Chapter Forty-Five: Taint and Curse

Chen Qing lay on his side, recalling everything that had transpired. His head was bowed, and his voice was hoarse, as if the wounds on his back had begun to fester.

“That woman… How did they deal with her?” Chen Qing didn’t open his eyes. Outside, not a trace of blood could be seen on the ground.

This wasn’t right. It didn’t match the way Jiang Wan had described it.

If a person dies of blood loss, the body can release anywhere from 2000 to 3000cc of blood. That much would be enough to stain the entire earthen building red, turning the yellow sand outside into muddy sludge.

But there was nothing. Everything outside was eerily clean.

He recalled the final scene before he lost consciousness: the child’s body swelling and then exploding. Before that, the woman had clearly anticipated what was about to happen. The hatred in her hurried glance was explanation enough. In other words, contact with this sand was fatal…

But why, then, had he survived after coming into contact with it himself?

He frowned and looked at his own hands.

“And if the yellow sand is so dangerous… I’ve touched it more than once.”

His eyes narrowed, a strange feeling gnawing at him. By rights, the wounds on his back should have healed by now. Why was it taking so long this time?

He lowered his head and surveyed the room.

There were quilts and clothing, but not enough food—nothing edible except a basin of water, covered with a plastic bag to keep it from evaporating.

Beside the water container was the bed where Chen Qing had just awakened. On the bed were two sets of bedding and pillows. Opposite the bed was a wardrobe, and to the left of the wardrobe, directly across from where Chen Qing now sat, was a door left ajar.

He looked up out the window and continued questioning Jiang Wan: “What did they do with the woman’s body? Her blood, what did they use it for?”

Jiang Wan frowned, disgusted by the memories in her mind. “They cut open her throat, and after draining her blood for about five minutes… the blood was divided among the residents according to the household registry.”

“And the woman’s body…”

She sighed, her fingers trembling. “According to the registry, each person could claim a piece of ‘fragrant meat.’”

Chen Qing nodded, his steps unsteady as he returned to the bed and leaned against it, questioning Jiang Wan further: “When you saw what was on my back, your reaction was clearly off. Even now. What happened?”

She looked up at him as he spoke, their eyes meeting, but she quickly looked away in fear. “I don’t know… When I saw what was on your back, I just… felt…”

“Fear?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t just that. Madness, panic—almost every emotion, all at once…”

She bit her lip, teetering on the verge of collapse. Only then did Chen Qing notice that her pupils had grown extremely sharp.

There was almost no color left in her eyes, just a single needle-point of color, moving ever so slowly.

Her face was deathly pale, some unknown pressure seeming to crush her relentlessly.

“Do you know…” she said, looking at Chen Qing, “do you know… that cyst… the face in the swelling on your back…

It’s always there. Every moment, it appears before me… No matter where I look… no matter where I am… I see it… it’s smiling at me.

It’s raving at me in words I can’t understand.

You know… you know.”

She paused, her hands gripping Chen Qing’s arms with such strength that he frowned in pain. “You know! Humans can’t imagine things beyond their own understanding!”

But I see it! And it keeps twisting and changing! It… it’s right in front of me…

It’s always… waiting for me…”

Chen Qing listened, his expression growing grave. Was this contamination from a non-ordinary artifact? Some side effect of supernatural power?

He looked at Jiang Wan’s hands; they were covered in intricate, swirling patterns.

There was an uncanny beauty to those patterns, each like a tiny vortex.

At that moment, two terms flashed through his mind.

“Out of control? Contaminated.”

He gritted his teeth. What exactly had grown on his back?

Yet he himself seemed unchanged.

He closed his eyes. At this point, barely any color was left in Jiang Wan’s pupils. She stared straight at him, the syllables falling from her lips no longer resembling any human language.

She caressed his face, and just then, Chen Qing’s gaze turned sharp. He grabbed the pistol at Jiang Wan’s waist. Instinctively, she wavered, but then stilled.

