Wei followed Chun without thinking. He went after her as she climbed out through the side of the thatched hut.
Rough splinters scraped his arm. He did not feel it. His feet hit the ground and Chun was already pulling him toward the fence.
The fence was lower than he remembered. The wood was loose and dry. When they hit it, it broke with a dull thud that sounded too loud in the night.
Wei's chest tightened. He looked back once and saw the hut leaning in the firelight. One corner was already burning.
He did not look again.
Beyond the fence was the forest.
It was very dark. Not just night-dark, but a darkness that swallowed shape and distance. The trees stood close together. Their shadows pressed in like a wall.
Wei did not think of it as a way out.
He thought only that it was not the house.
Inside the house, there was death.
Chun's hand was locked around his wrist. She held him so tightly it nearly pulled him off balance. Her fingers were cold and stiff. She did not let go.
Wei stumbled and then caught himself. He let her pull him forward into the trees.
The path disappeared almost at once.
Not gone, but lost to the dark.
The ground was soft with leaves and stone. Each step sounded too loud. The sound lingered.
He slowed without meaning to. He feared even his breathing would betray them.
Ahead, Chun moved lightly. She stayed close to the ground.
She paused before each step.
She felt her way forward instead of looking.
Wei stayed close behind her.
The forest closed around them.
Wei followed close behind her, but gradually, without meaning to, he moved to the front.
Not because he wanted to.
Because he knew this path.
He wiped his sleeve across his face and only then realized his vision was blurred. His eyes burned, heat spilling out without his permission. He did not know when he had started crying. He only knew that when the wind brushed his face, it felt cold and exposed.
He made no sound.
"Wei," Chun asked softly from behind him."We're going to be all right, aren't we?"
"We'll be fine," he replied, his voice low."I've walked this path with my father many times."
She hesitated, then spoke again."I mean… there won't be those monsters here, right?"
Wei looked around. The darkness was thick and shapeless. He could see nothing.
He tilted his head up, trying to find the sky through the canopy. The tree trunks and branches clawed upward, twisted and jagged, like the grasping limbs of countless creatures.
"It's fine," he said, forcing the words out, his tone dull and heavy."There are no monsters here."
"Oh," Chun answered quietly, and said nothing more as she pressed on.
Wei relied on memory to guide them forward.
He stepped around the stone that was always slick underfoot, skirted the old pine whose roots rose bare from the soil like knotted fingers. He had walked this way with his father more times than he could count.
By day, the path was nothing special. By night, it felt carved into his mind, every turn etched deep.
The farther they went, the more clearly he felt the change in his own body.
At first, his palm had been wet, slick with sweat that made his grip uncertain. But at some point, he could not say when, that clammy feeling faded.
In its place came a delayed warmth.
Not comfort, not peace, but the simple reassurance of still being alive.
Something inside him finally settled, just a little.
Then—
Behind them, from the direction of the hut, a roar tore into the night.
It was low and brutal.
Not the cry of any living beast.
It sounded like something dead trying to remember how to roar.
A moment later came the shriek of wood ripping apart. Beams snapped. Supports gave way. The hut groaned as it collapsed, a thick, wounded sound that carried through the dark.
The noise rolled after them, close to the ground, following their steps.
Neither of them looked back.
Not from courage.
They both knew that if they did, they would stop. And if they stopped, they would not move again.
Ahead, the path changed.
It was narrow. Worn smooth by many feet. A line pressed into the earth again and again until it no longer needed to be seen.
Wei slowed.
He had walked this trail with his father many times.
Nothing had ever gone wrong.
But the ground held things that did not belong there.
Thin cords lay beneath fallen leaves, placed with care. Wooden stakes were buried shallow, angled to spring up if stepped on wrong. Here and there, a dull glint marked tiny metal bells tied low to roots and stone.
His father had set them long ago.
Some for animals.
Some for people.
Wei felt his throat tighten.
If even he had to watch every step, then whatever was coming behind them would not.
He did not think further.
The cliff rose suddenly ahead, cutting the forest short. Black rock stood like a wall, leaving no space to turn back.
Wei did not stop.
He pushed into the brush and tore free a rope hidden there years before. It scraped against bark with a dry sound.
"Quick," he said. His voice was low. "Climb."
Chun did not ask.
They knew this kind of ground. Their hands and feet found holds without thought. Wei watched her climb ahead. Her shape flickered once against the darkness, then vanished over the edge.
He moved to follow.
Then he heard his father's voice.
"Once you're over the ridge, go through the trees. You'll be heading down. Don't be afraid."
The words were too clear.
Too close.
Wei froze.
He turned his head. His heart hammered.
Behind him was only forest. No wind. No insects. The night felt pressed flat, as if holding its breath.
Those were the exact words.
The last time his father brought him here, it had been daylight. Sunlight through leaves. The rope bright against the bark. His father at the top, calm, as if this were nothing at all.
Now the same words stood in the dark.
Then—
A sharp alarm screamed.
Then another.
Then another.
They rang out one by one, fast and panicked, racing through the forest. A line of sound moved through the night, unseen but certain.
This was no accident.
It was a net.
Wei's heart sank.
Lin wiped his eyes. He did not know when the tears had come.
He clenched his teeth and climbed on hands and feet, forcing himself upward.
He did not look back.