Chapter Ninety-Seven: Blood Corpse

Its gaze on me was like a farewell. I already had hold of the rope, but I wanted to take it with me, so I waved and called out, “Come here, little one! Come with me!”

It kept staring at me, then shook its head. Turning away, it vanished from my sight. In that instant, I heard the rush of wind; the two stone figures had already lunged at me. Just then my elder brother hauled on the rope. I watched that little fellow darting endlessly among the statues, until it ran to the stone gate. It glanced back at me once, then disappeared beyond the gate.

My brother pulled me upward, and in the end he caught my hand and hauled me up. Standing above, I looked down and saw only a chaos of dust, as though the whole place had collapsed.

“Don’t look anymore. It belongs here. You can’t take it away, and no one can,” my elder brother said, patting my shoulder.

“Brother, where’s Li Qing?” I asked.

He pointed above me. Only then did I notice a hole overhead, with a rope tied at its mouth. I was stunned. “No way. I was worried myself sick down there, and he just left? That damned bastard!”

“He got what he wanted, so of course he left,” my brother said.

Only then did I notice that behind my brother, on that cylindrical stone pillar, there was actually a stone bed. On it lay a person, stretched out so peacefully, as if in sleep.

“This is the deity worshiped here? What kind of being is it, to make so many immortals kneel here in chains?” I asked.

My brother said nothing. He, too, stared at the stone bed and walked over. Naturally I was not going to miss a chance to look closely, so I went up as well. Even if what lay there was truly an ancient corpse, having my brother beside me gave me an unshakable sense of safety.

The corpse wore a burial shroud, embroidered all over with birds, flowers, insects, and fish. The patterns seemed to be woven with gold thread. The robe was enormous, wrapping him completely. His face, however, was covered by a painted mask.

That mask was just like the one worn by the City God below, or rather, exactly like the City God masks in Fudi Valley.

In his hands he held a finely crafted box. But the box was already open, empty inside. Thinking of what my brother had said, I guessed that Li Qing must have taken whatever had been inside. Only then did I realize how stupid I had been. No wonder he had said Li Qing would come with me. It had all been for this.

“City God?” I asked my brother. Seeing that mask now, I could immediately think only of the City God.

My brother did not answer. He stared blankly at the corpse in its shroud, and at last his gaze fixed on the ghastly mask.

He reached out, then drew back. Reached out again, then drew back again. He looked extremely hesitant. To be honest, I had never seen him this conflicted before. He was usually calm, decisive, and utterly composed.

“What is it, brother? If it really won’t work, then let’s go,” I said.

He shook his head. Finally, he reached out and pinched the painted mask, then gave it a slight tug and tore it clean off.

In the next instant, I seized his arm hard. Even with my brother beside me, a chill surged from the soles of my feet straight to my scalp.

Beneath the mask was a face slick with blood.

Most important of all, the moment my brother tore off the mask, the eyes on that face suddenly flew open. It did not move, but those round, staring eyes fixed on my brother, filled with fear.

Looking at the eyes, then at the shape of the face and that sharply pointed chin, I realized the chin was even sharper than those V-line faces the internet celebrities had surgically carved for themselves. The blood and gore had made the features hard to recognize at first, but then I saw it: this person looked far too much like a weasel. Could this be that weasel spirit, one that had cultivated a human form after being skinned?

Most striking of all were the eyes. They were too much like a weasel’s, even the color different from a human’s.

Truth be told, though this thing looked hideously disgusting and terrifying, I still felt a little disappointed. I had been endlessly speculating about what kind of bold god had been enshrined on this pillar, and it turned out to be only a weasel. Looking at it that way, this was probably just the fantasy of some weasel spirit: imagining that even the gods had been judged by it and forced to kneel.

The blood-soaked corpse stared at my brother. My brother stared back. Then my brother lifted a hand, grabbed the whole shroud, and ripped it straight down.

At that very moment, I turned away and vomited.

It was nothing less than a human body, drenched in blood.

All the skin had been flayed from his body, leaving only the flesh.

As I retched, a flash of memory suddenly struck my mind like lightning.

I suddenly remembered my father’s death.

I remembered the human skin that had been hung at the entrance to the village.

The skin had been perfectly intact.

But the police, despite all their efforts, had never found my father’s body.

My scalp went numb all at once. I forced back the nausea and looked again at the bloody figure lying on the stone coffin. If one were to find my father’s body from back then, it would probably look exactly like this.

There is no such thing as a coincidence in this world.

My breathing nearly stopped. I wanted to ask my brother, but I did not dare. For all these years, especially when I was little, I had dreamed of my father countless times. I had sworn that this time, too, I would uncover the truth behind his death. But when a body that might truly have been my father’s lay right in front of me, I still could not believe it.

I did not dare ask, because I was afraid of hearing my brother’s answer.

I looked at my brother’s eyes. They were terribly complicated, carrying what seemed like a trace of sorrow. Thinking back to how he had hesitated when removing the mask, I felt that I did not even need to ask. What I was thinking seemed to be the answer already.

“Brother! Is this Dad? Is it?” In the end I gripped his arm and asked, my voice almost unrecognizable with tension.

As soon as I asked, the blood-soaked corpse turned its eyes toward me. Suddenly I felt a gentleness in that gaze, as though it were a father looking at his son. My tears could not help but fall.

I looked up at my brother and asked, “Is it? Is it? Is it really him?”

My brother did not answer. He simply stared at the corpse. At last, with trembling fingers, he lifted his hand, curved it like a claw, and placed it against the blood-soaked neck. With one squeeze, and with his strength, he could absolutely have crushed the neck.

I grabbed his arm and shook my head, signaling him not to. If this really was my father, then even if he had become this way, how could a son kill him?

The blood-soaked corpse seemed to sense my brother’s killing intent. Its throat moved, and from its mouth came a muffled, indistinct sound. I could not understand a word of it. It sounded like some dialect from a distant place, yet not quite.

At that moment my brother stopped. He looked at the man before him, parted his lips, and answered in that same language I had never heard before. After speaking, he suddenly pulled the dagger from my waist and handed it to me. Looking at me with unwavering resolve, he said, “Yezi, kill him!”

I shook my head and stumbled backward, my face already streaked with tears.

Then the blood-soaked corpse looked at me again. There was such tenderness in that gaze, as though it truly were a father looking at his child. It even strained to reach out a hand toward me.

That gesture was so much like a father.

A father reaching out to touch my head was a scene I had imagined countless times.

“Don’t!” I cried, flinging the dagger away at my brother.

“He is not! I’m telling you, he is not!” my brother roared.

But I did not believe him. If it really were not him, he would not be so conflicted. He would not speak to me in that tone at this moment.

I kept backing away, shouting at my brother, “Stop lying to me. It is him. It has to be! Brother, it’s Dad! It’s our dad!”

My brother walked over, seized my hand, and led me to the side of the blood-soaked corpse. Pointing at its face, he said, “It’s a weasel. A weasel. Look carefully!”

As soon as he finished speaking, he took my hand and suddenly thrust it into the corpse’s chest. I felt the beat of its heart and the warmth inside its body. I wanted to pull away, but how could I possibly have more strength than my brother?

Just like that, ignoring my struggle, he held my hand and crushed the blood-soaked corpse’s heart.

I heard a low growl rise from the corpse’s throat. Then its gaze slowly dispersed, and those round, staring eyes went blank.

This time, it was truly dead.

“Why?!”

I screamed, feeling as though I was about to fall apart completely.