Chapter 83: The Giant Face

Ten meters away?

Jiang Zhique looked forward. Before her was an empty little path. The light was so dim the shadows seemed to blur. Qi Ran’s words made an involuntary shiver run through her. She knew, of course, that Qi Ran wouldn’t joke about something like this at a time like this. So, there really was a little girl standing there, one she couldn’t see, waving at them.

“Should we…” she asked, “follow her?”

“There’s no better option,” Qi Ran whispered. “Maybe she can show us a way to sneak into the courtyard.”

Jiang Zhique could only nod and follow Qi Ran as she moved forward.

“She’s walking forward, glancing back at us every so often, as if making sure we haven’t lost her… She’s turning again, left this time. This wall is the very back of the orphanage… Just as I thought, she’s stopped, pointing ahead. She’s gone down. There seems to be a hole there… looks a bit like a dog hole… No, it probably is a dog hole. Not sure if we can squeeze through. You should be pretty thin…”

Listening to Qi Ran’s low, continuous murmuring, Jiang Zhique roughly understood it was because the other girl knew she was afraid of not being able to see. So, Qi Ran was meticulously describing every action the little girl took in words. This truly lessened the fear of being blind to it somewhat. The hand that had unconsciously clenched the hem of her clothes finally loosened a little.

Qi Ran crouched down, half-kneeling on the ground. Since getting her clothes dirty was unavoidable, she stopped caring so much. The hole was even smaller than she’d imagined, hidden behind a clump of bushes. She had to get almost completely flat on the ground, propping herself on her elbows, just to barely squeeze through. Once her upper body was out, she slowly and arduously stood up, then watched Jiang Zhique do the same. The other girl, being slimmer, had a noticeably easier time.

After standing fully, Jiang Zhique patted the dust off her clothes, her voice hushed. “Is everyone asleep?”

“Hard to say,” Qi Ran whispered back. “Auntie Li is probably asleep, but some of the kids might still be awake. Some might sneakily stay up late. We need to be mindful of that possibility and best avoid those areas.”

The night was very still. Jiang Zhique had never experienced this feeling of being a thief—though, truthfully, what they were doing now wasn’t much different. Their help in the past few days had essentially been reconnaissance, mapping the structure of the courtyard. They had to find this place’s secret. As for what exactly that secret was, they hadn’t a single clue.

“Maybe… a basement,” she heard Qi Ran murmur thoughtfully. “Or, in other words, maybe an entrance to a bomb shelter.”

This was just a conjecture. Greasepaint had mentioned the church’s history. Buildings whose construction began in the 1970s like this often had basements, designed as precautions against Soviet nuclear weapons. Beneath this church, there might very well be a basement used for similar purposes.

“That girl appeared again,” Qi Ran suddenly lifted her head, looking into the distance. “She’s still waving, telling us to follow… Does she know this place’s secret? Or rather, is she the one Miss Ah Qiao wanted me to find?”

Jiang Zhique said nothing, just kept close to Qi Ran’s side, treading lightly, trying her best not to expose herself outside the shadows.

Getting close to the building, Qi Ran fell silent. Jiang Zhique felt her take her hand; it was slightly cold. Jiang Zhique suddenly froze. Only now did she realize that Qi Ran was also somewhat afraid, her lips pressed tightly together, her fingers unconsciously gripping hard enough to whiten.

She held that hand as they walked, passing the locked main entrance, stopping only when they reached a window. She saw Qi Ran hesitate for a moment, then place a hand on the window. A little force pushed it open—this window wasn’t locked.

After climbing inside, they simply scanned the room. It was a room they hadn’t been in before, seemingly a storage room, piled with discarded desks and chairs. They were covered with a strange-feeling fabric, like rubber or plastic. Qi Ran turned on her flashlight, her voice extremely low: “Gone. Search.”

The little girl had vanished. Search here for an entrance door.

Jiang Zhique understood the fragmented meaning Qi Ran intended to convey and also turned on her flashlight. The white beams illuminated this surprisingly spacious room. After looking around, both she and Qi Ran stiffened simultaneously—this room had no door, only that single window they had come through.

She looked back, the stone in her heart easing slightly. The window they’d entered hadn’t vanished or closed; it was still half-open, allowing them to leave at any time.

“Left,” Qi Ran whispered, then pointed to herself, “Right.”

