Yan Tuo knew something was wrong and quickly jerked his head aside. The woman’s hand grazed his cheek, leaving several bleeding cuts before plunging straight into the earth.
He couldn’t let this woman escape. She was the only “effective hostage” they could quickly control. If she broke free and gave the command, all the White-Eyed Ghosts and Xiao Ghosts would swarm them, tearing him and Nie Jiuluo to pieces in an instant.
“Luo, restrain her!” Yan Tuo shouted, his eyes reddening with urgency.
Before his words even landed, he threw himself forward without regard for technique or strategy. He tackled the woman from the side, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and throwing her to the ground. The woman was furious, raking her claws across Yan Tuo’s back.
Finally, he experienced firsthand the legendary claws of the White-Eyed Ghosts that could tear through the toughest cowhide. At that moment, it felt as if sharp ice blades were slicing into his back—and not just his back, but even his skull seemed to be pried open, with the bone-chilling wind howling into the wound.
There was no time to worry about that now. His only option was to never let go. Yan Tuo clenched his jaw and tightened his grip.
His natural arm strength was considerable, and now, having committed fully to this desperate gambit, he squeezed with everything he had. The woman’s waist was caught in an ever-tightening iron grip, nearly cutting off her breath. In her frenzy, she clawed wildly at his back.
Nie Jiuluo had lunged forward after Yan Tuo’s shout to “restrain her,” intending to help him subdue the woman. However, before she could get close, Yan Xin burst out from the side and knocked her away.
As luck would have it, this collision sent her tumbling right beside Yan Tuo.
With one glance, Nie Jiuluo saw the woman’s savage frenzy and Yan Tuo’s back shredded to ribbons.
Though her strength was failing, her savage intensity hadn’t diminished. In that instant, blood rushed to Nie Jiuluo’s head, and she too went berserk. With a mighty roar, she threw herself at the woman, forcefully pinning her to the ground. She reached out with both hands, gripping the woman’s head from both sides, ready to wrench it violently.
She didn’t care about “restraining” anymore. At this moment, she only wanted to take this person’s life.
The woman’s face came into full view.
Nie Jiuluo froze.
This face seemed so familiar. Despite the terrifying white eyeballs, there was something about it that struck a chord of recognition…
Nie Jiuluo hadn’t actually recognized her, but for some reason—perhaps muscle memory working faster than conscious thought—her hands suddenly hesitated, and she unconsciously murmured: “Mother…”
In a life-or-death battle against a powerful enemy, there was no room for even a moment’s hesitation. A single second could reverse the tide of battle.
The woman seized the opportunity, let out a low growl, and drove her claws into Nie Jiuluo’s throat, cutting off the second syllable of “mother.” Then she yanked back viciously.
Yan Tuo struggled to his feet.
He saw Nie Jiuluo straddling the woman, her hands still positioned on either side of the woman’s head.
By all appearances, she should have had—or at least temporarily had—the woman subdued. Yet in the next moment, the woman sat up and pushed Nie Jiuluo away with one hand.
Nie Jiuluo’s body, as if suddenly lifeless, crumpled limply to the side.
What had happened?
An ominous feeling gripped Yan Tuo’s heart, plunging him into icy despair, though he still clung to a thread of hope: Nie Jiuluo had only “intercepted” the woman from him for barely a few seconds—surely nothing could have happened in such a brief moment?
Then he saw it, and his mind went blank, exploding like a disturbed hornet’s nest, leaving nothing but a buzzing chaos that drowned out all other sounds.
He saw Nie Jiuluo lying on the ground, struggling to breathe, with a black wound in her throat gushing blood.
Impossible. Impossible.
Yan Tuo practically crawled over on his knees, trying to speak but finding his vision already blurred. He reached out, clumsily covering her wound: “Luo?”
Warm blood practically leaped into his palm, seeping through his desperately clenched fingers. Nie Jiuluo’s body trembled, her eyes fixed on him, seeming to want to say something but unable to speak. She might have been trying to smile at him, but the blood spurting from her wound had stained her chin and lips, drowning any trace of a smile.
