The teacher for the first class was the very same woman Jiang Yan had seen at the back door of the classroom the day before.
Her hair was perfectly, meticulously combed.
“Do not quibble over right or wrong, do not strive for victory in debate.” She wrote the words on the blackboard at the front of the classroom.
The students obediently read aloud in unison.
Afterwards, each student stood and read it one by one. When it came to the third, Ye Tian—whose lips had two dimples—raised her hand to ask, “Teacher, what does that mean?”
Before the teacher could answer, Xu Xing, whose hair was even shorter than most boys’, interjected: “It just shows you have too little learning.”
“This means you shouldn’t contend about right or wrong or harbor a competitive spirit. Whatever your parents, in-laws, or husband say, you’re to listen quietly—never talk back.”
The teacher nodded. “Very well said, Xu Xing. The other classmates should learn from her.”
Ye Tian smiled like a child who’d been given candy. “Who’d learn this for no reason? Xu Xing reads all kinds of weird books.”
The classroom rang with laughter.
Judging by the laughter, it was a harmonious class. But the teacher’s face turned stormy. She swept her gaze around, then slammed her book hard onto the lectern.
Bang!
The laughter didn’t diminish.
“Zhou Xiahua! What are you laughing at?!”
She seized Zhou Xiahua by name.
“I’m laughing because that saying is so hypocritical.” Zhou Xiahua lifted her chin and met the teacher’s eyes directly.
The teacher barked, “Then tell me—what’s so hypocritical?”
“If you can’t give a good reason today, the whole class is in trouble. All of you to the detention room!”
Zhou Xiahua shrugged. “Teacher, your temper is too bad. Didn’t you just tell us not to talk back? Why talk back to me now?”
“Do not quibble over right or wrong, do not strive for victory in debate.” She enunciated every character.
The class fell abruptly silent—then, after three seconds, broke into boisterous laughter.
At the very back, Han Yinghuo laughed loudest of all.
The oldest in the class, at seventeen, Han had grown tall and strong from years of slaughtering pigs at her family’s butcher shop. Her arms were corded with muscle, her skin baked dark by the sun. She slapped her desk so hard it echoed. “Well said, Xiahua!”
And so class ended there.
The teacher kicked open the door and ordered them all out—off to detention for reflection.
As Zhou Xiahua neared the door, she looked back at Yun Fanxing.
“Yun Fanxing, what does that phrase mean?”
Yun Fanxing hesitated, then murmured, “It means everyone has to obey.”
Zhou Xiahua: “Do you think that’s right?”
Yun Fanxing opened her mouth, then looked away from Zhou Xiahua, bracing herself on the desk as a fit of coughing racked her. At last, she nodded slightly.
Zhou Xiahua turned and strode from the classroom.
“Teacher, seems like Yun Fanxing doesn’t need detention—be sure to praise your favorite student.”
In the end, all but Yun Fanxing were led by the teacher to what looked like a storage room.
As the room was normally locked, Jiang Yan hadn’t searched it yesterday; inside were more than a dozen narrow wooden boats. The teacher had everyone lie on the boats and then bound them with rope.
Dozens of tight coils.
“No lunch for any of you, just stay in here,” the teacher said coldly from the doorway, sweeping her gaze round. She sneered, “When you’ve learned your lesson, cry a few tears. Louder, if you want out.”
With that, she turned off the light and slammed the door shut.
There were no windows. With the door closed, not a single ray of light entered—it was pitch dark, suffocating.
The world plunged into deathly stillness.
Not until footsteps faded did Zhou Xiahua speak. “Welcome, new classmates!”
“Let’s have a round of applause—”
The returning students puckered their lips at once; whistles erupted all over the room. Shen Xiaoxiao couldn’t hold back her laughter. “That’s your idea of applause? Hahaha.”
Shen Huanhuan’s voice was smiling too: “Thank you, everyone.”
Granny Zhuang was exasperated: “Ay, you little girls, I know the teacher here’s no good, but if you always talk back, won’t it make life hard?”
