Two
The solitary city in the vast desert grew increasingly desolate as its water sources gradually dried up.
About ten li from the city, at the edge of the oasis, stood a tea stall. The proprietor had been standing by the roadside with his hands behind his back for quite some time when he finally welcomed his first passerby of the day.
A man, silhouetted against the setting sun, appeared to be carrying something heavy, trudging forward step by step with great difficulty.
"How much for a bowl of tea?" the man finally approached, setting down the object on his shoulder and dragging his feet as he came closer.
Yes, he was dragging his feet—a peculiar gait, not quite a limp, but as though his legs had stiffened, making it hard to take proper strides.
The object he had set down outside the tea stall caught the proprietor’s attention as he craned his neck for a better look—it was unexpectedly a massive purple coffin!
"Eigh... eighteen coins per bowl," the proprietor steadied his nerves, recalling legends of corpse drivers from the western Hunan region.
"Two bowls," the man said, counting out thirty-six coins and placing them by the table, his posture still rigid as a spear.
"Won’t you take a seat, sir?" the proprietor asked, instructing the attendant to serve the tea while repeatedly dusting off the sand from the chairs and table.
The man remained silent, his face completely obscured by an exceptionally wide straw hat, his stance still as unyielding as a spear.
The proprietor, at a loss, forced a smile that gradually stiffened on his face.
The attendant emerged from the inner room with a pot of tea and a plate of dried snacks, his head lowered as he carried a large tray.
"Our tea may be precious here, but the snacks are complimentary," the proprietor continued with an apologetic smile.
"Thank you," the man finally spoke, reaching out to grasp the tea bowl.
His hand was slender and strong, though somewhat pale, with veins of an unusual hue—not blue, but tinged with a faint purple.
He seemed parched, downing both bowls of tea in moments.
Just as he reached for the snack on the plate, a sudden gust of wind swept across the desert. Though not strong, it kicked up enough sand to sting the eyes.
The proprietor rubbed his eyes—merely rubbed them—and in that instant, everything abruptly changed.
The previously meek attendant, who had been holding the tray, had somehow slipped out of the stall and was now standing atop the purple coffin, gripping something in his hand.
"Drop your sword, or I’ll blow up this coffin," the imposter declared, raising his voice against the wind. Only then did the proprietor realize his attendant had been replaced.
"Drop my sword, and you think you can kill me? Are you sure?" The man eating the snack continued calmly, his expression hidden beneath the wide brim of his hat, his voice devoid of emotion.
The impostor on the coffin grew uneasy, clearly flustered. He licked his lips and said, "Then take your own life—use your sword. Otherwise, I’ll blow up this coffin."
"Do you truly believe I would kill myself for a coffin?" The man went on nibbling his snack, his movements refined, not a single crumb falling.
"I’ll really do it! Don’t think I won’t!!"
Driven to desperation, though he struck the match twice, the fuse of the detonator finally caught, sizzling and sparking.
Yet the man remained unhurried. He leisurely brushed off his hands before lowering his head and drawing his long sword.
The hilt was exquisitely crafted from jade, but the blade itself appeared ordinary—neither gleaming with brilliance nor exuding a chilling aura. Strangely, however, the impostor on the coffin, who had prided himself on his martial skills, found himself utterly defenseless. In just three moves, the sword’s edge was at his throat.The fuse had burned out, but the detonator remained in his palm, neither sounding nor exploding.
"This trick has been used before, and your eyes are too shifty, lacking the resolve of one seeking death." The hand holding the sword advanced steadily, cold and menacing, forcing the waiter off the purple coffin before lowering the hilt.
"You're not going to kill me?" The waiter's legs trembled weakly as he retreated in disbelief.
"Why would I kill you?" The man spoke indifferently, still standing straight as a ramrod. Sheathing his sword, he lifted the heavy purple coffin into the air and secured it firmly across his shoulders.
As the setting sun gradually vanished, he carried this heavy burden yet remained upright, walking forward in that peculiar, rigid posture, casting an endlessly weary long shadow.
"A disciple of the Kongtong Sect reduced to this state. Actually, your innate talent isn't bad—you've just taken the wrong path. From now on, follow the way of agility."
