Love on the Turquoise Land

Buying clothes and a phone were all just excuses. As soon as Yan Tuo drove out of the neighborhood, he headed straight for Dali Pit Village—the reed marshes and the pump house.

It took about half an hour to get from the neighborhood to the pump house.

He had indeed turned the car around before receiving Nie Jiuluo’s message about the reed marshes. At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it—just that since Nie Jiuluo knew he had already left yet still asked, "Are you far away?" it must mean she had something important to discuss. Rather than continuing on only to be called back later, it made more sense to turn around now, saving time, effort, and fuel.

As it turned out, turning around was the right call—and luck was on his side. The reed marshes were about forty minutes from Shihe County, but they were located between Shihe County and Xi’an. In other words, on his way back to Shihe, he would pass the reed marshes first. That was the main reason he could arrive in time. Additionally, Lü Xian’s neighborhood was on the outskirts of the city, about ten minutes from the downtown area. Forty minus ten left thirty minutes—so going to Lü Xian’s place was closer than heading to the hospital.

Generally, it was believed that after cardiac arrest, there was a "golden four-minute" window. Beyond that, the chances of revival grew slim. Today, Nie Jiuluo’s situation had seemed dire, but in reality, luck had played a huge role—dire because if he had made even one wrong move or delayed for even a moment, she would have been gone; lucky because every step he took was correct, every moment perfectly timed.

As the sky darkened, Yan Tuo pressed harder on the accelerator, silently praying that luck would hold a little longer—that everything around the pump house would remain undisturbed. The last thing he needed was some curious passerby stumbling upon the scene. That would mean the lid blown off, and things spiraling out of control.

Fortunately, when he arrived, the area was pitch black, quiet except for the rustling of tall grass swaying in the wind.

Yan Tuo slowly drove closer.

First, he spotted the Volkswagen Tiguan that Chen Fu and Han Guan had driven—when he left earlier, worried that the car parked haphazardly in the field might draw attention, he had deliberately moved it behind a half-collapsed earthen hut and even draped part of the roof over it as camouflage. Good, the car was still there, still covered by the thatched roof.

Next, he saw the door of the pump house, which he had locked with a car chain, with an additional rock piled in front of it.

Yan Tuo exhaled in relief. He turned off the engine and the headlights, sat quietly for a moment, then grabbed his toolkit and got out of the car.

Unlocking the door and stepping inside, he first swept the flashlight around. The room remained in the same chaotic, battle-worn state as before—except for one thing.

The well.

He had re-covered it with wooden planks, sealing it even tighter than before. On top, he had placed a discarded pump body for extra weight.

Yan Tuo walked over, set down the toolkit, and pulled out the gun, tucking it into the back of his waistband. Propping the flashlight nearby for light, he bent down and strained to move the pump body aside, then pushed away all the wooden planks.

A stale, blood-tinged odor wafted up. Yan Tuo waved a hand to disperse the smell, then picked up the flashlight and aimed it downward, peering inside.

Because the well was abandoned, its rim had gaps. Two of these gaps had ropes tied to them, the other ends of which stretched tautly downward. The well was too deep—the light couldn’t reach the bottom, making it impossible to see clearly.

Yan Tuo studied the ropes closely. One hung motionless, while the other occasionally trembled. That made sense—when he had lowered the two men in upside down, one had already appeared dead, while the other was merely unconscious.Yan Tuo clipped the flashlight's tail hook onto his coat collar, rolled up his sleeves, and stepped onto the well's edge for leverage. He leaned down, grabbing the stationary rope first and pulling it upward.

The moment he exerted force, his heart skipped a beat.

Something was wrong. This rope was tied to Han Guan, who weighed over a hundred pounds—his body should have been dead weight. Why was it so light?

It felt like more than half the weight was gone.

Had Han Guan escaped, resetting everything and leaving a trap here for him?

A chill ran down Yan Tuo’s spine, and he reflexively glanced back.

The room was silent, the outside pitch black. The faint moonlight reflected off the car’s surface, casting an eerie glow.

No one suddenly lunged at him or attacked.

Listening carefully, there were no unusual sounds around either.

Steadying himself, Yan Tuo continued pulling the rope. At first, he did so quickly, but when he estimated it was about ten meters from the well’s mouth, he slowed down and cautiously inspected.

The silhouette still resembled a human figure.

Closer up, since Han Guan was upside down, he saw the shoes and pants first—nothing seemed amiss.