Because of the interference of the energy field, no one questioned Granny Zhuang’s age or why new students had just enrolled, nor why the number of sacrifices had changed this year.
“If we don’t resist, they only push harder.” A gentle, clear female voice spoke up.
Zhou Xiahua added kindly, “That’s Wu Mei—she’s got a lovely voice, always wins the poetry contests—among us, at least.”
The group chatted, getting to know each other’s names. Ten-odd minutes later, the room grew quiet again.
Then Zhou Xiahua began to explain the most important thing.
She described the detention room: “Sorry I brought you in here without warning, but this place is vital—this is the most crucial lesson we have to learn.”
Jiang Yan asked, “So you all came here on purpose?”
“Yes,” Zhou Xiahua said, “we have to learn to survive here, to adapt to the darkness and fear.”
Last night, Zhou Xiahua had said poetry and history classes were worth studying, and there was a most important lesson—this was it.
She explained in detail. “The sacrifice begins in the dead of night. We’re tied to small boats, two meters apart, and one by one are pushed into the river, to drift into the Cow Immortal’s cave.”
“To prevent panic or inaction from fear, we train for that now.”
“To learn how to untie our ropes.”
As she spoke, Jiang Yan heard someone shifting to her right.
Han Yinghuo declared, “I’m first again!”
Ye Tian protested, “Hey, wait—how are you getting faster every time, you big oaf?”
Han Yinghuo shrugged. “Who’s an oaf? I slipped a razor blade between my fingers today.”
Wu Mei’s gentle voice chimed in,
“Yinghuo, we may not be able to hide blades by then. Better to learn how to untie knots with our hands.”
Han Yinghuo agreed, lying back down.
She started tying herself up in boredom, chatting as she did: “Xiahua, you kept Fanxing from coming just now so she wouldn’t have to go to detention, right?”
Zhou Xiahua shrugged indifferently. “She’s not with us anymore—our plan’s none of her business.”
Yun Mingyue sneered, “Anyone who knows you knows you can’t stand her. Outsiders might think you’re concerned for her frail little body.”
Zhou Xiahua: “Sister Hua—”
Yun Mingyue, flustered, fell silent.
Now Xu Xing spoke: “I understand Fanxing’s decision. From the day she enrolled, I figured she’d abandon resistance—she’s different from us.”
“Yun Fanxing’s mom is from one of Taoyuan’s special surnames—she never had brothers or sons, was treasured since birth, and never felt any gender bias. When she married into Taoyuan, even after having twins, she never showed any preference. With Fanxing’s poor health, she’s been doted on since birth—no one even dares raise their voice to her.”
“And she’s always had a martyr’s spirit. Years ago, she told me if she drew the sacrifice lot, she’d hope it landed on her. She didn’t expect to live long, and thought her life less valuable than others’—though when her mother did give her up, that still left a mark.”
“Yet I can tell, the sadness didn’t last so long.”
Xu Xing analyzed calmly: “To speak bluntly—since sacrifices began in Taoyuan Village, even though the lots bear our mothers’ names, and it’s the mother who chooses, it’s always the daughters sacrificed—it’s an unwritten rule. If any mother sent her son, how long do you think she’d last in this village?”
“Fanxing’s case is different. She grew up cherished. Her parents loved her even more than her brother, yet her mother still chose to give her up. I think it’s not because her mother loved her less, but because her mother loved herself more.”
“She didn’t dare break the village custom.”
Zhou Xiahua cut in, “I get all that.”
“But does tradition make it right? Why are we always the ones abandoned? So Fanxing’s mother gave her up, and she should just give up on herself? Who here hasn’t been cast aside by their mother? Who here, except Yun Mingyue, hasn’t had it worse than Fanxing?”
“Fanxing better hope all her wishes come true, and her death is meaningful—because that’s the price of giving up on herself!”
Xu Xing fell silent.
