WOOY Chapter 30

Fei Tang had gathered an entire bag of Gobi jade. At first, he had carefully inspected each piece, assessing its color, sheen, and fractures. But then it hit him—neither Chang Dong nor Ye Liuxi were collecting anything. If he was the only one scavenging, he couldn’t afford to get too carried away, leisurely sorting through everything as if the fortune was his for the taking.

So, he sped up, grabbing everything that caught his eye—anything attractive or decently colored, regardless of whether it was truly valuable. Better to take too much than miss something.

Returning to the car with his bag, he guessed their partnership had likely come to an end. Surviving the wilderness, going home with his life, and perhaps even making a small fortune—it wasn’t a wasted effort.

What he hadn’t anticipated was Chang Dong and Ye Liuxi’s plan to return to Bailongdui.

A chill ran down Fei Tang’s spine. “Dong ge, aren’t you scared? We got lucky this time, but if…”

The thought was too terrifying to finish—his body trembled just imagining it.

Still, he knew how stubborn those two were. His words carried no weight. He could only stand there, watching them drive away, his heart unexpectedly heavy. Shared adversity had a way of creating bonds, and now he felt an odd pang of sorrow.

Just a dozen meters ahead, the car suddenly came to a stop. Ye Liuxi leaned out the window, extending her arm to wave him over.

Fei Tang dropped his bag on the ground and jogged to catch up.

Ye Liuxi handed him a satellite phone. “You know, Gobi jade has channels for sale in Hami. My guess is, if you profit from this haul, you won’t leave anytime soon—you’ll be back to hunt for more.”

Fei Tang’s cheeks flushed. He had indeed memorized the milestone numbers along the nearby provincial road, planning for a return trip.

“Let’s stay in touch,” she said with a faint, knowing smile. “One day, I might ask you to deliver supplies or something. You wouldn’t refuse, would you?”

Fei Tang clenched the satellite phone tightly. “I wouldn’t refuse. If I’m still around, I’ll definitely come.”

Ye Liuxi grinned. “Don’t worry. If I ever need your help, you’d only have to deliver to the entrance.”

——

As the evening deepened, Chang Dong and Ye Liuxi returned to Bailongdui.

The place was eerily quiet, devoid of people or even the slightest breeze, its silence reminiscent of the moon’s surface.

Meng Jingu’s camp had been tidied so meticulously that not even a single plastic bag was left behind. However, this “environmental consciousness” didn’t extend to others—Huoya’s site resembled a garbage dump, littered with abandoned debris.

Chang Dong gathered the trash and burned it, sending thick black smoke spiraling into the sky. In a desolate area like this, when taking the garbage out wasn’t an option, this method was at least somewhat acceptable.

They ate a simple dinner, set up a bonfire, and pitched their tent. Though they still couldn’t drive stakes into the ground, the calm weather meant the tent wouldn’t blow away. They secured it with heavy rocks at the corners instead. Sleeping in the car had left Chang Dong sore and stiff every morning, as if someone had beaten him up. A tent was a more comfortable option.

Before bedtime, Chang Dong took out his shadow puppets once again to pass the time.

Ye Liuxi didn’t even bother to tease him anymore. Her earlier advice to “learn to love Fei Tang if you can’t get rid of him” applied just as well to Chang Dong’s stubbornness. Since her sarcasm rolled off him, she decided to explore what made the puppets so compelling. After all, if they ever needed to return to selling melons, adding a shadow puppet show could double their income.

• She’s already planning their married life lol 

She rummaged through his puppet box, examining each item.

As Chang Dong meticulously carved a piece of leather, his gaze occasionally drifted toward her as she sorted through his belongings. He’d offer commentary as she picked things up.

“That’s the leather material. No two pieces are the same. Some are fair and smooth, while others are dark and coarse. We use the best pieces for scholars and beauties, average ones for generals and clowns, and the poorest-quality leather for props…”

Ye Liuxi smirked. “Even in puppet carving, you’re a snob, huh?”

“Well, carving a delicate farmhand from rough leather wouldn’t look right either.”

She huffed and picked up a yellowed booklet.

“That’s for sketching. When you’re carving a figure—human or animal—you need to think about how it’ll move. Movable parts are where the joints are, so the head and limbs need separate sketches. For example, if you’re carving a scorpion, you can’t draw it in one go. You have to break it down and then piece it together.”

