"Right now? Are you joking?" The homeowner stuttered as he spoke.
"Right now. Both of my children have gone missing — they may have run into Coffin Village." Chen Ge didn't want to delay any longer. The mountain terrain was treacherous, and anything could happen to two children on the road.
"You'll have to find someone else." The water from the homeowner's teacup sloshed over the rim. He was visibly nervous and afraid. "I've only ever heard the older generation mention that place. I don't know the way."
He noticed Chen Ge's expression slowly changing — growing colder, more piercing — and hurriedly added, "You could ask the elderly people in the village. They'd definitely know. I can take you to them."
Only then did Chen Ge nod. "I'll trouble you, then."
"No trouble at all — it's the least I can do." The homeowner wiped the sweat from his forehead and went inside to look for a flashlight.
"Chen Ge, ease up a little. You're going to scare the man." Old Wei could do absolutely nothing with Chen Ge. In truth, even standing right beside him made Old Wei a bit uneasy — especially when he thought about all the things Chen Ge had done in the past.
"I know what I'm doing," Chen Ge said flatly. Right now, he couldn't be bothered with such trivial matters. Finding the missing children was all that mattered.
"I heard from the elders in my family that a group of refugees once fled from the mountains. They supposedly came from Coffin Village." The homeowner returned with a flashlight in hand. "Those people settled on the western side of the village. We live on the eastern side, and there was never much contact between the two groups. My grandmother told me when she was alive that those people weren't clean."
The homeowner was honest enough, hiding nothing from Chen Ge and the others. "Back then I thought, what era is this? Everyone's equal — what's this talk about clean or unclean? I figured the old woman was just getting senile. But after living here a while longer, I realized that group really was a bit off."
"How so?" Chen Ge and Old Wei were both curious.
"They rarely left their rooms. After dark, they wouldn't set foot outside even half a step, as if something out there was going to hurt them." The homeowner lowered his voice. "Every single household hung a rope over their window and kept a kitchen knife behind their front door. I once asked them why they did that. They said it was to keep thieves away."
"That's it?"
"There was one more thing — the strangest part." The homeowner's voice dropped even lower. "Every so often, one of those mountain refugees would disappear. But whenever someone went missing, the others who had also fled from the mountains weren't sad at all. They were happy. The feeling was like…"
"Like what? Spit it out." Chen Ge pressed him.
"Like as long as it wasn't them who died, it didn't matter." The words were somewhat cruel, and both Chen Ge and Old Wei fell into thought.
"I'm just telling you what I felt — please don't read too much into it!" the homeowner said quickly in self-defense. The three of them walked together to the center of the village, turned onto a narrow path, and arrived at a small brick-and-tile house.
"We're here — this is the one." The homeowner was about to knock, but when his hand landed on the door, he realized the wooden door was unlocked. "Uncle Zhu?"
He stepped inside and took only one pace forward before freezing in place.
On the dining table directly facing the entrance sat a black-and-white photograph of an old man. The face in the photo stared straight at the front door. Even more terrifying, the eyes in the photograph had been gouged out.
"Don't panic." Chen Ge gently patted the farmer's shoulder. Without even turning on the lights, he walked into the room alone and picked up the black-and-white photo from the table. "This photo looks like it's quite old — the edges are worn. He probably knew this day would come."