Переселившиеся императрицы (мужчины и женщины)

Глава 3

A policeman suddenly said this. He could almost see the policeman saying this while looking around.

"Nervousness."

The other policeman's voice was more mature, probably that of a veteran officer: "This murderer is extremely cold-blooded. Based on experience, it's indeed possible that he came back to the scene to investigate after the crime. Peng, did you notice those people who came to watch the commotion today? Go check them out."

He couldn't help but chuckle. The policeman was right to some extent, but the cold-blooded killer was still there, just a few meters away from them—something the policeman would never have imagined.

"The deceased was really lazy; he didn't even bother to tidy up the yard," the young policeman suddenly said. He must have realized he was being a bit paranoid, which is why he said that.

"Didn't you hear what the gardener who reported it said? He only comes to clean once a week. Damn it, these rich people are the stingier the richer they are. I think he deserved to have his head cut off."

The older policeman probably harbored a kind of hatred for wealthy people. As they talked, their footsteps gradually faded into the distance, and finally, with a "bang," the iron gate slammed shut again, presumably with several seals affixed to it.

The courtyard returned to silence. He looked up blankly, but didn't see anything. Just as he was about to try to climb up again, a sudden, sharp pain, as if squeezed by a giant hand, made him feel weak all over.

That afternoon, because his nerves had been on high alert, he hadn't felt hungry, but now that the tension had subsided, he felt an unbearable hunger.

Is there anything else worth listening to? He hadn't brought any food with him, and even if he had, he couldn't pull it out with his outstretched hands. He stared blankly as darkness gradually fell, and inside the well, it became completely pitch black.

What could there be to eat? His hand waved involuntarily, and suddenly, an idea flashed into his mind.

---Magpie Bridge Fairy

Reply [16]: The well wall was covered with a thick layer of moss. When he fell down, he wiped off some of the moss, so you could peel off a piece by hand. When you held it in your hand, the thick texture felt a bit like steamed sponge cake.

The thought of steamed rice cake sent another pang of pain through his stomach. But now his shoulder was also stuck, and he could only move his hands within a limited range, unable even to bring them to his mouth. Fortunately, there was plenty of moss, so he turned to the side and brought his mouth to the well wall.

If the moss hadn't been so thick, he certainly wouldn't have been able to bite it. But even though his nose was in the way, he still stuck his mouth against the well wall. He used his upper and lower front teeth to scratch at the moss, and soon, his mouth was filled with the smell of fresh grass.

The moss also tasted like freshly cut grass. He gathered some in his mouth and began to chew. It tasted somewhat bitter and astringent, but some juice flowed out as he chewed. He chewed the clump of moss until it was mashed up, swallowed it, and ignoring the lingering astringent taste on his tongue, bit off another piece.

This time, he had peeled off a large piece of moss with his bite, and holding one end in his mouth, he began to chew it slowly. Moss itself is not easy to digest, and it is basic common sense to chew slowly when eating hard-to-digest food. He chewed slowly, trying to focus on the bitter taste and to stop thinking about his current predicament.

Just then, a ray of moonlight shone in.

The moon must have risen high in the sky.

He looked up. Among the grass and leaves, he saw a moon fragmented by shadows. The moon wasn't quite full yet, but it looked round enough, shining directly on the well's opening. From below, the moon seemed as large as the well's opening. It was still golden, and the golden light spilled down, coating the well with a soft glow.

If it weren't for this ridiculous predicament, the place would have been somewhat beautiful. After swallowing a large chunk of bitter moss, he had time to look around again.

His feet were still immersed in the water. He could no longer feel the chill; the water carried a rough warmth, and something thin gently brushed against his ankle. It must be her long hair, flowing freely in the dark water like water plants. She must have been like a fish in the water. Perhaps, only at this moment did she truly belong to herself.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

He seemed to hear her voice again, timid, soft and delicate, carrying the coolness of early autumn in the fine rain, flowing like water, like the gurgling water in a mountain stream.

He stepped on her head, his toes slowly tracing its surface. Eyes, nose, mouth. Because the nerve endings in the toes aren't as numerous as in the fingers, the sensations transmitted through his toes were vague, more like seeing a figure through a fog. Her skin now felt stiff; perhaps, in the stagnant water, decay was happening faster, and her skin was beginning to rot. Maybe when he picked her up, he would see her like a monster from a horror movie, her face pitted and swollen, with occasional cracks from which yellowish-white pus oozed—but he couldn't feel any of this.

