The Ground Suddenly Opened

The silence of Qinglongzhai Village was the silence of the dead.

As Yang Yong stepped into the village, something seemed to press hard against his eardrums.

The wind, the engines, people's voices outside-all were stripped away in an instant. Even his own breathing sounded as though someone had muffled it.

The sun blazed overhead, yet as its light fell on his arms, his skin prickled with tiny goosebumps.

There was no smell of blood or rot in the air, only a stale, oppressive stuffiness, like what escaped when the lid was lifted off a coffin left untouched for years.

Too clean.

Too orderly.

Too normal.

So normal that his back teeth clenched involuntarily, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

"Pairs! No one goes alone!"

"Get out as soon as you've searched! Don't get greedy!"

Zheng Xiaofeng's voice carried through the empty village without even an echo.

He pushed open the door of a small building. At some point, the Stone Armor patterns on his arms had spread past his wrists, their gray-green lines embedded in his skin as though they had grown from his bones.

He glanced down, his brow furrowing.

Even a Transcendent was afraid.

Yang Yong dared not barge around. He stayed where he was, staring intently at the entire village.

The houses stood in neat rows, their doors and windows intact.

There were no signs of fighting or fire, not even a broken roof tile.

It was as though... everyone in the village had vanished into thin air at the same instant.

In this apocalypse, the word "vanished" was more terrifying than a ground littered with severed limbs.

Severed limbs at least meant they had fought back.

Vanishing meant they had never even had the chance.

"Buddy, want to pair up?"

Li Zhi, tall and thin, came over with a trembling voice, the iron pipe in his hand shaking with every breath.

Yang Yong nodded without speaking. One more person meant more strength.

He did not look Li Zhi in the eye.

They chose a house halfway down the main street. Its door was locked tight.

Yang Yong pried open a window and swept his gaze inside...

The living room was spotless, the furniture neatly arranged. Half a glass of long-cold water sat on the coffee table.

There was no dust on the glass, no insects on the water, as though someone had pressed pause on time.

Yang Yong stood on the windowsill without immediately jumping inside.

He smelled it-that same smell from Guancheng.

That time, he had opened a bedroom wardrobe to find a family of five stacked neatly inside, as though something had sucked away their flesh and blood, leaving only dried skin clinging to bone.

He stepped back, his heel tapping the window frame with a faint sound.

He whipped his head around to look behind him.

"Search fast. Kitchen first!"

He lowered his voice, his tone carrying an uncompromising harshness.

Canned food, dried goods, rice, flour, cured meat...

Anything that filled the stomach was life.

His backpack soon grew heavy.

But his hands grew colder and colder, his fingertips feeling as though they were soaking in ice water.

Too easy.

So easy it was as though someone had laid everything out beforehand, waiting for them to take it.

"Look at this."

Li Zhi held a picture frame, his knuckles white.

In the photograph, a family of four stood beneath the great banyan tree at the village entrance, smiling brightly.

The date: less than a year ago.

"Where are they?"

Li Zhi's lips moved as though he were silently reciting something, but no sound came out.

"Where did everyone in the village go?"

Yang Yong snatched the frame away and hurled it to the floor.

The sound of shattering glass burst through the quiet house, making his own shoulders jerk.

"Forget about them!"

"If we don't leave, we'll be the next to vanish!"

His voice was frighteningly cold. Li Zhi shuddered at his shout, almost dropping the iron pipe.

Just as they were about to climb out the window...

"Ah...!"

A short, piercing scream erupted from across the street, cut off in an instant.

Yang Yong went rigid, then immediately crouched to peer through the gap in the window.

A middle-aged woman lay collapsed on the ground, pointing at a second-floor window opposite her. Her face was twisted beyond recognition, her mouth open, yet she could not make another sound.

Behind the curtain, a dark shape flickered. Just once.

Then it vanished completely.

"The wind. It was the wind, right..." someone said reassuringly to themselves, their voice like feet treading on broken glass.

"There's no wind."

At some point, Zheng Xiaofeng had appeared behind the crowd. Stone Armor had spread to his neck, its gray-green patterns crawling over his Adam's apple. With every word, the armor gave a faint crack.

He stared at the window, his mouth drawn into a straight line.

"Everyone, get out now!"

"Gather at the village entrance!"

"Move!"

The orders rang out.

But how could those who had already rushed into houses bear to abandon supplies almost within reach?

Some dawdled, some kept rummaging through cupboards and chests, and some were still picking and choosing.

Yang Yong's pupils contracted.

He saw the little white flag Old Cao had planted at the far end of the main street.

It was... thrashing wildly.

There was no wind.

The leaves did not move, the dust did not move, people's hems did not move.

Only that flag moved, as though an invisible hand were tugging it frantically. It slapped against the pole-smack, smack, smack-like someone clapping.

"It's an Eerie! Run!"

Yang Yong hesitated no longer. Grabbing Li Zhi, he jumped straight out the window and sprinted desperately toward the village entrance.

His soles slapped the ground, every step feeling like he was treading on cotton. Behind him, something seemed to be slowly rising, taller than him, bigger than him, faster than him.

He dared not look back.

At the village entrance.

A dozen or so people huddled beneath the great banyan tree, their faces deathly pale, their breathing rapid.

