His name was Xu Qingli.
Because of Bao Desheng’s death, he had been trapped in these mountains for months.
Afraid of light, afraid of fire, he could only scavenge for fruit, eat raw food, clad in tattered rags, lingering like a lonely ghost.
Until fate took pity and granted him a chance to return to life.
It was a stiflingly hot night. The bronze-colored full moon hid behind coconut leaves, and every blade of grass and tree stood motionless, like still life on a canvas. Not a whisper of wind stirred the world, and the air was thick with the restless croaking of frogs.
Xu Qingli hid deep inside a limestone cave.
Hugging his knees, he lay sideways on the damp, jagged rock. Water dripped from the stalactites, sliding down his cheeks like tears.
He still wore that watch on his wrist.
Though its face was smudged, the hands no longer legible, though the twenty-four hours humans had assigned to time held no meaning in this vast, primeval jungle—he still wore it.
This watch, a gift from the old principal, was his last shred of dignity and decency, a witness to his brief, untroubled life, the only glimmer of light in his dark memories. Whenever he teetered on the edge of madness, the sight of this watch made him feel as though he could glimpse the warm, bustling world of people again.
One day, I’ll go back , he told himself over and over. One day.
A man needed lies—only deception could keep him alive.
Xu Qingli shifted onto his back, listening to the ticking of the second hand, the distant rush of an underground river, the hoarse, broken cries of barn owls in the forest.
The moon climbed higher, and the village lights dimmed one by one.
When all the living had sunk into dreams, he crawled out of the cave, prowling under the moonlight like a starving ghost in search of food.
The hunger gnawed at his guts. The sickly sweet stench of rotting fruit beneath the trees only drove him madder.
He craved meat, salt, even the barest scraps of dry rations. Tonight, he decided to venture farther, to the neighboring village, to try his luck—maybe he could find something, anything: a scrap of meat, a half-eaten snack left by a child, even the dregs from a slop bucket.
Xu Qingli leaned against a tree trunk, creeping forward on tiptoe, weaving through the shadows.
Then, in a thicket, he heard hushed murmurs—a man and a woman.
Xu Qingli froze. For the first time in so long, he heard human speech, and it left him dazed, wondering if it was a hallucination.
He strained his ears but still couldn’t make out the words. The strangers, too, were hidden in the night, as if they, too, feared the light.
He edged closer.
The stagnant summer air carried only ragged panting.
Ah, a tryst in the wild , Xu Qingli realized. Well, long nights breed such things.
Suddenly intrigued, he followed the sounds, quietly parting the bushes to peek.
Sure enough, a bare-backed man knelt there, beside a petite woman in thin clothes, clutching his arm and glancing around nervously. Xu Qingli ducked back into the underbrush—but not before catching a glimpse of the tattoo on the man’s back: a half-length portrait of Guan Yu, eyes blazing with fury.
It struck him as an ill omen.The Bodhisattva closes her eyes to turn away from the world’s suffering, while Lord Guan opens his to slay without mercy. Though Xu Qingli had no tattoos himself, he’d heard the old saying: if you ink Lord Guan on your skin, never let his eyes be open—for when they are, he’ll wreak havoc. Those with weaker fortunes couldn’t withstand it, often inviting bloodshed upon themselves.
He couldn’t help but look again, and this time, he noticed a black leather bag lying open on the ground behind the couple, gaping like some kind of **.
He didn’t want to steal.
But now, he was a starving wild man.
After much hesitation, Xu Qingli reached out—just one thing, he told himself. No greed. Whatever he grabbed, as long as it could fill his belly, he’d take it and leave, never reaching in again.
The couple was too engrossed in their heated activity to notice the hand emerging from the bushes.
Fumbling, his fingers slipped into the dark, open mouth of the bag, groping through the unknown blackness.
When he pulled back, he found a crisp hundred-yuan bill in his palm, fresh and new, with a few brown stains splattered in the corner.
Shifting his position, he craned his neck for another look inside the bag—only to find it stuffed full of cash.
Listening more carefully now, he realized the sounds weren’t quite right either. It wasn’t the panting of secret lovers, but something more like labor—two people gritting their teeth, suppressing their silence, carrying an unspeakable sorrow.
Summoning his courage, he peeked out and saw the man hunched over, shoveling methodically, his sweat-slicked muscles gleaming silver under the moonlight. The woman had shed her outer clothes, her pale body kneeling beside him, her long arms reaching forward, swiftly scooping out dirt in sync with the man’s movements.
At their feet lay something dark, indistinct.
“Is it enough?”
Silence. The woman leaned forward to check, then answered in a trembling voice:
“Enough.”
They were digging a hole.
Xu Qingli understood—perhaps they had come into some ill-gotten gains and were burying them deep in the mountains.
He turned to leave. Money couldn’t fill his stomach; he needed food. But then another thought struck him, exploding like a new world before his eyes: with this money, he could bribe the villagers, change his identity, even flee far away and use it as seed capital for a business, living in luxury for the rest of his days.