That's fine, he thought. That way, in his memory, she would always have that delicate and beautiful face, just like that rainy night.

He was immersed in this chaotic imagination, gradually sinking into a semi-mad state. Now, he almost loved his current environment. If he escaped, the world was so big, where could he go? But in this dry well, she was his own, and so was peace.

He half-closed his eyes. He must have been awake for sixteen or seventeen hours all day, and now weariness, like the wings of a blackbird, enveloped his heart. Just as his eyes closed, he heard a rustling sound.

There are people in the yard!

Although the wind could make such a sound, he had a premonition that there was definitely someone in the yard right now. That person was walking slowly, clumsily pushing aside the grass, slowly and unmistakably heading this way.

The well curb was gone, hidden in a pile of grass. Most people would never know there was a dry well there. And because Zhou Baoqiang's body was not badly damaged, the police did not think to search the yard.

Who could come in? A thief? A thought suddenly occurred to him. If it was a thief, wouldn't he report him? He could give the thief some money, have him drag him out, and then quickly escape. His previous escape plan only needed a slight modification.

---Magpie Bridge Fairy

Reply [17]: In his wild thoughts, he suddenly realized that it could not be a thief.

Although the person moved slowly, it was clear that they were walking towards this direction.

That person is looking for this well!

As he was thinking, suddenly, a shadow covered the well opening. He was startled and looked up sharply, but the shadow blocked the well opening completely like a lid, plunging the well into darkness, where even the faint light from before had vanished.

He didn't speak. Now, a sense of fear crept over him. In the darkness, he felt a drop or two of cold, sticky water on his face, but because his hands were raised and the well was too narrow, he couldn't pull them back, so he could only let the two drops of water remain on his face.

One drop, two drops, three drops… the cold liquid kept dripping down, and gradually, he smelled an increasingly strong, fishy stench. He remained silent, staring intently at the well opening. Although it was pitch black and he couldn't see anything, he still strained his eyes, hoping for a sliver of light to penetrate.

After an unknown amount of time, he suddenly heard a soft sigh.

It was just an ordinary sigh, but it made his heart clench suddenly.

That's Zhou Baoqiang's voice!

For a moment, he almost thought it was a nightmare again. He clearly remembered cutting off Zhou Baoqiang's head with that knife, and he had just put the knife away in his pocket, though he couldn't take it out. He was a staunch materialist and knew that a person who had been beheaded could never be alive again. But who was it now at the wellhead?

The shadow over the well moved away, and a sliver of moonlight shone in. Although the darkness lasted only a short time, it felt as if he had endured the longest stretch of his life. He remained silent, simply staring at the shadowy figure.

It was a figure with both hands supporting its head. Originally, it seemed as if its entire body was stuffed into the well opening, but now that it had been moved aside, its outline could be seen clearly. In the circular section cut off by the well opening, the figure moved very slowly, like a shadow puppet.

Suddenly, the man hissed again. The sound had a discernible pitch, but it was like air leaking from a balloon with a small hole. He remained silent, his heart as cold as ice.

After the sound continued for a while, it finally emitted a long, drawn-out hissing sound, which was probably the person letting out a deep sigh. He thought to himself that the foul-smelling liquid was still dripping down, already covering his head and face. Perhaps it was the person's saliva.

Was that really Zhou Baoqiang? But from below, he could only see the outline of the figure. Although it looked somewhat like Zhou Baoqiang, he couldn't be sure.

The man suddenly raised both hands.

It was just a normal movement, but between his hands, the man's head was lifted off his neck. His heart felt like it had been stabbed, a sharp pain shot through him, and his mouth was unusually dry.

This is Zhou Baoqiang!

After Zhou Baoqiang removed the head from the neck, he seemed to wipe the incision a couple of times. With this action, he felt a few drops of foul-smelling liquid drip down. This must be blood that hadn't dried completely, and the thought made him feel nauseous. But strangely, he no longer felt the fear he had before; his heart was calm and undisturbed. He desperately tried to concentrate, wanting to hear what Zhou Baoqiang was saying.

Zhou Baoqiang put his head back on his neck and stood up straight. This movement made him seem to grow farther away and taller. A hissing sound came from Zhou Baoqiang's mouth again, and with this sound, some foul-smelling liquid splashed down, but he didn't care. He just tried hard to make out Zhou Baoqiang's words.

Perhaps because his trachea had been severed, Zhou Baoqiang's voice was muffled and indistinct, the syllables tangled together like mud. But suddenly he heard a relatively clear sentence: "...They're all rotting away..." There was nothing surprising about the sentence, but he felt a sudden chill run through him.

