Chapter Twenty-Four: A Frightful Night at the Inn

Damn it, damn it—what the hell is this! Every hair on my body bristled as if electrified. I sucked in a cold breath, utterly incapable of reacting, just standing there stupidly, watching as a severed arm reached in, followed by half a shoulder and a head of wild, tangled hair.

The figure twisted her body, slowly emerging from the crack in the door. Her flexibility was beyond anything imaginable, pressing almost her entire body against the door as she crept toward me.

“Is white vinegar alright?”

The moment she lifted her head, I saw that her face was sharp and pointed, like a snake’s. Not a hint of normal color touched her cheeks—only a sickly, unnatural pallor. Her eyes, too, were nearly all dark pupils, obscuring most of the whites. She didn’t look alive; she looked like some serpent-like monster.

I stood dazed for several seconds before it sank in: “Sister Liu?”

The woman nodded. “Your Brother Liu has a bad stomach. There’s only white vinegar in the kitchen—will that do?”

“That’s fine, Sister. You can go back to bed, I’ll be done soon.” Seeing her lingering in concern, I forced a smile. “My friend’s feeling unwell—a little vinegar will help. Please, go back to sleep.”

“Oh.” Sister Liu’s lower body barely moved, but she twisted her upper body in grotesque arcs, turning her head and inching forward, slithering away like a snake.

I let out a long breath, closed the door, and hurried back to the bed. There, I found Tong Xiaomeng weakly clutching her neck with both hands. I quickly pried her arms apart, pinned her hands beneath my knees, and grabbed her chin, forcing her mouth open. Then, I poured the entire bottle of white vinegar down her throat.

Those who drown often die from suffocation caused by excess water in the lungs, but sometimes, even after the water is expelled, they still suffocate. The reason is that while drowning, they may ingest filthy things from the river—weeds, mud, plastic bags. If these enter the chest cavity, they kill faster than the water itself.

As the white vinegar slid down Tong Xiaomeng’s throat, her body convulsed, and a foul-smelling mass of mud oozed from her lips. Black water bubbled from her nostrils, filling the room with an unbearable stench. But after several bouts of vomiting mud, she began to gasp for air with her mouth wide open, and I finally felt my heart settle in my chest.

After all the chaos, exhaustion overcame me. Sitting at the edge of the bed, my mind replayed the image of Sister Liu as she left.

Her surname was Wang, but we called her Sister Wang. She followed Brother Liu from Jilin to Tianjin when she was young. They’d met in the depths of Changbai Mountain—her father was a hunter there. Brother Liu, in his days as a tomb raider, had been trapped by a heavy snow, and it was Sister Wang’s father who rescued him, nursing him back to health in their home. One thing led to another, and before winter was over, Sister Wang was pregnant. They married in the spring, after the mountain reopened, and returned to Tianjin together.

It should have been a happy story. But seven years ago, Brother Liu went to Yunnan to raid the tomb of King Dian. Instead of treasures, he found nothing but snake-headed idols and countless pure white snakes nesting inside. Normally, encountering such a scene, anyone would turn and leave—there was nothing worth risking their lives. But Brother Liu, lured by rumors that the tomb’s deepest recesses held the Snake King’s treasures, like a dragon’s hoard, decided to set the whole tomb ablaze.

The fire raged for five days and nights—even the forest police were called in. When a storm finally extinguished the flames, Brother Liu and his crew searched the tomb but found nothing valuable. As they prepared to leave, swarms of white snakes poured from the ruins, and nearly every tomb raider perished. Only Brother Liu, relying on skill and luck, escaped back to Tianjin. He spent all his savings on funeral expenses for his friends’ families, thinking the nightmare was over. But it was only beginning.

First, his three-year-old son, playing marbles at the door, was bitten by a white snake and died instantly from the venom. After the boy’s funeral, Sister Wang began to change. She refused all vegetables, eating only meat. Then, one day, Brother Liu came home to find her crouched in a corner, gnawing on a live rat, which squealed in agony. The sight terrified him.

Brother Liu spent years seeking treatment for her, visiting hospitals across the country. Experts in Beijing diagnosed her with a rare syndrome—Unatan’s Syndrome—no cure anywhere in the world. They prescribed antibiotics, which lessened her craving for rats, but she gradually became what she is today.

After all this, Brother Liu felt cursed, sold everything, and retired from tomb raiding, founding the Three Regrets Hall—regret for the past, regret for the present, regret in his heart.

I sat on the bed, lost in thought, when a moan sounded behind me. I quickly turned to see Tong Xiaomeng’s long eyelashes fluttering as her eyes slowly opened.

The first thing Tong Xiaomeng did was leap upright, her eyes wide with terror, scanning the room. Seeing she was alright, I asked if she remembered anything from her sleep.

She turned, glanced at her chest, then glared at me and shouted for me to turn away, not to speak, and not to look.

Feeling awkward, I obediently turned my head. After she changed clothes, I quietly asked if she really remembered nothing.

To my surprise, she sighed and whispered that this nightmare had haunted her for days, but tonight was the first time she nearly died in bed, following Professor Gu’s fate.

I replied with a quiet “Mm,” fetched her a cup, poured hot water, and watched her drink, color returning to her cheeks. She muttered that she was fine now, urging me to sit.

I sat beside her; the damp bedding chilled me, and I realized where the cold draft on the road had come from.

“She found me, didn’t she?” Tong Xiaomeng asked softly.

I glanced at her, not daring to mention what I’d seen earlier. The poor girl was still frightened and needed rest.

After some discussion, she agreed to move to the Old Hall tonight. I suspected that was her intent in coming to Tianjin in the first place—a lone girl, enduring so much, with nowhere to turn. I resolved to take her in.

I packed her clothes, and by the time we went downstairs, Brother Liu had returned from the outhouse. I paid him for several days’ rent, added three hundred for the bedding, and as I left, he grasped my hand, urging me to treat the girl well. “Anyone who doesn’t report this to the police must truly love her,” he said.

Back at the shop, Jin Yitiao was still drooling at the dinner table. I smiled apologetically and went upstairs, clearing out a spare room. There were three rooms upstairs—mine, Jin’s, and a vacant one, perfect for Tong Xiaomeng.

But tomorrow, Jin would have to go. I didn’t plan to involve him in Hezi Village’s affairs, though with Tong Xiaomeng here, it’d be hard to keep secrets. The less he knew, the longer he could enjoy peace—some troubles can’t be avoided, so why drag the innocent into misery?

I exhaled deeply, set down the towels and bedding, and told Tong Xiaomeng, “I live right across from you. Rest well for a few days. When I find the time, we’ll return to Hezi Village—investigate the problem at its root, and surely the fog will clear one day.”

But Tong Xiaomeng looked at me hesitantly and said, “There’s no need to go back.”

“Why?” I asked, puzzled.

“Hezi Village is gone.”