What kind of paint, paintbrush, or canvas should I use to depict him? Oil painting, ink painting, or mineral color painting? No, none of them seem to be suitable…
I was lost in thought until he stretched out a hand to me and the vultures flew away from him. Then I came to my senses and realized how embarrassing it was to lie at his feet.
“Thank… thank you.”
I tried to steady my racing heart, muttering a vague thank you as my gaze shifted to his hands. His fingers were long and slender, the joints well-defined, and so pale that they lacked any color, like a layer of frozen ice. I could clearly see the blue veins running across his palm. When I placed my hand in his, a jolt of cold shot through me, as if I had touched something frozen.
As I stood up, a sharp, piercing pain shot up from the sole of my right foot, causing me to stumble and almost fall into his arms. In a panic, I grabbed onto his arms for support. Suddenly, I felt a chill under my underarms, and before I could react, he had lifted me up effortlessly. My feet left the ground, and I was placed onto the platform above.
This… this strength is too incredible!
“Sor-sorry!”
I straightened up, and the man’s height became even more apparent. We were standing on the same level, but my head barely reached his chin. To put it into perspective, I’m at least 1.8 meters tall… This guy must be at least 1.95 meters, if not taller!
He is so tall… although he has a beautiful face, he looks very tall and strong with broad shoulders and a narrow waist.
He is indeed a mountain dweller who grew up eating beef and mutton and drinking cow and goat milk…
He didn’t say anything, as silent as a statue. But an invisible sense of oppression came towards me. I retracted my hand, took a step back, and thanked him again: “Thank you. I… I got lost. I’m a stranger. I didn’t mean to stumble into your burial grounds. I’m sorry.”
An eerie silence hung in the air.
He stood there quietly, not uttering a word.
The man’s eyes were covered by a black cloth, seemingly blind, yet I couldn’t shake the strange feeling that I was being scrutinized by his gaze. I felt uneasy all over, gripping my fingers tightly as I traced the lines of my palm. “Um…”
“This isn’t… a burial ground.”
A voice suddenly echoed.
“Ah?” I froze for a moment, then realized it was the man who had spoken.
His voice sounded like it hadn’t been used in a long time, it was rough and hoarse, as though his throat had rusted over. Deep and husky, but undeniably captivating, it carried a unique resonance that reminded me of an ancient string instrument, capable of producing a haunting, soul-stirring vibration.
But I immediately felt ashamed for getting distracted by the sound of his voice in such a moment. Flustered, I quickly responded, “S-sorry, I thought this was a burial ground… all these… these skeletons, they’re everywhere, I thought… hiss…”
Oh my god, what am I even saying? I winced, feeling utterly embarrassed as I nursed the tongue I had accidentally bitten. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to calm down. “Brother, have you seen a girl around here? About this tall.”
I gestured at my chest to show her height.
“She was… taken away.”
“Taken away?” I furrowed my brow. “By who.?”
“Th, em[mfn]Wait, so he talks with a lot of commas in the raw, maybe to indicate his stuff voice? That’s why I added them too[/mfn].” He replied.
I let out a sigh of relief, but the confusion only grew. Earlier, Masuo mentioned that her father and the tribe leader had gone into the forest to worship the gods. Could “them” be referring to them? But if they took Masuo, why would they leave me here alone? If they found Masuo, there’s no way they didn’t see me too. Could it be because I caused the two kids to get lost, and in a fit of anger, they decided to leave me here to fend for myself?
The memory of what I saw earlier in the mist sent a chill down my spine. I turned to face the endless forest behind us. “We need to leave the forest. It’s dangerous in here. I just saw…”
I really couldn’t find the words to describe the terrifying scene I had just encountered. If I spoke about it, most people would probably think I was insane. After a pause, I asked him, “Do you know how to get out of the forest?”
“Dangerous… you’re scared.”
It wasn’t a question but more of a statement. I nodded. “En. Aren’t you scared? Earlier, when they came to look for Masuo. Why didn’t you go back to the village with them?”
“I live here.”
“Live here?” I looked at the dark, gloomy cave behind him, disbelief written all over my face.
“If you’re, scared, come in.”
