A Wandering Youth

Глава 65

It's a pity; now she's just a handful of ashes, lying in an urn. And this urn is currently placed in this dark coffin. But there's no trace of Lü Tugen. Could it be that he, like Wang Mingsheng, has also mysteriously disappeared?

Wang Laomo suddenly felt dizzy. He really didn't know what had happened; he just felt like his head was about to explode.

After standing there for a moment, he murmured, "I told Brother Tugen to wait for us here at eight o'clock, but why isn't he here?"

Wu Yong pondered, "He must not have been gone long. The incense outside has only burned two or three centimeters, and the candles beside the coffin haven't burned much either. I remember he was with Lü Guihua's son. Now he and his nephew are gone, and so suddenly. Could they have been kidnapped by a mysterious figure as well?"

Model worker Wang plopped down on the ground, dejectedly saying, "Why did this happen? Who did they offend? How could this happen?"

As his words fell, a suffocating silence descended upon the room. Everyone remained silent; the air seemed to stand still, save for the hissing dripping wax from the cheap candles, which emitted a smell akin to rotting animal entrails. Accompanying the candle's burning was the clatter of everyone's hearts, thump-thump—thump-thump—thump-thump—"So what should we do now, Village Chief…" one of the coffin bearers asked cautiously.

"Funeral procession! Night burial!" Wang Laomo stood up from the ground, hands on his hips, his face suddenly turning solemn again: "It is a rule set by our ancestors that on the night of the night burial, the funeral procession must begin as soon as the coffin is seen, otherwise it will be very unlucky! Everyone, stay calm, nothing will happen. As long as you follow the teachings of our ancestors and do not make a sound on the road at night, even vengeful ghosts cannot cause trouble."

When he talks about night burials, he seems to become a different person. He is no longer the model worker Wang who was the village chief, but the model worker Wang who was the geographer!

He gestured, and one of the coffin bearers handed him a bundle. Opening the bundle, he found a grey-blue Taoist robe and a whisk inside. After a simple change of clothes, Wang Laomo transformed himself into a veritable Taoist priest.

He straightened his clothes, coughed, and shouted loudly, "Eight coffin bearers, take your positions! The night burial procession begins!"

Shen Tian and Wu Yong stood beside the coffin with the other six people. This coffin was made differently from other coffins, with four long support beams extending from the edge, just enough for the eight coffin bearers to carry it on their shoulders.

The coffin contained only an urn of ashes, so carrying it on his shoulder wasn't difficult. With the coffin on his shoulder, Wu Yong looked up at the door. It was pitch black outside, a chilling wind whistling through the air, and the lantern above the doorway swayed and thumped against the wall.

Looking into the deep darkness, Wu Yong felt his heart slowly sinking...

Section 6

15

In Wang Laomo's hands, there was something new: a night watchman's clapper. He walked at the front, and the group of people filed down the cold, long street.

Wang Laomo kept his lips tightly closed, biting his lip hard with his teeth.

He held a wooden clapper in his left hand and a bamboo hammer in his right, striking the clapper repeatedly.

"Tap tap—tap tap—tap tap—"

The crisp sound of the clapper was particularly clear on the quiet street.

A cold wind caused the hem of Wang Laomo's Taoist robe to flutter gently in the darkness, while scraps of paper money swirled in the air around the street corner. As the funeral procession slowly passed through the long street, residents along the street opened their doors. From each house emerged a person dressed in plain clothes, walking behind the procession. More and more people followed the funeral procession, all walking in unison behind the coffin, making the procession longer and longer until it soon reached the village entrance.

Yu Guang secretly noted this important detail in his mind: in this simple mountain village, whenever there was a night burial, every household would send off the person who had died violently, as a way of remembering them. There were no cries, only the rustling of footsteps. The coffin bearers carried the coffin on one shoulder and held torches in the other. Wu Yong and Shen Tian were in the middle of the coffin bearers, without any particular strain.

After leaving the village, Wang Laomo changed the frequency of his clapper strikes, no longer making a series of sharp, repetitive sounds, but rather alternating between long and short ones. The lead pallbearers, following the cues of the clapper's sound, turned left and right at times.