What had started as a search for a single meal had now turned into a mountain of gold before him. Xu Qingli’s heart pounded against his ribs as he held his breath and stepped back—only to snap a twig underfoot.
The crisp crack pierced the night, sharp and unmistakable.
“Who’s there?”
No answer, of course.
All three of them froze in guilty terror. The moon hid behind clouds, leaving their faces unseen.
The man dropped the shovel and pulled a knife from his pocket, advancing step by step. Xu Qingli caught the stench of blood and sweat, felt the man’s hot, heavy breath rustling the leaves before him. He forgot to run, simply closing his eyes and waiting for death.
Just as the man was about to push through the bushes, the woman suddenly grabbed his wrist.
“Probably just an animal. No one else would be out here in these woods.”
“I’ll check—”
“Don’t go. I don’t want to be alone here—” Her voice shook, half-sobbing, half-pleading. “I don’t know why, but I’m terrified. Let’s just bury it and go.”The man pursed his lips and tucked the knife back into his waistband.
"Fine, we'll do it your way."
The two resumed their labor, the rustling of soil filling the air once more. But Xu Qingli had lost all courage to keep watching. Clamping a hand over his mouth, he scrambled away on all fours, retreating to the distant tree where he'd been hiding.
He lay sprawled across the branches for what felt like an eternity, watching as the pair passed beneath him and hurried down the mountain. Only when their footsteps and panting faded beyond hearing did he dare inch his way down the trunk, heart pounding in his throat.
Searching by moonlight, his nostrils filled with the scent of grass and earth, the cacophony of distant frogs making the silence before him even more pronounced.
He found it—the patch of earth whose color distinctly differed from its surroundings.
Xu Qingli crouched down, trembling hands brushing away the loose soil from the shallow pit. Expecting to uncover treasure, he was instead met with a face.
A man's face.
Eyes shut tight, bathed in blood.
Xu Qingli recoiled, falling onto his backside. A scream rose in his throat—he wanted to howl, to call the police—but then he remembered his current circumstances. The cry died unvoiced.
Propping himself up with his hands, he stared wide-eyed at the corpse.
The dead man lay rigid in the pit, eyes closed, paying him no mind.
Under the watery moonlight, in this vast wilderness, he and this nameless corpse became keepers of the same secret.
After ten minutes, his breathing steadied. What was there to fear? At this point, how was he any different from the dead? If he couldn't find food, he'd be next. This thought lessened his terror, replacing it with curiosity.
Who was this man?
Could there be anything edible on him?
Almost against his will, his hands moved to search the corpse's pockets. He pulled out a crushed pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a leather wallet.
The wallet held little money—scarcely a hundred yuan—and an ID card.
In the moonlight, the man on the ID glared sullenly at him. That familiar gaunt face, those narrow eyes—but with a scar bisecting the left eyebrow. Xu Qingli unconsciously touched his own left cheek, fingers tracing the birthmark there.
Without this distinguishing mark, they could pass for seventy, eighty percent alike.
Xu Qingli froze, clutching the ID card, staring transfixed.
The frogs fell silent as an idea took root.
Startled by his own audacity, he began to giggle, then sob.
He suddenly realized fate had finally shown mercy—this ID card was his ticket back to the human world.
Only—
He glanced at the corpse, then checked his wristwatch for the first time in months.
Before dawn, there was much to do.
In the hush before daybreak, with only the ticking of the second hand marking time in the vast emptiness.
Tick. Tock.
Xu Qingli's countdown had begun.
First, he stripped the corpse and donned the clothes himself. Selecting an abandoned hut, he dragged the naked body inside, positioning it near the window—this way, the charred remains would be discovered quickly. Yes, this corpse needed to be found.
Then, using his own blood, he wrote Xu Qingli's final letter on a tattered undershirt.
He removed his watch and placed it carefully atop the note. He hoped the villagers might deliver it to his father out of past kindness, giving the old man something to remember him by.
Tick. Tock.
The sky lightened gradually.
He didn't smoke, so handling the lighter proved clumsy. Hands shaking, he held the thatch to the flame.First came the choking smoke, then the crimson sparks, crackling and popping. The dry air fueled the flames, allowing the fire to grow wild and ravenous, its scorching breath licking at his face.
He had already dealt with the man’s corpse—charred beyond recognition. Now, it was his own turn.
He couldn’t bring himself to do it.
But he had to.
Trembling, teeth clenched in resolve, he threw himself into the inferno.
"Ah—!"
A scream echoed through the valley.
Far away in Nanling Village, a man nicknamed Ma Zai jolted awake from his sleep.
Rubbing his eyes, he shuffled to the backyard and spotted a plume of white smoke rising from the abandoned house across the river.
Meanwhile, in a place unseen, a man named Ni Xiangdong staggered back into the world of the living, clutching his burned face in agony.
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