“Ah?” I froze for a moment, watching as he turned and slowly walked toward the cave. After a few seconds of hesitation, I followed him inside. Well, since this person said he lived here, he must be more familiar with the dangers of the forest than I am. Listening to a local was probably the safest bet.
The cave was dim and eerie, the cold seeping deep into my bones. Along the narrow passage, every few steps, I could see niches in the walls, each holding a skull candle holder. The flickering light from the candles cast distorted shadows, adding to the unsettling atmosphere.
This place couldn’t be anything other than a burial ground—or perhaps something much darker. I tightened my fur cloak and followed the man in front of me. As we passed through a narrow tunnel, a towering, even larger human bone tower appeared before us. In front of the tower were several mats made of felt, and between the mats and the tower stood a long, narrow table made of bones. On it sat three pyramid-shaped objects inside brass bowls, seemingly made from a dough of mixed grains, with copper pestles at their centers. Surrounding them were scattered animal entrails, the desiccated bodies of dead snakes, and the preserved remains of various poisonous insects.
I recognized that the pyramid-shaped object was called “Torma”, a special offering used to worship gods in the ancient southern Jiangsu region. It is said that mountain people usually offer “Torma” when they have something to ask for, and the different materials will determine the results of the prayer.
Surrounding the “Torma”, there are several smaller brass bowls, each containing unknown blackberries, hibiscus flowers, and a bowl of unknown black and red liquid.
—Is this a temple inside a cave?
But what kind of god would build such a temple of human bones? This is too horrifying.
Thinking of the “corpse god” that the driver had mentioned earlier, I felt a chill in my heart.
Looking behind the tower, I realized this was a natural cave. The stalactites and stalagmites were interwoven like sharp teeth, blocking the light of the candles and making the interior space appear deep and complex, with no clear view of the whole. I could vaguely see a set of steps not far ahead, leading to a deeper cavern, though I couldn’t tell what lay inside—perhaps an altar or a statue.
But the tall man stopped in front of the tower, seemingly unwilling to lead me further inside. He knelt on a mat, sitting upright, and slowly turned his head, gesturing for me to come over.
I thought he wanted me to pay respects to the gods, so I walked over and knelt down, imitating his posture. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my knee. I gasped and looked down, only to realize there was a small patch of blood staining my knee, with my pants torn, revealing a gruesome wound underneath—after all the shocks I’d gone through, I hadn’t noticed it at all.
I ripped open my pants, only for a pale hand to suddenly grab my ankle. I was so startled that I almost jumped, but the icy grip of the fingers, as firm as iron clamps, held me tightly.
“You are, injured.”
“Mm… just a little scraped to the skin.” I patted my chest and glanced to the side. In the flickering candlelight, the man’s face was half-lit, half-shadowed, like the peaks of a snow-covered mountain under the moonlight, and my heart skipped a beat. I couldn’t help but curse myself for not having any painting materials at hand to capture the scene before me.
While I was lost in thought, my calves were lifted up and placed on the low table in front of the felt mat, and my feet naturally landed among the pile of tributes.
“This… this doesn’t seem right, does it?” I was stunned for a moment, trying to pull my leg back, but his hand, which was gripping my ankle, held me firmly in place. This man’s strength was immense; even though I tried to retract my leg, his arm didn’t budge an inch, as steady as if he were a robot.
He didn’t respond to me; he simply straightened my injured leg, tearing the rip in my pants even wider, then picked up a blackberry from a copper plate and began to chew it.
His movements were slower than most, somewhat strange, yet they seemed particularly graceful because of it. As he chewed, juice from the berry seeped from the corner of his mouth, resembling fresh blood, staining his lips a deeper red. Against his pale skin, he looked like the vampire from ancient European legends, with a cold, solitary aura that carried an unsettling, almost otherworldly allure.
It seemed as if he had noticed my impolite gaze. His face tilted slightly toward my direction, as if a gaze pierced through the black cloth covering his eyes and met mine. I hurriedly lowered my gaze, only to see him lower his head, spit the crushed berry into his palm, and then press it onto my wound. A cool, jelly-like sensation washed over me, and the pain immediately subsided. The air around us was filled with a refreshing fragrance, both soothing and pleasant.