Jiang Zhique nodded, taking her flashlight to the left half. The room was somewhat similar in structure to a school classroom—rectangular. The walls were bare, empty. Calling this a storage room seemed too generous; aside from the pile of desks, cabinets, and boxes in the center, it was empty. After scanning the walls, she could confirm there were no hidden doors or anything similar. The floor near the walls was the same—nothing amiss.

She looked at Qi Ran, who clearly had the same result. Exchanging a glance, their eyes simultaneously fell on the large pile of junk heaped like a small mountain in the middle. It was a headache. Not because there were too many things, but because most were heavy. Moving them would make too much noise, likely waking others, even if this room had no entrance door. If the police came, leaving would become troublesome.

“Move it?” she whispered.

“No other way,” Qi Ran murmured.

Decision made, they had no choice. Jiang Zhique reached out, placing her hand on the fabric covering the pile, but instantly recoiled as if shocked. The texture of the strange material was simply too bizarre—cold, slippery. She rubbed her fingertips together, but they weren’t wet at all.

Standing beside her, Qi Ran also reached out. The moment her fingertip touched it, her brows furrowed deeply, but she didn’t let go. After kneading it slightly, she whispered, “Very strange texture, a bit like… crystal slime? No, it’s more solid, like tough, set crystal slime, or like rubber sheeting. Never seen anything like it.”

Jiang Zhique frowned. She felt certain she knew what this strange fabric was, but the answer eluded her. She thought and thought, then suddenly shuddered violently. Cold seeped from her bones as fear erupted from the deepest part of her Mind Lake.

Using nearly all her strength, she forced out the word: “…Shed skin…”

“What?” Qi Ran didn’t quite catch Jiang Zhique’s words at first; her voice was too faint, teeth chattering uncontrollably, as if squeezed through clenched teeth.

“Shed skin. There’s no door here, only a window… because this room is a cage,” Jiang Zhique’s voice was very, very soft. She slowly lifted her head, looking upwards. “That window is for delivering food.”

Qi Ran understood her meaning, going rigid herself, lifting her head slowly as well.

They stood hand in hand, together, like two stiff puppets.

“Do you think it’s hungry?” Jiang Zhique asked faintly.

“Hard to say,” Qi Ran’s face was pale. “If it were me, finding two late-night snacks crawling into my room, I wouldn’t mind eating a little more.”

It was a bit untimely, but she suddenly remembered something Liu Xu had said long ago, about whether it was better to use a flashlight or a torch on adventures. Xu Yan had complained that a flashlight was obviously better, but Liu Xu waved his hand, saying no, no, no. While a flashlight’s beam was brighter, it had a fatal flaw: a visual blind spot. Because the center point is so bright, a flashlight makes people overlook the areas it doesn’t illuminate… like overhead, or the ground.

Liu Xu had been right. A flashlight truly has a blind spot. For instance, they had overlooked the giant head above them. It was a creature impossible to describe with words. What met them was a massive face, a face covered in scales. The worst part was that Qi Ran felt this face somewhat resembled a human face, with its vague, fuzzy features. Its eyes looked haphazardly stitched on; they were asymmetrical. Behind the head was a thick, crude body—not quite a python, too stout and short, with many small, pink-white hands. Those little hands waved silently, like chicken feet, but each distinctly had five fingers.

Jiang Zhique felt all the blood in her body rush to her head. If someone chopped her head off now, the blood would probably spray out like a spectacular fountain.

“Is it welcoming us?” Qi Ran stammered. She stretched out her hand. “Hey, we’re all friends here. Don’t eat us. We’ll bring you something tasty tomorrow—chicken, duck, cow, lamb, your choice.”

Jiang Zhique couldn’t help but feel a sense of profound respect for Qi Ran. In truth, her own legs were about to shake like sieves. Not everyone could still speak when facing such a colossal monster, let alone one so close that, in the flashlight’s beam, she could see the scale patterns on that giant face.

The giant face moved. It slowly “blossomed” open. Jiang Zhique couldn’t find a more fitting description, for it truly opened up like a flower, revealing its maw. The countless tiny fangs inside reminded her of the inside of a penguin’s mouth. The bright red, slender tongue did indeed look like a snake’s, but the tip of that tongue also held a face—a tiny face, even possessing jet-black hair.

Jiang Zhique didn’t want to admit it was hair, but it certainly looked like hair.

“Clearly, it doesn’t like chicken, duck, cow, or lamb,” Qi Ran withdrew her hand, her expression somewhat blank. She made the sign of the cross over her chest. “It’s just saying grace before the meal. Is it too late to convert to Christianity now? We’re all congregation members here.”