When the light descended, the valley gradually returned to normal.
The sound of wind, the sound of water, and the rustle of leaves fluttering in the breeze.
Only much of the clamor was gone.
Even the unextinguished torches still swayed in the wind.
Before long, a fat man and a thin man arrived at the edge of the camp, carrying the seven-colored Great Rooster. They craned their necks and shrank back nervously as they looked around.
"No one in the camp?" The Daoist looked puzzled.
"The torches are still lit, and it doesn't look like they packed anything up. Where did everyone go?" The monk scratched the back of his head in confusion.
"Have the scents dispersed?" the Daoist asked again.
"I'll try."
The monk immediately stuck out his long tongue and went "bleh bleh bleh" a few times in the wind. Then he pulled it back, smacked his lips, and slightly widened his eyes. "The scent is still there."
"Is there any scent from that Shit Bull?" the Daoist pressed.
"No bull scent. Only that dead sissy's," said the monk.
"You're sure?"
"Can't be wrong. Smells like a woman."
The Daoist's expression twisted. "Let's go in and take a look. They might have already been wiped out. If that's the case, we'll have to head back the way we came. This place is dangerous—we can't linger until sunset."
The monk looked up at the hazy sun, already hanging low in the west. In at most two hours, night would descend again.
This was the kind of darkness that even the Great Rooster could not crow awake. Its danger needed no explanation.
The two slowly entered the camp and began searching everywhere.
They searched tent by tent from the outskirts inward. In the end, they confirmed that the camp was