As Flower saw me weeping my heart out, she reached out her swollen front paw to gently touch my head, her eyes brimming with hot tears, looking at me with such sorrow. Seeing Flower like this, and remembering that she was the only one who had depended on me in the Huoma forest, my grief intensified. I reached out, pulled Flower’s head close, and buried my face in her fur, sobbing heartbrokenly.

After crying for a while, I stood up, untied the red string wrapped around me, and pulled off my clothes. Shining the flashlight, I saw that the places on my skin were covered in patches of scarlet rashes, and though there were fewer of them in the areas slightly covered by clothes and trousers, they were still dense and numerous. My tears dripped onto the crimson spots, causing a burning pain, as if touched by fire.

I thought of Flower, who had passed through the Huoma forest without any covering; I couldn't imagine what her body must look like now. I held Flower tight and vigorously rubbed her body with my hair, hoping to ease her pain even slightly. Flower tried to lick me again, but her tongue was too swollen, so she could only whimper sorrowfully, her gaze full of sadness and helplessness.

"Woof!" Flower suddenly barked out a wild cry, making me jump. Before I could react, Flower wrenched free of my grasp, kicked off with all four legs, and shot across to the opposite side like lightning, weaving left and right, disappearing from sight in just a few turns.

My heart leaped with joy, and I stood up abruptly. Had Flower discovered something? Could it be that enormous Monkey-Headed Eagle? Or perhaps the corpse of Qin Ping'er? A rush of mixed emotions flooded my mind.

I shone the flashlight and noticed that Flower seemed to be heading toward a gap between some piled-up rocks.

With no time to examine or consider further, I lifted my leg to run, but my foot slipped, and I slid down a slope overgrown with Hou'er grass. The speed of the descent was fast, and my foot snagged on the grass, causing me to lose control. I tumbled headfirst, landing flat on the bottom of the slope, and the flashlight was thrown over a meter away. I couldn't bother with that; I arched my back, struggled to stand up, grabbed the flashlight, and rushed forward urgently.

As I ran, I realized the ground beneath my feet felt soft. I shone the light down and saw that the floor was covered in dark green Hou'er grass, and growing above the grass were clumps of water bamboo, some large and some small. The water bamboo clumps were slightly taller than my head, perfectly blocking my line of sight, so I couldn't see how far away that rock crevice was; I just moved quickly in that direction based on instinct.

After a few steps, a clump of water bamboo blocked my path ahead. At that moment, I began to feel a strange sensation all over my body: my skin felt cool, and the itching and pain from the scarlet rashes were gradually subsiding, much like the feeling when a silver needle is withdrawn from the body.

I found it strange. I noticed the light overhead was completely different from when I saw it last. Previously, it resembled the sun setting in the west, but now it seemed like the first light of dawn, with wisps of milky-white mist drifting etherealy among the water bamboo clumps. The air was damp, seemingly carrying a familiar sweet fragrance, and when the flashlight beam hit the water bamboo leaves, dewdrops glittered.

The itching and pain on my body weakened further until they vanished without a trace, replaced by an indescribable sense of comfort, very pleasant, like the feeling after a hot bath following extreme exhaustion.

I marveled to myself. Could this white mist here be a potent remedy for the pricks from the Huoma grass? Or was it the work of that familiar sweet fragrance?

I felt a sense of relief in my heart, but I didn't dare pause; I continued my hurried pace.

Although I tried my best to walk based on memory, I was unsuccessful. The clumps of water bamboo were scattered haphazardly, sometimes blocking my way. I had to squeeze and weave through the gaps between the clumps, turning left and right, pushing forward and back, yet I never reached the location of that rock crevice. The more I walked, the more alarmed I became. The comfort in my body gradually gave way to coldness. Goosebumps rose on my skin, and I couldn't help shivering. Thankfully, the dew on the Hou'er grass wasn't heavy, and I was wearing high-top sneakers, which kept my feet from being soaked in cold water.

After another few minutes of panicked running and stumbling, I finally grasped a harsh reality: I was lost. I didn't know where I had come from, nor where I was going.

