— Breaking the Taboo —
I knew the villagers feared the reservoir site—but the depth of their terror settled like a cold stone in my gut.
Before I could speak, Reaves, the village headman, fixed me with a grave stare. "Mr. Arcturus, you're certain Ward's body is in there?"
"Certain," I said, my voice firm.
"How... how could it have gone into a place like that?" He trailed off, the unspoken thought hanging between us. "Unless something inside..."
He didn't finish. He didn't need to. The faces around us had already drained of color.
I kept my voice steady, addressing the crowd. "To you, this place may be cursed. To me, it's just an empty stretch of land where accidents have happened. The body went in. We go in and bring it out."
Even as I spoke, my own mind churned. A walking corpse was rare enough. For it to move on its own, purposefully, toward this infamous site... Was the land calling it? Or was something else at work?
"But it's unclean in there!" a middle-aged man blurted, his voice trembling. "Silas Nightseer—the seer in our village—he said it! Anyone who sets foot inside will lose ten years of their life and suffer a decade of misfortune."
"Silas Nightseer?" I echoed the name.
Reaves gave a heavy nod. "An old bone-reader. A fortune-teller."
"Tell me about him."
The headman drew a slow breath, his gaze distant.
"It's a strange tale. Silas was a drunkard once. Liquor was his shadow. Then, one day during a village funeral, he drank himself senseless. He took a bamboo basket to the fields and spent the whole night there—singing, dancing, howling at the moon. When morning came... he was a changed man."
"Changed how?" Jasper asked, unable to stay silent.
"Sober. Forever. And stranger still... he still had one good eye before that night. Afterward, he was completely blind."
"Blind?" Jasper whispered. I felt the same chill.
"But he gained a sight of another kind," Reaves continued. "He began to foresee things—events in the village. No one believed him at first. They thought the madness had finally taken him. Then he predicted that three women in the village would die within a month."
He paused. The silence around us was absolute.
"And?" I prompted.
"And... they did."
A collective shudder passed through the crowd.
"After that, people from our village and the ones nearby started going to him. Because he truly could... see things others couldn't."
A classic village psychic, I thought, my frown tightening.
"It was Master Silas who warned everyone to stay out of the reservoir site," the middle-aged man added.
I knew the site held secrets, but this specific taboo was new. Whether it was superstition or something more, I needed to speak with this Silas Nightseer—after we recovered the body.
As I considered this, the man turned to Fraser, his expression pained. "Fraser, if your mother had gone anywhere else, I'd help you search until my legs gave out. But going in there... I... I can't."
His fear was contagious. I saw doubt flicker in the eyes of others.
Fraser looked to me, helpless. "Mr. Arcturus, what do we...?"
"I understand your fear," I said, raising my voice so all could hear. "But the body is inside. We must go in. Listen—those who've worked with blood, or anyone born under Leo or Scorpio, come with me. I give you my word. No harm will come to you."
Hesitation still held them. Then Thorne stepped forward.
"I am a Scorpio," he said, his voice clear. "I have seen what Mr. Arcturus can do. I trust him. I will go."
Reaves let out a slow breath. "I slaughtered cattle in my youth. The blood is on my hands, too. I will go as well."
Their courage was the spark. One by one, others stepped forward—five more men, their faces set with grim resolve.
I counted. Reaves, Thorne, Fraser, myself, Jasper, and the five volunteers. Twelve of us.
"Then we go," I said, and turned toward the fence without another word.
---
— The Self-Made Grave —
Jasper caught up to me, his voice a hushed whisper. "Rhan, I'm not a butcher, and I'm definitely not a Leo or a Scorpio. Is that... going to be a problem?"
I glanced at him. "Is there a difference? You were in here with me yesterday."
"Oh. Right." The tension left his shoulders, and a faint grin appeared. "Guess I'm fine, then."
We followed the cloth doll's faint trail deeper into the construction site, the silence broken only by our footsteps on the hard-packed earth.
"There!" Fraser pointed, his voice cracking with emotion.
The doll lay in a patch of bare ground, away from the skeletal frames of machinery and abandoned vehicles.
"Mr. Arcturus, does this mean my mother is here?" Fraser's words tumbled out in a rush.
I didn't answer immediately. Kneeling, I examined the doll. It lay face down, its stitched arms outstretched, cloth fingers curled as if clawing at the earth.
Rising, I scanned the area. It felt familiar. Then I saw them—faint, chaotic imprints in the dirt. Paw prints.
This was the exact spot. Where the rats had gathered. Where the mist had risen.
"Fetch shovels," I said to Fraser. "Your mother is below us."
"Below?" His eyes went wide.
"Right here."
Before he could protest, Reaves took charge. "Call for shovels. Now."
Fraser nodded and moved away, pulling out his phone.
Thorne approached, his voice low. "You believe the body is buried here? Truly?"
"I do."
"But there's no disturbance in the soil. No sign of digging. How could it be?"
"I don't know yet. We'll understand more when we see it."
Ten minutes later, shovels arrived. I directed two men to dig.
The top layer was hard, resistant. Then, about a foot down, one of the diggers gasped, his shovel striking something solid. "Here! Something's here!"
We gathered around the shallow hole. A foot, pallid and stiff, protruded from the dark soil.
The air seemed to freeze in place. No one spoke. Every gaze was nailed to that grisly anchor in the soil.
"Keep digging," I said.
The soil below became loose, unnaturally so, as if it had been recently churned. The body had been buried vertically, headfirst. They had to dig down nearly two meters before the full, terrible form was revealed.
It was rigid, frozen in a final, frantic struggle. The hands were shredded, caked with dirt and dried blood. The face was a mask of mud, the mouth packed with earth. Even for me, the sight was a visceral blow.
I kept my expression neutral. "Take her back. Clean her. Dress her. Prepare her for burial properly this time."
Questions hung in the air, thick and unspoken, but the men obeyed in silence, lifting the earth-stained body with a reverent care that bordered on fear.
I stayed behind, studying the open grave.
Below the first meter, the yellow clay gave way to a stratum of jet-black soil—hard, dry, and compacted. Not waterlogged mud. Something else.
Reaves had not left. He stood beside me, his confusion palpable. "Mr. Arcturus... what happened here? Why would she come to this place? How did she get into the ground?"
I met his gaze. "I don't have the answers yet. But after this, the body must be watched closely. No more rituals at the crossroads."
I said nothing of the rats or the mist. That knowledge would only breed more panic.
He looked toward the distant three-way junction and nodded slowly, understanding. "It stays at the house from now on."
"Yes."
He fell into step beside me as we left the silent site.
In the afternoon, Feng Yongguo called. He was tied up with bureaucracy but urged me to contact him for anything I needed.
After hanging up, I gathered Jasper and Clara. "We're paying a visit."
"To who?" Clara asked.
"Silas Nightseer."
As we walked, Jasper broke the quiet. "Rhan, what did you really find last night at the site? You never said."
I gave them a brief account—the rats, the heat, the growth, the mist.
Jasper's eyes widened. "So... all the trouble there... it's because there's a tomb underneath? A royal burial?"
"Not a tomb," I corrected, my voice dropping. "Something was imprisoned there. Sealed away."
"A... a demon?" Jasper's voice jumped an octave.
I didn't answer. We had arrived.
Before us stood a small, weary-looking house. Its eaves sagged, and the paper in the windows had yellowed with age. We had reached the home of Silas Nightseer.