The moment I stepped outside, my eyes scanned the surrounding streets, searching clearly for the tree Xiong had mentioned.

I paused, wondering if I had perhaps seen it while walking along the road on the way here.

So, I started walking back the way I came, following the street.

After about two or three hundred meters, I still hadn't spotted any tree, only weeds growing everywhere, crumbling ruins, and a dense fog that permeated everything.

Strange… I rubbed my chin in confusion, thinking that Xiong wouldn't have any reason to lie to me, and he never had before.

The more I thought about it, the more unbelievable it seemed, yet a bad premonition began to surface.

A sudden possibility—that Xiong had tricked me—jolted me, and a cold sweat instantly broke out across my forehead.

I completely forgot about the tree and the firewood; I spun around and sprinted back into the deluge.

Soon, I was standing before the stone house again. Without a word, I burst inside.

Flicking on my flashlight, I immediately saw that Xiong, who had been leaning against the corner, was gone.

My heart plummeted, because right where Xiong had been sitting, there was a pool of blood that had already begun to congeal.

When I saw Xiong hiding his hand earlier, it must have been him wiping away his nosebleed—his nosebleed that wouldn't stop.

Using the weak beam of the flashlight, I searched frantically, my voice catching with a near-sob: “Xiong… Xiong, where are you? Don’t you die on me!”

Quickly, I spotted a bulky figure lying motionless on the ground not far ahead of Liang Qian and Long Jia.

Oddly, Xiong wasn't wearing his jacket.

I rushed over and, with effort, managed to turn Xiong over.

Then I saw it: his mouth and entire face were covered in blood that was starting to stiffen.

Clutched tightly in his hand was a battered dagger—the one he always carried.

Not far away, the two women were covered by Xiong’s windbreaker, which was soaked in dark stains.

I flipped open Xiong’s eyelids. His pupils were fully dilated.

When I checked for a pulse at his neck, it had stopped beating.

Xiong… was dead!

A deafening buzz filled my head, and my entire body collapsed onto the ground, unable to process the reality before me.

Tears streamed down my cheeks like a broken dam. It felt as if a pair of scissors were violently stabbing my core, a violent twisting pain seizing control of my breath, making it hard to draw air.

Xiong was dead. This time, for real.

He hadn't died beneath the claws of the Black Bamboo Valley corpse-things, nor at the hands of the hundreds of specters of Lop Nur, but had inexplicably succumbed to that fatal sonic wave moments ago.

There had been no glorious battle, no feast to finish, no death at the banquet table.

He just died quietly in this ancient city under the downpour, and I couldn't accept it; everything suddenly felt utterly fake.

Hunkered on the ground, I let out a long, agonizing wail until my throat was raw, my stomach cramped painfully from sobbing, and I could squeeze no more tears out. Only then did I take a slow, deep breath and push myself up.

I knew Xiong was truly gone, but I couldn't afford to crumble here.

Xiong must have known he was dying, perhaps in a last lucid moment, and urged me to leave the stone house so I wouldn't witness his passing and be heartbroken.

His final act, stripping off his jacket to cover the two women, was his response to my parting request to look after them.

Everything Xiong did in those last moments was to spare me pain and ask me to ensure the safety of those two women.

I couldn't betray Xiong's expectation; I absolutely could not lie down and die here, too.

Composing myself, I remembered the dirt caked on the dagger Xiong held and guessed he might have left me a message.

I aimed the flashlight back toward where Xiong had lain, and sure enough, there was a line of writing etched into the ground.

The message read: Little Chuan, I know I’m about to die. Going to see Marx isn’t so bad; I can get some life re-education. All men must die, and I’m happy to have spent my last moments with a good brother like you. The thing I feared most was centipedes. Burn me immediately after I die; I don’t want bugs nibbling on me here. Then scatter my ashes in the sea, just like Comrade Xiaoping. When you hold my service, don't play mourning music; I want to hear the theme song from Romance of the Three Kingdoms: "The great Yangtze River flows east, its waves washing away heroes of the past…" Suddenly, I really want that lamb flatbread from the place on Gulou West Street. Remember it?

Reading this, my tears had dried, but my nose burned with emotion.

The place Xiong mentioned was "Wang Pangzi Lamb Flatbread." It was ostentatiously decorated, and he always used to say the waitresses were beautiful, plus the name matched him perfectly. He used to joke that when he got rich, he’d buy the place.

I patted Xiong’s cheek. “You old fatty, I always called you that, and now you really are gone. I’ll buy that lamb flatbread for you, and every month I’ll pour a bowl over your grave.”

After saying that, I pulled a bottle of mineral water from my backpack and gently washed the dried blood from Xiong’s face, then smoothed his hair down.

It was then I noticed his mouth was turned up in a slight smile. It seemed he was quite satisfied with how he died.

I sighed, seeing that ironic, slight smile; it somehow made him feel like he was still alive.

I laid Xiong’s body flat and wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes.

I turned my attention to Liang Qian and Long Jia. They were still unconscious. Liang Qian, who had managed to keep her eyes open earlier, was now closed too. I had no idea how badly she was injured.

I checked their eyelids and breathing, confirming they were out of immediate danger.

Glancing back at Xiong—still definitively dead—I swept the flashlight beam around and located the staircase leading to the second floor.

I carefully climbed the rickety steps and found the room above was just as empty as the one below.

However, unlike downstairs, I noticed a cylindrical object resting against the right-hand wall.

As I approached, I was overcome with joy.

It was a ceramic charcoal brazier, and inside, several pieces of charcoal were already set.

Charcoal could be used no matter how long it sat; the ceramic brazier itself was slightly cracked, but it would manage.

I carefully lifted the brazier and returned downstairs.

Xiong was still lying there, showing absolutely no sign of reviving.

I frowned, set the brazier down beside the two women, and pulled out my lighter, painstakingly trying to ignite the fuel.