Life is eight parts disappointment out of ten. The most agonizing thing isn't the absence of hope, but rather when the hope you clung to turns to dust. I lay on the **, gazing at the azure sky outside the window, thinking that today was Li Xiaohao's final deadline, and I had failed to find the person capable of lifting the curse as promised. Tears involuntarily streamed down my face.

Past moments replayed in my mind like a movie reel. That year, both my parents vanished, my older sister was in high school, and I was in elementary school. To cover my tuition, my sister, lying about her age, went alone to a blood bank and sold 400cc of blood. Instead of gratitude, I resented her for sending me to school. I stayed away for days, skipping class, wasting time in arcade parlors until my sister, her eyes swollen from crying, finally found me alongside the homeroom teacher. When I got home, I threw a tantrum, smashing pots and pans, breaking doors and windows. For a full two months, the cross-breeze blowing through our house howled like a Northwest gale, forcing me to curl up in my bedding fully clothed just to sleep at night.

If I hadn't been so willful back then, my sister's life would have been so much easier. The grievances and pressures she endured throughout her early life stemmed primarily from my reckless behavior. How much I owe her, I can no longer even calculate.

The more I thought, the more regret swelled, the more painful it became. I slammed my fists against my head. But even if I tore my head off, it would do nothing to alleviate the current crisis. Out here in this godforsaken, desolate mountain village, there was absolutely no way to contact Li Xiaoshu, let alone negotiate trading the Youce for my sister's life. Furthermore, after last night’s brutal fight, Wang Jue and I were severely drained; driving back to Wangcheng non-stop was impossible unless one of us transformed into Superman.

As I sat alone in my sorrow, a knock sounded on the door. I acknowledged it, and Wang Jue entered, carrying a tray of breakfast. I sat up, leaning against the **, eating the morning meal while asking him about the previous night’s events.

“What do you remember about last night?” I asked.

Wang Jue shook his head, saying the last thing he recalled was the Village Head ordering everyone to extinguish the two torches halfway up the mountain. Everyone stood there in pitch darkness, unable to see their hands in front of their faces, and after that, nothing. He only remembered waking up this morning to find his companions from the journey lying scattered along the mountain path. He had been leaning against a tree, a deep gash on his thigh, but it had stopped bleeding.

It was then that I remembered Bai Huaqian’s sickle slash across my thigh last night. I felt my leg; it was already wrapped in gauze, though a dull ache persisted.

“What did the Village Head say happened last night?” I asked, genuinely puzzled that everyone involved in the savage battle retained no memory.

“The Village Head is tight-lipped. He only said you performed a great service and the entire village owes you a debt of gratitude.”

Sigh. I rested my head against the headboard, recalling the gruesome scene. I decided then and there not to tell Wang Jue what had transpired. Anyone, upon learning they had unconsciously turned into a “Sickle-Wielding Maniac,” would surely carry a heavy psychological burden.

“I wonder how Sister is doing. When can we get back?”

“Oh, right. Before bringing up the breakfast, the Village Head asked me to clip a lock of your hair for him. He said someone might be able to lift the curse on your sister.”

Hearing this, I ignored the pain in my leg and scrambled to my feet. Someone could cure the venomous curse? Forget a lock of hair—he could have my entire head.

I pulled Wang Jue, rushing into the main hall. The Village Head was sipping tea. Seeing us, he greeted us with a gentle smile.

“Someone can break the curse?” I asked him breathlessly.