By the time Wei finally reached Two-Dragon Mountain, his hair had grown long enough to hang over his brow, shading his eyes.
Zhang San and Li Si crouched outside the bandit lair gate, not going in at once.
This time they had untied Wei's ropes and let him walk ahead.
His gaze wandered over the ruined stronghold with open curiosity. It was the first time he had ever seen a bandit lair.
Before long, Zhang San and Li Si caught up with him.
The corpse of the bandit chief hung from the main gate, head drooping forward.
Li Si lowered his voice."Those men in black… they worked fast."
Zhang San pressed his lips together, but the corner of his mouth lifted."Good. That's even better."
"Boss… you're not sad?"
"What's there to be sad about? He's always been the one eating meat while we sip thin soup. Now it's our turn to eat."
These bandits always talked about brotherhood and loyalty.
But in the end, profit came first.
Inside the lair, weeds had grown wild. Everything lay in decay.
Wei licked his cracked lips, forcing himself to focus as he stepped through the gate.
He crouched and touched the dirt.
Dry.
Whatever had happened here, it was already some time ago.
He didn't know whether that should ease him—or frighten him more.
The two guardhouses just inside the lair stood with their doors open. Outside one of them lay an overturned bucket. The water inside had long since dried.
Wei stepped in.
Half a bowl of porridge sat on the table, its surface coated with gray mold.
Chopsticks still stood in the bowl.
As if someone had just risen from the table and would return the next moment to finish eating.
Wei stood there a long time, staring at the bowl.
His heart slowly sank.
This had not been an orderly retreat.
It had been interrupted.
The second room.
The bedding lay in disarray, a corner of the quilt trailing on the floor.
A straw sandal lay nearby.
The toe pointed toward the door.
As if it had slipped off while someone was running.
Wind swept through the doorway, stirring the torn cloth hanging from a flagpole outside.
It rustled softly.
Sunlight spilled through the main gate and drifted across the dust.
Fine gray particles floated in the air.
Wei's breathing grew shallow.
Further inside lay the lair's open yard.
He walked slowly.
Dark patches marked the ground.
Not mud.
Dried blood.
For a moment he slowed, but then forced himself to keep moving.
Past the second gate.
And then he saw them.
Bodies.
One.
Two.
More than a dozen.
Piled in the center of the yard like a small hill.
Some faced upward. Some lay on their sides. Others were crushed beneath the weight, only a hand sticking out.
That hand reached stiffly into the air, fingers curled.
As if grasping for something.
A crow burst from the top of the heap.
Its black shadow swept past Wei's head.
Flap—
The sound of wings slicing the air was startlingly clear.
Wei stood still.
His stomach churned violently.
He bent forward, bracing his hands on his knees, retching.
His throat tasted bitter.
Nothing came out.
The smell of blood still hung in the air.
Not fresh.
Rotting. Heavy.
Zhang San and Li Si instinctively circled around the pile of corpses and headed for the empty houses, searching for whatever valuables remained.
Li Si whispered,"Boss… should I keep an eye on that guy?"
"No need," Zhang San said."No one runs from Two-dragon Mountain."
Wei moved slowly around the corpse heap.
With every step he felt as if the bodies beneath might suddenly reach out and seize his ankles.
After a few breaths his head began to spin.
Only then did he realize he had been holding his breath.
He forced himself to inhale.
The stench rushed straight into his lungs.
He bent over again.
He told himself—
Look.
You have to look.
You cannot miss it.
He reached out.
His fingertips brushed a corpse's arm.
Cold.
Rigid.
His fingers trembled.
For a moment he almost pulled back.
But he didn't.
He grabbed the dead man's collar.
Pulled.
The body rolled aside with a dull thud.
Another face lay beneath.
Young.
Not her.
Relief slipped from him in a long breath.
And immediately afterward came a wave of shame.
He was relieved.
Relieved that Chun was not lying here.
But the body beneath his hands had been a life too.
He closed his eyes.
Then turned another.
And another.
Wei's stomach clenched again. Sour bile rose into his throat. He bent over, gagging, but nothing came up. His stomach had long been empty.
Zhang San passed by and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Good work. Anything you find goes to us first. That's the rule. But we'll leave you a share."
Then he remembered Wei couldn't hear and simply wandered off toward the next house.
Wei wiped his mouth and tilted his head weakly, forcing his gaze back toward the pile.
The wind rose again.
It lifted the edges of the corpses' clothing.
Dark red cloth stirred among them.
That flash of red pierced his vision.
Wei froze.
Red.
Chun loved wearing red.
He had once said it was too bright.
She had laughed and said red was the color of being alive.
The scrap of red cloth swayed gently.
As if calling to him.
Wei's breathing grew heavy.
Only the pounding of his heart filled his ears.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
He stepped forward.
One step.
Then another.
His legs felt as heavy as iron.
Each step felt like walking on blades.
He didn't know if he wanted to confirm the truth—
or escape it.
His hand reached out.
Just before his fingers touched the red cloth—
he stopped.
Afraid.
Yet unable to turn away.
He gritted his teeth and seized the corpse lying on top, heaving it aside with all his strength.
The body was terribly heavy.
More and more red appeared—
until the cloth revealed itself.
An old flag.
The bandits' flag.
Wei collapsed onto the ground.
He let out a laugh.
The sound was hollow, barely human.
Halfway through it turned into ragged breathing.
His face was smeared with tears and snot, sweat and dirt all mixed together.
Wei wiped his nose on his sleeve. But from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of faint characters on the banner.
"Wei… save me… ."
His pupils dilated.
"Caw—!"
The sharp cry of a crow jolted him awake. Black wings swept past his face, the feathers carrying a faint metallic scent of blood.
As if snapping out of a trance, he hurriedly tore off a corner of the banner and shoved it into his coat.
The crow did not fly far.
It settled again on the broken wall, its blood-red eyes fixed on him.
…
The stronghold fell quiet once more.
Emptier than before.
Wei slowly lifted his head and spoke calmly to the crow.
"Did you see her?"
"Was she here?"
He paused.
Tilting his head slightly, he listened.
He wasn't sure whose voice it was—only that it echoed in his mind:
She was here yesterday. She just left.
You're late again…
Wei slowly turned around.
Now he could no longer tell time from memory, reality from illusion.
The wind slipped through the broken wall, stirring a strip of tattered cloth.
The cloth rubbed against the wood, making a faint sound.
Sha—
He believed Chun must still be alive.
Or perhaps—
suffering somewhere.
He didn't dare think any further.