Some crouched and dry-heaved, some held their heads without moving, and some repeatedly touched their faces, as though checking they were still there.

Zheng Xiaofeng stood at the front like a stone statue, staring into the depths of the village.

"How many are still inside?"

"About... ten."

Ten living people.

The assistant glanced at the stopwatch, voice icy. "Eight minutes left."

Eight minutes.

Not mercy, but the final window for escape.

Yang Yong looked at those pitch-black doors and windows, seeing only mouths waiting to feed.

Something sank in his stomach, as though he had swallowed a chunk of ice.

A few more minutes passed.

A dull thud came from deep within the village.

Then came a scream.

It stopped halfway through. Then nothing.

"That's Sister Zhang! Sister Zhang, the one with the child!"

Someone in the crowd burst into sobs, then abruptly clapped a hand over their mouth halfway through, as though afraid the noise would draw something over.

Zheng Xiaofeng's eyes widened in fury, and he turned to charge inside.

His Stone Armor scraped shrilly, and a thin crack split the ground beneath his feet.

"Stop."

Sister Ying had appeared behind him at some point and lightly placed a hand on his shoulder.

That featherlight touch locked Zheng Xiaofeng in place like iron pincers, leaving him unable to move.

His Stone Armor creaked beneath Sister Ying's palm, as though struggling-or breaking apart.

"They're already gone."

Sister Ying's voice held not a ripple. "If you go in, you'll only add one more death."

"But..."

"No buts."

Old Cao's voice drifted calmly from the village entrance.

"We leave as soon as the half hour is up."

"No one gets to hold back the entire convoy."

Zheng Xiaofeng clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening as his Stone Armor scraped shrilly.

His shoulders shook, his whole body like a string stretched to its limit. In the end, he stayed still.

The final minute.

A young man came charging out in a frenzy, his backpack gone, his clothes shredded, his face covered in blood.

He stumbled and fell, pointing at the village as strange rasping sounds escaped his throat.

"There's-there's something... underground..."

"The ground suddenly opened!"

"Brother Wang... got dragged inside!"

"It swallowed him whole!"

The ground... opened?

Every face instantly turned white as paper.

Some began backing away, some crouched and hugged their knees, and some clutched the arms of those beside them, digging their nails into flesh.

The stopwatch hit zero.

"Get aboard!"

"Everyone aboard!"

"Leave now!"

The assistant's roar shattered the last of the stillness.

The crowd erupted.

Some rushed toward the vehicles, some collapsed and could not get up, and a young woman suddenly turned and ran toward the village, shouting, "My mother's still in there!" Someone beside her grabbed her and pinned her down.

Her nails gouged the earth, leaving ten bloody marks.

Yang Yong mounted his mountain bike and took one last look at Qinglongzhai Village.

The sunlight was still blinding, the village still quiet. Only that white flag bent in an eerie curve, as though waving goodbye.

The convoy roared away.

Two kilometers out, everyone was still trembling all over.

Some kept looking back, some buried their faces in their hands, and some began murmuring prayers.

"Those ten people... they're just gone?"

"What else? You going back to save them?"

"Isn't Zheng Xiaofeng a Transcendent? Why didn't he save them!"

"Save them?"

Someone sneered. "Even bullets can't hurt an Eerie. Transcendents can only escape, not kill them!"

"Go in, and you'll all get swallowed into the ground together!"

Yang Yong pedaled in silence.

He touched his backpack. Grease from the cured meat had seeped through, coating his hand.

He wiped it on his trousers, but it would not come clean.

At dusk, the convoy made camp at an abandoned gas station.

Old Cao gathered everyone together, his tone terrifyingly calm.

"Ten people died in Qinglongzhai Village today."

"I'm sorry, but I won't apologize."

"We need supplies, we need data, and we need to stay alive."

"When the Eerie appear, how they kill, how to avoid them-those are all lessons paid for with lives."

"Anyone unwilling to gamble can leave right now."

No one left.

Leaving meant certain death.

"Tomorrow, we'll go to the supermarket in the town up ahead."

Old Cao opened his notebook, his gaze icy. "There are more supplies there, and the danger level is lower."

"We have to go."

"If we don't, we'll all starve to death."

That single sentence slammed into everyone's heart.

Someone opened their mouth, but in the end, they only lowered their head and tightened their grip on the can in their hands.

Late that night.

Yang Yong lay in his sleeping bag with his eyes open, afraid to sleep. That sentence kept echoing in his mind: the ground suddenly opened up.

He rolled over, and his sleeping bag rustled. He immediately froze, held his breath, and listened for a long time.

Beside him, people were talking in hushed voices.

"What exactly does Old Cao write in that notebook?"

"Seems like it's... probabilities."

"Calculating where it's safe and where we'll die."

"Probabilities?"

"Can you calculate something like the Eerie using probabilities?"

"If his calculations were off, we'd have died eight times over by now."

Yang Yong closed his eyes, his heart pounding wildly.

He felt his chest. There was nothing there, yet it felt as though a stone were pressing down on it.

Would tomorrow's supermarket really be safer?

He had no answer.

All he knew was that the cured meat, rice, and flour in his backpack felt painfully hard against him, down to the last grain.