"Ding-ding-ding-ding..." The annoying yet familiar ringtone once again prompted a slender, fair hand to slap the phone screen, abruptly silencing the noise. After a few seconds of quiet, a girl with shoulder-length hair suddenly threw off the covers, sprang to her feet, and dashed straight to the bathroom, muttering under her breath, "Crap, crap, it's all because of those little demons who insisted on getting me wasted last night. Not a single one of them cared that today's the first day of the trip I've been planning for two months!" With one hand brushing her teeth and the other hurriedly pulling on a top, she began applying minimal makeup with one hand in front of the mirror. Naturally beautiful, with fair skin, fox-like eyes, willow-leaf eyebrows, and delicate features, she quickly fluffed her hair, rinsed her mouth, and immediately pulled on her everyday pants. Glancing in the mirror, the 176cm urban beauty with an impressive bust, fingerprint. Skilled hands swiftly retrieved three sticks of sandalwood incense from the TV cabinet, and with a sliding kneel, she bowed reverently before the statue of the Three Pure Ones, offering the incense in one fluid motion. Clearly, this wasn't her first time. The altar was adorned with offerings, surrounded by an array of ritual artifacts she had painstakingly collected over the years—funded, of course, by her father's money. And, of course, many were fakes. But, of course, no one could stop her from indulging in this. Despite her otherwise flighty nature, her devotion to the Taoist patriarchs had remained unbroken for seven or eight years. Wang Zhi muttered with her head bowed, "Forgive me, Patriarch... Forgive me..." Sneaking a glance, she snatched an offering fruit, sprang up, and dashed out—"Bang!"—the door slamming shut again. Just another day in her life.
I'm back. Freshly liberated from the grueling life of high school, having just been accepted into her dream overseas university—UC Berkeley—she was now enjoying her pre-study-abroad vacation. Today marked the first leg of her planned journey to explore ancient relic villages in southern Sichuan, a destination she had researched extensively for its historical sites and ancestral halls. Their rituals were famous, making it a well-known tourist spot frequented by backpackers and travelers, though the area was also notorious for its swarms of insects and treacherous cliffs, with many accidents reported. But she wasn't worried—she had arranged for a local guide through a contact, so nothing could go wrong.
Glancing at her watch, she realized she was running late—she couldn't miss her flight. The plane and bus tickets had been hard-won. Rumor had it there would be a few handsome guys on this trip too. After incessantly urging the taxi driver to hurry, Wang Zhi barely made it onto the plane. Settling into her seat with a mix of nerves and excitement, she resumed the beauty sleep her morning had interrupted.
"Hey, little girl, wake up! You can't nap by the roadside like this—there are too many bugs here, you'll get sick."
"Who are you? Where am I?" Wang Zhi drowsily opened her heavy eyelids to see a kind-faced elderly man, his face etched with the marks of time. As he helped her up, he asked with a smile if she felt cold or had any discomfort. Wang Zhi politely thanked the old man and inquired again, "Where is this place? Was I just asleep?"
The old man nodded while listening. "I was on my way back to the village to buy mosquito nets for new visitors when I came across you, you careless thing. Haha, must've been exhausted from the journey, eh?"
Wang Zhi scratched her head in confusion. Glancing at the sky, she saw the sun was already setting—it was late afternoon. Wait, wasn't I just sleeping on the plane? Did I oversleep? Must've had too much to drink last night—those little troublemakers...
Suddenly remembering the man beside her, she quickly apologized, "Sorry, I must be really tired. How should I address you, elder? Let me help you carry these mosquito nets back to the village."
The old man waved his hands in refusal, accidentally brushing against Wang Zhi's right hand in the process. She winced and pulled back, noticing his hands were covered in scars and calluses.
"My apologies, young lady! This old man's hands are rough from decades of labor—hope I didn't scratch you. I'm the village chief; you can just call me that. Everyone in the village does."
As he spoke, he pointed toward the direction of the village and continued, "You're quite the carefree one, traveling alone without even a guide. But times are good now... Ah, why am I here
rambling? Don't worry, we're all good folks here. Our village is a well-known tourist spot in the area. When you go back, do spread the word for us—small place, poor as it is. We rely on these tourist buses to keep things running."
With that, the old man turned and gestured warmly for Wang Zhi to follow.
Looking at the kind, simple-hearted village chief, Wang Zhi felt a little silly for her earlier panic. Come on, it's the 21st century—what's he gonna do, eat me? Besides, I've already reported my location. My colleagues will be arriving in a couple of days—I've even set up a group chat. Tomorrow, I'll meet the new team.
Deciding it was better to stay cautious but not paranoid, she gradually relaxed and began taking in the scenery around her.
The village was truly nestled between three mountains, with a flat terrain in the central gap. The eastern mountains towered high, while the western slopes were gentler, lush with greenery and clear waters. In the distance, mountain trails and houses atop the peaks were visible—likely the scenic spot and ancestral hall mentioned in earlier research. Heading north, the southern side revealed the village's rear, where terraced fields stretched beautifully into the distance.
Taking in the view, Wang Zhi's mood lightened considerably, finally embracing the carefree spirit of a traveler. Her smile grew more frequent, and the village chief, noticing her cheer, beamed warmly. He eagerly invited her to stay at his home as a base during her visit. Given the village's remoteness, Wang Zhi had already learned that three-day tourists often lodged with locals, who would spare a room. The itinerary was perfect: mornings exploring one of the three nearby attractions, afternoons resting in the village.