“Thank you.” I snapped back to my senses and quickly expressed my gratitude, unable to stop the saliva from building up in my mouth. My stomach also let out a loud growl.
I hadn’t eaten in a long time, but this fruit… it was his offering.
I didn’t have the heart to speak, only swallowing a mouthful of saliva. Probably because the sound was too loud, his face turned toward me again.
“You are, hungry?”
This blind beauty is really… sharp.
I gave a soft “en” and felt a bit embarrassed. “Can I eat… those fruits?”
“If they eat it, I will be angry,” He said, each word deliberate. “But if it is you, you can.”
Because I’m a guest and don’t have to follow the customs here?
Unable to bear the hunger any longer, I didn’t ask further and grabbed a berry, biting into it. The fruit wasn’t very sweet; it had a bit of sourness, but it was juicy and fragrant, somewhat like a plum. After a few bites, he handed me another one.
I greedily devoured two more, wiping my mouth in satisfaction, only to suddenly realize that my foot was still in his grasp as he applied the ointment. My foot was a mess—covered in dirt, grass, and blood—yet his fingers remained pristine, not a single speck of dust on them. He even wore a carnelian ring on his index finger, one that clearly wasn’t cheap. The situation felt oddly awkward, and I hurriedly tried to pull my foot back, but it still wouldn’t move under his grip. He truly didn’t mind me possibly dirtying the ring. Though this man was a bit strange, he really had a kind heart.
Although this person is a little strange, he is really kind-hearted. Although he can’t see, I still smiled at him gratefully. “My name is Qin Ran, Ran means dyeing. What’s yours?”
“Qin, Ran.” The man paused and spoke slowly, “Are you asking, for my name?”
I met a beauty in the mountains. This big beauty was also a natural idiot. I was immediately amused. My previous awkwardness suddenly disappeared. I smiled and said, “What else can I ask ah?”
Under the black cloth covering his eyes, the corners of his mouth were slightly tense, as if he was a little unhappy. The illusion of being stared at came back. I couldn’t help but stop smiling, wondering if I had violated some taboo of his tribe again: “If… if it’s not convenient to tell me, forget it…”
“Tun, She, Na Lin.”
“Ah?” I was stunned again and didn’t react.
“Tun, She, Na, Lin.” He repeated it, like a spell, with no ups and downs in his tone.
“Tunshe… Nalin”
I nodded. This name… is quite strange, but it has a unique charm when pronounced. I don’t know what meaning it contains, but the pronunciation of the word “Tun” reminds me of the Taotie in mythology that can devour everything.
Although I was curious, it was a bit offensive to ask such a question since we just met. I resisted the urge to ask and changed the question: “Tunshe Nalin, why… do you live here alone? This place is so scary…”
“Waiting.”
After a long time, he answered.
“Wait? Wait… for what?” My eyes involuntarily fell on his thin lips stained with berry juice. My breathing was slightly choked, and my throat was a little dry.
“A person.”
I was speechless for a moment, and my curiosity about him surged.
I consider myself quite talkative. In the past, when I encountered a model I fancied, with just a few words, I could easily spark their interest and have them open up to me, speaking freely. It was like a fisherman catching a fish, then gutting it before cooking, examining the bones, and tracing its origins to understand if it would become a fine dish on the table or not. Painting is much the same—what you paint is not the skin, but the bones.
Only those with extraordinary bones can become my muse.
To this day, my muse has been none other than Ming Luo.
Ming Luo was special enough because of his experiences. Born into a wealthy family in Thailand, he was an unloved illegitimate child. After his mother passed away, he began wandering and performing at the age of fifteen, traveling to over a hundred countries, crossing mountains and rivers… and my intuition tells me that the man before me, named Tunshe Nalin, hides an even more extraordinary set of bones.
He must be worthy of my painting.
“Then… the person you’re waiting for, have you found them?”
The author has something to say:
The Nashe people were not actually a tribe, nor were they members of Tuntun. “Nashe” was not even the name of their clan.
As for what kind of existence these people truly have, that remains a secret for now. To learn more, please stay tuned for future revelations hhh
T/N: I’ve finished the raw so I’ll update daily from now on~