I puzzled over this. When I first saw this place, my rough impression was that the space was circular and not very large. Logically, no matter which direction I walked, I should at least reach the stone wall of the cavern hall, shouldn't I? Yet, before me lay an endless expanse of Hou'er grass and water bamboo clumps. Was I just circling within this same space?

A thin mist enveloped me, and the chill grew increasingly severe.

Undeterred, I kept walking forward. When I encountered another clump of water bamboo, fearing I would drift off course, I stopped squeezing through the gaps. Instead, I mustered my strength, leaped, grabbed the water bamboo, and scrambled over it. This significantly slowed my speed, but I was resolved: no matter how slow, I would not allow myself to be disoriented by the water bamboo again.

The space was very quiet, broken only by the sound of my own panting breaths.

After struggling like this for half an hour, my clothes were soaked through, yet I still hadn't reached the stone wall. Shining the flashlight, I could only see a vast expanse of white in the distance and the vague outlines of a few water bamboo clumps nearby. Looking up, I couldn't tell how high the cavern ceiling was. "Damn it all!" I cursed inwardly with fierce intensity.

Haunted? A phantom wall?

Cold sweat immediately broke out on my forehead. I recalled an incident my grandfather had told me before he passed.

This was long before I was born, back when agricultural land hadn't been divided into household plots, and everyone ate from the communal kitchens. One night, my grandfather went to a mountain cave near Mǎcáo Kǒu to fetch my grandmother. To earn a few more work points, she was husking corn overnight with several other women, and my grandfather, worried about her, went to collect her. To take a shortcut, he decided to pass straight through a cornfield. However, once inside, my grandfather realized he was lost; he couldn't find his way out of that cornfield no matter which way he walked. That night had a faint moonlight, but inside the field, my grandfather felt as if the world had turned pitch black like the bottom of a wok—he could see no light and hear no other sound. Realizing he was trapped in an illusion—what people commonly call a "ghost wall"—he stopped panicking. Calmly reciting the names of his ancestors, he walked mechanically based on instinct. Finally, somehow, his foot struck a dry twig, making a sharp "snap!" sound that caused a dog belonging to a family in Yānjia Pō to bark wildly. My grandfather looked up, saw that the sky was bright, the scenery clearly visible, and he was only a step away from the cave where my grandmother was.

When he told this story, I was dismissive, thinking my grandfather was just rambling after drinking; surely, such bizarre things didn't exist in the world!

Though the current environment differed from the cornfield, and the light was slightly different, the situation I encountered was strikingly similar to my grandfather's experience.

I made up my mind. Regardless of whether this was a so-called "ghost wall," I would follow my grandfather’s method: clear my mind of distracting thoughts and begin silently reciting his name. My grandfather had once told me that in such situations, one could converse silently with ancestors. Early Tǔjiā people didn't believe in Guanyin or the Buddha; they worshipped figures like Xiang Wang Tianzi and the Eightfold Deities. If one couldn't recall those names, just talking to deceased ancestors would suffice.

In the current circumstances, my grandfather was undoubtedly the most suitable person to address.

I walked while reciting silently. Grandpa, hurry and lead me out of this damn place. When I get out, I promise to "mail" you lots of spirit money. I’ll buy you the finest strong liquor and the best tobacco. I wonder if life over there has reached developed-country standards yet? If you need anything, just lead me out first, then send me a dream saying what you need, and I’ll get it done. If you want a house, I’ll give you one—no mortgage needed. If you want a car, you got it—though I don't know if you got a Class A or Class C license. If you want a beautiful woman... no, wait, Grandma might smack me. Anyway, I'll give you anything you want besides that! —Looking back now, my actions then were truly "shocking."

After rambling incoherently for a while and walking in a daze, I discovered that my grandfather's method had failed. I hadn't stumbled upon any lucky dog-shit moment, nor had I kicked a dry twig, and the scene before me remained exactly the same.

I had chanted enough, walked until I was exhausted, was completely soaked, and was frozen stiff from the cold. I simply sat down hard on the ground and stopped moving!

I pulled out a cigarette. After exhaling a thick plume of smoke, I let out a heart-wrenching scream, but the sound was muffled and short, completely lacking the ethereal quality one might expect in this environment. Naturally, no other sound echoed mine.

