Nie Jiuluo's itinerary for the day was rather dull.
Three temples, grand and imposing, two of which required tickets, but the sculptures were all brand new, crafted in a vulgar style—essentially assembly-line products with no distinctive features whatsoever.
By a little past four in the afternoon, she had finished viewing the last one and went out to find her car.
Lao Qian was sitting by a small stall, eating skewers and chatting animatedly in various group chats about gossip when he suddenly caught sight of her. He hurriedly settled his bill, then trotted over to the car ahead of her, enthusiastically opening the door for her.
Nie Jiuluo got into the back seat and said, "Let's go back."
She felt quite exhausted: if a busy day yielded fruitful results, she wouldn’t feel this tired. The worst was when all the effort amounted to nothing—just wasted energy, draining the spirit.
Once the car hit the road, Lao Qian grew uneasy. There was a travel agency group chat where Sun Zhou had complained just a couple of days ago, saying Miss Nie could spend forever looking at sculptures—so why, under his watch, had she finished so early and looked so displeased? Was she unhappy with his service?
No, he had to salvage the situation somehow, to boost customer satisfaction. As the saying went, "If the sights disappoint, rely on the culture; if the culture disappoints, rely on legends; if the legends disappoint, just spin a tall tale."
Fortunately, he had just heard plenty of gossip in the group chat—more than enough material to work with. Clearing his throat, Lao Qian asked, "Miss Nie, did you go to Xingbazi Village the day before yesterday?"
Nie Jiuluo gave a noncommittal hum. "The day before yesterday, and yesterday too."
"Then do you know that a woman went missing in Xingbazi Village just the day before yesterday?"
Nie Jiuluo paused, immediately recalling the gossip she’d overheard from a few old women playing cards under the big locust tree in the eastern part of Xingbazi Village.
She hadn’t expected there to be a follow-up to this story. Small towns had this advantage—whether you were in the east or west, people were always talking about the same thing.
"Was the missing woman found?"
Lao Qian shook his head. "No, not yet. But rumor has it—just rumor, mind you—that she was taken by wolves."
As it turned out, after the missing woman’s husband failed to catch her in an affair, he reported her disappearance to the police last night.
Lao Qian had no idea how far the police investigation had progressed, but he had an aunt who lived in Xingbazi Village and was well-informed about local happenings.
According to her, once news of the woman’s disappearance spread, the villagers grew concerned. After breakfast today, they organized a spontaneous search party—old folks, children, everyone pitched in—conducting a thorough sweep of the area, even venturing into the western part of the village, a place they usually avoided.
Nie Jiuluo keenly picked up on a key detail in Lao Qian’s account. "Why don’t they usually go to the western part?"
Now that she thought about it, during those two days she’d spent examining sculptures in the dilapidated temple, it had been unusually quiet. The eastern and western parts of the village weren’t actually that far apart, yet she’d never seen anyone from the east venture westward.
Lao Qian said, "Ah, it’s just habit. Country folks are superstitious—they think the western part is unclean... But back to the point. When they reached the western part, they found something off."
First, there were sporadic traces of dried blood. Second, broken and trampled stalks of straw, the trail of which eventually led to a hole in the ground near the mountainside.
At this point, Lao Qian steered with one hand while using the other to scroll through his phone. "There are even photos circulating in the group chat. Ugh, these people talk so much—I can’t find them now."
Nie Jiuluo reminded him, "No need to show me. Just tell me. And focus on driving."Lao Qian quickly put down his phone and did his best to describe the hole: the entrance had been dug open, and the entire cavity slanted underground, extending about two or three meters deep. It reeked of a foul, fishy stench that stung the nose.
Nie Jiuluo was a bit confused. "Didn't you say it was wolves? Were there wolves in the hole?"
Lao Qian's answer left her both amused and exasperated. "We didn’t find any people, nor any wolves. But the hole looked like it was made by wolves—they like to dig burrows, and their claws are strong enough to do it."
People were missing, and nearby there was a hole that looked like it was made by wolves...
So, the conclusion that "wolves were to blame" was just speculation.
Nie Jiuluo was speechless, but she still offered her opinion. "I think it’s unlikely to be wolves. Even if wolves did eat people, there should at least be bones left behind."
Lao Qian nodded vigorously. "My great-aunt also said it wasn’t wolves. She said it was... well, she’s pushing ninety, so she just spouts nonsense."
