"Oh, I see now." Gui Fang’s eyes darted around, her gaze fixed entirely on Wang Jue’s and my backpacks, likely coveting the things we'd brought from outside the village.

"Could we possibly stay the night at Sister-in-law’s place?" Wang Jue asked, simultaneously pulling a bar of soap from his pack. It was one I'd prudently packed for use on our long journey, still wrapped in its packaging. He, however, took the opportunity to make a gesture of goodwill, offering the soap to Gui Fang.

Gui Fang accepted it hesitantly when she saw the unfamiliar item, bringing it to her nose to inhale deeply, praising its fragrance repeatedly. Watching her expression, I found it quite comical. What age was this, that someone could be so overjoyed over a mere bar of soap!

Wang Jue then proceeded to meticulously explain how to use it. My admiration for his skill in reading people and situations grew even stronger.

In the end, Gui Fang led us to a guest room, enthusiastically urging us to rest well before she and Gui Zhi departed.

Rest well? How could we? Asking for lodging was merely an excuse to find a place to put our feet down.

Once the sounds in the courtyard died down, we quietly slipped out of the room. The main gate was locked, but there was a pigpen nearby, its surrounding wall quite low—easy enough to vault over. The pigs had already started snoring, and Wang Jue and I carefully navigated into the pigpen, climbing over the outer wall.

Aided by the brilliant moonlight, we slipped through the village. It did bear some resemblance to Miao Village; the small paths were all paved with flagstones, and most houses were also constructed of stone slabs. The difference was that this place felt far more ancient; the ornate little villas, like the one belonging to the village elder, were nowhere to be seen here.

We crept along the path, making our way silently toward the village entrance. Far off, near the bonfire where Gui Zhi had been playing with bubble water, we saw a straight line of strong, able-bodied young men standing rigidly. All were bare-chested, holding sickles, and like soldiers drilling, they meticulously repeated a motion simulating a sickle strike.

Recalling the night we captured Scarface, when Wang Jue and the other villagers had transformed to fight the zombies, I couldn't help but shiver involuntarily.

My sudden tremor startled Wang Jue. He had no memory of that night, and this scene was entirely new to him; unaware of its terrifying implications, he thought my reaction was slightly exaggerated.

Yet, I couldn't tell him about that night now. I could only gesture with my hands, urging him to hide with me in the tall grass beside the path, observing the commotion around the bonfire in silence.

The group of young men repeated their drill over and over, continuing for about an hour before finally stopping to rest by the fire.

At first, the group chatted and laughed, but slowly, for reasons we couldn't discern from our distance, an argument erupted. Suddenly, one man stood up, walked over to another, and slapped him across the face. The recipient of the slap instinctively grabbed his sickle, stood up, and brought it down in a swift arc, catching the man who slapped him squarely across the neck. The struck man clutched his throat, collapsing onto the ground.

Seeing someone fall, those around the bonfire immediately split into two factions and began savagely fighting each other. In an instant, blades flashed, close combat ensued, and one person after another fell, the blood pooling into spreading patches. This carnage continued until only one man remained standing, holding a blood-soaked sickle amidst the corpses, surveying the aftermath. Then, with a sinister smile, he tore off his face, casting a cold glare in the direction where Wang Jue and I were crouched.

In that fleeting moment when the skin peeled away, I clearly saw the face: it was unmistakably Li Xiaohao. A wave of panic washed over me; I wondered if he had come seeking retribution for the matter concerning Hou Dayong.