Dragon Vein Storyteller

Chapter 8 White Meat

Ladies and gentlemen, as the old saying goes: "Fragrance comes from the earth, and the soul ascends to the sky." But does the fragrance wafting up from the earth entice the cravings in people's stomachs, or the ferocity hidden in their souls? If I hadn't witnessed it myself, I would never have believed that such a soul-stirring delicacy existed in the world.

As mentioned last time, we were led by two rows of welcoming ladies into an ancient underground city. The city plaque was inscribed with the three large characters "Baidi City," and the city gates were wide open, the inside so dark it could swallow the souls of the living.

"Shall we go in?" The little chick, clutching the torch, peeked into the city gate, its face full of wariness.

"Go in my ass." I grabbed him by the back of the collar, pulled him back, and called to Crippled Feng, Baldy Liao, and Sanjin to move closer to the city wall. Finding a secluded corner away from the crowd, I stuck torches in the ground in a circle, five flames leaping up, barely creating a barely safe area of ​​light.

"How long can our food last?" I asked in a low voice.

Sanjin turned his bag upside down, his thick fingers rummaging through it for a while, before muttering, "We have enough dry rations, dried meat, millet, and other miscellaneous things; it should last us half a month. But we're running low on water; it'll only last a few days at most."

"I reckon we'll be drinking urine again." Baldy Liao pulled out his pipe, lit it, took a couple of puffs, and handed it to Crippled Feng. Crippled Feng, with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, remained silent, squinting at the dark city gate, his eyes as heavy as stone.

"Let's rest here first." I sat cross-legged, my back against the cold stone wall. "This place is shrouded in resentment and earthly energy; you can't see through anything. Let's get some sleep and recharge before we talk again."

"Sleep now?" the little chick asked, puzzled. "Everyone's gone inside."

"Just go to sleep when I tell you to, stop with the nonsense." I glared at him, then turned to Feng the Cripple and said, "Cripple, you're on the first shift, keep a close watch. Everyone else, close your eyes."

Feng the Cripple didn't answer. He just knocked his pipe clean on the sole of his shoe, got up, and limped back into the shadows. He leaned against the wall, looking like a rooted stone statue.

I knew perfectly well what was going on. That city gate was eerily sinister, a gaping, dark hole waiting for the living to crawl inside. We had food and water, why rush to our deaths? With so many people, some were bound to be the first to try and walk into the pit. The predecessors planted the trees so the next generation could enjoy the shade; the predecessors stepped on landmines so the next generation could avoid them—this was a lesson learned from countless deaths.

I closed my eyes and pressed the jade seal on my chest inside my clothes. Ever since I saw the words "White Emperor City," the jade seal had been burning hot, feeling like a small furnace against my chest. I didn't have the mind to ponder it further; as soon as drowsiness washed over me, I felt as if I had been knocked unconscious by a blunt object and fell into a deep sleep.

I've imagined a million ways to wake up. I could be kicked awake by a cripple, jolted awake by falling rocks, frightened awake by evil spirits, or even bitten awake by a subterranean monster. But I never expected to be awakened by a fragrant aroma.

The aroma wasn't overpowering or pungent, but rather like a thin, resilient poisonous thread, burrowing into the nostrils, bypassing the brain, and sinking straight into the stomach, before rising from the internal organs with a warm, slightly fishy, ​​fresh flavor. It was remarkably similar to snowflake lamb pan-fried on a sizzling hot plate with fish oil; the richness of the fish oil, wrapped in a sweet and savory flavor, glided down the throat, while the aroma of the meat shot straight to the top of the head. The two flavors intertwined, neither oily nor greasy, yet they made one's bones melt.

I suddenly opened my eyes.

The torches surrounding the city wall had shrunk considerably, clearly having burned for a long time. Feng the Cripple remained leaning against the city wall, his eyes wide open, staring unblinkingly into the distance, his face ashen.

I followed his gaze.

Twenty paces away, a group of people sat in a circle, holding torches and roasting something over a fire. The thing was a pale white sheet, sliced ​​into paper-thin pieces the size of a palm, and roasted over the fire, its fat sizzling as it dripped into the flames. With each sizzle, the enticing aroma intensified. The slices were so thin that, when held up to the light, faint pink streaks of blood could be seen through them; the edges were still slightly curled, as if freshly sliced ​​from some living creature, and trembled gently on their own.

