Wang Zheng was like a history teacher, speaking in a flat, straightforward manner. Her gentle voice, combined with the content of her speech, easily lulled people to sleep. The students brought by William Sherman were better off, since they specialized in this field; each of them eagerly rubbed their hands together while quickly jotting down notes in their not-so-nimble hands on the notebooks they had brought.

Logan Sullivan, however, after eating a few pieces of jerky, dragged his sleeping bag over next to William Sherman, claiming a prime spot, and crawled in to rest with his eyes closed.

Chapter 31: The Mountain and River Awl …

“Later on, the climate here started to become increasingly harsh,” Zach Warren added a bit of water to the pot. “Fewer and fewer people stayed, and gradually, they began to move to other settlements. Then, around… hmm, I don’t quite remember, but it should have been during the Song or Yuan dynasties in the Central Plains, there was a great disaster here. After that, the multi-ethnic civilization in this place was almost completely cut off. Except for a small group of Hanga people who managed to hide in a cave, everyone else either died or fled and never returned.”

The female class monitor asked, “Is there any historical record of this?”

Zach Warren shook her head. “In ancient times, this place didn’t belong to the Central Plains and never merged with Han civilization. Also, it was remote and sparsely populated, so news couldn’t get in or out. At most, the Imperial Astronomical Bureau left a few notes about geology or astronomy. The court at the time probably didn’t even know there had ever been people here. According to local folklore, back then, the heavy snow on the mountain turned into a monstrous demon that rolled down, and white ghosts stretched out their hands from cracks in the earth and from the water, grabbing people and livestock, tearing open their bellies, and ripping off their heads.”

The female class monitor thought for a moment, then nodded, half-understanding: “So, it was probably a geological disaster like an earthquake-triggered avalanche.”

Zach Warren neither nodded nor shook her head. “Later, the Hanga people simply retreated deep into the mountains, probably not far from what is now Qingxi Village. When you study the multi-ethnic social structure of Qingxi Village, you’ll find a significant influence from the Hanga people. The ancient sky burial platform was gradually abandoned as the Tibetans moved away, but the small courtyard where the sky burial master lived became the place where the Hanga people guarded the mountain after the disaster. They believed that from a high vantage point, they could spot disasters earlier, so every month, they would send a strong young man up to guard the mountain. But over time, this custom changed, and the mountain guardian became the most respected elder in the tribe, and the guardian’s house became his residence.”

“In this way, the guardian’s house became a very sacred place for the Hanga people. Later, at some point, whenever there was a major sacrificial ceremony, the entire Hanga tribe would go up the mountain together to participate in the ritual at the guardian’s house.”

The bespectacled student asked, “Why have I never heard of the Hanga people before?”

“Because there weren’t many of them, they never intermarried with outsiders, and long before the founding of the country, this ethnic group had already ceased to exist and was forgotten.”

The students suddenly understood, and the tall, thin one summed up: “Oh, I get it. It was centuries of inbreeding that led to their extinction.”

Zach Warren didn’t comment on this, just let out a low chuckle, and the person closest to her shivered for no reason.

It was hard for any normal person to keep a conversation going with Zach Warren. Even if she didn’t do or say anything strange, she still gave people an inexplicable sense of eeriness.

Once their curiosity was satisfied, most of the students were urged by William Sherman to go to sleep, leaving only the sleepless Zach Warren and the nocturnal Da Qing to keep watch.

William Sherman was the last to lie down. He checked the doors and windows, somehow found a roll of tape, and carefully sealed up all the drafty spots in the room. He quietly reminded each student to keep warm at night, then softly asked Zach Warren if she needed an extra layer while on watch, and finally turned down the fire to prevent the hot water in the pot from boiling over.

Only after making sure everything was taken care of did he quietly crawl back into his sleeping bag.

Logan Sullivan had already tuned out the boring audio of the obscure history lecture and gone to sleep. He still had his earphones in, his head tilted slightly, curled up in a ball. One earbud had slipped halfway out and was hanging from his ear.

His features were deep and well-defined; he looked good whether his eyes were open or closed, though his face was a bit pale from the cold.

