Chapter Forty-Nine: The Taisui and the Worshipped Shrine

As the pure white smoke and dust dissipated, chaos reigned within the earthen building. A heavy layer of powdered sugar lent a faintly sweet aroma to the air, but on closer inhalation, the sweetness was tinged with the scent of rust and a trace of putrid stench.

Jiang Wan’s eyes sparkled at first, but after picking up some of the sugar from the ground between her fingers, her expression darkened. She turned to look at Chen Qing, yet his face remained unchanged, calm as ever.

He placed his forefinger before his lips, signaling her to be silent, then guided Jiang Wan’s gaze forward.

Inside the earthen building, four or five rooms on the ground floor had been destroyed. Yet, upon closer inspection, it became clear that the damage was the work of time—the rotten beams had decayed to the point of crumbling at the slightest breeze. The other rooms remained much as they had been, and the environment here was distinct from the swirling yellow sands that had shrouded everything before; now, one could see clearly.

At the center of the building, the altar had not moved from its former place. The shrine stood as before, but the deity within it had vanished. In its stead, a massive lump nearly seventy or eighty cubic centimeters in volume now occupied the space—a ball of flesh.

That mass pulsed gently, as if breathing. It floated in a basin of water, its surface riddled with uneven bumps and nodules. Its color was pure white; “flesh” was perhaps not the right word—“fat” seemed more fitting.

Yet it was not human fat; Chen Qing realized this at a glance. Human fat was yellow, not this milky white. Nor would human fat float and undulate in water, soaking every surface evenly.

He looked up at the surrounding rooms. Four people lived in the rooms below, their bodies pressed against the windows, their eyes fixed upon Chen Qing and Jiang Wan with a lifeless intensity.

Above, the residents seemed peculiarly at ease. Their doors were wide open. Limbs dangled from beside their beds, swaying gently. They slept soundly, undisturbed by the profound transformations that had taken place in the courtyard below.

Chen Qing turned sideways as the great doors behind him swung shut. He lifted his head; suddenly, milky white dust surged outward from the center of the courtyard. Where the haze dispersed, a gigantic doughnut, dusted in powdered sugar, writhed slowly.

Jiang Wan’s mouth twitched. She angled her head, her eyes locked onto Chen Qing’s expression, as if seeking even the slightest trace of unease in him, however faint.

Yet after she had stared for some time, Chen Qing finally turned, meeting her gaze with a look of mild confusion. “Why are you staring at me?” he asked, frowning in feigned puzzlement as he made his way toward the altar.

He sidestepped the rolling doughnuts, powdered sugar clinging to his clothes as he lowered his head. A strange, sour stench drifted to his nose—a fetid odor laced with sugary sweetness and the scent of grease.

He frowned, swallowing involuntarily. But in the brief moment it took to reach the shrine, his attention shifted from the smell to the bizarre entity before him. He reached out and pressed down twice; the thing felt resilient, elastic beneath his fingers. The basin’s water level rose with each push, nearly spilling over the edge.

At that moment, the commotion around him ceased.

Chen Qing glanced around. The residents in the rooms stepped out, stroking their distended bellies, their faces aglow with blissful smiles. Their skin gleamed with oil, their bodies grotesquely swollen, their stomachs easily weighing several hundred pounds.

But then he looked at their limbs.

In that instant, Chen Qing understood why, through the doorway, he had seen only the arms and legs hanging from their beds. Their bodies were so swollen they had become the background itself.

Their limbs were gaunt, the bones and joints starkly visible beneath the skin. Jiang Wan tensed, a nameless nausea rising within her.

These people hardly seemed human anymore...

She moved to Chen Qing’s side and spoke in a whisper, “This is what happens to those who eat ‘Guanyin clay’—they die of malnutrition like this...”

Chen Qing’s gaze grew grave. He knew what Jiang Wan meant, but as he scrutinized their faces and fingertips, he saw that each of them shone with an oily sheen. That was the true incongruity. The oil was no illusion, and neither were their smiles of happiness.

They called out to one another, their frail arms barely able to hook around their companions. Supporting each other, they shuffled on their pitiful, stick-thin legs, taking three to five minutes just to reach the base of the stairs from the second floor.

