Dragon Vein Storyteller

Chapter 9 Tai Sui

The moment I passed through the city gate, the jade pendant on my chest throbbed again, heavier and slower than before, as if something on the other side of the city gate, through a thin cloth, was tapping my chest with its knuckles.

Before I could even process what was happening, the sensation under my feet gave me goosebumps.

The ground inside the city wasn't made of stone slabs or rammed earth; it was soft. It felt slightly sticky underfoot, like stepping on a giant tongue, and with each step you could hear a soft "pop" as your shoe sole separated from the ground.

I glanced down at the soles of my shoes… a layer of black mud covered them, with translucent, filamentous material clinging to them, like lotus roots with intertwined threads, stretching back together after being torn apart. I pressed the torch down, trying to see what was beneath my feet… it was pitch black, I couldn't see anything. The ground felt like a thick layer of moss, or perhaps a layer of fermented mud that had been sitting for who knows how many years; it was sluggish, requiring extra effort with each step.

Suddenly, a muffled "plop" came from behind me. I turned around and saw Sanjin, who was walking at the back. His foot had stomped down, and a ring of water slowly seeped into the ground, like stepping on a soaked sponge. He frowned and muttered, "There's something alive underground."

"Mystic...it seems like something is moving on the ground." The little chick gripped my hand tightly, its voice extremely low.

I waved the torch forward.

The firelight illuminated a distance of less than two zhang ahead... and then I saw those people.

The group of people who had been eating white meat outside the city were now sprawled on the ground, limbs down, in bizarre positions, as if they had been sucked in by something. Their torches were scattered all over the ground, some still burning, others already extinguished, their embers flickering in the darkness.

But none of these people picked it up.

They lay prone on the ground, their shoulders heaving, their heads buried deep, their backs arched like moving mounds. Two men crawled forward on their knees, their knees dragging deep furrows in the mud, their hands digging at the ground like scavenging animals, their fingernails filled with black mud.

"What's wrong?" Baldy Liao touched his bald head, took half a step forward, and then pulled back. He took that half step carefully, and his toes bounced back as soon as they touched the ground... The ground was so soft that he felt uneasy.

I gestured for Sanjin to raise the torch higher. The five torches came together, and the firelight finally spread out over a larger area.

Then, I saw the white flesh.

They were scattered on the ground, here and there, some as big as millstones, thick and lumpy, undulating slightly as if breathing; others were no more than the thickness of a fist, as if they had just squeezed out of a crack in the ground, still wriggling. Their surfaces gleamed with a moist sheen, almost transparent white, and beneath their skin, one could vaguely see vein-like patterns, gently pulsating in the firelight.

These white flesh pieces are alive.

Pieces of them, like entrails vomited from the earth, were scattered at the entrance to this dead city. Without wounds, without roots, they simply grew out of thin air, living and wriggling on their own. When the torchlight swept over them, they seemed startled, their wriggling suddenly becoming more violent, some clumps even turning over on the spot.

The group of people were lying on top of that white flesh.

The tall, thin man closest to me was clutching a piece of white flesh the size of a washbasin in his hands, his ten fingers sinking into the flesh. His face was buried in the white flesh, his chin, bridge of his nose, and cheekbones were all covered with a layer of sticky fluid.

The cross-section of the white flesh wasn't the texture of meat, but rather a translucent, jelly-like substance, densely covered with tiny black dots that shimmered slightly in the firelight.

A woman knelt on the ground beside him, holding a fist-sized piece of white flesh in her hands. The moment her lips touched the surface of the flesh, it contracted violently as if stimulated, and large amounts of clear, sticky fluid seeped from its surface.

Looking further ahead, the burly man who had been hit by the three-pound weight earlier was also kneeling on the ground, clutching a piece of white flesh in his arms. My gaze sharpened—below his open collarbone, the skin was twitching unnaturally. A white, rice-grain-sized bulge. At the same time, his back was soaked, not with sweat, but with his clothes stained dark, clinging to his back, bulging as if something was breathing beneath his skin.

My heart sank, but I pretended nothing had happened and looked away.

I stood there, my stomach churning. When I smelled that aroma outside the city, I felt a pang of craving too. That aroma was coming from these things. Now, just looking at them makes my mouth water.

"Don't look over there." I turned the little chick's face back, preventing him from seeing the group of people eating. "Let's sit down around here."

I pointed to a piece of white flesh at my feet. It wasn't big, only about the size of a fist. Half of it was embedded in the black mud, while the other half was slightly raised, slowly contracting and expanding. Its skin was thinner than the other pieces of white flesh, almost transparent, and you could see a milky white substance slowly rotating inside, like a peeled egg carelessly tossed into the mud.

The five of us sat down around the piece of white meat, with torches stuck in the ground, the five flames illuminating the little thing in every detail.

No one spoke. Everyone stared at it. It seemed to know it was being watched; its movements slowed considerably, and it curled into a tight ball, with fine droplets of liquid seeping from its skin.

Feng the Cripple squinted and stared for a while, then suddenly pulled an iron shovel from his boot and gently poked the surface of the white flesh with its tip. The flesh recoiled sharply, leaving a dent where it had been poked, before slowly springing back. A drop of clear liquid seeped from the dent, landing on the shovel and actually etching a faint rust onto its surface.

The lame man took the shovel back, brought it to his nose and smelled it, his brows furrowing into a knot.

"Tai Sui." He rubbed the iron shovel on the sole of his shoe, his voice deep and muffled. "It's Tai Sui."