He looked at the cold weapon, recalling its operation. He pressed the muzzle to her outstretched palm.

Strangely, as he looked at her, her form seemed to shift into someone utterly unfamiliar.

She was still herself, but at the same time, she wasn’t.

Chen Qing didn’t hesitate. He flicked off the safety and pulled the trigger.

The deafening blast echoed through the earthen building. Agonizing pain, bone fragments piercing her flesh.

“Aah… ah!”

She cried out, her gaze dropping slowly to her palm. She stared at the gunshot wound, hesitated, and then, in slow motion, bandaged it.

Chen Qing bent down, lifting her head. As her pupils regained some color, he tried again, “Do you remember your name?”

She stared blankly for a moment, then tilted her head. “Jiang Wan…”

“What did you eat for breakfast today?”

She hesitated again, mumbling, “This morning… this morning…”

After a long pause, her memories finally returned. “This morning… it wasn’t morning yet.”

Chen Qing watched the spiral patterns fade from her hands. Her features, too, became familiar once more.

“It seems… that subject can’t be brought up again.”

He muttered to himself. Jiang Wan, hearing his low voice, was puzzled, only catching a vague sense of what he said.

“What is it?”

Chen Qing shook his head, then, after catching his breath, asked, “Do you know what the woman’s blood was used for after she was killed?”

She nodded, though her movements were still sluggish. “After it was divided among the households… they added some kind of anticoagulant, then splashed it at their doorways.”

“Splashed it…” He picked up a file nearby. At some point, someone had scrawled writing across the pages.

The handwriting on the first line was especially messy—not the hurried scrawl of someone writing in haste, but more like the clumsy imitation of a child learning to write for the first time.

No proper strokes, no order.

As if someone had copied it symbol by symbol.

On the first line, it read: “Record the ten most extraordinary events, and the truth of the earthen building will be revealed.”

“Ten events.” He paused. “The most extraordinary.”

He stared at the document, brows knitted tightly.

“Records are for truth; things outside of time remain trustworthy.

Listen, only those with the highest number of records may survive.”

He recited the words he’d seen before, frowning. “Could it really be that simple?”

“Are the rules of this backroom… really just to be taken at face value?”

He murmured softly, but was clearly unconvinced.

“The residents splashed the blood at their doors, didn’t they?” Jiang Wan nodded.

“And after that, did the yellow sand do anything unusual?”

“The sand?” She frowned, confused. “That… I’m not sure. But I do know that after the blood was splashed, about ten minutes later, another sandstorm hit.”

Chen Qing nodded, then asked, “It never stopped?”

“It stopped. This is the third one. The second storm lasted about two hours.”

“So there was an interval of about an hour in between?”

She nodded gently, looking tired.

“An hour…” Chen Qing gazed out the window, as if some answer or suspicion had begun to form.

“Does the timing seem off to you?” Jiang Wan dragged herself onto the bed, leaning against him by the window.

“It’s off. Everything’s off. Five minutes is far too short.”

He recalled everything that had happened—three events, three different incidents. There had to be a common thread driving them all.

“The boy. Myself. And the resident dismembered by the original inhabitants.”

He closed his eyes and asked Jiang Wan, “When you met them and killed that woman, was it within that five-minute window between storms?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“So after they took away the blood… the sandstorm started again.

And after that sandstorm, there was about an hour when it was calm outside, and during that hour, they didn’t clean up the blood at their doors, but the blood was gone?”

Jiang Wan nodded, confused. “Is there any connection? From what you’re saying… it almost sounds like the blood summoned the sandstorm, but why would the residents do that, wouldn’t it endanger themselves?”

“Yes…” He looked puzzled. “Why would they? Unless, summoning the sandstorm is only one part of it, and what they really need is some other result.”

He looked at Jiang Wan, frowning slightly. “Suppose the blood really does attract the sand, but at the same time, it can also drive the sand away for a while?”

“What… are you even hearing yourself? If you’re not feeling well, maybe you should rest some more.” She frowned in utter confusion.