Yan Tuo felt himself disappearing, evaporating inch by inch under her gaze. Tears burst from his eyes as he called to her incoherently: “Luo, hold on, I’ll get a doctor right away, really, just hang on, please just hold on a little longer…”
His words dissolved into wracking sobs.
Nie Jiuluo’s fingers twitched slightly, trying to catch hold of Yan Tuo’s clothes, but she had no strength left. All her remaining energy seemed to be desperately rushing out through the wound in her throat.
She raised her eyes to the sky.
There was no sky here.
Her vision gradually darkened, becoming a blackness she had never experienced in her life. In her daze, a gentle light arose, and countless stars scattered and fell, trailing long tails of light, incomparably brilliant.
They were all stars she had folded, the stars of her entire life, all falling in this moment.
Behind them, the woman made a gesture, stopping all those who were about to rush forward, then slowly raised her right hand.
In her right hand, among the torn flesh and blood, a very fine chain swayed gently.
The woman raised her right hand before her eyes curiously.
Living underground, seeing things was very different from above ground. Above ground, one relied on external light to distinguish shapes and colors; underground, one saw the light objects themselves gave off—whether living or dead, everything had an aura of light flowing around it.
She was even more special, as she hadn’t been underground for very long. Her eyes still retained their original function, and her voice could still articulate clearly—this made her superior to “Xixi,” who could speak but was too heavily influenced by life underground, preferring to communicate like the White-Eyed Ghosts. When Xixi tried to speak human language, it came out strange and fragmented, resistant to any attempts at correction.
The chain had pendants—two of them. One was a smooth little persimmon, the other an intricately carved peanut.
A drop of blood was slowly sliding down the little persimmon.
Good things would happen.
Yan Xin came over, tugged at her clothes, and pointed in a direction: “Mother, bad woman, brought here.”
Looking where indicated, she saw a disheveled woman sprawled on the ground, covered in blood, appearing deranged. Her long hair had been pulled into tatters, partially torn out. This was how Yan Xin had dragged Lin Xirou here, driving her like an animal by her hair.
The woman merely gave a cold glance before returning her attention first to the swaying pendants, then to Yan Tuo, and finally to Nie Jiuluo.
She stepped forward and asked Yan Tuo: “What is her name?”
Yan Tuo hadn’t heard the woman’s question at all.
He looked at his hands, covered in blood. Nie Jiuluo lay there quietly, her brow untouched by blood, looking peaceful as if merely asleep.
Everything had happened too quickly, and Yan Tuo suddenly felt a sense of temporal displacement.
This must be a dream.
Or perhaps he was dying, still submerged in the ravine water, and everything was just the absurd hallucination of a drowning mind.
That would explain it all.
He felt relieved as if a great weight had been lifted.
The next moment, his scalp exploded in pain as the woman grabbed his hair, forcing his face up toward her, and asked again: “What is her surname?”
Yan Tuo looked at her, then at the small White-Eyed Ghost standing beside her.
She did look like Xinxin—the face shape, nose, mouth, everything was similar.
Looking further away, there was Lin Xirou.
This dream was so complete, everyone was here.
Like a wandering spirit, he mumbled: “Her surname is Nie.”
“Nie what?”
“Nie Jiuluo.”
The woman sighed in relief, released her grip, and said: “It’s not her.”
Without the woman’s grip, Yan Tuo’s head dropped, his neck and spine seeming unable to support even this small weight, causing his entire body to collapse to the ground.
His face pressed against the rough ground as he looked at Nie Jiuluo nearby, then reached out to embrace her body, one arm around her waist, the other hand spreading slowly to cover the back of her head, still warm.
How could he wake up quickly?
In Hinduism, they say the world is Brahma’s great dream, with everyone living within it. If he were to wake and turn over, everything—even the flowers, grass, trees, mountains, and rivers—would fall away like ash from his dream.
If this wasn’t his dream, then he hoped it was Brahma’s dream, hoped Brahma would wake up, that the Black and White Ravine would collapse, and his own body would crumble to flying ash, falling into infinite depths.