On the ground floor, the outsiders—the investigators—emerged as well. Their bodies were noticeably healthier than those of the villagers, but their steps were unsteady, their forms bloated, their arms grotesquely misshapen. When they leaned against the round pillars supporting the building, deep purple marks appeared on their arms and showed no sign of fading, even after half a minute had passed, even as they stood in the center of the courtyard.

Jiang Wan’s instincts screamed in alarm. Her hand crept toward her waist under her sleeve, but when her left hand found nothing there, her face froze in dismay.

Though Jiang Wan faltered, Chen Qing did not allow her to linger in shock. He gently pulled her two steps back, mingling them with the oncoming villagers.

It was then that Chen Qing realized one of the four investigators on the ground floor was the very man he had killed earlier. The investigator stood in the crowd, his gaze vacant, staring unblinkingly at the mass of flesh in the shrine. His body swayed, a trickle of saliva tinged with blood running from the corner of his mouth.

“He hasn’t noticed us?” Chen Qing frowned, then corrected himself. “None of them have noticed us?”

Steeling himself, he walked up to the four investigators for a closer look. Only then did he spot the faintest hints of awareness—their eyes could just barely follow his movements.

Puzzled, Chen Qing watched as another figure descended from above—a hunched old man whose ribs stood out sharply beneath his skin. Despite his age, he moved briskly compared to the bloated villagers.

The old man looked over the crowd. The villagers’ eyes were fixed on the shrine, but Jiang Wan and Chen Qing watched him closely. This was the very same old man they had seen before—killed, carried away, and now inexplicably returned.

He swept his gaze over them, his tone icy cold: “Everyone. Spit out the taishui!”

At his command, the native residents moved first, though their faces showed deep reluctance. Raising their withered right hands, they reached toward their throats. In the next instant, Chen Qing and Jiang Wan saw entire hands forced down their own gullets, their throats bulging grotesquely, the skin on their necks drawn so thin it was nearly translucent, blood vessels and muscles stark beneath.

Next came the ghostly outline of each arm within their esophagus. They twisted their arms, searching for something inside their bellies. With each motion, a wave of rot and sour stench filled the courtyard.

Jiang Wan wrinkled her nose. If this odor were a thousand times stronger, it would match the reek that clung to the powdered sugar.

After a few moments, retching sounds arose from across the courtyard. Chen Qing looked over—the four investigators were grinning grotesquely, struggling to force their fists down their throats. Halfway in, their fists became lodged. The irritation triggered violent retching; unable to vomit through their mouths, corrosive gastric acid began to seep from their noses and eyes, turning their eyes an angry red.

At last, each investigator expelled a sliver of taishui flesh—no bigger than a pinky, two or three centimeters long, white and lustrous as jade.

At that precise moment, as though cued by the investigators’ actions, the villagers clutched their own taishui flesh in their fists and yanked it out of their stomachs. They kneaded the pieces in their hands, the fresh aroma flooding the air, the grease coating their lips and fingers.

Only now did Chen Qing glimpse their teeth—corroded to mere rice-sized stubs, with only a few left along the sides. The front and back teeth appeared to have been pulled out entirely.

Yet in their expressions, there was little sign of pain.

The old man went from person to person, snatching the pieces of taishui flesh from their hands. He gazed at the eleven pieces, swallowed once, then opened his jaws almost ninety degrees.

He raised his head, his jaw unmoving, his eyes locked unerringly on Jiang Wan and Chen Qing. Staring at them, he flicked out his tongue and drew the pieces of flesh into his mouth, closing his head around them, tongue and all.

In that instant, his face contorted into a sickly smile. He laughed, the sound shrill and grotesque.

He approached the shrine, where the huge mass of taishui flesh lay, stroking it lovingly with his sharp fingertips, caressing the surface. He pressed it down into the water, forcing it lower until the buoyancy and his strength were balanced.

With a delicate motion, he tore a slice of taishui flesh from the mass. The piece was dazzlingly white, translucent, gleaming like jade in the dusty air.

He lifted his head, holding the flesh in his hand, then turned, his eyes fixed on Chen Qing’s hands.

“Come... come eat.

Taishui flesh—invigorates, replenishes, gives virility!”