Chapter 89
Chapter 89
Lin Hao stared at her blankly as tears spilled silently down his face once more. But this time, a glimmer of light crept into his lifeless eyes.
He said nothing. He merely held her tighter for a moment, then slowly released her.
Raising an arm, he scrubbed the tears from his face. His nose was bright red, but his gaze was no longer as unfocused and fragile as before.
He picked up the half-eaten carrot, put it back in his mouth, and began chewing again, one forceful bite at a time.
Qingshui withdrew her hand and picked up her own food, continuing to eat in silence.
Daylight faded as they took turns resting. Once night fell again and they had recovered some of their strength, they set off once more.
Qingshui carried the pointed shovel while Lin Hao gripped the sickle. One behind the other, they silently made their way along the mountain village path.
Calling it a path was generous. It was more like a ridge between fields that had been abandoned for years, buried beneath rampant thornbushes and scrub. Soft earth and jagged stones shifted underfoot, forcing them to take every step with extreme care.
They had no clear destination, only a vague need to get farther away.
Their sense of direction blurred in the unbroken darkness. They could only navigate by the rise and fall of the terrain and the dark silhouettes of distant mountains.
Relying on each other, they pressed onward along the seemingly endless road through the night.
They had no idea how long they had been walking when the sky began to change from deepest black to a murky gray, then finally brightened.
They passed more collapsed farmhouses. Waist-high rice plants filled the fields, tinged an eerie dark red. Things resembling tattered rags hung from crooked utility poles, fluttering in the wind.
They kept walking.
The daylight gradually dimmed again. Another night was about to fall.
Just as they were growing numb from the endless trek, subtle changes began to appear in their surroundings.
The “path” underfoot became more distinct, marked by signs of frequent use.
The chaotic forests on either side gradually gave way to neat stands of tall, slender bamboo.
The outlines of wooden huts and small houses began to appear sporadically among the bamboo. Without exception, every one of them was utterly silent.
After passing through a dense bamboo grove, the land suddenly opened up before them.
Below them stood not a handful of scattered houses, but an enormous traditional courtyard compound.
The compound was completely at odds with the dilapidated landscape around it. It rested against a steep cliff, with a broad open space at its center. They could even make out a stone well and several leafless trees.
The faint rush of running water reached Qingshui and Lin Hao’s ears. The river did not seem too far away.
They crouched at the edge of the bamboo grove and used the last of the daylight to study the compound below. It was too quiet, no different from any of the abandoned wooden houses they had passed.
But Qingshui’s instincts told her they should go around it.
Then, all at once, a sound pierced the stillness of the night and carried clearly above the distant rush of water.
Someone was singing.
The notes were off-key and the rhythm dragged, but the melody was disturbingly familiar.
A hoarse female voice, straining to sound cheerful, sang,
“Happy birthday to you…”
Then an even rougher male voice joined in.
“Happy birthday to you…”
Then two voices blended together, drawing out each note with a chilling kind of “innocence”:
“Happy birth~day~ to~ you~ Happy~ birth~day~ to~ you~”
The birthday song.
In this horrifying world, someone-or rather, something-was singing the birthday song.
A chill raced up both women’s spines. They cautiously peeked out, looking toward the room where the singing had come from.
By the dim yellow candlelight, they saw a scene of unspeakable horror.
Several figures sat around a massive wooden table in the main hall.
Three men, two women, and one more… much smaller than the others, like a child.
With their backs to the window, they sat perfectly upright, as though conducting some solemn family ritual.
There were “dishes” laid out across the table.
The candlelight flickered over crimson chunks piled on the plates. And on the largest platter in the very center of the table lay…
A tiny child.
More precisely, the corpse of an infant. Its skin was an unnatural bluish purple, its eyes tightly shut and its body curled in on itself. An unsevered umbilical cord still hung from its navel.
The singing stopped.
The small “child” suddenly moved. It turned around, revealing a little face smeared with dark red blood and split by an enormous grin. Looking at the three men and two women beside it, it let out a shrill, gleeful giggle.
“Thank you, Daddy, Mommy, Uncle, Auntie, and Big Brother! I’m so happy, hee hee hee! So happy, hee hee hee!”
“Go on and eat, son. Eat up.”
One of the male Madmen turned his head, revealing a face just as caked in blood and twisted with excitement. He gripped a table knife covered in minced flesh and gestured with it eagerly.
“Daddy can’t wait to dig in. It’s my precious boy’s birthday today, so you have to eat until you’re stuffed!”
“That’s right, my good boy. Eat plenty so you’ll grow up big and strong.” One of the female Madmen also turned around. Her voice was hoarse, yet filled with a bizarre kind of “maternal affection.” She reached out with a hand coated in sticky fluid and stroked the little Madmen child’s head.
Then the Madmen all erupted into low, fervent laughter. Picking up the knives on the table, they began dividing and devouring the “dishes” before them.
The sounds of chewing and crazed laughter, mingled with their grotesque singing, echoed through the forest.
Monsters.
Holding a grotesque, horrifying “birthday feast.”
Both women felt their stomachs convulse violently.
Just then, Qingshui’s gaze happened to sweep across the other side of the courtyard. Several crude racks stood in one corner near the wall.
And hanging from those racks were three corpses.
All three had been cut open and strung up. Beneath the moonlight, their hollow abdominal cavities gaped like dark pits.
Qingshui’s heart clenched, and her pupils abruptly dilated.
Despite the blood and filth obscuring their faces, she recognized the corner of one corpse’s clothing.
It was Song Yunting.
The soldier she had met once before.
And that child had most likely been… forcibly cut from his wife’s womb by those Madmen.