Love on the Turquoise Land

Nie Jiuluo spent the entire morning cleaning up three clay sculptures. The marks of time and history were unmistakable on them: broken heads, missing legs, charred patches, and areas so eroded that the inner straw framework was exposed.

Yet they were still beautiful.

Modern technology is advanced, and information is shared widely. Talents, no matter how remote their origins, won’t be buried as long as they have a platform to showcase themselves. But old China was different. Back then, a genius born in a mountain hollow might never leave it in their lifetime. Even the most breathtaking works might only gather dust in front of or behind a house, dismissed by villagers as useless trinkets that couldn’t put food on the table.

She believed the hands that shaped these clay figures belonged to a master.

When one master encounters another, it’s inevitable to feel a distant kinship, a mutual admiration across time. She took numerous photos and studied the techniques and lines meticulously. Only when hunger gnawed at her stomach and her bladder protested did she finally leave the dilapidated temple.

Sun Zhou was nowhere to be seen—no telling where he’d gone. The surrounding fields of straw stalks formed a natural barrier, but Nie Jiuluo hesitated for a moment before dismissing the idea of relieving herself outdoors.

She hurried eastward. As she emerged from the cornfield, she noticed an off-road vehicle parked by the roadside.

It was newer and larger than Sun Zhou’s, with protective grilles over the headlights. The body was pure white, rugged yet minimalist, its lines sharp and unadorned.

In such a remote backwater, outsiders were a rare sight. Intrigued, Nie Jiuluo peered through the car window.

No one was inside. Hanging from the front was a protective charm—a Five Emperor Coins car ornament. Seeing it, she realized she must have mistaken the owner. Just as she was about to leave, she spotted a duck sitting in the passenger seat.

A yellow, plush, flat-billed duck plushie, seated upright, its webbed feet neatly aligned, staring blankly ahead. The crowning touch? It was buckled in with a seatbelt.

Good lord, a duck.

Nie Jiuluo burst into laughter, quickly covering her stomach—she was desperate to pee and feared she might laugh herself into an accident.

All the way to the public restroom, she kept chuckling intermittently.

Honestly, the car’s interior and exterior were both hard-edged—except for that absurdly safety-conscious duck. She guessed the driver either had a child or an unyielding sense of childlike whimsy.

Back at the temple, Sun Zhou was still missing.

Maybe he’d gone to relieve himself too. Nie Jiuluo opened the car door to grab something to eat. At noon, the surroundings were quiet, save for the occasional chirping of birds. A solar halo circled the sun in the sky. Nie Jiuluo squinted at it, then stretched out her hand, placing it at the halo’s center.

"A halo around the sun means rain by midnight." Tonight, it might rain.

After a quick meal, Sun Zhou still hadn’t returned.

Nie Jiuluo found it odd. The area wasn’t known for its safety, and Sun Zhou, mindful of her security, always stayed close by. Even if he needed to use the restroom, he’d make it quick. Besides, by now, even if he’d fallen into a pit, he should’ve climbed out, washed up, and returned.

Sun Zhou’s phone lay on the driver’s seat—calling him was clearly out of the question. Nie Jiuluo cupped her hands around her mouth and tentatively called out, “Sun Zhou?”

Her voice dissipated into the air, unanswered. She ventured farther, calling again, “Sun Zhou?”

She stepped into the straw fields.

The stalks were a nuisance—clumps of them obstructed her view and snagged her clothes. Many had been cut short by villagers for firewood, leaving only stubble. Her hard-soled ankle boots crunched over the dry, brittle remains as she walked.

After a while, she stopped and crouched to examine the ground.In the soil, there were patches of brownish-red, as if blood had seeped in. Testing it with a hand, it was already dry.

Nie Jiuluo laughed at her own paranoia: if it were left by Sun Zhou, it wouldn’t have dried so quickly. Besides, this was the countryside, where villagers were used to slaughtering chickens and geese in the open fields—this was likely just poultry blood.

