Feng Chengyuan blinked, clearly taken aback; an awkwardness flickered across his face. He was about to explain when a hand slid gently around his arm. Yu Nian stood at his side and offered the housewife a soft smile. “Then thank you, auntie.”
The woman blinked slowly, returned the smile, and went back into the main room.
Yu Nian raised an eyebrow at the others, a silent signal that something was off about this house—and that it would be wiser to keep quiet. The rest picked up the cue without fuss.
At six o’clock they gathered in the kitchen for their first meal in Ningyuan Village. The fire in the hearth popped and spit, a big pot was lifted, and the smell of food flowed through the cramped space. Watching the hosts bustling about, He Zhiping, who had been starving all day, rubbed his hands together eagerly. “I heard home-cooked country food is unbeatable. I’ve been craving this for ages!”
No sooner had he spoken than the wife came in carrying a shallow white porcelain bowl. For some reason—perhaps it was Feng Chengyuan’s imagination—her walk seemed oddly off. Each step looked detached, almost floating; something about her bearing made the hair on the back of his neck lift.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting.” She set the bowl on the table.
The stew smelled rich enough to whet anyone’s appetite, but the sight of it bent every expectation. Big clumps of fatty meat stuck together as if the knife had not cut through them cleanly. The oil on top was a strange, deep gray—the color of something not quite animal fat—so dark it made the whole dish look wrong under the lamp. When the housewife scooped a piece and began chewing with loud, wet noises, everyone’s faces tightened. Feng nearly stood up to distance himself; he would have left the table if it weren’t impolite to do so abruptly.
Even Qian Lin, who never fussed over food, went pale, ducked under the table, and gagged into his hand. Relief came only when the husband returned with a plate of stir-fried greens—plain vegetables would have to do.
The twilight in Ningyuan thickened unusually fast. Before eight it was already black, and without moonlight the village would have been invisible.
Before they retired for the night, Yu Nian handed each person a small paper charm for protection. That eased their nerves a little.
Feng leaned against the doorframe and raised a brow at her. “What about mine?”
Yu Nian cocked her head. “I’m right next to you. What need is there for a paper talisman?”
A faint smile flickered at the corner of Feng’s mouth—soft and private.
“Let’s go.” Yu Nian led the way and pushed open the door to the western room.
A wave of damp, musty air hit them. There were no electric lights; two kerosene lamps rested on the cabinet at the head of the platform bed. The room’s large heated platform—wide enough for three people, as the wife had promised—dominated the space.
Feng’s face tightened. He had a well-known aversion to filth. After a moment, however, he turned and handed Yu Nian a plain white handkerchief. “Wait here a second.”
He scanned the room, found a broom in the crack beside the cupboard, and began sweeping with brisk efficiency. He worked fast; the place looked noticeably cleaner in little more than a minute. Finding some damp spots on the platform, he rummaged through the cabinet until he came out with a relatively clean blanket. He spread it neatly, then took off his own coat and smoothed it over the bedding. When he finally nodded, he said, “There. That should do.”
Yu Nian watched him lay an expensive coat down like a makeshift mattress and couldn’t suppress a smile. “Mr. Feng, you’re extravagant.”
She heard the teasing in her voice, and something unexpectedly tender softened his expression. “The room looks like it hasn’t been used in a long time. If we don’t make the bed, the cold will get in. Sleep—I'll keep watch by the door.”
She kicked off her shoes, slipped under the blanket, and lay down on the bed Feng had prepared. The thin, minty scent he always wore wrapped around her and seemed to cut through the room’s heavy gloom.
The feeling was peculiar. Yu Nian’s long lashes trembled. “You should sleep too. You’ve had a long day and need rest. There’s something off about this village, but at night there’s nothing to do but sleep.”
Feng was tired. He hesitated for a beat, then lay down beside her.
They weren’t close enough to be touching, yet the distance between them was small enough that in the hush of night they could hear one another breathing. Feng lay still, his mind tracing back over the strange occurrences of the day, about to comment when Yu Nian’s breathing evened out. He turned slowly and found her already asleep.
He lowered his gaze. Moonlight softened the planes of her face; she looked like a gentle painting. He smoothed the blanket and felt some stiffness in his shoulders ease. Sleep came to him quietly, a calm he hadn’t felt in a long while.
How long he slept he didn’t know. A sharp, cold wind punched at the door and a thin, damp smell crept through the room. In the blur between waking and sleep, Feng thought he heard soft, scraping noises—something wet being dragged along the floor.
The chill seeped deeper. Feng’s drowsiness evaporated. He still kept his eyes closed, but his hand moved almost without thinking to the edge of the platform and curled around the heavy iron weight that sat there for weighing goods.
Something lingered in the doorway for a long time, then crept inside. It seemed to be searching for something, pacing slow circles around the room before growing more urgent and heading straight for the two of them.
Feng cracked open an eye and finally took in what stood before him.
It was less human than a creature from some old ghost story—half the height of an average man, swollen and rotting, its skin a bruised, purplish blue. Hair hung in wet clumps against its face. Up close, its presence brought a sour, fetid tang that made the back of his throat tighten.
For a flash, a familiar, inexplicable recognition hit him—then the thing reached out toward Yu Nian.
Feng’s body reacted before he thought. He flipped up, swinging the iron weight with everything he had. The creature was caught off guard and stumbled back with a strangled cry. It rallied, stumbling forward again, when a sliver of gold light zipped across from Feng’s side and struck it dead center. A black smoke hissed upward.
Yu Nian had woken—eyes clear and steady, the protective paper charm still clutched in her hand.
The thing fought wildly; its hair whipped free. Feng let the weight drop from numb fingers, and disbelief replaced the adrenaline in his eyes. “...Li Liang?”
Li Liang—the man who had died on a night fishing trip—stood there in that reeking, half-rotten body.