Nie Jiuluo grew intrigued. "What did your great-aunt say?"
She figured that someone nearly ninety years old, even if spouting nonsense, was worth listening to.
Lao Qian hadn’t planned to say anything, but then he remembered that this Miss Nie was a bit superstitious—she might actually enjoy hearing this.
He puffed up with pride. "Miss Nie, it’s only because my great-aunt is so old that she still knows these things. If you asked anyone else, even those who’ve lived there their whole lives, they probably wouldn’t have heard of it. My great-aunt said the temple is broken, and the Earth Guanyin is unhappy, so she’s come out to cause trouble."
"What temple is broken?"
"That rundown temple in the cornfield."
"If the temple is broken, why is the 'Earth Guanyin' unhappy?"
"It’s her temple, her home."
This was an unexpected delight. Nie Jiuluo perked up. "That’s a Guanyin temple? It didn’t look like one at all. I didn’t see any statue of Guanyin inside."
Lao Qian chuckled. "Miss Nie, did you think it was the real Guanyin? That’s just a demon who took on a nice-sounding name."
Lao Qian told Nie Jiuluo a horror story from the mountain village.
It happened many years ago, back in the late Qing Dynasty, when Xingbazi Village was still just a nameless little hamlet. Back then, there was no distinction between the east and west sides of the village. About ten li from the village, there was a large swamp—like a seasonal skin rash: frozen solid in winter, but a muddy, treacherous mess in summer. Countless chickens, ducks, pigs, and even people had been lost to its depths, and when the temperature rose even slightly, the stench became unbearable.
In the village lived an old woman and her two sons. One autumn, around the same time as now, the eldest son carried mountain goods to the city for market day.
To get to the city, he had to pass by that swamp. Normally, everyone took the long way around, but the eldest son wanted to save time. He figured that by September, the swamp wouldn’t be as soft and would be safe to cross.
Once he entered, he never returned.
A person couldn’t just vanish like that. After comforting their mother, the younger brother set out along the same path to search for his brother.
For three days and nights, he scoured the swamp but found no trace of his brother. Instead, he encountered a young woman in tattered clothes, barefoot and disheveled. She claimed her family had been traveling to visit relatives when they were ambushed by bandits and separated. She had been wandering blindly through the mountains for days without food.
Feeling sorry for her, the younger brother brought her home.
Country folk are hospitable. Though still grieving her eldest son’s disappearance, the old woman forced herself to heat bathwater for the girl and took her dirty clothes to wash. But as she scrubbed, she suddenly realized something was off.The girl's clothes were either too big or too small, mostly worn-out. The only decent-looking piece was a pair of black homespun trousers—men’s trousers.
The old woman remembered her eldest son had been wearing a pair just like that when he left home.
In those days, country folk dressed simply, and black homespun trousers were a dime a dozen. Afraid she might be mistaken, the old woman checked the stitching along the seams—she had sewn all her son’s clothes herself and knew her own handiwork.
These were indeed her eldest son’s trousers. When she soaked them in water, a layer of foul-smelling reddish hue floated to the surface.
At this point, Nie Jiuluo couldn’t help but praise, "You tell it so vividly—you could write a book."
She had assumed Lao Qian, being a rough-and-tumble man, would tell the story in broad strokes. To her surprise, his narration was so detailed it painted a vivid picture.
Lao Qian replied, "Because I remember it well. I spent my childhood in Xingbazi Village, and my great-aunt used to tell this as a bedtime story... Good heavens, back then the countryside was always blacked out. Imagine—just a candle burning while she told this kind of story. I couldn’t sleep for nights on end."
Nie Jiuluo laughed. "Your great-aunt had quite the nerve, telling kids stories like that."
Lao Qian agreed. "Kids were raised rough back then. One day it’d be ghosts, the next wolves. No one tells those stories anymore. Kids are precious now—afraid they’ll get some... childhood trauma."
The old woman went to ask the girl about the trousers. The girl said she had found them in the mountains. Not far from the trousers was a broken straw sandal, also spattered with blood. Since she couldn’t find the other one to make a pair, she hadn’t bothered to take it.
But as for exactly where in the mountains, she didn’t know the way and couldn’t say.
It was clear he’d fallen prey to wild beasts. The old woman wailed her heart out.
But that was all she could do. Mountain folk lived off the mountains, and sometimes the mountains took their due—it wasn’t unheard of.