They're all rotting away...

These words made him thoughtful, and he sighed deeply. When he looked up again, the well opening was covered with grass again, and Zhou Baoqiang was gone. However, the foul-smelling liquid on his head and face told him that he hadn't been dreaming.

As he was looking, a fly suddenly appeared in his line of sight like an airplane in the sky.

There are so many flies now. Usually, a large swarm of flies gathers around the garbage dump, only to scatter when someone gets close. But seeing this single fly suddenly breaks the surrounding silence.

It must have been a very large fly; because of the echo, the sound of its wings flapping was very loud, almost like a series of thunderclaps echoing in the well. The fly hovered down and landed on his head. He shook his head, and the startled fly took flight, bumped against the well wall, and then landed back on his head.

The fly that suddenly appeared seemed to materialize out of thin air. Perhaps it was Zhou Baoqiang's spirit. The thought that Zhou Baoqiang had turned into a fly after death made him laugh. However, despite its absurdity, the fly relentlessly kept landing on his head. His arm could only be stretched out and moved within a limited range. Just as he shooed it away, another flew in. Every time he tried to move upwards, it would land on his head, keeping him constantly on the run. He wanted to ignore it, but this buzzing little insect was just too annoying, and he always felt an instinctive aversion to it.

---Magpie Bridge Fairy

Reply [18]: Maybe this fly really is Zhou Baoqiang in disguise, it's so annoying.

He paused briefly, and the fly buzzed down again, landing near his ear. The sudden sound was quite unpleasant. He shook his head, but the fly didn't fly away as before; instead, it seemed to be permanently attached to his skin, crawling along his temple and then buzzing again as it climbed onto his right earlobe. Startled, before he could even process what had happened, the fly had already burrowed into his ear canal.

He only knew wasps liked to burrow, never imagining flies would do the same. This sent a chill down his spine. With a fly crawling in his ear, his right ear was instantly deafened. The sound of the fly crawling was amplified a thousandfold, like a million tiny hooks digging in. It didn't hurt, but the itching was excruciating, and he couldn't reach his ear. He shook his head frantically, but the fly just kept burrowing deeper. Perhaps the fly was very large, only slightly smaller than his ear canal; once inside, it couldn't get out, and startled, it could only burrow forward. This intense itching was worse than any other torture. The more he shook his head, the more intense the itching became. He desperately reached for his ear, but his elbow was blocked by the well wall, and he couldn't get his hand out. His fingertips could only brush his hair; unless his arm broke, he would never be able to get it out. Finally, he couldn't bear the discomfort any longer and screamed desperately.

His voice boomed at the bottom of the well, and he never expected the echo to be so loud. After he shouted, the blood vessels in his ears felt like they had burst, making a "thud," but the flies seemed to be stunned and stopped crawling.

He was gasping for breath. He could feel something stuck in his ears, but he couldn't touch them. Thankfully, the fly had stopped moving, or he didn't know if he could have held on.

Perhaps the fly had already crawled into his eardrum and been killed by the suffocating earwax. Even with this foreign object still in his ear, he could still bear it. He panted, resting his head against the well wall.

His throat felt like it was being torn apart, burning as if a small knife was cutting into it. He leaned closer to the well wall and bit into a piece of moss. The bitter juice stung his throat as it flowed down, but it did offer some relief to his parched throat.

He had lost hearing in his right ear, but could still hear in his left. When he chewed, his ear made a drumming sound. He had just swallowed when he heard a series of footsteps coming from a great distance, and he panicked.

Who were those people? He looked up suspiciously, wondering what was happening up there. But the footsteps disappeared immediately, and the sky brightened considerably.

Is it dawn?

The moon is no longer visible. The sky, which had previously appeared as a hazy, dark blue, is now a bright color tinged with red and yellow.

Perhaps it's dawn?

He closed his eyes. Just as he did, he suddenly heard a police siren again. This made his heart clench, and a sense of fear washed over him once more.

The police found him? That shout must have been loud enough to wake even a sound sleeper, even if he shouted from inside the well. But are the police really that efficient? He didn't have a watch and didn't know the time, but he knew that he had shouted no more than ten minutes ago.

The rumbling sound still lingered in his ears. His left ear was less hearing than his right, something he hadn't noticed before, but now he truly felt it. He heard the ground shaking, mixed with cracking sounds, but he couldn't quite place what it was. Just as he was wondering what was going on, a shrill voice rang out: "Fire!"

