Chapter 108: Yin Tai mian

Rough gravel scraped his cheeks raw; Ji Tai mian stumbled on the ground, crawling and rolling along the narrow path through the fields, cypress trees whipping past behind him, the cold night sky filled only with the rustle of green grain swaying in the wind and the boy’s frantic heartbeat.

Ji Tai mian ran without regard for his life, a particularly thick tree gradually coming into view; beneath it lay a gray stone tablet, carved with three deep crimson regular script characters:

【Yanglao Village】

“Here, here, here!” Ji Tai mian dashed into the village entrance, gripping the stone tablet beneath the tree as he gasped for breath, his lungs burning with sharp pain—the intensity of his desperate sprint had been too extreme.

As he panted, Ji Tai mian cautiously looked back.

The letter said never to turn around while walking the path; he had now left that road and officially entered Yanglao Village’s territory—surely… surely he could turn back now?

Ji Tai mian tilted his head slightly, testing inch by inch until he confirmed it was safe, then boldly turned fully around.

Under the moonlight, a winding path stretched through the fields; the Tudimiao was now far out of sight.

Ji Tai mian exhaled in relief, scanning his surroundings—this was his mother’s natal home; his father was always busy, and as a child, he often accompanied his mother back to visit relatives, so while he didn’t know every inch of Yanglao Village, he was familiar enough.

Relying on childhood memories, Ji Tai mian stepped forward into the village.

He remembered his grandparents lived in a large courtyard near a well on the village’s western side; his younger sister had always been sickly, living for years at her grandmother’s house to recover…

But what did his sister look like?

As he walked, Ji Tai mian strained to recall his visits to his mother’s hometown; his grandmother always seemed kind, but his sister had always been shy, rarely appearing in public—even he, her older brother, seldom saw her; he couldn’t even remember her face, let alone her name…

Name…

“Name?” Ji Tai mian froze mid-step: “I don’t even know my sister’s name?”

…How could that be?

Though unclear of its origin, a strange sensation suddenly surged through him—goosebumps erupted across his skin, and cold sweat poured forth.

【Yin Tai mian.】

A voice suddenly came from ahead; Ji Tai mian instinctively turned his gaze toward it—on one side of the street stood ordinary brick houses, on the other, dense green bamboo groves; the voice had come from within the bamboo.

Ji Tai mian swallowed hard and shone his flashlight toward it.

【Yin Tai mian.】

Another sudden shout rang out; the flashlight beam pierced gaps in the bamboo, illuminating a glossy black surface—it was… a coffin.

A coffin placed within the bamboo grove, sheltered by a simple frame of bamboo poles and thatch to shield from sun and rain; nothing else, so crude it was horrifying.

Listening closely, beneath the rustle of wind-tossed bamboo leaves came a steady, crisp “thump-thump.”

Thump—thump—thump—

Thump-thump—

“Yin Tai mian.”

As the thumping ceased, another voice called out; Ji Tai mian shuddered, nearly dropping his flashlight.

This time, the voice came from behind; turning, he saw a small patch of open ground between two houses, where a slab of cement tile leaned crookedly against the wall, beneath it lay a black-lacquered coffin; the tile pressed tightly against a window of the house, the window wide open, and from the eave slowly emerged a pale white head. “Yin Tai mian?”

The voice from the figure held a hint of doubt; Ji Tai mian frowned, puzzled: “Is it calling me?”

The thumping resumed from the bamboo grove; Ji Tai mian looked up at the head protruding from the window and asked cautiously: “Neighbor, why are you still awake so late?”

The figure’s expression remained rigid, as if it hadn’t heard him.

“Yin Tai mian?” The head pushed further out the window, its neck extending to reveal a snow-white spine.

Ribs splayed like spider legs embedded in the brick wall; a white-boned serpent with a human head slithered out of the window—Ji Tai mian’s face turned whiter than the monster’s bones.

“Ghost…”

Ji Tai mian gritted his teeth and bolted.

Behind him, the bone-serpent clambered up the wall, its long, twisted body crawling over rooftiles and bricks, following Ji Tai mian’s flight, emitting a hoarse voice:

“Yin Tai mian?”

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“Yin Tai mian?”

“Yin—Tai—mian—”

Ji Tai mian ran desperately through the village paths, trying to shake off the monster; no matter how hard he fled, the clinking of bones and chains never faded—instead, it grew closer, closer, closer.

Until it was right upon him.

A force too immense to resist slammed into his back, sending him sprawling; the stench of rotting blood flooded his nostrils; as he opened his eyes through the dust, a pale face loomed inches from his own—so close he’d have to lift his head just to kiss it.

It was a wrinkled, ancient face, skin deathly pale, no trace of blood; foul liquid dripped from its severed neck; its teeth were black and rotten—the horror nearly shattered Ji Tai mian’s mind.

He recognized that face—it was Wang Nainai, who had once chased him with a broom as a child.

He struggled desperately to rise and flee, but the ribs beneath its skull clamped his arms like iron pincers, holding him tight; its long tailbone coiled around his waist, the tip jabbing into his navel.

“Yin Tai mian?” The bone-serpent’s voice remained hoarse, but now, with no escape, Ji Tai mian regained a sliver of calm—he noticed: the monster spoke in a question.

The monster’s form matched the Tudimiao’s deity: a human head with a long, complete spine trailing behind, ribs splayed like a spider’s legs.

But unlike the deity, this monster’s eyes were not nailed shut, its mouth not sewn, its nose and earlobes intact—all seven orifices whole; one might even say it died peacefully.

Whether it was peaceful or not, Ji Tai mian knew if this continued, he wouldn’t be peaceful.

Remembering the letter’s warning, Ji Tai mian no longer hesitated; he forced his voice low: “I’m Ji Wuxie. Who is Yin Tai mian?”

The bone-serpent’s expression froze for several seconds, then spoke: “There is no Ji Wuxie.”

Huh?

(End of Chapter)