Amid the bustling party, Diz Dan, the fourth brother of the household, turned to one of the women and asked,"Sister, where's my eldest brother? Why hasn't he arrived yet?"
"He and the second brother sneaked off early," she replied with a smirk,"I bet they're hiding somewhere and sneaking a drink."
A mischievous glint sparkled in Diz Dan's eyes."Alright, I'll go help find them!"
The eldest sister-in-law raised an eyebrow in suspicion."Afraid you'll miss out on the good wine if you're too slow?"
Diz Dan, slightly embarrassed, slowed his pace."Of course not," he muttered, glancing around in search of his two brothers who had abandoned him for their secret drinking session.
Suddenly, Diz Dan noticed a vague figure on the edge of the woods. Squinting, he tried to make out what it was. The figure drew nearer, moving with a strange, stiff gait. As it came closer, Diz Dan saw that the figure was covered in tatters, bloodstained, and the face was pale with an expression of utter despair and terror.
The figure let out a hoarse cry,"Help... help me!" The voice seemed to come from the depths of the throat. Diz Dan's heart raced as he watched the figure stagger towards the wooden fence, nearly spent. Just as it was about to reach, it collapsed with a thud.
Diz Dan's nerves snapped into high alert.
"What is that? Is it a person?" He shouted out, drawing the attention of the nearby women who turned their gazes toward the commotion. The closer they looked, the clearer it became—it was a blood-soaked human. Just ten meters from the outermost wooden fence, the figure was writhing on the ground in agony.
A scream cut through the night, followed by a wave of uneasy murmurs spreading through the crowd. Fear and confusion etched on every face, the villagers instinctively gathered towards the direction of the fence. Some held their breath, eyes wide in disbelief, while a few timid villagers trembled, their eyes glinting with fear in the darkness.
"What's going on?" one villager asked another in a low, nervous voice, scanning the area.
The headmaster and several villagers, quick to react, prepared to head towards the fence gate. However, a hand suddenly grabbed them tightly."Don't go over there, headmaster. It seems... there might be something out there," the voice trembled with anxiety. The headmaster halted, casting a wary glance around. His gaze swept the darkness, a chilling premonition rising in his chest. The surrounding villagers also stopped, holding their breath, waiting anxiously for further instructions.
Seeing the headmaster pause, the villagers halted too."A-Lai, what do you see?"
An impatient villager shouted,"A-Lai, don't dawdle! Saving lives is more important!"
A-Lai sniffed the air, catching a faint, unusual scent of rust. It grew stronger as he approached. His keen nose detected the ominous smell, which seemed to herald impending danger.
His ears tuned to the whisper of the wind, as if it was revealing some secret. A-Lai tightened his grip on his spear, his palms sweating slightly. He discreetly wiped his hands on his pants, trying to steady himself.
The spear felt heavy in his hands, but his arms had grown accustomed to its weight. When nervous, he would unconsciously twirl the spear, the coarse cloth wrapping absorbing the sweat from his palms.
At that moment, his ears caught a faint sound, like the heavy breathing of some creature lurking in the night, mixed with the subtle crackle of dry branches under the light steps of a large feline. His heart raced, but he took a deep breath, striving to remain calm. Now was not the time for panic; he needed to stay clear-headed.
Living in a remote mountain village surrounded by dense forests, A-Lai's master, though a small old man, had taught him many wondrous skills and secrets. His master had once made him gaze at distant leaves until he could discern every vein, and then further, until he could identify reflections in moonlight—whether they were water drops, dew, or something else.
As his heart pounded like a drum in his chest, A-Lai's palms grew damp, and his grip on the spear trembled slightly. He recalled his master's lessons on staying composed, focusing intently on the darkness ahead. He knew that now, more than ever, he must remain alert; any sign of panic could lead to disastrous consequences.
That was the shadow of a dark creature, its form indistinguishable, silently approaching them. Unable to see clearly, A-Lai shouted,"Something's coming!" His voice pierced the night, startling the last of the villagers near the school gate.
"What is that?" More students noticed the ground seemed to be alive, slowly writhing.
An impatient villager had already opened the fence gate and rushed out towards the fallen villager. But now, the fallen figure lay motionless.
"Stop him!" the headmaster shouted, but it was too late.
"Hey, buddy, don't go out!" The other villagers' voices of persuasion came to an abrupt halt as they saw the impatient man get taken down in an instant by a pack of dark beasts. These were direwolves, their eyes glowing red, their movements swift and lethal. They surrounded him like a black whirlwind, dragging him into the depths of the night.
The man struggled, his voice sharp and broken with fear, his cries echoing through the night,"Help me!" However, this plea for help was cut short within seconds as one of the wolves bit down on his throat. Blood splattered, and his voice fell silent.
The villagers were stunned by the horrific scene, everyone frozen in place, not daring to take a step forward to save him. In the darkness, the low growls of the wolves and the man's gradually weakening moans intertwined, as if the grim reaper of the night was harvesting a life. The villagers could only watch helplessly, their hearts filled with impotence and fear.
A female student who witnessed the horrific scene turned pale, her eyes wide and mouth agape. She seemed on the verge of screaming, but fear stifled her voice. Her trembling hands hung limply at her sides, her whole being frozen in that moment.
The gruesome spectacle, however, greatly excited the onlookers in the shadows. Their faces, twisted and fierce under the dim light, held a cold, cruel gleam. Every mouth curled into a twisted smile. The gamblers, holding their glasses of alcohol, some even chewing cigars, never took their eyes off the bloody scene. Their fingers tapped lightly in the air, as if awaiting an upcoming feast, their expressions filled with malice and greed.
The gamblers began to murmur among themselves, their tone dripping with mockery and excitement. A burly man sneered,"See, this is what they call'despair.'" Another gambler scoffed,"This show has just begun; don't be in a hurry to leave." Their words revealed a chilling disregard for the victims' suffering and a fervent appetite for violence.