The woman’s mumbling drifted into his ears.
“Nie Jiuluo, Xixi, not her, September fourth, nine-four…”
His body was suddenly yanked up again, and a fierce voice rang in his ear: “Her father, was he called Nie Xihong? Where is Nie Xihong?”
It was too noisy—they wouldn’t even let someone sleep in peace.
Yan Tuo opened his eyes, coldly regarding the woman’s face, then suddenly slammed his head forward, crashing it against hers.
The impact sent the woman staggering backward and made stars dance before Yan Tuo’s eyes. He fell back to the ground with a coughing laugh, his vision went black, and he knew no more.
With Yan Tuo gone, the cave fell silent, save for the endless rushing of water at its mouth.
Yu Rong felt agitated but couldn’t pinpoint why. She reached into her inner pocket for cigarettes, only to find her clothes soaked through—the cigarettes had turned to mush.
She picked up the tobacco remnants and slowly chewed them.
Feng Mi suddenly let out a sharp, caustic laugh: “So clever, hiding in here like turtles, counting on one or two people to save your lives.”
Datou angrily snapped: “Shut your fucking mouth.”
But Feng Mi wouldn’t be silenced, speaking in a leisurely drawl: “When I was young, I heard many legends about the Bandaged Army. Later, Brother Xiong even made up a rhyme: ‘Bandaged Army, Bandaged Ghost, don’t meet in black, don’t see in white.’ Hah, I thought they were so formidable, but seeing your sorry state now, I understand why the Bandaged Army gets weaker with each generation.”
This struck a nerve with Yu Rong. She looked at Xing Shen: “Are we just going to wait here?”
Xing Shen said: “She’s deliberately stirring trouble. Don’t let a few words get to you. If Nie Er can handle it, we’d only get in the way by going up; if she can’t handle it, going up would be suicide—the safest approach is to wait it out here. If we can last until the end, having a few more people survive is good.”
Feng Mi clicked her tongue: “Pushing others to fight for their lives while extending your own, such clever planning. Those who can be leaders truly have far-reaching vision and see the big picture.”
Xing Shen frowned but didn’t respond.
Datou glanced at Feng Mi and moved closer to Xing Shen’s ear: “Brother Shen, are we keeping this woman around? Maybe we should… before she causes trouble.”
Xing Shen understood Datou’s meaning: ultimately, she was a Ground Xiao. They couldn’t let down their guard just because she had guided them once. The potential consequences would be endless. Earlier, the situation had been too dangerous to deal with her, but now…
Yet it felt wrong to turn on someone right after they’d helped.
He coughed lightly and said nothing.
You more or less guessed his thoughts: If you’re uncomfortable saying it, I’m not uncomfortable doing it.
Killing a Ground Xiao—even heaven wouldn’t object.
He made to stand up.
Feng Mi’s heart had grown many eyes; she knew well the meaning of “burning bridges after crossing.” With Yan Tuo present, she had some safety, but with him gone…
She had been watching Datou’s movements carefully, and seeing his sinister expression, she knew things weren’t good. Fortunately, she had planned and maintained a calm demeanor: “We have a Nuwa statue…”
Datou paused, sensing she was about to say something important, and sat back down.
He could listen first—dealing with her could wait.
Xing Shen found this statement odd: “Shouldn’t you have three statues?”
He remembered there were seven Nuwa statues, and the Bandaged Army had taken four. Seven minus four should leave three.
Feng Mi said: “That was during the Qin Dynasty when only three remained after the theft. But do you think those three would be in the hands of livestock like us?”
This Feng Mi was truly a skilled storyteller. Though Yu Rong knew she must have brought up this topic with some purpose, she was still drawn in: “Livestock?”
Feng Mi pointed to herself: “I was born in a pit camp, a huge pit camp. Do you know what a pit camp is? It’s like your… your pig pens, but different. Pig pens only need males and females to breed, but pit camps require ordered pairing, then breeding, more breeding, and the offspring are kept there, stored.”
Someone didn’t understand: “Stored for what?”
