still wasn’t concerned—faces often developed spots and marks. When ordinary people get pimples, the marks could take a month or two to fade.

But as time went on, things started to seem wrong.

The red spot was growing, unhurriedly expanding from sesame-seed size to soybean size, then from soybean to broad bean size. The color gradually darkened, and when touched, there was no sensation—as if the nerves in that area had died and the flesh no longer belonged to her.

Only then did she realize something was wrong with that needle?

That needle had already been commissioned to a jewelry designer for mounting. The designer had been quite creative, making a Medusa head brooch from gold and diamonds. The brooch was a miniature needle case—since Medusa’s hair was made of snakes, one of the snake heads could be twisted to reveal the needle compartment.

Lin Xirou loved this design concept: just as those who met Medusa’s gaze turned to stone, those who saw the earth demon “open its eyes” would become subordinate ghosts.

To verify her suspicions, she had Xiong Hei test the needle on the imprisoned Li Yueying. However, Li Yueying showed no reaction after being pricked.

It seemed the needle could only be used once.

Single-use—this inevitably reminded her of Mad Blade’s knife.

Such a large mark on her face couldn’t be hidden. Once, Xiong Hei worriedly suggested, “Sister Lin, this must be a blood corruption sac. You should consider cutting it out quickly. If you let it continue, it could be disastrous.”

Blood-corruption sacs—while the vast majority of people in this world served as blood sacs to nourish earth demons, a tiny minority were their “blood-corruption sacs.” These people’s blood not only failed to nourish the demons but could harm or kill them. Legend had it that the Bandaged Army had recruited these people and organized them into the “Blade Family.”

It needed to be cut out, and the cutting had to start from healthy flesh—only then might it grow back. If only the rotted flesh was removed, that area would forever remain hollow—unless new blood sacs could be added.

Lin Xirou asked Yan Tuo, “Who gave you that needle?”

She couldn’t verify with Old Blade’s blood—he was in a coma from severe injuries, and his cerebral blood vessels ruptured. Several rounds of surgery had kept his heart beating only through blood transfusions and oxygen. Such worthless blood held no meaning anymore.

Yan Tuo hung his head, his voice barely audible: “Xing Shen gave it to me.”

Xiong Hei interjected, “Sister Lin, he seems weak. Maybe let him eat something first, otherwise, he’ll be half-dead no matter what we ask.”

Lin Xirou made a sound of agreement and stepped back. Xiong Hei came forward and placed his bags by the bars.

Yan Tuo noticed that this feeding included more items than usual. Xiong Hei had multiple bags, including a covered takeout box.

He paused for two seconds before blurting out, “Is it New Year?”

Xiong Hei sneered, “Yes, it’s New Year. Feng Mi said you wanted dumplings. At first, I said ‘Eat shit’—you should be grateful we haven’t let you starve to death. But Sister Lin was generous. She asked us to get you some, saying that since it’s a family reunion day, you should eat what you want. She even asked us to prepare extra, saying there should be enough for a family of four.”

Yan Tuo remained silent. He had learned his lesson—better not to argue with Xiong Hei, lest he get angry and crush the dumplings.

He reached through the bars to pull in the bags one by one. The dumpling container was still slightly warm—a rare treat. In all this time, with cold water and cold buns, he hadn’t eaten anything warm.

But he didn’t want to eat now, in front of them. A New Year’s meal should be enjoyed in comfort.

He broke off a piece of steamed bun and slowly chewed it. After swallowing, he looked up at Lin Xirou with a smile. “Sister Lin is generous. Since it’s New Year, could I perhaps get a bath? I’m too filthy to look at.”

He was beyond filthy—his hair and beard had grown long, especially his hair, which hung messily over his eyes.

Lin Xirou spoke mockingly, “What’s the point? It’s pitch black here—who would see you clean? You haven’t had any visitors, and after all this time, everyone’s forgotten about you.”

Yan Tuo said, “It doesn’t matter if no one remembers me, as long as I remember myself.”

Lin Xirou crouched down to look at him through the bars. With this movement, Yan Tuo finally saw her facial injury clearly: she truly was a ruthless woman, having carved out a large piece of her cheek flesh.

“Yan Tuo, not bad. After all this time, you’re like a pile of garbage, but your spirit hasn’t broken?”

“The grasshopper is my son, but do you know why I haven’t traded for him yet?”

Yan Tuo’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly. “Why?”

“You people who grew up in sunlight are used to life under the sun. Once confined to darkness for long periods, you develop all sorts of illnesses—physical and mental. Similarly, we who grew up underground are used to everything in darkness. Living long-term in sunlight also makes us sick, accelerating deformity and decay. So before coming up, we need medicine.”

