I am not afraid of dead people. Every year, when heavy snow falls, a few beggars always freeze to death in Luoyang City. I would rush over immediately, empty their pockets, and take the last one or two copper coins. But this is the first time I’ve seen someone die as bizarrely as the old man. I felt a bit scared, but also a little schadenfreude—if I really died, at least I’d have some company in the afterlife.

All night, John Smith didn’t sleep; George Smith ordered him to keep watch.

At dawn the next day, before I was even fully awake, Tommy Smith dragged me up by force.

“Hurry up and get moving,” Tommy Smith screeched. For such a little guy, he sure was strong.

The morning air was cold and damp, a ghastly white mist drifting all around, vague and ghostly, like wandering spirits. The four of us trudged on in silence. After passing through a patch of thorns, I suddenly felt something was wrong. The ground beneath my feet was wet and soft—there should have been footprints left behind, but now, there was nothing at all, as smooth as silk.

It was as if we had entered a realm of magic.

A cold dewdrop slid from a leaf tip down my neck, making me shiver. Where exactly was George Smith taking us?

Suddenly, John Smith stopped in his tracks, his eyes vacant, and let out a loud roar.

George Smith turned around, frowning. “What are you doing?”

John Smith ignored him, acting like a crazed beast. He opened his mouth and charged forward. With a “bang,” John Smith smashed his head against a hard tree, blood and brain matter splattering everywhere. But he kept howling, hugging the trunk, gnawing at it with his teeth, making a chilling “creak” sound.

He seemed to have gone mad!

George Smith’s expression shifted. After a while, he said, “Leave him. Let’s keep going.”

Suddenly, John Smith turned to us and smiled. As he smiled, he walked toward us, the lines of his grin wriggling across his face like earthworms.

“Splatter!” Blood sprayed out—John Smith’s left hand broke off and fell to the ground, then his right, then his whole arm, his eyeballs, his mouth—one by one, his body parts separated and scattered all over the ground. In the end, only two feet remained, stepping toward us through a pool of bright red blood.

Tommy Smith was so terrified his face turned deathly pale, his whole body trembling. I was no better, my heart pounding wildly. George Smith, on the other hand, was calm and motionless. The two feet walked up to him and suddenly exploded, the mud stained red with blood.

Tommy Smith and I stared at each other in shock. After a long while, we finally heard George Smith’s hoarse voice: “What are you standing around for? Move!”

Another day passed quickly.

That night, while we rested, Tommy Smith crouched under a scarred old tree stump, shivering nonstop. At the slightest sound, he jumped up like a startled rabbit.

I yawned and fell asleep right away. George Smith sat nearby, keeping watch himself.

The nighttime swamp was eerie, with strange rustling noises echoing from the darkness. Both the old man and John Smith had died in such strange ways. I was a little scared at the time, but afterward, I didn’t care and slept soundly as usual.

What do I have left to be afraid of now?

When the sun rose, I lifted my head and gazed at it for a long time. The sunlight on my face felt cold. Today was the last day of my sixteenth year. Last night, I dreamed of many people—my dad, Miss Wang, Big Bear, Li Jiejing, and my mother, who died giving birth to me.

Suddenly, I felt the heavens were too unfair to me.

George Smith made Tommy Smith throw away all our food and water. He gripped my hand tightly and led me forward. George Smith’s slippery, clammy hand felt like a slug.

In the silent swamp, only our footsteps echoed—“shh, shh”—monotonous and dull.

The road grew harder and harder, with large pools of water and dense thickets of thorns everywhere. The mud was slick and treacherous; if you stepped wrong, your foot would sink in and you’d be dragged down. If George Smith hadn’t held onto me, I might have died several times.

At noon, we passed through a patch of white reeds, and George Smith stopped.

“It should be here.” He spread out a sheepskin map, crisscrossed with black lines, and at the center was a striking red mark.

“Master, look!” Tommy Smith’s eyes widened as he pointed ahead. The sunlight shimmered like water, and behind the trees, a green oasis magically appeared. Beautiful flowers, a clear pool, and a lush grassy field piled high with glittering treasures.

Damn, it’s a treasure hoard! If I could haul this back to Luoyang, I’d be rich in no time! Was this what George Smith came here for—to find these riches?

Tommy Smith’s beady eyes gleamed with greed as he hopped toward the oasis.

“Don’t go! It’s not time yet!” George Smith shrieked, but it was too late.

A hand like a bird’s claw, bony and thin, shot out from the pool and seized Tommy Smith by the throat. He struggled as he was slowly dragged into the water, his legs still kicking desperately above the surface.

I was dumbfounded.

Tommy Smith vanished into the pool. After a while, he suddenly burst out of the water, transformed into a ball of raw, red flesh. His entire skin had been peeled off, bloody muscles bubbling, and blood blisters rolling off, bouncing across the grass.

Tommy Smith quickly melted into a puddle of blood.

All around was deathly silent, as if nothing had happened. I bent over, about to vomit.