Ni Xiangdong knew he couldn't make a sound now.
He lay twisted in a pool of blood, enduring the pain, letting others do as they pleased with him, pretending to be an unfeeling lump of dead meat.
Cao Xiaojun, after all, was a former brother who showed some mercy in his strikes. When teaching him knife skills, Cao had deliberately held back, avoiding vital areas and only showing him non-lethal techniques, fearing this hothead might end up taking lives.
Who would have thought that momentary compassion would now save his own life.
But he never expected Wu Ximei, this woman, to be so ruthlessly decisive, each stab delivered without hesitation. Yet being female, her strength was limited, and the blade didn't penetrate too deeply.
Ni Xiangdong closed his eyes, calculating his odds of survival.
Two against one, and him injured—fighting was hopeless. His only option now was to play dead, wait for them to flee in panic, then crawl out to call for help.
Yet unexpectedly, the pair wobbled as they carried him out into the night.
Through slitted eyes, he saw the path narrowing, trees thickening. By the bronze moonlight, he recognized this as the mountain trail.
Probably taking him to dump the body.
Panic set in. Ni searched for escape opportunities along the way, but blood loss had left him weaker than imagined. Helpless, he watched as they carried him deep into the wilderness before dropping him with a thud onto muddy ground, limbs splayed like discarded rags.
A sharp rock dug into his lower back. He bit back cries, eyes squeezed shut.
Nearby came the gritty scrape of shovels biting earth. Scoop after scoop, interspersed with the couple's labored breathing.
Then his nostrils filled with the crisp scent of crushed grass mingled with earthy dampness.
Ni pieced it together—Cao Xiaojun and Wu Ximei were digging, united in their determination to bury him.
With great effort, he rolled over and dragged his leaden body toward the bushes. After mere inches, darkness swallowed his vision as he passed out.
He thought he'd died.
Blinking awake, he saw interlaced branches above and heard frogs chorusing.
Alive. Still alive.
Ni slowly raised a hand, icy fingers brushing his face to wipe dirt from his lips. Grit clogged his nostrils; a few snorts cleared them, letting oxygen revive his brain.
Weren't they burying him? Why flee midway? Was it safe now?
Wheezing, only his eyeballs moved as he scanned the area. A shadowy figure crouched nearby, back turned, shoulders hunched. It alternated between muffled sobs and eerie giggles, muttering incessantly.
A warm, foul stench hung in the air.
Squinting, he discerned tattered clothing draping elongated limbs curled fetal-style, knees seemingly pressed to chest. Matted hair veiled its face. Ni couldn't tell if this was human or some soul-reaping demon.
Attempting to rise, his limbs failed. The slightest movement made his chest wheeze like bellows.
With monumental effort, Ni tugged the figure's ragged hem.
The shadow shrieked, scrambling backward to hide behind a tree. Minutes passed before a furtive head peeked out.
"You're... not dead?"
The raspy, slurred voice confirmed it—this was no ghost, but flesh and blood.He opened his mouth, but only managed to emit broken, gasping sounds.
"Save me... please..."
The figure retreated several more steps, melting into the shadows of the night.
"Don't go, please... don't go..." He mustered his last ounce of strength. "Down the mountain... just save me... I'll repay you... take me down the mountain..."
At the words "down the mountain," the shadow suddenly froze, no longer retreating.
"Down the mountain, yes, must go down the mountain."
The shadow muttered to itself as it drew closer. Above its slender neck was a dark, disheveled face still indistinct in the gloom. Only its eyes shone brightly, fixed intently upon him.
Ni Xiangdong suddenly felt fear. He recognized the light in those eyes—how familiar it was. It was his usual expression, the look of murderous intent.
"You want to go down the mountain, and so do I," the shadow loomed over him, its gaunt frame swaying unsteadily. "But only one of us can make it down."
"Please, let me go..."
With his last remaining strength, Ni Xiangdong kicked against the ground, struggling to crawl backward.
"Spare me... whatever you want, I'll give it to you, everything..."
As the words left his mouth, they struck him as eerily familiar.
Dimly, he remembered—not long ago, on a desolate path, a man surnamed Bao had said the same thing.
The man had pressed his right hand desperately against the gaping wound in his belly, trying to hold back the spilling intestines as he knelt in a pool of his own blood, kowtowing frantically.
"Spare me, I beg you—"
The man kowtowed, again and again, the sound thudding dully as gravel embedded itself in the flesh of his forehead.
"Whatever you want, I'll give it to you, everything!"