“So you’re saying everything has to be dismembered first? Ruthless,” Ye Liuxi retorted.

Having exhausted her snark, she propped her chin on her hand and watched him carve.

Every stroke of the blade—over three thousand cuts for a single puppet—was precise and restrained, with no unnecessary flair. The process seemed monotonous, but Ye Liuxi enjoyed watching him blow away the bits of leather debris. He’d lower his head slightly, gently brushing the leather with his fingertips before carefully blowing it clean. It was a meticulous, almost reverent act.

“Chang Dong, do you really love carving shadow puppets?”

“No.”

Her eyebrows raised, thinking she’d misheard. “No?”

“If you’ve experienced excruciating pain, and no one was there to save you, you’d find something—anything—to distract yourself, to fill the void, to shift your focus. It could be alcohol, indulgence, or shadow puppets. Anything.”

“And now you can’t let go because you’re not free of it yet?”

“No, because it’s a habit now.”

Ye Liuxi sighed. “Well, I guess I don’t need to learn this craft. I don’t really have anything to be miserable about.”

“Nothing? Not even one thing?”

“Not really,” Ye Liuxi murmured, watching the firelight dim. “Sometimes I think… I’ve never even shed a tear.”

Suddenly, her body tensed. She barked sharply, “Who’s there?!”

——

Chang Dong turned his head to look.

Under the combined light of the campsite and the bonfire, he vaguely made out a figure crouching by the edge of the dirt mound—not very well-hidden, as their body kept wobbling like a bobblehead.

Ye Liuxi grabbed a half-burnt piece of wood from the fire and hurled it toward the figure, shouting, “Get out of there!”

The wood landed close to the person, scattering orange-red sparks.

Still, the figure didn’t move, continuing to sway unsteadily, resembling a wobbling doll.

Chang Dong discreetly gripped a carving knife in his palm and shot Ye Liuxi a look. She nodded in understanding, picking up her blade. The two moved cautiously, one in front, one behind, flanking the figure as they closed in.

The person neither ran nor revealed themselves, though they seemed aware of the approach. For a brief moment, they stopped moving entirely.

Ye Liuxi felt a knot of tension in her chest.

The next second, a head popped out from the shadows, drooling and grinning at her with a goofy expression.

“Damn it!” Ye Liuxi cursed loudly.

It was an idiot—a fool!

The fool, seeing her startled reaction, laughed even harder, making nonsensical sounds while pressing his head against the dirt mound and swaying it from side to side again.

Ye Liuxi scowled in frustration. Meanwhile, Chang Dong had recognized the person. “Doesn’t this guy look familiar? Isn’t he one of Hui Ba’s men?”

Ye Liuxi inspected him closely.

Sure enough, it was the cook from Hui Ba’s group—the same one who had made pancakes the first day and lamb soup the second.

She suddenly remembered: the night of Hui Ba’s death, two men had fled in fear. This cook was one of them.

Initially, she thought they had disappeared along with Hui Ba and the coffin. She hadn’t expected one to still be around.

Her tone was derisive. “I thought Hui Ba’s guys would have some guts… And this is all it took to scare him stupid? Still, I have to hand it to him—he managed to find his way back.”

Chang Dong pondered aloud. “The way they were running around last night, it’s no wonder he got lost. Maybe when I burned the trash earlier, he saw the black smoke and followed it here.”

He dragged the cook to the fire and made him sit down. If one of the two who fled was now accounted for, it meant the other was still lost in Bailongdui. Tomorrow, when searching, Chang Dong would need to stay vigilant. Hunger, temperature swings, and dehydration could claim a life in just two or three days.

The cook wasn’t sitting still, though. He clenched his left hand into a fist while slowly pushing his right hand upward to a certain height. Then came a sharp “click” sound from his mouth as he raised his left fist, exhaling dramatically.

Ye Liuxi looked puzzled. “What is he doing?”

Chang Dong glanced at him and replied, “Opening an umbrella.”

Thinking it over, the sequence of actions did resemble that. Ye Liuxi crouched in front of the cook and asked, “Why are you opening an umbrella? It’s not raining.”

The cook whispered mysteriously, “Shhh…”

Then, with a hushed voice, he said, “It’s raining sand. Everything’s getting buried. If you don’t open an umbrella, you’ll get buried, too.”

“Who’s buried?” she asked.

“Mater Ba…” the cook muttered.