During their afternoon conversation, Yu Guang had learned that the night burial would take place in a remote, desolate area called Dead Man's Gully. No one dared to go there during the day; the mountain path was winding and treacherous, with steep cliffs on one side and bottomless precipices on the other. Only geomancers knew the exact location of Dead Man's Gully, and Wang Laomo's task was to lead the group to the burial site in the pitch-black night. Strangely enough, even during the day, the path to Dead Man's Gully was incredibly dangerous, yet these simple mountain people followed the so-called geomancer into the dead of night. Perhaps this was a peculiar custom in the cursed village, where trust in the geomancer outweighed any fear of the harsh natural conditions. Wang Laomo walked at the head of the group, the cold wind cutting like knives across his face, but he remained unfazed. His eyes were fixed straight ahead; he carried no torch, having given his only flashlight to the three children. But he seemed to have the route to Dead Man's Gully memorized perfectly. He knew where to turn left, where to turn right, where to slow down, and where it was safe to jog. This was his pride as a geomancer. When he was seven, the clan chief, Wang Weili, recognized his talent, saying he had great potential. From the time he could remember, the chief led him along this path. Now, he was a man in his forties, unmarried yet upright and honest. The villagers elected him village chief, a testament to his years as a geomancer.

But for some reason, tonight's burial left Wang Laomo with a vague feeling that something was amiss. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but ever since he left Lü Guihua's house, he'd noticed his left hand, holding the clapper, trembling. No one else could see this tremor; only he knew it. It was a deep-seated fear. Two strong young men and a child had vanished into thin air in a single day—what had happened?

Although young people had gone missing before, and he had discovered many suspicious points, he kept telling himself that those who disappeared had gone to work in other places. Even he himself doubted this self-convincing, but he preferred to blindly believe it. It was like an ostrich burying its head in the sand when it saw danger. He dared not face his fear, and he was even less willing to let others see his fear. Although Wang Laomo's mind was in a daze, he hadn't gone astray at all. He knew this path by heart; he could find Dead Man's Gully effortlessly even with his eyes closed.

The wind picked up, and faint rumbles of thunder could be heard in the distance; it was about to rain.

The night was as dark as ink. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the road ahead in an instant, only to plunge back into the deepest darkness.

Just as the lightning struck, Wang Laomo glanced up ahead. His body trembled violently, like a sieve; his throat bobbed, and he almost cried out. The clapper in his hand stopped, and his legs remained rooted to the ground. The procession carrying the coffin behind him also stopped.

Wang Laomo gently patted his chest, secretly thinking that it was fortunate he hadn't made a sound, otherwise he would have committed the grave taboo of conducting a night burial. However, when he recalled the object he had seen in the woods ahead during that flash of lightning, his body began to tremble again. In that instant of lightning, he had seen it: in the dark woods ahead, a deathly pale face stared at him through the dense foliage!

16

Wang, the model worker, was horrified, yet he couldn't utter a word. His heart pounded wildly. He wasn't sure if he had seen a face, but the face seemed frozen in his mind. It was a face covered in blood, eyes wide open, appearing particularly ferocious in the lightning. Strands of wet hair were tangled on his forehead, utterly filthy. In that fleeting moment of lightning, the corners of that face seemed to turn slightly upward, revealing a strange, ambiguous smile.

Wang Laomo turned around, and the coffin bearers were looking at him in surprise. None of them seemed to have seen the ghostly face in front of them.

"Hallucination, it must be a hallucination..." Wang Laomo said to himself, and he wanted to bury his head in the sand again.

However, that face was so vivid in his mind that he couldn't shake it off no matter what. Wang Laomo turned around, walked over to Wu Yong, and took the torch.

He returned to the front, picked up the torch, and waved it forward. In the still darkness, the torch only illuminated the immediate surroundings, while the distance remained shrouded in inky darkness. As far as the eye could see, only trees of varying thickness swayed in the torchlight.

Wang Laomo sensed that in the silent night, unseen and unknown terrors lurked, ready to rush forward at any moment, overwhelm and devour him. He couldn't help but shiver again.

"Perhaps it really is just an illusion..." He decided to bury his head in the sand anyway. He also took back the torch and raised the bamboo hammer, striking the wooden clapper hard.

"Tap tap—tap tap—tap tap—" Although Wu Yong didn't know why Wang Laomo had come to his side and taken the torch, he knew something must have happened ahead. He took the torch back, and the procession slowly began to move forward again. He glanced back and saw that along the winding mountain road, the torches stretched continuously for more than a hundred meters behind them. There were many people attending the funeral, but they all remained silent—a deathly silence.

