Chapter 2: Old Black Bend

After three long days and nights on the green train, I finally arrived at my destination: Xilin County Railway Station. According to my mother’s notes, this was a key location, but even so, I had only traveled half the distance.

Even with my strong constitution, I found myself struggling with exhaustion from the journey. Xilin County was remote, poor, and backward; stepping out of the station, it hardly resembled a county town at all—more like a small, desperately impoverished village.

“Hey, where are you headed?”

While I was lost in thought, a man in a leather jacket approached, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He spoke in a dialect I couldn’t understand. Noticing he was addressing me, I snapped out of my reverie, smiled, and shook my head. Then I asked, “Is there anywhere to eat around here?”

He paused, then, in clumsy Mandarin, asked, “You’re not from around here, are you?”

When I nodded, he grinned and told me to follow him. He seemed the type who lingered around stations looking for business—there’s one at every station.

After a short walk, he led me into a small inn. The first floor served food, the second was for lodging. He exchanged a few words in the local dialect with a woman inside, and then a menu was placed before me. After a bowl of noodles, my stomach felt much better.

The man in the leather jacket sat down across from me again and asked, “So, kid, are you here visiting family or what?”

I replied offhandedly that I was just here for a trip. He squinted, chuckled, and shook his head. “What’s there to see here? This is the middle of nowhere—dirt poor.”

Seeing his doubtful look, I didn’t bother to explain. But then it struck me: I didn’t actually know what to do next. So I pulled out a slip of paper with a name from my mother’s notes and handed it to him.

“My goodness, why would you go there?”

Seeing his startled expression, I hurriedly asked, “You know this place?”

He chuckled, lit a cigarette, and offered me one. I waved it off and took out my own pack, gesturing for him to have one of mine instead.

“City folk really are something else. These are good smokes.”

I handed him the rest of my half-empty pack, urging him to tell me where this place was. He happily pocketed the Marlboros, then looked around warily before saying,

“Listen, kid, you really shouldn’t go there.”

“Why not?” I asked.

His expression grew grave. “That place—Mount Dalong, also known as Beheading Mountain—people say it’s haunted. There are tales of ghostly soldiers passing through.”

I was momentarily taken aback, then forced a smile, not believing a word. He continued, “I’m not kidding. Last year, Er Mazi’s sheep ran off and he went up the mountain to find them. He said he saw ghost soldiers passing by and that his life’s flame was snuffed out. He fell gravely ill and died soon after, just as he’d described. That place is cursed.”

I shook my head and asked directly how to get there. He saw I didn’t believe him and gave up arguing. “Young people are always like this. Anyway, I’ve warned you. Most folks wouldn’t dare go there. But if you insist, there’s a bus in the morning to Dragon King Village. Get off at Old Black Bend and follow the dark dirt road straight to Mount Dalong. You’ll see a Temple of the Earth God along the way. That’s it. It’s a long walk, though, and hardly anyone goes up there anymore except for the fire-watch patrols.”

He seemed genuinely helpful, offering more advice. But it was already late afternoon—there were no more buses, and taxis didn’t exist here. The only option was to wait for the morning bus. So I decided to stay in that inn for the night.

That evening, I asked the man in the leather jacket if there were any stores nearby selling travel gear. Since I’d be hiking and climbing, I needed proper equipment.

He laughed, “This isn’t a tourist spot—just a poor backwater, barely even a county town.” Still, he pointed me to a few general and hardware stores.

I bought some simple gear, food, and water, stuffed my backpack, and returned to the inn. Early the next morning, the man in the leather jacket guided me to a shabby, old bus. There weren’t many passengers. The driver asked where I was headed, and I replied, “Mount Dalong.”

“Mount Dalong? What are you going up there for?”

He was surprised, too, probably wondering why anyone would go. I repeated what the man in the leather jacket had told me, “I’ll get off at Old Black Bend.”

Hearing my Mandarin, he realized I was an outsider and didn’t press further. He just said, “One yuan twenty.”

The bus ride was rough, jolting so much I nearly lost my breakfast. The roads were treacherous—steep mountain paths—and the driver took them at speed. I was a bundle of nerves, but the other passengers seemed unfazed, some even snacking on sunflower seeds.

I couldn’t understand their dialect and didn’t try. Gazing out the window, I marveled at the mountain scenery—something a city-dweller like me had only ever seen on TV.

After two hours, the driver slammed on the brakes and muttered, “Good thing I remembered—almost missed your stop. Kid, this is your stop!”

His Mandarin was rough, but I understood. I nodded, grabbed my backpack, and was about to get off when he kindly reminded me, “This is the only bus. It comes every other day. If you want to go back, be here at this time tomorrow.”

Then he added, “Why are you even going to a place like this, really?”

I just smiled and nodded, then got off. As soon as the old bus rumbled away, I looked around and understood why everyone on the bus, even the driver, had eyed me so strangely. The environment was utterly oppressive.

All around were black mountains and green forests. The “path” the man in the leather jacket described was barely visible—a narrow track overgrown with wild grass, so tight two people couldn’t walk abreast. Silence pressed in from all sides, broken only by the occasional bird call. There was no sign of human habitation for dozens of kilometers. Anyone coming here must be mad.

I didn’t dwell on it. My temperament has always been a bit out of the ordinary. I shouldered my backpack and headed down the quiet path. By now, it was midday. I took out some bread, chewed a few mouthfuls, and drank from my precious bottle of water.

I’d been walking for about an hour when I started to feel uneasy, as though someone—or something—was following me. But every time I looked back, nothing was there. Maybe it was a wild animal? The thought made me wary. I pulled a short knife from my pack—a hunting knife I’d bought at a hardware store the day before. It was razor sharp, with a blood groove, the kind hunters use. Too bad I couldn’t get a gun.

I pressed on. The environment grew darker—the ground black, the thick forest almost primeval, blocking out the sun. The air was heavy and damp, stifling.

By my calculations, I should have reached the Temple of the Earth God the man had mentioned, but after more walking, I saw no sign of it. Just as I was about to rest, a piercing bird cry split the silence. In this oppressive setting, it put me on high alert. I instinctively crouched, gripping my knife in reverse across my chest. I trusted my skills—if a tiger appeared, I could at least put up a fight.

But even after a long wait, nothing happened. The bird’s cry, though, seemed to pierce right through me, leaving a sense of dread.

Suddenly, I felt a chill at my neck, as if a cold wind had brushed by. I turned my head—only to find an enormous head looming before me. My heart stopped and cold sweat broke out on my back: it was a bear-man.

I knew enough to realize how dangerous this creature was; it could kill cattle or horses with ease—far beyond human strength. I twisted away instantly, leaping out of its reach.

As I jumped aside, a gust of cold air whisked past my chest—its barbed claws missing me by a hair’s breadth. I shuddered. If those claws had caught me, I’d have been gutted on the spot.

This beast was nothing I could handle head-on. My mind raced, knife tightly in hand. Despite its bulky frame, it moved with terrifying agility, swiping at my head with a massive paw.

I dodged desperately, slashing with my knife as I moved. “You think I’m easy prey?” I thought.

The knife tip pierced the bear-man’s upper arm, but the blade only left a shallow cut—its hide was unbelievably tough.

That wound only enraged the creature further. Roaring in fury, it charged, madness in its eyes, hurtling straight at me.