This damn twisted place. I cursed it fiercely again in my mind, utterly helpless.

Smoking was a good thing. I took a few more puffs, managing to calm my rising fear. As I was desperately racking my brain for a solution to escape this cursed place, the familiar sweet fragrance I had smelled earlier grew stronger and stronger, almost overwhelming the heavy scent of tobacco. I was overwhelmingly curious: what was emitting this scent? Why was it so familiar yet I couldn't recall where I had smelled it before?

I took the last drag of my cigarette, pushed myself up, sniffed the air, and began to search for the source of the sweet fragrance, like a dog.

After sniffing several times, I finally located the source of the sweet scent beneath a clump of water bamboo not far from me.

I struggled over and slowly pushed aside the dead branches and decaying leaves beneath the water bamboo with my machete. Suddenly, a massive object sprang out, presenting itself before my eyes as ostentatiously as a man's appendage.

Damn it all, it was that thing! No wonder the smell was so familiar! I must have seen it countless times in the bamboo groves as a child—it was a stinkhorn mushroom, entirely snow-white, wearing a matching snow-white veil and fastened with a dark green cap, like a skullcap.

The stinkhorn, also known locally as Zhūnjūn or Bamboo Maiden, is very common in our region. However, this was the largest one I had ever seen. The stalk of an average stinkhorn is no thicker than a pestle handle, but this one was as thick as the pole used to carry heavy loads, with a diameter of at least ten centimeters. Its entire body was snow-white, covered in fine, dense pores. A vast, net-like veil draped from top to bottom over the stalk, resembling a lampshade. The dark green cap was just about to fall off, looking like a mischievous child wearing a skullcap askew.

The rich, sweet fragrance emanated from this stinkhorn, pouring into my nostrils in swirling wisps. For a moment, it swept away all the clutter in my mind. I forgot where I was, what I was doing, and I forgot about Qin Ping'er...

Another huge object! Exceedingly large, beyond the norm!

I indulged in the fragrance for a moment, then shook my head, pulling my thoughts back to reality. Had I guessed correctly? Have all these enormous things I've encountered recently been meant to intimidate others?

The strange toad, Moyu tree, Earth Beetle, Dragon Bridge, giant salamander, and Monkey-Headed Eagle encountered earlier were all surprisingly large and, to some extent, terrifying. But this giant stinkhorn before me was not frightening at all; rather, its striking appearance refreshed my spirit, and its scent was intoxicating. How could it serve as a deterrent?

I gazed at the stinkhorn, finding it more and more beautiful and endearing. Gradually, the misty vapor moistened my eyes. In the blur, I felt as if the stinkhorn was a young girl in a wedding dress dancing in my senses, or perhaps Qin Ping'er swaying her graceful figure before me...

Qin Ping'er? I felt as if struck by ten thousand volts, my thoughts abruptly pulled back to reality. What was happening to me?

Remembering Qin Ping'er, I wanted to struggle to my feet and continue searching for a way out, but I found that whether due to the cold or having squatted for too long, my legs felt petrified, utterly immovable.

I managed a bitter smile, preparing to try again to stand up. Inadvertently, I suddenly noticed that the stinkhorn was slowly beginning to change color. Starting from its base, a faint crimson blush was gradually seeping upward. This blush was dark red, like blood.

I felt very strange, staring intently at the stinkhorn, my mind racing through a thousand thoughts. Could this bizarre stinkhorn also blush like a maiden, the "shy rose blooming quietly"? The stinkhorns I'd seen before never changed color under light!

Amidst my apprehension and doubt, I noticed the crimson spreading on the stinkhorn growing deeper and higher. The flush crept slowly upward from the base. In less than half a minute, the redness had reached the stalk's middle section, and the crimson was gradually turning reddish-black, creating a shocking contrast with the snow-white areas untouched by the liquid. The body of the stinkhorn became more swollen, looking exactly like a piece of boiled sausage. The sweet fragrance, however, became more intense.