Chang Dong’s mind raced, and he blurted out, “He went back to the coffin!”

Ye Liuxi’s pulse quickened as the realization hit her. Keeping her tone calm, she asked gently, “How did it get buried?”

The cook pointed a finger skyward. “Sand… A straight line… Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh…”

What kind of nonsense was this?

Ye Liuxi frowned. “And the coffin? What happened to the coffin?”

The cook shifted his “umbrella” slightly away, squinting at the sky, then quickly moved it back over his head, muttering softly about sand falling, opening umbrellas, and gathering clothes.

——

Wondering how to handle the cook was giving Chang Dong a headache. He couldn’t let the man wander off—if he got lost, it would be a major problem. But locking him in the car was risky too; he might press random buttons, flail around, or start yelling.

When he brought it up with Ye Liuxi, she didn’t think twice about it. Walking right up to the cook, she delivered a clean chop to the back of his neck.

The cook collapsed without even a sound, crumpling into a heap.

Chang Dong, however, was unimpressed. “Really? That’s your approach? Don’t you think that was a little… harsh?”

Ye Liuxi shot him a sidelong glance. “And what was I supposed to do? Sing him a lullaby?”

Crouching down, Chang Dong grabbed the cook’s limp shoulders and hoisted the man onto his back, standing up in one smooth motion.

“I just think that, as a woman, you could at least show some gentleness,” he remarked, heading toward the car.

“Hold up,” Ye Liuxi suddenly called out.

Chang Dong stopped, the cook’s dead weight pressing heavily on his shoulders. Standing still made the burden feel even heavier, so he adjusted his stance, hitching the cook up a little higher.

Ye Liuxi bent down, picked something up from the ground, gave it a firm dust-off, and handed it to him. “He dropped his umbrella.”

——

After two nights of cramped, uncomfortable sleep in the car, being able to lie down properly at last, with no wind outside and the deep silence all around, should have guaranteed a good rest. But Chang Dong couldn’t sleep. His mind was caught on something, like a single spark from a fire started with flint in the wilderness—if he didn’t nurture it now, the flame would never catch.

Ye Liuxi’s tent was pitched next to his, and she could hear him tossing and turning inside. “Still thinking about Bailongdui 2?” she asked.

Her words hit Chang Dong like a revelation.

“Liuxi,” he said, “have you noticed? If there really is a Bailongdui 2, it doesn’t take the living.”

“The cook isn’t necessarily dumbstruck from when Hui Ba died. He might have gone back later, seen something else happen, maybe even watched those things disappear before his eyes… but he wasn’t taken.”

In other words, the dead vanish, while the living are left behind.

The phrase “it doesn’t take the living” sent a chill down Ye Liuxi’s spine. “What are you getting at?”

Chang Dong lowered his voice. “For several nights now, we’ve encountered strange events. The common thread? Every time, there’s been a sandstorm.”

There was a legend whispered in the desert’s heart: on nights with violent sandstorms, under certain conditions, you might glimpse the ghost of Yumen Pass.

When Hui Ba died, that haunting melody had echoed like waves lapping the shore, layer upon eerie layer, as though countless wandering souls were singing, “Yumen Pass, Ghost Gate Pass, one step out and your blood runs dry…”

And in Yijia Village, the elderly woman with slurred speech, washing clothes in alkaline water, had murmured something ominous: That Yumen Pass? It’s alive. Don’t wander into the wilderness at night, or you’ll walk right into its jaws… Yumen Pass, they also call it the Gate of Shadows.

Ye Liuxi said, “So you think all the strange things we’ve encountered—everything—is tied to Yumen Pass, which has long since weathered away?”

Chang Dong replied, “The green ghost fires, the shadows of caravans cast on the tent, the monstrous hand in the sandstorm, the shadow puppet coffin, the song… Don’t you think every single one of these connects back to Yumen Pass?”

Ye Liuxi was silent.

After a long time, Chang Dong finally heard her whisper, as though speaking to herself: “Then… could I be one of its people?”

Chang Dong said nothing.

Perhaps she was. She had once mentioned that she felt like a transporter of goods, always driving a big truck loaded with various items—shoes, clothes, books, even celebrity posters.

But every time she entered the Gobi Desert, her memory of the journey would vanish.

…

But everything about Yumen Pass was just legend.

And the goods she transported? They were real.

Who were they for?