The mountain road ahead was a sharp left turn. Wang Laomo banged his clapper to signal, and the coffin bearers in front understood and walked to the left. Wu Yong and Shen Tian looked down at the feet of the coffin bearers in front of them, and followed their feet wherever they stepped.

As Wu Yong rounded the sharp bend, he walked to the spot where Wang Laomo had stood. He turned and glanced into the deep, dark distance. Only darkness, an unfathomable abyss. A gust of wind swept by, and several startled crows suddenly darted out of the woods, flying away into the distance, their wings flapping loudly before fading into the distance.

Wu Yong was inexplicably covered in cold sweat. The coffin bearers in front of him were pulling him, while those behind him were pushing him. He was walking forward involuntarily, like a zombie out of his control.

When the crows flew away and the surroundings returned to calm, Wu Yong suddenly heard a rustling sound approaching from afar, like footsteps, moving very fast.

Wu Yong's heart tightened. He opened his eyes and saw only pitch-black darkness.

The footsteps drew near, then suddenly fell silent. Wu Yong's heart skipped a beat. Before he could even listen to the sound, the coffin bearers behind him pushed him forward. He looked back, but could see nothing; the torchlight cast blind spots on his retinas. Yu Guang and Weng Beibei walked behind the coffin, the biting wind raising goosebumps on his bare arms. He felt a chill run down his spine, but couldn't pinpoint the cause. He looked around, seeing only the trees, lined up like soldiers, slowly receding into the distance.

Only the soft rustling of footsteps could be heard from ahead and behind, everyone's eyes lowered, watching the footsteps of the person in front. What an eerie scene it was. On the dark mountain path, a procession walked, carrying a black coffin and torches, yet not a single word was uttered. This silence was oppressive, even suffocating. After walking for a while, they came to a long uphill slope. Gradually, the coffin bearers slowed their pace; the incline was becoming somewhat strenuous for them. Wu Yong heard that faint rustling sound again, darting through the grass beside him. Was it a small animal? Wu Yong glanced at the coffin bearers around him; they seemed oblivious to the sound. Wu Yong dared not ask, for he knew that according to local custom, no sound could be made during a night burial.

He carefully discerned the sound; when the funeral procession moved quickly, the sound moved quickly as well. When the procession moved slowly, the sound slowed down.

The long slope finally came to an end. Wang, the model worker, struck the door with a long, repetitive tap, signaling the team to stop and rest. Only then, panting heavily, did Wu Yong realize how exhausting the climb had been. Suddenly, Wu Yong remembered what Wang had mentioned that afternoon: on this mountain path leading to Dead Man's Gully, one side was a sheer cliff, and the other a precipice. The side from which the rustling sound had been heard was precisely where the precipice lay.

"Heavens! The sound couldn't possibly come from mid-air on the cliff. Could it be that the rustling sound wasn't human? Could it be a ghost?!" Wu Yong felt his heart pounding wildly, his heart rate exceeding what he could handle. He began to feel a tightness in his chest. He pressed his hand hard against his chest, but he couldn't catch his breath; it was stuck in his chest, unable to rise or fall. "Myocardial infarction!" he told himself, but he had no history of such a condition, and there was no family history of it. In his mind, he remembered Wang Mingsheng's brother, who had died the day after the night burial. He squatted down, clutching his chest, his mouth wide open, trying to speak, but no words came out.

Wu Yong silently said to himself, "Oh God, who will save me?" Just then, the sound of the clapper in Wang Laomo's hand rang out again.

"Tap tap—tap tap—tap tap—"

17

As Wu Yong collapsed, he glanced around. He was stunned, as if struck by lightning. He saw everyone around him, just like him, clutching their chests, faces flushed, veins bulging, sweat pouring down their necks. The coffin had been laid flat on the ground, the pallbearers leaning against it, mouths slightly open, trying to say something, but unable to utter a single word.

Wu Yong struggled, but his strength waned. He closed his eyes and asked himself, "What's happening? Am I really going to die on this remote mountain path?"