The family had lost a member, but soon gained another: the girl had nowhere to go, so she stayed and became the second son’s wife.
However, the old woman wasn’t exactly happy about it. Her second son was dull and slow, while the girl was far too pretty and lively—she knew from experience such matches never lasted. This woman was probably another Pan Jinlian.
The villagers agreed, saying the young bride looked restless and would surely run off with another man sooner or later.
Yet, against all expectations, the young bride and the second son settled into a harmonious life. Every lecher who tried to flirt with her was firmly rebuffed. Not only that, but anyone who offended their family would suffer misfortune within days—either their chickens would be found with their necks wrung, or the bottom of their cooking pot would be smashed.
So rumors spread that the young bride was some kind of mountain spirit, with eerie powers of her own.
At first, the old woman was a little afraid, but eventually she made peace with it: spirit or monster, as long as it protected the family and didn’t harm them, the rest didn’t matter.
And so, for a year or two, life was peaceful—except for the slight regret that the young bride’s belly remained flat.
But then, disaster struck the village—not once, but twice. First, an earthquake collapsed houses. Then, lightning set the mountain forest ablaze. Fanned by the wind, the fire spread like a flowing carpet of flames, engulfing the entire village.It was just the young wife's bad luck. That day, the old woman and the second son were out working in the fields, leaving her alone at home to cook. First, a beam fell and pinned her to the ground, rendering her immobile. Then, she could only watch helplessly as the flames engulfed her.
By the time she was rescued, she was already reduced to a charred lump of wood, barely breathing. Her entire body was blackened, oozing yellowish pus and blood. Only her eyes still gleamed brightly—she could still shed tears.
The old woman and the second son wailed in despair, but the young wife remained surprisingly composed. With her faint, dying breath, she said that she could accept her own death, but what she couldn’t bear was leaving the family without an heir. She wanted to see the second son remarry and have a child before she could close her eyes in peace.
For a time, people from villages far and near praised the young wife’s “virtue.” Some even suggested reporting her story to the county authorities to have a memorial archway erected in her honor—but that’s beside the point. In any case, the second son quickly rebuilt the house and soon remarried. [Nie Jiuluo: Hmph, men…]
The new wife wasn’t pretty, but she was strong and sturdy, excelling at both household chores and farm work. Within a year, she was pregnant. During this time, the young wife, now a charred lump, lay silently in the side room, eating little, quietly waiting to close her eyes.
When the time came, the new wife gave birth to a healthy baby boy. The family was overjoyed. The old woman busied herself tending to the new wife, while the second son went to deliver the good news to the young wife.
But once he went to the side room, like the eldest son before him, he never returned.
The old woman grew anxious and went to the side room herself to look for him. There, she found the room empty. The wooden window was ajar, and beyond it, the dark night was filled with swirling wind and snow. Blood dripped from the window frame.
At this point, Lao Qian asked, “Miss Nie, what do you think happened?”
Nie Jiuluo thought for a moment. It was late at night, with wind and snow raging, and the village was nestled against the mountains. In winter, wolves, unable to find food in the mountains, would often venture into villages—just like in Lu Xun’s famous story, where Xianglin Sao’s young son A’Mao was carried off by a wolf.
She said, “I’m guessing it definitely wasn’t a wolf.”
Lao Qian was surprised. “Why not? Back then, when my aunt asked us to guess, all us kids thought it was a wolf.”
Nie Jiuluo smiled. “Precisely because everyone would guess it was a wolf. If it’s that easy to guess, what’s the point of asking?”
This reasoning was a bit convoluted, and Lao Qian didn’t immediately grasp it.
But Miss Nie was right. Back then, his aunt had also said, “I knew you’d guess it was a wolf. You kids and your little minds… There are far more terrifying things in this world than wolves.”
The old woman also guessed it was a wolf.
In a panic, she grabbed a sickle and pulled a burning torch from the stove, then hurried to search behind the house.
The snow on the ground wasn’t deep, but even the thin layer was enough to reveal faint traces leading to an old locust tree not far behind the house. The tree had been burned black in last year’s fire, but a few months ago, it had begun sprouting new branches. Now, those branches bore clusters of flowers.
Locust trees rarely bloom in winter, and the villagers saw it as an auspicious sign. The old woman had believed it too—but now, she thought it was an omen of evil.
From behind the tree came the sound of gnawing— crunch, crunch .
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