She looked around and noticed another anomaly: not far away, the straw stalks were flattened in one direction, as if something heavy had been dragged through.

Nie Jiuluo stood up, about to investigate, when hurried footsteps sounded behind her.

She turned to see someone stumbling toward her, their figure obscured by the dense stalks. The footsteps were rapid and heavy, mixed with the snapping of straw, closing in fast.

From the sound, they were heading straight for her. Instinctively, Nie Jiuluo took two steps back. Almost simultaneously, a disheveled man, his face smeared with blood, burst through the stalks.

Even though she was prepared, Nie Jiuluo couldn’t help but scream.

The man abruptly stopped.

It was Sun Zhou!

Blood oozed from his head and face, the flesh on his neck gaping open. His eyes were hollow, and even though he had stopped, his body trembled uncontrollably, his teeth chattering faintly.

Nie Jiuluo sensed something was wrong. “Sun Zhou, what happened?”

The question snapped Sun Zhou out of his daze. His eyes gradually focused, his lips quivering rapidly before he suddenly blurted out, “Run!”

Before the words fully left his mouth, he bolted like an arrow.

Nie Jiuluo hesitated for less than a second before sprinting after him.

She had no idea what Sun Zhou was fleeing from, but habit took over: if everyone on the street looked up at the sky, she would too; if everyone panicked and ran, she wouldn’t go against the tide.

Whatever it was, running was always the right move.

As she neared the car, she couldn’t resist glancing back despite the urgency.

There were no zombies, monsters, or deranged killers as she’d imagined. In fact, the field was eerily quiet. But she wasn’t sure if her eyes were playing tricks on her—when the wind pressed down the stalks, she thought she glimpsed a shadow.

The engine roared to life. Nie Jiuluo yanked the car door open, barely getting one foot inside before the vehicle screeched away.

“Damn it!”

Caught off guard, Nie Jiuluo nearly toppled over. For a moment, the world spun upside down as she tumbled to the ground. Her palms burned from scraping against the dirt as she desperately tried to break her fall. When she finally pushed herself up, the air felt scorching—the car’s exhaust fumes still lingering from its abrupt departure.

That bastard Sun Zhou!

She gritted her teeth in anger, but there was no time to curse him. She knew her priorities: whatever had hurt Sun Zhou was still in the field. He had escaped, and she wasn’t about to become its next target.

Nie Jiuluo grabbed a rock, keeping her eyes locked on the field as she slowly stood.

The surroundings were dead silent, each second stretching endlessly. Thankfully, the stalks remained undisturbed, swaying only occasionally in the breeze.

Had the thing… left?

Even if it had, she didn’t dare stay. Nie Jiuluo moved cautiously, quickening her pace toward the east—where the village was. Safety lay among people.

She walked faster, constantly scanning her surroundings, until she suddenly froze mid-step.The white SUV had its rear hatch wide open. A man forcefully tossed a large canvas bag inside before slamming the hatch shut.

Nie Jiuluo felt no excitement at finally encountering someone who might offer help. In areas near incident sites, half the people were genuine passersby, while the other half were likely involved—perhaps this man was the one who had injured Sun Zhou and sent him fleeing in terror.

If that were the case, her demeanor would be crucial: she couldn’t show panic, fear, or suspicion, but neither could she appear entirely indifferent.

She maintained a measured distance, walking at a steady pace with an aloof expression, casually glancing his way—just the kind of indifferent look a passerby might give.

The man also glanced at her—coincidentally, with the same detached, fleeting gaze.

He was young, tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, his features striking and his jawline sharp and firm. He probably didn’t smile often, as those who did usually had softer eyes.

Nie Jiuluo averted her gaze and "casually" noted his license plate number.

A man with a plush duck in the passenger seat might not necessarily be childlike or a father—he could just as easily be a bloodthirsty psychopath.

So, memorizing his license plate was essential.

After passing the small shop at the eastern edge of the village and seeing more people around, Nie Jiuluo finally let out a long sigh of relief.