I shivered, noticing my face growing colder. I vaguely felt all the blood in my body rushing rapidly toward the soles of my feet. My feet were already numb, making the effort to stand up extremely difficult.

I tried to look up to check my surroundings to find the reason for my body growing colder, but found that I couldn't turn my neck. Other parts of my body were also stiff, unable to move an inch. The only part of my body that could move was my eyeballs. This sensation was similar to being pinned down in a dream during a "sleep paralysis" episode. The flashlight was still gripped in my hand, its stark white beam shining silently upon the stinkhorn.

My consciousness remained clear, filling me with both alarm and suspicion. In my line of sight, while I was stunned, the stinkhorn had completely turned blood-red. As the last trace of white was swallowed by the crimson, the dark green cap was pushed off by the swelling body, rolling lightly twice on the ground before stopping. The seemingly chaotic folds on the cap had formed a bizarre smiling face—a cold, malicious grin.

The surroundings were silent, starkly contrasting with the frantic thumping of my heart, which felt like a tractor engine. As my heartbeat accelerated, I felt the blood in my body surging toward my feet even faster. The crimson color of the stinkhorn, having no other place to spread, caused it to swell even more. Soon, the stinkhorn had enlarged to more than three times its original size. Furthermore, the stalk and the veil clung tightly together; in an instant, it became impossible to distinguish which was the stalk and which was the veil.

Threads of dark red fluid gradually seeped from the stinkhorn, and a potent smell of blood overwhelmed the previous sweet fragrance. In less than a minute, the stinkhorn resembled a red balloon inflated almost to bursting, yet more bizarrely, this "balloon" did not burst. I could even see the fluid inside the stinkhorn flowing rapidly.

During this process, I grew continuously colder. Lowering my eyelids, I glimpsed my hands turning deathly white, and a thin layer of frost forming on my lips. My feet ached from swelling, feeling as if all my blood had drained to the soles. Watching the stinkhorn grow larger and larger, I thought grimly: Could my blood actually be flowing into the stinkhorn?

—Blood transference? Is this the legendary Jia Xue?

A personal memory suddenly surfaced from my gradually blurring consciousness.

There is an old saying in our locality: In the first lunar month, don't watch an eagle catch a bird; in the second month, don't watch dogs mating; in the third month, don't watch snakes giving birth; in the fourth month, don't watch people pairing up. The situations described in this proverb refer to animals engaged in mating acts. If someone is destined for terrible bad luck and happens to see one of these scenes during the specified month, according to the old folks, the mildest consequence is a blood-related disaster, and the worst could be death. When I was seven, I happened to witness the "dogs mating" in the second month. Being young and ignorant, I asked my grandfather, who was digging soil nearby, what those two fellows were doing. My grandfather glanced over, immediately closed his eyes, and urgently told me, "Quick, don't look! Don't look!" He then picked up his walking stick from the side, tapped me once with it, and pointed the stick at a small fir tree nearby, saying, "My grandson wants to see those beasts having fun!" I didn't pay much attention to my grandfather's action, but seeing his flustered state, I dared not look again.

Later, I persistently asked my grandfather why he had commanded me to look at the small fir tree instead of the dogs, and what the significance was. My grandfather sighed and said, "That's to transfer the disaster star from you and me onto it! Believe it or not, in three days, that small fir tree will die!" "Really?" I was skeptical. My grandfather sighed again, didn't answer, and remained silent for a long time before reciting the proverb to me, repeatedly warning me that if I ever encountered the situations in the proverb again, I must remember to mimic his actions and transfer the "disaster star" onto something else living, though preferably not an animal. I was doubtful, but on the third day, I checked the small fir tree. It was dead, withered yellow all over, contrasting sharply with the lush green of the surrounding plants...

My grandfather later explained the concept of "blood transference." What he described was exactly what I was experiencing now: inability to move my body, inability to speak, and the body's blood being "transferred" without my knowledge to other plants or animals, leading to a terrifying end—dying stiff and rigid.

Thinking about "inability to speak," I realized I wanted to shout loudly, but I couldn't even part my lips slightly, let alone shout. And that stinkhorn, during my recollection, had already swelled up like a basketball—a blood-red basketball at that...