Just then, he heard the clear sound of a clapper. "Clang, clang—clang, clang—clang, clang—"

As if struck by lightning, Wu Yong's mind suddenly cleared amidst the sound of the clapper. He opened his eyes and saw Wang Laomo sitting cross-legged on the ground, forcefully striking the clapper with a rhythmic sound that mimicked the beating of a human heart.

Hearing the sound of the clapper, Wu Yong began to feel his heartbeat gradually slow down and return to normal. His breathing also became smoother, and he took deep breaths of fresh air. His limbs gradually came back under his control. He looked at the coffin bearers beside him. They seemed completely unaware of the life-or-death situation they had just faced. They had already stood up and put the ropes on the coffin back on their shoulders.

Wu Yong was very uneasy. He glanced back at Yu Guang and found Yu Guang looking at him with the same eyes. Just as Wu Yong was about to speak, he saw Yu Guang put his index finger to his lips, signaling him to be quiet. Wu Yong then remembered that one couldn't speak during a night burial. At that moment, ever since he heard footsteps in the air outside the cliff, his atheistic beliefs had begun to waver. Now he dared not speak; he was terrified that if he uttered a sound, he would truly be haunted by a vengeful ghost.

That feeling of utter exhaustion just now might have been a sign of being possessed by a vengeful ghost. Wu Yong glanced at Wang Laomo at the front; he had already stood up, the clapper had stopped, he shook the dust off his Taoist robe, and his eyes were fixed straight ahead.

Wu Yong began to admire Wang, the model worker. With just a few clapper sounds, Wang had dispelled Wu Yong's inner demons, freeing him from his nightmarish struggle, both physically and mentally. This Wang, the model worker, was no ordinary man! The procession slowly began its winding journey again. The persistent sound of footsteps followed them from the darkness on one side.

The funeral procession remained silent; no one seemed to realize the impending danger.

Wu Yong felt a chill run down his spine; his body trembled uncontrollably. He couldn't see Shen Tian; the coffin in the middle blocked his view. He didn't know if Shen Tian had heard that faint sound. But he was certain that Yu Guang shared the same premonition. Because when their eyes met, Yu Guang's brows were furrowed, his gaze constantly shifting behind the dark bushes, trying to find something unseen. Perhaps, that thing really was some kind of so-called "dirty thing"... Yes, Yu Guang had a premonition, but he hadn't heard anything; he had only smelled a faint, fishy odor. Faint yet omnipresent. It was a foul, pungent smell, like blood, or perhaps like some kind of wild beast. Yes! It must be a wild beast; he could almost hear a low growl. For some reason, a strange image suddenly appeared in his mind: a huge, black beast, its limbs outstretched, struggling in the night. Blood-red glistened at the corners of its mouth, shimmering phosphorescently in the torchlight. It opened its mouth wide, its sharp teeth gleaming white, its tangled tongue trembling and swaying, and a low growl emanating from its throat.

Of course, all of this was just a fleeting thought in Yu Guang's mind, without any real image. But this image in his mind reminded Yu Guang of the wolfhound named Blackie in the Zhao family mansion. Although he hadn't seen the dog with his own eyes, he could imagine that it must have been a lithe, black creature. But why did he think of Blackie? Although it was just a thought that Yu Guang had unintentionally, he still found it strange that he had such a thought. Yu Guang had always believed in his intuition; he had an inexplicable feeling. It was many years ago when he took the college entrance exam. There were very few places available, and the exam questions were extremely difficult. At that time, he was a sent-down youth in the countryside, and he didn't dare to have any confidence in himself at all; his math was really bad. A few days before the exam, he sat by the cowshed with his books in his hands, while the old cow happily grazed. Yu Guang's head was spinning from reading, so he closed his eyes. Suddenly, one image after another appeared in his mind, like Arabic numerals, or like equations. The image was so vivid, so deeply etched in Yu Guang's memory. A few days later, during the college entrance exam, he received the math exam paper, and the questions were exactly the same ones he'd dreamt of outside the cowshed that day. He successfully gained admission to the city's university, and after years of hard work, he was retained as a teacher. But why was he thinking of Hei Bei now? Could this premonition also come true? Could Zhao Lianpu of the Zhao family mansion be connected to the disappearances of these young people? Just as Yu Guang was lost in thought, he suddenly heard a strange sound.

"Bang bang—bang bang—bang bang—"

The sound grew louder and clearer. It came from between the two rows of coffin bearers.