Zhou Baoqiang's house is on fire?

He then realized how he had gotten back; Zhou Baoqiang's house must have been broken into. His sudden, desperate screams had startled the thief, who had been calmly carrying out his business. The screams, likely coming from the yard, had probably terrified him, causing the house to catch fire in his escape.

This fire must be huge.

The sounds outside came one after another, and even five meters below the ground, he began to feel the heat. Looking at the sky above, which flickered between light and shadow, he suddenly felt like laughing.

Amidst the sounds of footsteps and cars starting up, everything hissed. Suddenly, he felt a few drops of hot water fall onto his lips. These drops of water were relatively pure, and they brought a strange sense of comfort to his parched mouth.

This must be water spraying from a fire hose. He opened his mouth wide, hoping for more water to fall, but as soon as he opened his mouth, he heard a loud "whoosh".

---Magpie Bridge Fairy

Reply [19]: The noise was so loud that even though he only had hearing in one ear, he could still hear it clearly. A wall had burned down and collapsed, landing right on the well. He was startled, and suddenly everything went dark. A lot of dust rushed into his mouth, choking him and making him cough. He didn't bother to spit out the dust and shouted desperately, "I'm here! I'm here!" But his voice was so hoarse that it surprised even himself. His voice sounded like two pieces of broken porcelain grinding together, and he could hardly hear himself.

He stared blankly upwards. Just minutes before, he had worried about being discovered; now, he desperately wanted to be. He continued to shout frantically, but only fragmented sounds came from his throat, likely mistaking them for the noise of a burning fire, even if someone heard them. This was perhaps due to the moss, or perhaps dehydration. Although his lower body was submerged in the well, he was certainly somewhat dehydrated.

No matter how much he shouted, the well was already shrouded in darkness. The broken wall pressed down on the well, completely blocking it. In such chaos, even if his voice were as loud as a rock star's, it would likely be ignored, let alone his current hoarse, rat-like voice.

The fire was still burning above. Although the heat rose, he could feel the temperature in the well had increased significantly, and the air was even more polluted. He remembered reading somewhere that very few people actually died from burns in a fire; most suffocated and lost consciousness before they even felt the excruciating pain of the flames. The fire was enough to create an environment of only nitrogen around a person. Despite the wall being very tight, he could still see glimmers of light filtering through the cracks. He could almost see the fire on the ground devouring oxygen like a giant beast, and at the well's mouth, the greedy flames were licking the ground, sucking out all the oxygen from the well like a highly efficient vacuum pump.

The air grew increasingly murky. The air he inhaled now felt like scalding mercury, heavy and burning, making his lungs, already compressed by the well walls, even more strained. His ears, including the one that had already lost its hearing, were ringing loudly, and his blood felt as if it were being boiled.

"If smoke were to rise from my head right now, it wouldn't be impossible," he thought as he lost consciousness.

itch.

It felt like there was a moving thread on his back, touching every nerve ending in his skin, making him unbearably itchy.

When I regained consciousness, this was the first thought that came to mind.

It was daytime again. Although the broken wall overhead was completely blocked, there were still some gaps through which a little light shone. But this light didn't illuminate anything; it only gave the illusion of sparse starlight. Only the faint rumble of the blender told him it was daytime. He looked up and moved his hands with difficulty, feeling pain all over his body.

Now, he no longer had the strength to climb any higher. His body was numb from being immobile for so long, and the itch was still clearly transmitted to his brain. However, his arms, which had been held up for so long, felt like two pieces of wood tied to his body, and he could hardly feel them. Half of his face felt as heavy as if it were filled with molten lead, and he unconsciously leaned to the right.

This couldn't be a dream. He smiled faintly. No matter how terrible the nightmare, it wouldn't last this long, like a nightmare from which he wouldn't wake up. This grammatically absurd idea, blurring the lines between metaphor and subject, made him chuckle, even in this setting.

His back was still itchy. He moved his shoulder blades, but the pressure from the well wall made even this simple movement painful. Amidst the aches and pains, the itch was still clearly present, stretching down his spine as if a bug was crawling down.

insect!

He was momentarily stunned, horrified by his own thought. Perhaps it wasn't just a figment of his imagination, but a fact. If a soft-bodied worm were really crawling down on him, then… the thought sent a shiver down his spine. Just then, he felt a sudden itch on his right earlobe, as if some liquid was dripping down.

Was his ear bleeding? He turned his head, but his eyes suddenly caught sight of a small white spot on his right shoulder.