Xi’an.
An ancient city wall encloses the central area of Xi’an. At its core is the Bell and Drum Tower1photo 1 at the end , and from the Drum Tower extends a street that is always bustling with food and tourists, regardless of the season or the weather.
This street is called Huimin Street2photo 2, also known as “Famous Gourmet Cultural District,” “Representative of Xi’an Style,” and “Must-Visit Attraction in Xi’an.”
With the growing popularity, the space became extremely valuable. Various shops try their best to crowd into this prime location. When the street space is not enough, they extend into narrow alleyways. A sign on the street might say something like “Lodging 15 meters inside.”
About one-third of the way from the end of the street, there is such an alley. At the entrance is a vendor selling sour plum soup. A high-mounted sign reads “Shadow Puppetry, Scheduled Performances.”
Below the sign, there is a shadow puppet woman with charming eyes, a slender waist, and long, glossy black braids—a beautifully attractive sign.
Interested or tired tourists at the alley entrance would casually grab a cup of sour plum soup and buy a ten-yuan ticket to watch a ten-minute shadow puppetry performance.
The shadow puppetry theater is not large, with only about ten square meters outside the stage, arranged with three rows of tables and chairs. The walls are adorned with colorful shadow puppets, and if tourists wanted they could take home three puppets for fifty yuan.
The puppeteer is an old man named Ding Zhou, around sixty years old, with graying hair and bad legs. He rarely socializes and spends most of his time sitting behind a white screen polished with fish oil to a stiff and bright finish. With both hands, he manipulates two or three shadow puppets, who dance to the beat of drums and he enact lively stories from the old days.
Sometimes it’s “The Peddler’s Romance,” other times it’s “Nezha’s Three Adventures in the Sea.”
That evening, the shadow puppet show was scheduled to start at seven o’clock. By 6:50, the seats were already filled.
Ding Zhou lifted the curtain a bit to look down.
The audience consisted mostly of parents with children. Most of the children couldn’t sit still, squirming on their benches and asking, “When will the cartoon start?”
Ding Zhou could foresee what would happen next: once the show started, the children would quickly lose interest, realizing that shadow puppetry was very different from cartoons. They would find the singing incomprehensible and start clamoring to leave. The adults would then scold them, and the children would cry and shout.
In the midst of this chaos, Ding Zhou would persist in performing the entire show with the old Qin-style singing.
Thinking about it felt rather tedious, but most of life was tedious.
Two minutes before seven, a young woman walked in.
Ding Zhou’s heart skipped a beat.
She came again, for the third consecutive day, and once again at seven o’clock.
The first time she came, Ding Zhou noticed her: she was very beautiful, with medium-length fluffy hair, a half-worn black canvas bag slung over one shoulder, a plaid shirt, ripped jeans, and laced-up chunky boots with rubber soles. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and there were traces of engine oil on her arms and pants.
She looked like she might be a motorcycle mechanic, but she definitely wasn’t.
Shadow puppetry usually draws in first-time viewers for the novelty; if they come a second time, they might be genuinely interested; but the third time… that seemed to indicate a deeper intention. The seven o’clock show was always “The Peddler’s Romance,” a straightforward flirting play, not worth watching repeatedly.
Moreover, during a few intermissions, when he peeked from the edge of the curtain, he noticed that the woman wasn’t seriously watching the show.
She wore a faint, ambiguous smile, and her gaze seemed to penetrate the curtain.
What’s behind the curtain? Besides the stage lights and the record player playing the singing, wasn’t it… him?
Ding Zhou felt a bit uneasy.
The show ended, and the lights came on.
Most of the audience muttered about how they didn’t enjoy it and headed for the exit. A few stayed behind, picking out shadow puppets from the wall, planning to take some home as souvenirs.
The woman remained seated, her canvas bag hanging on the protruding corner of the chair. One hand twisted a ticket, and her wrist had a snake-like tattoo, which at first glance, seemed like a bracelet.
Ding Zhou coughed and dragged his leg as he stepped down from the edge of the stage, pretending to straighten the tables and chairs. As he passed by the woman, he smiled politely and asked, “Are you here for a visit?”
“Sort of.”
“I’ve noticed you’ve come a few times. Can you understand it? It’s all old-style singing, which many young people don’t like.”
The woman looked at the darkened curtain and said, “So many shadow puppets, and you’re the only one manipulating them. That’s impressive.”
Ding Zhou modestly replied, “I’m not that good. If you go backstage, you’ll see that the singing and drumming are pre-recorded. The real old shadow puppeteers, who can manipulate a dozen figures in a battle with both hands while singing, drumming, and narrating, are the truly impressive ones… What’s your name, miss?”
“My surname is Ye. Ye Liuxi.”
Ding Zhou didn’t introduce himself; his name was printed on the show tickets and posters. She couldn’t possibly not know it.
He pointed to the shadow puppets hanging on the wall, “Don’t you want to take a couple? They’re made of cowhide, the leather is translucent, cut with special techniques, all handmade. The more complex ones require over three thousand cuts and take two or three days to complete. They’re really good.”
He knew he was talking nonsense. There were now specialized machines for carving shadow puppets, producing hundreds a day in assembly lines. Few people were willing to carve by hand anymore—but that’s not what they told the tourists.
Ye Liuxi smiled, “You might have already noticed, so I won’t beat around the bush. I’m not here for the shadow puppetry… I’m looking for someone. I heard you have a nephew named Chang Dong?”
Ding Zhou’s hand trembled slightly.
Most of the audience had left, and the lights cast over the shadow puppets on the wall, with their long, finely carved features in hues of peach, willow green, and apricot yellow, squeezed together in a bewitching and enticing manner.
Ding Zhou walked to the door, hung out the “Resting” sign, and locked it.
