The village was quieter than usual that evening. Yi Lian sat outside, his gaze fixed on the setting sun, its soft glow dimming behind distant hills. The air felt heavier, thick with something unspoken, something the villagers couldn't see, but Yi Lian felt deep in his chest. It unsettled him, a quiet weight pressing down on his thoughts. The peace that had once settled over the village seemed to be crumbling, replaced by a creeping unease that slipped through the cracks of his mind.
Since his arrival, Yi Lian had sensed that something was off. It had started with the villagers. At first, they had been warm and welcoming, but as days passed, he noticed subtle changes. The energy that had once thrummed with life in the air now seemed to wane, fading like a fire burning out. The land, once full of vibrant vitality, seemed to lose its spirit, as if something was draining it slowly.
Yi Lian had convinced himself it was exhaustion at first. The villagers worked tirelessly, and he had assumed fatigue could easily cloud the health of the people. But no—this was different. What had begun as simple tiredness had quickly turned into something far more profound. The villagers' health didn't just worsen—it seemed to wither from the inside out, as if their very essence was being sapped by an invisible force.
He had tried to ask them about it. At first, they'd reassured him with vague words—"It's just a little tiredness," or "It'll pass soon, don't worry." But Yi Lian could see it in their eyes, the dullness, the fear they refused to speak. They knew something wasn't right, but they were too afraid—or too unaware—to confront it.
Days turned to weeks, and the symptoms grew worse. The villagers' cheeks grew pale, their steps slow and hesitant. The children, once brimming with energy, now huddled silently in their homes, their faces etched with weariness. It wasn't just their bodies that were changing—it was their very spirits, their vitality. It was as though they were slowly becoming hollow, their identities slipping away like sand through open fingers.
Yi Lian's heart grew heavier with each passing day. He watched them, observed their movements becoming more mechanical, their words more disjointed. Their smiles had vanished, leaving behind only tired, lifeless expressions. There was something wrong with them—something he couldn't explain, but could feel in every uneasy breath he took.
Late one evening, as Yi Lian walked through the village, his eyes caught sight of something that froze him in his tracks. An old woman, once so lively and friendly, stood motionless in the middle of the street, her gaze fixed on the sky. Her hands hung stiff at her sides, her eyes wide but vacant. She was staring into nothingness, her body unmoving, her spirit seemingly absent. Yi Lian called out to her, but she didn't react, didn't even blink.
This wasn't illness. This wasn't fatigue or sickness. This was something else—something far darker.
That night, Yi Lian tossed and turned in bed, strange, fragmented dreams disturbing his rest. His mind was filled with flashes of distant places, faces he couldn't place, and a sensation that clung to him like a forgotten memory. At first, he had dismissed them as remnants of the past lives of the body he inhabited, but the vividness—the raw emotion they carried—disturbed him. There was something more to these dreams, something real.
The next morning, Yi Lian observed the villagers with a keener eye. Their health had deteriorated further, their movements more sluggish and awkward. When they spoke, it was as if they had no connection to the words they were saying—empty, hollow voices. The very fabric of their personalities seemed to be disintegrating, piece by piece. Their memories were slipping away, their awareness faltering. And yet, when he asked them about it, they responded in the same monotonous tones: "We're fine. Nothing's wrong." But Yi Lian knew better. He could feel the truth just beyond their words.
Determined to understand what was happening, Yi Lian spent days scouring the village, searching for any clue that might explain the villagers' condition. He checked the wells, the food supplies, the air itself—but nothing stood out. Everything appeared ordinary. And yet, the people were dying—slowly, relentlessly. It didn't make sense.
By the end of the month, Yi Lian had seen enough to realize the full scope of what was occurring. One by one, the villagers fell—no longer the vibrant people they once were. Their skin became pale and brittle, their bodies growing unnaturally thin. They moved, but their movements were jerky, disjointed—as if their bodies were nothing more than puppets, strings pulled by some unseen hand. What chilled Yi Lian most was that despite their deteriorating condition, they didn't stop. They continued working, talking, walking through the motions of life, but their eyes—empty. Their voices—hollow. Their spirits, gone.
Yi Lian's pulse quickened as he walked among them, his eyes scanning the lifeless figures. This couldn't be happening. Dead bodies don't walk, don't work, don't continue to function in such a twisted way.
His mind raced with questions, each one more desperate than the last. What was going on? How could this be? How could they still be alive, in this way?
The unease that had clawed at him from the very beginning surged again, but this time, he refused to ignore it. He had to find the source of this affliction. He couldn't allow it to continue. Not when there was a chance to stop it.
His search led him through every house, hoping to uncover some trace of what might have caused the villagers to wither away so completely. But when he reached the last house, he found nothing. No poison. No curse. No sign of any outside influence. Only silence, and the hollow echo of the village.
Then he found the well.
Yi Lian had always known the well was important—the village's primary source of water—but he had never thought much about it. Until now. As he peered down into its depths, a strange pull in his chest made his breath catch. The energy rising from the well felt familiar—too familiar. A quiet, unnerving recognition settled in his mind. This was no ordinary well. The force emanating from it was unlike anything he'd ever encountered. It was faint, barely perceptible, but it was there. And it felt wrong.
He leaned closer, his heart pounding, the energy surrounding him like an old, forgotten presence. It felt like the Void—an energy that should not exist in this world. It was impossible. How could it be here?
Staggering back, Yi Lian's heart raced in his chest. His thoughts whirled. He couldn't deny it anymore—the well, the villagers, the village itself—it was all connected.
He had to find answers. And he had to find them now.