In the last meter or two, Yan Tuo steeled himself, yanking "Han Guan" out of the well before swiftly stepping back and drawing his gun.

Han Guan’s body slumped to the ground, his shoes falling off one after another. He lay face down, silent, his hands and feet still bound—for extra security, Yan Tuo had wrapped additional layers of tape around his mouth and body.

Everything appeared unchanged, and the tape was indeed wrapped in his own style. Initially lowering his guard, Yan Tuo exhaled slightly but still felt something was off.

The hands.

It was the hands.

Yan Tuo stared fixedly at Han Guan’s hands. Asian skin tended to be yellowish-white, and even if a man’s complexion was relatively darker, it wouldn’t be this dark. But now, Han Guan’s bound hands were nearly a dark brown.

Not only that, they were withered, shrunken, the skin scaly, like the bumps on a chicken’s claw.

Yan Tuo’s heart pounded. He holstered his gun, crouched down, hesitated, then pulled off one of Han Guan’s socks.

Just as he suspected, the foot and the calf leading into the pant leg were the same—withered, blackened, the toes curled inward. No wonder the shoes had fallen off immediately—the feet had shrunk several sizes, unable to hold the shoes at all.

Yan Tuo flipped Han Guan over.

The moment he did, he noticed how loose the clothes were.

The face was even more horrifying. He had only been "dead" for a few hours—normally, the body should be in rigor mortis. But no, it was as if he had been starved for months, the flesh completely gone, leaving only skin stretched over bones. Even the bones seemed to have shrunk, making the once well-fitted clothes now absurdly oversized, framing a comically small head.

No wonder the weight had felt so much lighter.

Yan Tuo had an intuition: Han Guan was dead.

Thoroughly dead.

What was the cause? The bloody hole in his throat? Was stabbing the throat the key to killing a Dixingren? Was it really that simple?

Yan Tuo couldn’t figure it out immediately, but there was no time to dwell on it. He pulled out his phone, using the flashlight to take photos of Han Guan’s corpse: front, side, detailed shots of specific areas, close-ups of the wounds.

These were all data, all information. Whether he understood it or not, he’d collect it first.

When he reached the top of Han Guan’s head, he noticed an unusual reflection. Leaning in for a closer look, he spotted a barely noticeable wound at the crown—different from the throat wound, with mucus pooled around its edges.He didn't dare touch it with his hands. Instead, he broke off a splinter from the wooden board and gently poked at it before quickly withdrawing his hand.

As expected, the mucus stretched into long strands, glistening with a sickly brown-yellow hue, swaying lightly in the air like spider silk.

After taking photos, Yan Tuo put away his phone and went to pull another rope.

This one held Chen Fu, who was noticeably much heavier. Not only was he heavy, but Chen Fu might have woken up and was struggling, as the rope was shaking violently.

By the time he pulled Chen Fu out, Yan Tuo was already drenched in sweat.

Chen Fu was bound much more tightly than Han Guan. In addition to ropes, Yan Tuo had used two rolls of black duct tape, wrapping him up like a human cocoon or mummy, even covering his eyes. The only part exposed was his protruding nose for breathing.

Like a fish out of water, Chen Fu sensed the danger nearby. Even though he had already fallen to the ground, he continued to thrash wildly.

This one was alive—perhaps he could still be interrogated.

After a moment's thought, Yan Tuo took out a pair of scissors from his tool bag, cut the tape covering Chen Fu's eyes, and tore it off in one swift motion.

The tape took several of Chen Fu's eyelashes with it, causing him to blink rapidly in pain. But soon his gaze fixed firmly on Yan Tuo, his mouth making muffled noises, clearly wanting to speak.

Yan Tuo then tore off the tape sealing his mouth.

Chen Fu gasped for air and slurred, "I... I remember now. I recognize you. You're the one always by Sister Lin's side."

Yan Tuo didn't respond immediately. If not for Lin Ling stealing that list, he wouldn't have recognized any of the names on it. Yet Chen Fu knew him, which meant these people were well-acquainted with Lin Xirou's inner circle.

After a pause, he said, "Since you recognize me, you can either wait to die or be locked up until you do."

Chen Fu shuddered and cursed, "You little bastard! How dare you betray Sister Lin behind her back!"

Yan Tuo sneered, "Hasn't she been betraying me for years? That's right—I'm staying by her side to sabotage her until every last one of you—Xiong Hei, Feng Mi, Zhu Changyi—is wiped out."