My eyes almost glued to that white flesh, and my mouth was drooling uncontrollably. The aroma, like a living thing, burrowed into my nostrils, disrupting my senses and turning reason into a thin porridge. I sat there, my legs stretched out without me even realizing it, my body leaning forward without me even realizing it... I felt like I was being pulled along by an invisible thread, being dragged little by little towards that fire.

I pinched my thigh hard, and gasped in pain.

Just then, I saw the chick stand up.

He had his back to me, so I couldn't see his face, only the way he walked... It was completely wrong. Normally, his steps were quick and steady, like a wildcat landing silently; but now, each step was stiff, his legs were raised rigidly, his body leaned forward, and his hands hung motionless at his sides. He wasn't walking; he was being dragged forward by something.

My heart skipped a beat, and my drowsiness vanished instantly. I rolled over, pounced on him, grabbed his shoulder, and slammed him to the ground.

"What are you doing!" I yelled in a low voice.

The chick's face flickered in and out of the firelight. Its eyes were wide open, staring unblinkingly at the crowd roasting white meat, its pupils reflecting only the dancing flames, devoid of any spirit.

"It smells so good... I'll go get some... just one bite..." His voice was as thin as paper, as if he was holding his breath and not letting it out.

"Try it my ass!" I snapped, grabbing his chin and turning his face towards me. "Do you even know what this is? Where does this kind of white meat come from underground? Look carefully before you start drooling!"

But the little chick wouldn't listen at all. Its eyes went past my shoulder and were fixed on that pile of white flesh. It suddenly struggled, with such force that it almost knocked me over.

He was only nine years old, and normally, no matter how strong he was, he couldn't beat a strong young man like me. But the force that erupted from him at that moment felt like some ferocious beast had burrowed into his bones. I pressed my hands firmly against his shoulders, his shoulder blades twisting wildly in my palms, each blow so brutal that it made my hands go numb.

"Crippled man! Baldy! Three pounds!" I yelled, "Come and hold him down!"

The three of them sprang up almost simultaneously. Despite his leg injury, Feng the Cripple moved faster than a rabbit, rushing forward in three steps to pin down the chick's right hand; Liao the Bald pounced on him and pressed down on the chick's right leg; and the burly man with three pounds of body pressed down on the chick's left leg, like a small mountain.

I held his left hand down tightly, and the four of us pinned him to the ground. But he continued to struggle desperately, his arm throbbing wildly in my palm, like a snake being gripped at its vital spot, about to slip through my fingers at any moment. His back arched and then collapsed, each movement pushing the four of us upwards. Cold sweat streamed down my forehead... This strength was unlike that of a child; it was like a live fish being pulled ashore, draining all its strength before dying.

"Little chick! Little chick!" I called several times, but he didn't respond. His eyes were still wide open, staring straight at the group of people, his lips trembling slightly, and saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth, making his chin glisten.

The group was completely oblivious to the commotion, their eyes glued to the fire. Someone impatiently reached out to grab some, the meat sizzling and dripping with oil. His palms were covered in shiny blisters, and he hissed and gasped for breath, but he refused to let go. Instead, he stuffed the meat into his mouth and chewed it even more fiercely, ignoring the bubbles coming from his lips.

I gritted my teeth and held the chick down tightly. My heart sank lower and lower... If this kid really pounced on it and ate that thing, who knows what kind of monster he'd turn into.

After an unknown amount of time, the group finished off the last piece of white meat. The fire was reduced to crackling embers, the aroma gradually fading and carried away by the wind into the boundless darkness.

The chick suddenly stopped moving.

He lay limp on the ground, as if all his bones had been removed, gasping for breath. His pupils slowly returned to normal, and he first stared blankly at us on top of him, then his expression changed, and he blurted out, "What are you doing! You're crushing me!...Hey, fortune teller, when are we going to eat? My stomach is rumbling like thunder!"

I let go and sat down on the ground with a thud, my back completely soaked in cold sweat.

"You struggled like a madman just now, don't you remember?"

"Struggled?" The little chick rubbed its reddened wrist, looking completely bewildered. "When did I struggle? You guys were acting like you were crazy, pouncing on me and pinning me down. I didn't even move an inch."

His tone was full of complaint, but his words sent chills down my spine.

He didn't remember ever struggling. He had no recollection of the strength that could overturn four adults. Only a deep-seated hunger remained, as if his soul had been stolen, leaving only a craving in his stomach.

"What do you smell?" I asked, staring at him.

The little chick tilted its head, thought for a moment, and licked its lips: "Roasted sweet potato, it's sweet, and..."