"Bang bang—bang bang—bang bang—"

Yu Guang stared wide-eyed at the pitch-black coffin. He could hardly believe his ears. The sound was coming from—a pitch-black coffin!

Section 7

18

The sound was indeed coming from inside the coffin, fluctuating in pitch and direction, as if something was forcefully striking the coffin's side panels. It must be some unknown creature, sometimes hitting the front of the coffin, sometimes the back. The entire coffin began to sway, sending chills down the spines of the pallbearers.

Wu Yong also heard a sound coming from the coffin, but he didn't know what was happening. The coffin bearers in front of him wanted to stop, while those behind him quickened their pace, eager to get away as quickly as possible. Caught between the two, Wu Yong stumbled and almost fell to the ground. His stumble caused chaos throughout the entire coffin-bearing procession; legs crossed haphazardly, and the bearers all fell to the ground. With a loud crash, the coffin hit the ground, raising a cloud of dust.

The paulownia wood coffin was indeed sturdy; it only raised a cloud of dust but didn't crack. Wang Laomo's heart skipped a beat. Since leaving Lü Guihua's house that day, he hadn't had a moment's peace. He tried to convince himself that the pale face in the woods earlier was just a hallucination. But just now, he had clearly heard the "thumping" sounds from inside the coffin, and the other coffin bearers had heard them too. The pallbearer behind Wang Laomo was breathing heavily, wanting to scream but afraid to make a sound, his breath stuck in his chest.

When Wang Laomo heard a loud "bang" behind him and turned around, he saw the coffin lying on the ground and couldn't help but cry out in alarm. The coffin bearers beside the coffin all stepped aside in fear, only Wu Yong and Chen Tian stood still, while Yu Guang and Weng Beibei also walked to the coffin.

The night was so quiet, without a single other sound except for the mingled heartbeats of everyone, and the relentless thumping of the coffin. This sound never ceased, emanating continuously from the coffin like a drumstick striking heavily on everyone's heart.

The nearby pallbearers trembled and backed away, the biting wind whistling past them, raising goosebumps on their skin.

The terrifying "bang bang" of impacts continued unabated, growing ever clearer. Wang Laomo, Wu Yong, Shen Tian, Yu Guang, and Weng Beibei stood quietly beside the coffin, silently gazing at the dark wood. Shen Tian bent down, placing one hand on the coffin lid, then looked up at Wang Laomo, who was dressed in a Taoist robe.

The thumping sounds from inside the coffin, rising and falling, sent chills down Wang Laomo's spine. What was inside the coffin? He'd been a geomancer for so many years and had performed countless night burials, but he'd never encountered so many eerie things as he had today. Only geomancers who had performed night burials knew that the so-called custom was just a tradition, and they had never seen any evil spirits or vengeful ghosts.

But now, the "bang bang" sound is right next to his ears, clear and distinct. Now, even Wang Laomo himself is afraid.

Seeing the fearless Shen Tian staring at him, Wang Laomo knew this spirited young man wanted to break the coffin. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. The coffin lid was firmly nailed to the coffin with seven-inch-long bone-piercing nails, but this was not a significant obstacle for the agile Shen Tian. He gripped the coffin lid firmly with one hand, grabbed the coffin with the other, took a slight breath, and then pulled with all his might.

The coffin lid opened, the "bang bang" sound disappeared, and a frog hopped out of the coffin.

Wang Laomo let out a long breath, and he also heard the coffin bearers around him, who had collapsed to the ground in fright, simultaneously let out a heavy sigh of relief.

It turned out the noise was just a frog causing trouble; it was a false alarm. The frog must have slipped in through the gaps in the coffin while they were resting. It seems the bribe the Lü Guihua family gave the coffin shop wasn't enough; the coffin they made was mediocre. Wang Laomo walked to the coffin, preparing to close the lid; the night burial still had to proceed.

He peeked into the coffin and muttered, "Oh no!"

Just now, as the pallbearers nearly tripped, the coffin crashed to the ground, shattering the urn inside and scattering shards of clay and ashes all over the coffin. "Oh no, this is terrible!" Wang Laomo cried out inwardly.

He dared not let anyone know, because he didn't know what other way there was to solve the problem here.