As they chatted, the group ahead had already gathered around a makeshift bonfire, chatting and dancing animatedly. Wang Zhi observed the staggered wooden houses, their surfaces weathered and floors scarred—testaments to the village's long history.
Curious, she approached a shrine. Its wooden exterior held an incense burner, and inside sat a headless deity, one hand resting on its thigh, the other shoving meat into a gaping mouth carved into its bulging belly. Red cloth-wrapped meat slices lay within. Wang Zhi recognized it as a local folk deity; some ancient villages clung to such unorthodox worship, whether from tradition or local customs.
The chief, trailing behind, offered no objection to her scrutiny. "Ah, just an old ancestral custom," he murmured. "Tourism, you know? Some folks love this quirky vibe." He chuckled.
"You familiar with these things?"
Wang Zhi nearly said yes but caught herself. "No, just curious," she replied, shaking her head.
"Heh, since you're here, why not experience our local culture?" The chief lit a stick of incense—crudely made, nothing like city offerings—and handed it to her. Not wanting to appear dismissive, Wang Zhi accepted. A simple offering was harmless, but praying to such deities required naming oneself and voicing wishes, inviting their attention—precisely why folk shrines were best avoided.
She merely stuck the incense into the burner. A faint, acrid smell mixed with the smoke, unpleasant. Wang Zhi thought wryly: Even the chief knows this is a dubious shrine—the incense is the cheapest grade.
Then, when you're out and about, it's always wise to stay vigilant. Wang Zhi didn't dare drink at the lively bonfire party, instead spending the whole time watching the villagers celebrate with laughter and song, soaking in the festive atmosphere. She found it quite pleasant—this kind of social interaction kept her at a safe distance while still letting her feel the warmth and joy between people. It was truly nice.
The villagers sang ancient folk songs and danced in perfectly synchronized traditional steps, everyone radiating happiness. The village chief and the others gave Wang Zhi her personal space, drinking and playing drinking games boisterously at a nearby table. After about an hour or two, the celebration wound down.
As everyone dispersed, Wang Zhi followed the chief back to his two-story wooden house. He told her that her room was on the west side of the first floor. The east side also had guest rooms—if anyone arrived in the next couple of days, they could keep her company. For now, she was the only one on the first floor.
He added that the electric lights in the first-floor rooms had short-circuited a couple of days ago and hadn't been fixed yet. There was an old oil lamp on the table that she could use for the time being. The chief promised to have it repaired by tomorrow. With that, he turned and headed up the stairs to the second floor via the staircase on the right side of the central hall.
The wooden stairs creaked and groaned underfoot as he ascended. The sound of the aged, poorly maintained steps actually reassured Wang Zhi. The door was solid wood and looked sturdy—if the chief had any ill intentions (though the odds were one in a million), she would hear him coming down. Safe. Satisfied, she returned to her room.
The room was simple—just a bed, a small table by the window, and a wooden wardrobe at the foot of the bed for clothes. Her suitcase was piled in front of it. Thinking about it now, maybe she really had been exhausted from the journey and a bit tipsy, causing her to blank out on parts of the trip.
Wang Zhi was just about to blow out the lamp and sleep when she remembered the village chief mentioning that the oil lamp was an antique. Her old habit of collecting folk artifacts resurfaced. She picked it up, examining it from every angle, but couldn't make out anything special. Just as she was about to put it down, the flame singed a few strands of hair at the end of her ponytail.
Hurriedly setting the lamp aside, she checked her precious hair—a 3,000-yuan haircut she'd gotten, practically a family heirloom meant to be passed down. In simpler terms, she'd been scammed on the haircut, so she was both heartbroken over the money and her hair.
Amid her distress, the acrid smell of burnt hair suddenly reminded her of the incense at the doorway shrine. It smells similar... but not quite the same. Putting hair in incense isn't auspicious at all. Did they accidentally mix some in when making the stick I used? Should I go check?
The moonlight outside was bright, and after the bonfire gathering earlier, she wasn't particularly tired. The household shrines at every doorstep weren't far—just a few steps away. Studying local customs might lead to another discovery. The more she thought about it, the more she felt she should act.
Passing through the courtyard, she glanced at the second floor and saw the village chief was asleep, so she treaded even more lightly to avoid disturbing him.
Outside, under the thick night, the incense burner still bore traces of ash from her earlier offering, scattered across the shrine's platform. She pulled out a few incense sticks, snapping off the tips, and confirmed her suspicion—it wasn't just hers. Every stick contained a hair, fine as gossamer.
Just as she was engrossed in her investigation, footsteps approached from the road—the night patrol, making rounds to prevent fires. As a tourist, being out this late would be awkward. Better hide. She squeezed into the gap between the shrine and the steps of the chief's house, planning to slip back inside once the patrol passed to avoid any misunderstandings—like being mistaken for a thief.
But the patrolman stopped on the opposite side of the shrine. Crouched on the inner side, Wang Zhi could see him clearly. His gaze swept over the chief's doorway as if inspecting something. After five or six breaths, he exhaled heavily and strode away.
Wang Zhi had held her breath the entire time, hands clamped over her mouth, body rigid—no longer just out of embarrassment.
"...How could it be so similar?" she murmured. "Is this the totem of some heretical cult? The chief said these shrines were just tourist gimmicks... But under the moonlight, his face and neck were shimmering. That wasn't drawn today—it looks exactly like those forbidden tattoos made with cow's tears and the first basin of blood from slaughter. Is he the only one involved? I should tell the chief tomorrow, then call the police... He must have killed someone! Wait—offerings? The shrine? Incense... Could it be?!"