William Sherman’s gaze slowly fell on his face. Logan Sullivan’s sleeping expression was both calm and peaceful, as if even if the sky fell, he could just find a corner and sleep through it. William Sherman couldn’t look away for a moment, quietly watching him for a while, his expression softening. Then he carefully removed his earphones, rolled them up and set them aside, and pulled over the jacket Logan Sullivan had tossed aside, draping it over him.

Charles Gray and another boy were already snoring in unison. Zach Warren was tidying up the small stove, the sound of gentle clinking coming from her direction.

William Sherman let out a breath, turned his back to the others, and lay down on his side. After a moment, his breathing became slow and steady, as if he had already fallen asleep.

But in a place where no one could see, his eyes remained open.

By the faint light from who knows where in the night, he just kept watching Logan Sullivan, as if he intended to gaze at his sleeping face all night long. The string in William Sherman’s mind had been pulled too tight, and now he finally couldn’t help but indulge for a moment. Lying close to Logan Sullivan, his thoughts ran wild.

He imagined himself reaching out to hold that warm body, kissing his eyes, hair, and lips, tasting every part of him, possessing everything he had.

William Sherman felt his own breath trembling. His longing was as intense as a freezing man’s craving for a pot of hot soup, but he didn’t move at all, as if… just thinking about it in his heart was enough to satisfy him.

Darrin Grant curled up next to Zach Warren, its tail flicking back and forth. When it thought everyone was asleep in the dead of night, it whispered, “So what’s really buried in the yard—bones or heads? Who were they?”

Zach Warren’s plastic face was hidden in her hood. After a while, she replied, “Heads. The Hanga people always had a tradition of beheading.”

Darrin Grant couldn’t help but ask, “How exactly did the Hanga people die out?”

“That little girl said it was because of inbreeding,” Zach Warren said.

“Don’t try to fool me with the same nonsense you use on silly girls. Even horse herds can avoid that problem—do you humans really not realize it after so long?” Darrin Grant twitched its whiskers impatiently. “Besides, polygamy was common among many minorities. The so-called ‘no marriage with outsiders’ just meant women didn’t marry out and men didn’t take wives from other tribes as their primary spouse. It wasn’t that strict. And anyway, a whole ethnic group isn’t just two or three families. After a few generations, they wouldn’t all be close relatives, right?”

Zach Warren lowered her head to glance at it, reached out to stroke its head, and gently said, “You’re just a cat. Just eat your cat food and fish snacks. Why worry about human affairs?”

Anyone newly joining the Special Investigation Department who saw Zach Warren would suspect she wasn’t even twenty, with her girlish looks and youthful air. But now, with her face hidden and the way she spoke, she seemed so old and world-weary, like someone of great age.

Darrin Grant lay on the ground, feline instincts taking over. It squinted its eyes comfortably at Zach Warren’s touch, but didn’t close them, instead staring off into space.

The night deepened.

The little wooden cabin on the mountain was utterly quiet, with only the soft sounds of breathing and the rise and fall of snores remaining.

Just past midnight, Logan Sullivan suddenly opened his eyes without warning, meeting William Sherman’s gaze, which looked even gentler without his glasses. William Sherman was flustered for a moment and quickly looked down to hide it, but Logan Sullivan didn’t seem to notice. He silently sat up, listened carefully for a while, then turned and put his finger to his lips, signaling William Sherman to stay quiet.

Logan Sullivan crawled out of his sleeping bag, picked up a flashlight, and headed outside.

Darrin Grant let out a soft “meow” and darted after him, sticking close. William Sherman hesitated for a moment, but, still uneasy, got up to follow.

As soon as they stepped outside, Logan Sullivan realized the flashlight was unnecessary.

Because the entire valley in the distance was ablaze, as if a fire from beyond the heavens had descended. On one side were snow-covered cold mountains; on the other, raging flames.

Even though they were thousands of meters away on the mountaintop, it felt as if they could hear the shrill screams from within the fire, and feel the sharp sting of the flames scorching their skin.

The whole sky was orange-red.

It was as if they were no longer in the human world. The valley consumed by fire was so shockingly surreal that it made them forget what time it was, or even where they were.