After a moment, these words drifted over.
The waiter stood frozen by the roadside, taking a while to realize the words were meant for him. He fell into a daze, his half-open mouth facing the wind and dust, unable to close for a long, long time.
"One move, just one move! You didn't see it—his movement was like a meteor, with one strike he sent that impostor waiter flying off the coffin!"
Three days later, Ban Xia and her group also arrived at the teahouse. The manager was enthusiastically recounting the story, which had long since taken on a new version.
"Ah..." Ban Xia feigned terror, her wide eyes fixed unblinkingly on the manager's aged face. "This person is so formidable. It's remarkable how calm you remained, Manager, and how clearly you remember it all. Who is he?"
"His name is Zhan Xiao—'Zhan' as in brand new, 'Xiao' as in spring night. That impostor waiter told me, and... don't be scared when I say this, but he's not human!"
"Not human?!" Ban Xia's round eyes narrowed, and she hurriedly clasped her hands over her heart. "Then is he a ghost? But wait, didn't you say he came at dusk, when it was still daylight?"
"He's not a ghost either. I'm only telling you this, or else people would panic." The manager cupped his mouth mysteriously and leaned closer to Ban Xia. "He's a corpse person—a living dead poisoned by corpse toxin. Not only does he eat people, but he even consumes his own kind! All the leftover arms, legs, and such from along the way are stored in that purple coffin!"
"Ah..." Ban Xia clutched her heart, immediately playing along with a terrified, soul-fleeing expression.
Chi Xue, who was drinking tea with them, couldn't bear it any longer. He coughed lightly and glanced at Xuan Ye. "We should probably get going. There are important matters to attend to."
"Right." Ban Xia nodded, still appearing shaken. "We should go. Thank you so much, Manager. How much do we owe for these bowls of tea?"
"Chatting with you has been such a pleasure, young lady. A few bowls of tea are nothing—no need to mention payment." The manager kept his eyes fixed on Ban Xia but was generous, immediately waiving the fee for her.
"How can we accept such kindness?" Ban Xia stood up, extending a finger to idly fiddle with the empty water pouch at her waist.
"Waiter..." The manager's magnanimity surged instantly. Slapping the table like a wealthy patron, he called out, "Come here! Fill this young lady's water pouch, and pack ten pieces of dry naan for her as well!"
"Do you know how expensive water is here? Without me, you'd have died of thirst long ago."
An hour later, the three finally entered the city. Ban Xia was still at odds with Xuan Ye and spoke only to Chi Xue.
"Oh."
Chi Xue responded as usual, dull and slow-witted.Then the three fell silent. A cold wind swept down the grand, spacious street, immediately making Ban Xia sneeze from the chill.
"Let's find an inn," Ban Xia said, tugging at her clothes. She felt an eerie coldness permeating the city, a chill that seeped deep into the bones.
"There's one ahead. I'll knock," Xuan Ye, who had been following behind, finally stepped forward and blocked Ban Xia's path. "The population in this city has dwindled suddenly. Once a place turns desolate, it's easy for ghosts and spirits to emerge. Stay close to me."
Ban Xia said nothing but wasn't one to be stubborn, obediently following right at his heels.
Soon, they reached the inn—a three-story wooden building with intricately carved doors, surprisingly reminiscent of Jiangnan style.
Xuan Ye was a man of refinement. He knocked three times, and when there was no response from within, he pushed open the slightly ajar door.
It appeared to be an abandoned inn. The interior was dimly lit, and a dry, dusty scent hung in the air.
Deserted inns inevitably breed wild ghosts—that's how all horror films portray it.
But there was nothing here. The silence was eerie, devoid of any ghostly sounds.
Xuan Ye still led the way, stepping deeper into the main hall as the light gradually faded.
After walking about ten steps across the dusty wooden floor, his eyes began to adjust to the darkness. Immediately, he felt as though he had stepped on something.
Something soft, slightly fluffy, like someone's hair.
Then he saw the woman standing in the middle of the hall.
A rather tall woman, dressed in black, her face pale. She was staring intently at his feet, motionless and silent, her gaze fixed, her expression both dazed and focused, as if she had been watching for a very long time.
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