Chen Fu's mind reeled. For a long moment, he couldn't speak. He never imagined that despite all their precautions, the greatest threat had been hiding right under Lin Xirou's nose.

Suddenly, he remembered Han Guan and frantically twisted his head around. "Han... Han Guan? What did you do to him—"

Before he could finish, he saw Han Guan.

The sight hit him like a shockwave. Chen Fu's pupils dilated instantly, his body stiffening. "You... you killed him? How? You... you're the Mad Blade?"

Mad Blade?

The term sounded oddly familiar to Yan Tuo.

Then he remembered—the nursery rhyme.

*With blade and hound through the green earth they tread,

Ghost hands crack whips where bright pearls are spread.

The rabid hound leads the charge ahead,

While the Mad Blade commands from his stead.*

And then there was what Lin Xirou had once said: "No matter what method you use, find out who the Mad Blade is."

Did Chen Fu think he was the Mad Blade?

Before Yan Tuo could process this, Chen Fu corrected himself: No, impossible. Lin Xirou raised this little bastard herself. He can't be the Mad Blade.

"You... you're working with the Mad Blade? That woman—it's her, that bitch! No wonder!"

Chen Fu was so enraged he could have smashed his head against the ground, his eyes nearly bleeding from fury. We've been deceived! Lin Xirou, Xiong Hei—all of them! That paralyzed woman in the hospital isn't the one! She isn't! He had almost killed her. Just a little more, and he could have rid the clan of this scourge, if not for this little bastard suddenly appearing. No one knew the true face of this little bastard. He would still pretend nothing happened and return to Sister Lin's side...

Chen Fu mustered all his strength, trying to break free and escape to warn the others, but his spirit was willing while his flesh was weak. Bound like this, he couldn't even crawl—he desperately wriggled his body, attempting to inch forward like an earthworm or a viper.

Yet Yan Tuo kicked him over with a single foot.

Chen Fu lay on the ground, gasping for breath, his chest heaving violently, causing the duct tape wrapped around him to rustle noisily. He vaguely sensed that he might be finished, gnashing his teeth in hatred until they nearly cracked, and finally burst into wild laughter.

Yan Tuo stood motionless, looking down at his antics.

After a while, Chen Fu abruptly stopped laughing and raised his head viciously: "Your father's dead, isn't he?"

Yan Tuo gave a faint hum of acknowledgment.

Chen Fu's face twisted into a wide grin. The dried blood trails from earlier had caked on his face, and as he laughed, the cracks in the dried blood made his ugly visage all the more horrifying: "Your mother's dead too—oh, no, wait. She was crushed by a floor slab, paralyzed for twenty years now, hasn't woken up yet?"

Yan Tuo replied, "No, she hasn't."

These people knew him, knew about his family. They probably discussed it casually, like idle gossip.

Chen Fu said, "You also have a sister..."

Yan Tuo remained expressionless, but he could feel all the blood in his body slowly rushing to his head.

He asked, "What about my sister?"

Chen Fu said, "Your sister..."

He opened his mouth and slowly extended his tongue—a fleshy red, thick and fat tongue, writhing up and down, perhaps just to taunt and disgust him. Yan Tuo had never paid attention to the tongues of the Di Xiao before. Lin Xirou and Xiong Hei wouldn't exaggeratedly stick out their tongues at him. Only now did he realize that their tongues seemed to emerge from their throats, longer than a human's. At first, the back of the tongue appeared normal, but gradually, short, staggered spikes began to rise.

Yan Tuo's blood surged to his head. He grabbed a wooden plank nearby and swung it hard at Chen Fu's mouth, roaring, "What about my sister?!"

The blow left Chen Fu's mouth and nose a bloody mess, barely recognizable as a mouth. His tongue was smashed beyond curling, and two teeth were knocked loose, yet he still laughed wildly.

Yan Tuo grabbed him by the chest and punched him in the face, once, then again, still demanding, "What about my sister?!"

The more Yan Tuo hit him, the more Chen Fu laughed, the more pain he felt, the more unrestrained his laughter became.

Finally, choking on bloody foam, Chen Fu slurred, "Your sister... you'll never see your sister again in this lifetime."

Yan Tuo's fist froze mid-swing, his entire arm trembling uncontrollably.

But Chen Fu suddenly seemed to remember something, forcing his swollen, bruised eyes open—now just slits—and spat out with eerie glee, "No, wait. There's still a chance. I wish you... an early reunion."