Good. She was safe now, and it was time to settle scores. Whatever concern she’d had for Sun Zhou’s injuries had long been overshadowed by her fury at nearly being run over.

She walked to a thick old locust tree, keeping her distance from the elderly women playing cards beneath it, and called the travel agency to file a complaint.

Nie Jiuluo had come to southern Shaanxi for business, planning to stay about half a month. But her schedule was light, and she didn’t want to waste time idling in a hotel, so she’d hired a travel service to arrange a custom car route to visit nearby temples and sculptures—the older and more weathered, the better.

Since it wasn’t a standard itinerary and some destinations were remote, the agency had quoted double the market rate. Nie Jiuluo agreed without hesitation, with just two conditions: safety, and thorough coverage of all planned stops.

And now, "safety"? She glared at the scraped skin on her palm, ready to unleash hell.

If she didn’t make a fuss, people would think she had no temper.

When the call connected, Nie Jiuluo began her account in a gentle, measured tone—she never resorted to screaming tirades. Shouting might seem dramatic, but it burned out too quickly for a prolonged battle.

By the time she finished, the person on the other end was stammering endless apologies.

Nie Jiuluo: "I don’t think a simple ‘sorry’ cuts it. The driver I hired abandoned me when trouble arose. Is that reasonable?"

Travel Agency: "No, no, it’s completely unreasonable."

Nie Jiuluo: "If I hadn’t reacted fast enough, wouldn’t I have been crushed under that car? I understand Sun Zhou faced an emergency, but that’s beside the point. I paid for a service, and I expect it to match what I paid for. A so-called veteran driver with nearly a decade of experience—no matter how panicked—should never disregard a passenger’s safety like that."The travel agency clearly understood the principle that "the calmer the tone, the bigger the issue," and was practically kowtowing to Nie Jiuluo over the phone: "Yes, yes, Miss Nie, this is absolutely our mistake in handling the matter."

Nie Jiuluo was just about to deliver a third round of eloquently crafted rhetorical questions to escalate the situation to its peak when a random comment suddenly drifted into her ears: "She went to meet her lover, oh dear, no shame at all..."

What "meet her lover"? Distracted, Nie Jiuluo’s flowery words evaporated instantly.

"And she lied, saying she was going to play cards, didn’t come home all night..."

"Her husband went looking for her, oh dear, someone’s gonna get beaten to death..."

"Miss Nie, how about this—we’ll arrange for a driver to pick you up immediately. As for Sun Zhou, we’ll contact him as soon as possible to find out what’s going on..."

It seemed this was the only option for now. Nie Jiuluo, multitasking, found herself more intrigued by the gossip floating her way. Objectively speaking, she wasn’t one for gossip, but when it practically landed in her lap, there was no point in pretending she hadn’t heard.

She mumbled a few vague responses, hung up the phone, and took a few steps closer to the group of women playing cards.

The women were loudly discussing the matter, indignant and unbothered by Nie Jiuluo’s sudden presence. They eagerly pulled her into the conversation, frequently asking for her opinion: "Don’t you think so, girl?"

Soon enough, Nie Jiuluo pieced together the full story of this rural scandal.

Apparently, last night, a woman from Xingbazi Village had claimed she was going out to play cards and hadn’t returned home. Her husband assumed she’d gotten too into the game and stayed over at a friend’s place, so he didn’t think much of it.

But by the next morning, there was still no sign of her, and her phone was turned off. Annoyed, the husband went to the friend’s house—only to learn that the woman had never shown up to play cards at all.

Now things were messy. With her missing and unreachable, the husband threatened to call the police. Afraid of the situation escalating, the friend finally confessed: the card game was just an excuse. The woman had a lover in the neighboring village, and last night, she’d actually gone to meet him.

Furious, the husband rounded up two cousins, hopped on a motorcycle, and stormed off to the neighboring village to catch them in the act.

As of now, there was no update on the "battlefield" situation, but the women were certain it would be a bloodbath—or, in simpler terms, "someone’s gonna get beaten to death."