He had pulled open a black leather bag, offering bloodstained bills, his face streaked with snot and tears as he pleaded in despair.
"Just spare me, just spare me—"
Had he spared him?
No.
He had merely lowered his gaze, twirling his knife, standing there aloof as he watched the man's hysteria, smiling faintly like a malevolent deity carved from clay, savoring the suffering of mortals.
He had not spared him.
Now, it was his turn to beg.
The shadow, of course, paid no heed. It closed the distance in a few strides, seized Ni Xiangdong by the collar, and slammed him effortlessly to the ground. With a twist, it straddled him, pinning him down.
"If I leave you here, you'll just bleed out in these mountains and die anyway."
The shadow's lips trembled, its words quivering, while its right hand, hidden behind its back, clutched a jagged rock.
"Better a quick end than prolonged suffering. Let me... let me make it quick for you."
Ni Xiangdong knew then that his desperate gamble had failed.
His soul seemed to detach, watching the reel of his life flash before him like a lantern's glow.
From childhood, the villagers had praised his cleverness and wit, but as he grew, that talent had been wasted on crooked paths. He had squandered years in gambling dens, once a master of the tables—dice, dominoes, fan-tan, poker—no trick eluded him.
A chameleon by nature, skilled at reading people, he had relied on that cunning to take reckless risks, turning his life into one grand gamble. Petty theft, brawls—he had found himself in dangerous situations before, but each time, his quick wits had seen him through.
Yet in gambling, the longer you play, the more certain your loss. A gambler's fate is always the same: to lose everything.
Ni Xiangdong opened his eyes to see the shadow raising a rock high with both hands, poised to strike.It was at that moment he suddenly saw the shadow's face clearly.
Though filthy, it couldn't conceal the birthmark on the left cheek—a bluish mark.
He felt the man looked familiar, as if he had seen him somewhere before.
Where? Who could this wild man in the desolate mountains be?
Not a brother, not an enemy—but which passerby had left such a deep impression on him?
The shadow let out a furious shout, hurling a stone straight at his face, the wind whistling in its wake.
Then it struck him.
It was him—the man who had sat at the next table in the food stall that night.
Ni Xiangdong remembered drinking while watching him being shoved to the ground by the crowd, landing squarely in the mud. Yes, the one now raising a stone was the same coward who had trembled with a bottle in hand that night, too afraid to strike.
This man didn’t dare hurt anyone. Even when enraged, he could only spit out a few empty threats. And yet, it was those very words he had thrown before leaving that had helped divert the police’s attention away from Ni.
What was the name of that unlucky fool who had taken the blame for him?
Ni Xiangdong searched his memory. Not long ago, the streets had buzzed with talk of the man who killed Bao Desheng—
"You're Xu—"
But the stone came down, striking his skull.
Xu Qingli, once timid and meek, had grown into a soft-hearted butcher tonight, weeping as he swung with all his might.
Once. Twice. Thrice.
The dull thuds of the blows drowned in the chorus of mountain frogs. The words Ni Xiangdong never got to finish, like his skull, shattered into fragments.
Xu Qingli staggered to his feet and flung the stone into the pond. With a plunk , ripples spread in layers.
The water soon stilled. All that had happened remained unknown to the world, witnessed only by the bright moon, silently spilling its light over the endless mountains.
As dawn approached, Cao Xiaojun and Wu Ximei stumbled their way down the mountain in flight.
From the depths of the valley behind them, a thin wisp of smoke curled upward.
Wu Ximei suddenly halted, turning to gaze at the distant glow of fire.
"What?"
Cao Xiaojun, ahead of her, also stopped and turned back, hesitating.
"It's burning." Wu Ximei's wide eyes stared blankly, flecks of gold dancing in the darkness. "Over there, the mountain—it looks like it's on fire."
Cao Xiaojun watched for a while, seeing the flames grow fiercer, then tugged at her sleeve.
"Let's go. Don't look back."
"Let's go," Xu Qingli told himself. "What's done is done. No turning back now."
He cast one last glance at the burning house, at his hometown still wrapped in slumber, then turned away.
The towering inferno lit the path of their escape.
Wu Ximei. Cao Xiaojun. Xu Qingli.
Three gamblers, each believing they had reached the end of their story. Yet the wheel of cause and effect had only just begun to turn.
Joy and sorrow would alternate without end. Good and evil would meet their reckoning—only in death would it cease.
Driven by the same murder, the three fled under fate’s lash, unaware of the hardships ahead. Each swore in silence that, for the rest of their lives, they would strive to be good.
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