"Sir, why aren't there any villagers around?" Bai Chen felt that something was odd.
"They go to bed early," the middle-aged man said flatly.
A few minutes later, the middle-aged man led him to a relatively secluded residence. Its outer courtyard was quite clean.
Looking around, he saw only this one home, set apart from the other houses in the Miao village.
Bamboo surrounded it. The house was a single stilt building, with an open space underneath and no light upstairs.
The middle-aged man went up the stairs first, and Bai Chen followed close behind.
Once they reached the second floor, the man took a key out of his pocket.
Then he produced a bell from behind his back, shook it hard toward the interior, and shouted, "You meng ou!"
Bai Chen couldn't understand the Miao words. The man seemed to be calling out to something inside.
Then the man lit three sticks of incense at the doorway.
Watching his baffling actions, Bai Chen wondered why the man even carried incense around with him.
The surroundings suddenly felt a little colder, though he wasn't sure whether it was just his imagination.
Still, he didn't dare ask too many questions. Perhaps it was one of their customs.
After completing these rituals, the middle-aged man gently pushed open the bamboo door.
There was no dusty smell, only the fresh scent of bamboo. The interior was fully furnished and neatly kept, as though someone lived there year-round.
"Sir, does someone live here all year?" Bai Chen asked.
"No. It's empty. Someone just comes to clean it every day," the man said flatly, without the slightest change in his tone.
If no one lived here, why had he called out earlier? Maybe Bai Chen had simply been too tense lately and was overthinking things.