Yan Tuo’s spine tingled. “Medicine? Are blood sacs the medicine?”

Lin Xirou remained composed. “Yes, that’s how heaven arranged it. In this world, plants can be medicine, animals can be medicine—humans are just another link in the food chain, so why can’t humans be medicine? Blood sacs are our medicine.”

A trace of sadness crossed her face. “But the grasshopper was brought up directly. The sun is so poisonous—after twenty-some years, the illness is terminal, and blood sacs no longer work.”

“At first, I thought of trading Jiang Baichuan and the others for the grasshopper. But I held onto my anger—killing these people wouldn’t be enough, why should I let them go? While I hesitated, time passed.”

“Later, the Fang Ya people demanded to trade you for the grasshopper. Again, I held my anger—why should I? I raised you for over twenty years, worse than raising a dog. Why should I let you have your way?”

“But after all these days, I’ve gradually come to understand. Xiong Hei is right—why let my son be treated like a dog out there just to keep this piece of trash? Perhaps I should make the trade.”

She stared steadily at Yan Tuo. “But Yan Tuo, my son will return as a dying waste—why should I trade you out whole and intact?”

“I’ve already chosen the perfect exchange location. Cherish your remaining time with working limbs, eat your dumplings well, and enjoy your New Year. I promise you, on the day of the exchange, you won’t look any better than the grasshopper.”

New Year was approaching.

In the city, setting off fireworks and firecrackers was strictly prohibited, but occasionally, some people would skirt the rules and break the ban.

Nie Jiuluo sat at her workbench all afternoon, hearing several firecracker sounds.

But undeniably, these sounds helped raise the festive atmosphere.

She was coloring her clay figurine. When Yan Tuo ordered it, he had said “Just make it like how I looked last time”—during his last visit, she had worn a deep space blue house robe with a small star embroidered in gold thread at the back of the collar.

She carefully painted the star. That fool Yan Tuo probably hadn’t noticed this detail. If he complained about the clothes being wrong when she delivered them, she would bet him another 6,666 yuan that the star was indeed there.

Thinking of this, she burst out laughing.

But as usual, the laughter ended in pain, a pressure building in her chest that made it hard to breathe.

She put down her brush and the figurine, curling up in her chair, eyes closed, motionless.

Footsteps came up the stairs, accompanied by Sister Lu’s excited voice: “Miss Nie, I’ve put up all the couplets! Oh… where is she?”

Nie Jiuluo stirred, sitting up lazily. “I’m here.”

Sister Lu exhaled. “You scared me! I was wondering where you’d gone. Miss Nie, with this high-backed chair and you curled up in it, we can’t see you from behind.”

She handed over the circled “Fu” character: “I’ve put up everything else. These two are for you to put up yourself—practice for your arm. Then I’ll be… leaving?”

Though she was a “live-in housekeeper,” New Year was still meant to be spent with one’s own family.

Sister Lu felt a bit worried. “I won’t be coming during the New Year period. Miss Nie, won’t you be lonely spending New Year alone?”

Nie Jiuluo said, “What’s there to be lonely about? I have so many dinner invitations I can’t keep up.”

Really?

Sister Lu had her doubts: Nie Jiuluo’s closest friend was Old Cai, but this year, Old Cai’s family had gone to Sanya for New Year.

When Sister Lu left, it seemed she took all her life from the courtyard with her.

Nie Jiuluo looked at the two large red “Fu” characters rolled up on the table. After a while, she pulled one over and cut two narrow strips from the edge, dividing them in half.

Then she took a gold pen and wrote “Peace” on one and “Return” on the other.

After writing, she applied some glue to the back and carefully pasted them on the main door of the miniature courtyard.

Peace, Return.

For New Year, Yan Tuo’s courtyard should have couplets too. Peace would be good, Return would be enough.

After pasting them, Nie Jiuluo rested her chin on the desk, staring at them thoughtfully. How nice—with the red and gold up, it looked like New Year.

She should write a banner too. What to write?

—”Flowers Bloom in Prosperity”? Too tacky.

—”Old Debtor, Return My Money”? Hmm… maybe debt collection wasn’t appropriate for New Year? But perhaps… it might bring him back?

As she was thinking, her phone rang.

Nie Jiuluo answered casually.

Through the receiver came Lin Ling’s trembling voice.

“Miss… Miss Nie, I saw… no, no, Uncle Changxi saw… Lin Xirou.”

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