NOVEL NEXT 023 But ask only when you came, not when you leave.
As the sun climbed higher, misty vapors gathered in the sky, softening the scorching sunlight. The light transformed into a fine drizzle, falling like delicate silk threads.
When people are preoccupied, time always seems to fly. Braving the rain that was as fine as cow hair(tl:wt!!), Ning Zhe glanced at the time—11:49 a.m., nearly lunchtime.
He had lost count of how many offerings meant for the Serpent God he had consumed. His stomach, once stuffed to the brim with food, no longer felt bloated or painful. It was as though all the food he had eaten had never existed.
“The time is almost up,” Ning Zhe muttered, placing his phone back into his pocket. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
There was nothing more he could do. Soon, the villagers of Hejia Village would begin preparing lunch, and whether his attempt to break the village’s mysterious rules would yield results depended on the next decisive few minutes.
“Let’s go back to the ancestral hall,” Ning Zhe said as he led the silent Feng Yushu through the bustling alleys and streets, heading for the hall.
If nighttime in Hejia Village evoked a desolate, deathly silence, the daytime was its stark opposite. Walking along the cobblestone streets, Ning Zhe saw shops open and lanterns lit, bustling with business. From herbal medicine shops to toy vendors, from vegetable carts to noisy taverns, the village brimmed with vibrant activity.
Yet, this lively scene did nothing to dispel the unease and fear in Feng Yushu’s heart. Every person on the street—male or female, tall or short, slim or stout—had their faces covered by a square piece of old yellowed paper, obscuring their expressions and features.
Each piece of paper bore different writing, but all the names began with the character “He” (何). Every villager in Hejia Village had pasted a paper with their name on their face, covering their eyes, ears, mouth, and nose, yet continued their lives as if everything were normal.
Their movements were slow and awkward, their joints stiff like poorly maintained machinery. The villagers lumbered through the streets, attempting to replicate the once-bustling prosperity of the village. The more normal the scene seemed, the more inexplicably eerie it became.
This atmosphere wasn’t deadly, but it was deeply uncomfortable, as though something was about to happen—something that never quite arrived.
The fine drizzle slanted across the air as the two returned to the ancestral hall.
Feng Yushu stood at the entrance, gazing inside. The hall was still the same hall, and the Serpent God statue remained the same statue, but something felt different.
“Do you see it?” Ning Zhe asked softly.
“See what?” Feng Yushu was puzzled.
“The Serpent God,” Ning Zhe replied, brushing raindrops off his shoulder as he stepped into the hall. He looked up at the Serpent God statue on the lotus pedestal. “The Serpent God looks different from before.”
Feng Yushu examined it carefully and indeed noticed a change: the statue appeared more decayed and rotten. The scales were marred by thick patches of mold, and milky-white fungal filaments grew unchecked, like an old man on his deathbed, barely clinging to life.
“The Serpent God’s condition has worsened,” Feng Yushu murmured. She looked at Ning Zhe, her voice trembling. “Is it because of you…?”
“Who knows?” Ning Zhe shrugged lazily, leaning against a column beside the statue while staring at his phone screen. He could feel that the critical moment was imminent.
Waiting for results after completing a task always felt like the longest part—like waiting for the score screen after finishing a game. Even when it was fast, it never felt fast enough.
Time passed in silence until wisps of smoke rose from the chimneys of Hejia Village’s houses.
Ning Zhe knew that something had happened.
Inexplicably, he lifted his gaze toward the Serpent God statue. Its form remained as majestic as before, seemingly unchanged. But as Ning Zhe focused, he noticed the difference:
—The Serpent God’s right eye was blind.
In just a few minutes, the statue’s right eye had been filled with milky-white fungal filaments. The Serpent God was now completely blind.
“Did it… work?”
As this thought surfaced, Ning Zhe’s vision went black. Without warning, he lost all perception of the surrounding world.
A darkness, heavy as ink, enveloped his mind. There was no light, no visibility. He could think of countless words to describe the darkness: vast, deep, profound, oppressive… yet none seemed accurate.
Within this expansive silence, Ning Zhe heard an unusual sound.
The sound was faint, as soft as the rustle of a distant breeze or the patter of the rain outside the ancestral hall. Each raindrop seemed to carry a crisp note.
If the villagers’ chanting during their ritual had been a cacophony of strange, incomprehensible incantations, then the voice now in Ning Zhe’s mind was like a melodious tune, sung by a graceful performer. The tone was lilting and mournful, filled with a gentle sorrow:
“Yearning endlessly, I sigh, sigh, and tears fill my eyes.”
“Longing silently, I gaze, gaze, and mist clouds my window.”
“Remembering forever, I hope, hope, and flowers bloom in my room.”
The haunting melody resonated in his ears, intoxicating and bewildering.
Through the smoky haze, Ning Zhe vaguely saw an open window. Outside, the drizzle fell steadily; inside, a charming young woman sat.
She wore a loose red gown that could not hide her alluring curves. Leaning languidly by the window, her pale, jade-like hands made her bracelet seem dull in comparison. Her featureless face was as white as snow, adorned only by a single crimson mark—a pair of vibrant, delicate lips carrying an indefinable melancholy.
Her red lips parted slightly as she hummed the mournful tune. She resembled a wronged wife, whispering grievances with a pouty mouth, though her demeanor exuded a tender, water-like gentleness.
“But ask only when you came, not when you leave.”
“But for your sake, I hear not your grief…”
Her soft gaze fell on Ning Zhe, sending chills down his spine.
How could someone without facial features exude such a piercing gaze?
Covered in cold sweat, Ning Zhe awoke from the vision. Before him was the dilapidated ancestral hall, the Serpent God statue decayed and sickly, and Feng Yushu crouched beside him, her face full of worry as she steadied his shoulders.
“Ning Zhe, are you okay?”
“I…” Ning Zhe closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “I think I saw something—or someone. I’m sure I did. But I’ve forgotten… I can’t remember anything.”
His mind remained hazy. He felt he had obtained vital information, yet he couldn’t recall its contents. Only the sorrowful melody lingered in his thoughts, gentle yet deadly:
“But ask only when you came, not when you leave.”
“But for your sake, I hear not your grief…”