Feng Mi smiled faintly: “Blood sacs, of course. How do you think the White-Eyed Ghosts get their blood sacs? How do you think they’ve sustained themselves for so many generations? They have enough blood bags because they have dedicated breeding pit camps.”
She concluded with a cold snort: “What we did up there was nothing, mere drops of rain. Have you seen the pit camps? The scale, the number of heads, how many people are born there, live there, die there, and if they don’t die, they keep breeding new ones, never stepping foot outside the pit camp their entire lives.”
Yu Rong felt nauseated. Datou cursed: “Just gag this woman, she’s spreading lies again.”
Feng Mi sneered: “You think the Bandaged Army wouldn’t do this? Use your brain. During the Qin Dynasty, there were still slaves, and slaves’ lives were worth less than dogs. If they treated their people as humans and us as breeding livestock, what’s so surprising about that?”
Her voice gradually lowered: “That’s why I deeply admire Aunt Lin. When so many accepted their fate as pigs and dogs, only she didn’t. She told me the legend of the Sun-Chasing lineage and told me we would have a way out. She told me the Bandaged Army stole four Nuwa statues and opened four Golden Human Doors, but Kua Fu Seven Fingers still had three statues, hidden near three undiscovered exits. If we could escape and find those exits, we would have hope.”
Xing Shen’s heart leaped: “You escaped?”
Feng Mi smiled: “Isn’t that obvious?”
She continued: “Aunt Lin’s family, me, Brother Xiong, and many others were all part of that escape. Of course, escaping wasn’t easy. According to Aunt Lin’s plan, many people stayed in the pit camp to cover for us, create chaos, and even directly fight the White-Eyed Ghosts. There was no choice—to succeed, some had to sacrifice. It just depends on whether the sacrifice was worth it.”
She glanced around the narrow cave: “Why do I know about this hiding place? Because we hid here during our escape back then.”
“The White-Eyed Ghosts and their dogs, the Xiao Ghosts, chased us to the ravine’s edge but found nothing. We were unlucky—that time they didn’t cross the ravine, but this time, they crossed.”
She looked at Xing Shen with a meaningful smile: “I bet it was your random knocking that brought them up.”
Xing Shen suddenly thought of something, ignoring her mockery: “White-Eyed Ghosts are transformed from Xiao Ghosts. If they have the Nuwa statues, why haven’t they transformed all the Xiao Ghosts?”
Though there were only four statues, they had enough time. Year after year, water drops pierce stones—they could have transformed them all.
Feng Mi scoffed: “Four statues, how many can they transform in a year? Xiao Ghosts who’ve been bestial too long basically can’t be transformed—they can only remain Xiao Ghosts forever. Just like Grasshopper—after twenty years of bestialization and exposure to light, there’s no hope.”
Hearing “Grasshopper’s” name, Xing Shen felt a pang of sympathy.
They had spent time together, after all.
The cave fell into dead silence.
In the silence, Feng Mi suddenly giggled and said: “I don’t care. As long as Aunt Lin is here, everything can start anew. People died for me before, letting me live comfortably for so many years. Now if I die too, it doesn’t matter… Do you know why I told these stories?”
Yu Rong sensed trouble: “Why?”
Feng Mi: “To buy time. Now, do you hear anything unusual?”
Was there? Yu Rong started.
There seemed to be something—mixed with the sound of water, the peculiar, penetrating sounds of White-Eyed Ghosts.
Feng Mi watched her, a trace of amusement passing across her lips, then suddenly lunged forward, half her body passing through the water curtain, and screamed with all her might: “They’re here! They’re all here!”
Yu Rong shuddered violently, instinctively grabbing the cave wall and peering out.
She saw a scene she would never forget.
On the ropes spanning the ravine, figures were crossing at incredible speed—White-Eyed Ghosts and Xiao Ghosts, one after another, countless. Perhaps due to their speed, the ropes barely sagged.
Hearing the shout from here, countless chilling gazes instantly focused on them.
Feng Mi burst into laughter, spitting through her teeth: “Save your lives? You’re dreaming!”