The door couldn’t block out the bustling sounds from Huimin Street or the smoke and aroma of various barbecues.
He looked at Ye Liuxi, his voice older than before, “Do you have business with Chang Dong?”
Ye Liuxi said, “I heard he’s an expert in the Gobi Desert, he has even crossed Lop Nur3its a lake in China-photo 3 alone on a bike. Some even call him the ‘Desert Fang.’ Ordinary people in that place can only leave their fate to the heavens, but he is a fang that can pierce through the desert.”
Ding Zhou understood, “Planning to enter the desert? Want Chang Dong as a guide?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know that two years ago, Chang Dong had an incident? It was reported in the news, and he was scolded by netizens like a dog.”
Ye Liuxi opened her canvas bag and pulled out a rolled-up magazine, placing it on the table. “If you’re talking about the ‘Black Camellia’ incident, then I know about it.”
________
Ding Zhou’s gaze fell on the magazine cover.
It was an outdoor magazine, and the cover was a screenshot of a popular online post. Ding Zhou had seen that post; it had been a long-term featured and pinned post on the largest outdoor website in the country for the past two years.
The person that wrote the post was an experienced outdoor enthusiast who, with good intentions to warn others, summarized all major outdoor disasters from the past few years, including the “Motuo Hiking Disappearance,” the “Shate Death River,” the “Kanas Snowfield Missing,” and the “Desert Black Camellia.”
Two years ago, there was an outdoor group called “Camellia,” which planned to cross the four major uninhabited areas in the country. The first stop was Lop Nur. They made a big splash, conducted news interviews, and posted updates online throughout the journey. Their guide was Chang Dong.
The incident happened on the night they had just entered the desert, not even touching the edge of Lop Nur. “Camellia’s” official blog posted an update about a dispute over the campsite for the night. The leader wanted to camp on the spot, but Chang Dong insisted on pushing two more hours to camp near the Goose Head Sand Dune.
Many outdoor enthusiasts replied to the post, overwhelmingly supporting Chang Dong.
One user, “Bear Who Loves Staying Home,” said: “Chang Dong is the ‘Desert Fang,’ he has rich experience, of course they should listen to him. Those inexperienced people should just shut up.”
Another user, “I Am a Saudi Prince,” said: “Some outdoor enthusiasts have donkey brains; they think they can walk the desert just because they’ve been to the beach. They should listen to Chang Dong. He crossed Lop Nur, you know, even Yu Chunshun didn’t make it out.”
User “Cilantro Must Die” said: “Listening to Chang Dong is the right choice. He’s indeed an expert. In my heart, he’s like the desert king, Zhao Ziyun!”
…
That night, no one expected a rare sandstorm to hit. The sand dunes advanced over the flat ground and the campsite faced total destruction.
Except for Chang Dong, all eighteen members perished, and due to the strong mobility of the sand dunes, the remains and campsite could have been pushed away several miles overnight. The search for the remains yielded nothing.
Since then, Camellia’s official blog avatar turned black and was never updated again.
When a fatality occurs, outdoor news quickly becomes a social hotspot, with interest growing exponentially.
The story wasn’t over. Two days later, someone claiming to know the inside details made a post, dropping a bombshell.
- On the Camellia Lop Nur expedition, besides the guide, there were 17 team members, and 18 died. Since Chang Dong survived, who was the extra person?
- Why did Chang Dong insist on pushing two more hours? Was it really for reasonable travel arrangements and campsite safety?
Netizens were furious to find out that the extra person was Chang Dong’s girlfriend, Kong Yang, and that Chang Dong insisted on reaching Goose Head Sand Dune because that area had many exposed desert rose stones4photo 4. Chang Dong wanted to propose to Kong Yang there.
The outcry was overwhelming, more ferocious than the sandstorm, instantly engulfing Chang Dong.
Ye Liuxi didn’t see a conflict. “I’m hiring him for his skills. Making mistakes doesn’t necessarily equallosing his skills.”
Ding Zhou said, “Come with me.”
He hunched over, coughing all the way, and led Ye Liuxi to the backstage.
The backstage was cramped and crowded, divided into several small rooms with partitions. Ding Zhou stopped at the smallest room at the end, took out a key, and opened the door.
As the door opened, a musty smell hit them. It was too dark inside to see anything except a small piece of glass reflecting white light.
Just as Ye Liuxi was about to say something, Ding Zhou pulled the light cord.
Under the dim yellow light, she could see clearly. The small piece of glass was actually a glass photo frame, with a black border framing a black-and-white photo of a young man around twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old. He had handsome features and a look of despair in his eyes.
In front of the photo was an incense burner, with a thin layer of ash inside, and two small porcelain bowls, one filled with rice and the other with small packaged candies and biscuits.
Chang Dong had died?
Ding Zhou said, “After causing the deaths of eighteen people, the whole world was cursing him, and they even cursed Kong Yang as a despicable woman. Chang Dong sold all his possessions to compensate the families of the deceased and then came to live with me.”
He lived with Ding Zhou, silent and reticent, spending long periods of time sitting under the stage, repeatedly watching Ding Zhou manipulate the shadow puppets, staring at the lifeless puppets while listening to the ancient, lingering singing, with tears streaming down his face.
Three months later, one night, Chang Dong cut his wrists in his room. Blood flowed all over the room, seeped through the door cracks, and into the corridor behind the stage.
When Ding Zhou saw the dark red pool trapped in the corridor by the morning light, he wondered, “What is this?”
photo 1
photo 2
photo 3
photo 4
![Flying Dust [Fei Chen]](https://www.freenovels.net/wp-content/uploads/2022/03/9k.png "Flying Dust [Fei Chen]")
![Dissatisfied [e-sports]](https://www.freenovels.net/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/4997572.jpg "Dissatisfied [e-sports]")