So he decided not to let anyone know, since only he knew the urn had been smashed anyway. He grabbed the coffin lid, trying to close it, when just then, a cool breeze blew in, swirling inside the coffin at an odd angle. Grayish-white ashes instantly flew out of the coffin, landing on Wang Laomo's face.

Wang Laomo's eyes suddenly itched intensely. He blinked hard, and tears slowly welled up, washing away the ashes. He muttered to himself, "What bad luck! Ashes in my eyes, six months of bad luck! Who did I offend?" He closed the coffin lid, thankfully no one else noticed the urn inside was broken. Wang Laomo tapped the wooden clapper, and the pallbearers, who had been frightened, put their ropes back on and continued on their way. Wang Laomo's eyes still itched and hurt, and he felt a vague unease. This unease had lingered with him ever since he left Lü Guihua's house. Perhaps something strange awaited the night burial procession ahead? Everything was fine; the journey was peaceful. An hour later, the procession reached a mountain ravine. In the torchlight, wild grass grew everywhere, and behind the tall grass lay numerous graves.

This is the ravine where violent deaths are buried—Dead Man's Gully!

19

Wang Laomo squatted down and pulled a compass from inside his Taoist robe. Several coffin bearers surrounded him, holding torches high. The coffin bearers completely surrounded Wang Laomo, making it impossible for Wu Yong and the others to see what he was doing.

Looking up unintentionally, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the wind had stopped and the dense dark clouds that had gathered were nowhere to be seen. Tonight is the Ghost Festival, and the moonlight is bright. Even without torches, the surroundings are bright. The withered grass is still and desolate, and rows of half-height graves stand abruptly in the wilderness.

The windless night suddenly felt stiflingly hot, and beads of sweat slid down his neck. He glanced down, continuing to observe what Wang Laomo was about to do. Wang Laomo took out a compass; the needle spun rapidly. He moved his feet, swaying left and right, like a drunkard, staggering unsteadily. His eyes were closed, but he seemed aware of the uneven ground beneath his feet.

Suddenly, he stopped. It was a flat area overgrown with waist-high, thick weeds. Wang Laomo took a torch from beside him, and with a flick of his wrist, lit the weeds. The grass crackled and popped as it burned, filling the air with a strange, acrid smell mixed with a pleasant aroma. Fortunately, there was no wind, so the fire wasn't large, but the coffin bearers still cautiously watched the flames.

The fire was slowly spreading. In just about a minute, Wang Laomo waved his hand, and several burly men rushed into the fire and beat out the burning weeds.

The flames quickly died down, leaving a charred clearing in the grass. This was probably the beautiful burial site for Lü Guihua. Wang Laomo squatted down, placed a candle in each of the four cardinal directions of the clearing, and lit them. The clearing was immediately illuminated; it was a depression in a flat area, the soil black, tangled with the withered roots of wild grass.

Model worker Wang struck the clapper once, "Knock knock—knock knock—knock knock—"

The burly men carrying the coffin wielded their shovels and began digging the grave. In no time, a large pit appeared on the flat ground. "Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh—" The surrounding weeds swayed, and the wind picked up again. The air was filled with the acrid smell of burnt grass and the stench of rotting corpses.

Yu Guang twitched his nose; the smell was inexplicably pungent. In an instant, his brow furrowed as he caught that faint, fishy, almost imperceptible, wild animal scent again. He looked around; the distant grass swayed slightly—was it the wind blowing through the tall grass? Or was some unseen beast lurking within? A cold sweat broke out on his back, instantly soaking through his shirt, his flesh clinging to it, chilled to the bone. Wu Yong and Shen Tian rejoined the coffin bearers, lifting the dark coffin. Along the dug grave, the bearers stood on either side of the mound.

Wang Laomo lit a piece of yellow paper, shook it a few times in his hand, and then threw it into the grave. He picked up a clapper and began to strike it rapidly. As the clappers struck, the coffin bearers gradually bent down, trying to place the coffin flat in the grave.

This wasn't a difficult task; the eight people worked together to place the coffin into the burial pit. Wang Laomo breathed a sigh of relief. Once the coffin was covered with soil, the night burial would be complete. Suddenly, a gust of eerie wind swept towards the back of Wang Laomo's head. He turned around, only to see waist-high grass swaying gently in the wind, and a strong, pungent stench wafted towards him.