She understood how loathsome such customs were; she’d read more books and understood more principles than anyone. She could comprehend Fanxing’s decision, but not the entire village of Taoyuan.
After a long pause, Xu Xing sighed and shared what she’d uncovered.
“Enough of that. Here’s something important. Three days ago in the school library, I found a notebook—a student’s, from more than twenty years ago.”
“As for what’s inside—” Xu Xing paused, “Xiahua, Wu Mei, I’ll find you at dinner. Give me your judgment too.”
She was clearly avoiding the new students, which was understandable; as newcomers, their bond with the older students was still tenuous.
As Jiang Yan thought about this, she worked her way free and stood up in the dark.
Zhou Xiahua noticed, startled.
Jiang Yan spoke: “It’s easy.”
“I’ll teach you.”
[Lol.]
[Jiang Yan: Xu Xing has a clue! She wants to exclude us!]
[Jiang Yan: Time to show off my skills.]
[Hahaha, Sister Yan’s mental drama is such a delight right now.]
Soon, Shen Huanhuan and Lan Lin freed themselves and joined in the demonstration.
Jiang Yan relied on sheer strength, Shen Huanhuan used spiritual power, and Lan Lin’s skill was in untying knots.
As she taught Xu Xing, she whispered, “My hair used to be even shorter than yours.”
“We were poor when I was little—my parents always working, I looked after my brother, though I was small myself and couldn’t manage well. Sometimes he’d fall or dump all the food in the trash… Maybe my cooking was bad. All it took was one complaint from him, and my father would lock me in the pigpen—I’d have to kneel and beg for ages to get out.”
“That experience haunted me, but I’ve moved on. My hair’s still short now, but I’m growing it out. Soon it’ll be long. Are you letting yours grow, too?”
After a moment, Xu Xing nodded: “I’ve left it for months, but it grows so slow.”
“It’ll grow,” Lan Lin said.
“All right.”
Xu Xing was quiet, then suddenly, “My mouth itches. I can’t keep it in. I’ll just tell you what was in the notebook.”
She said, “Before, I drew out the river’s flow and velocity for everyone, and gave my theory about the two other channels near the cave—if we drift into them instead of the Cow Immortal’s cave, we might survive.”
Shen Xiaoxiao couldn’t help but ask, “Have any of you seen the Cow Immortal?”
Wu Mei shook her head. “No.”
“Records about it date back five hundred years—no one in Taoyuan has ever seen it. There’ve just been lowing sounds from the cave, but nobody dares approach for fear of being eaten. Some even suspect the Cow Immortal doesn’t exist.”
Xu Xing continued, “Yes. I studied relevant books last year and guessed the wailing was just water echoing in the cave—every eighteen years there’s a strange phenomenon, water levels change, echoes magnify, sounding like the Cow Immortal. But later, we confirmed it’s real.”
Jiang Yan asked, “How?”
Xu Xing replied, “Half a year ago, after drawing the lot, I secretly ran away. I followed the river for days and nights. Finally, at the shore, I found a boat pierced by a massive hoof; there was a long cow hair, scraps of our uniform, and a lot of blood.”
“So the Cow Immortal is real,” Xu Xing concluded. “Though it’s never spoken with us or demanded sacrifices, you get close, and it eats you.”
“Our bones settle at the river bottom—so we must avoid that cave.”
Jiang Yan thought a moment, then asked, “About the notebook—what was in it?”
Xu Xing gave a wry smile, “A river chart more detailed than mine.”
“The author was Zhao Yao, a prodigy in Taoyuan two decades ago.”
“She once stole a boat and rowed alone toward the cave. According to her map, the river doesn’t branch near the cave—it cuts straight across Taoyuan, and there’s a barrier at its edge. So, inevitably, we’re swept into the cave to face the Cow Immortal.”
The mood turned heavy.
A few minutes later, Zhou Xiahua suddenly laughed.
Shen Huanhuan thought she was upset and started to comfort her, but Zhou Xiahua interrupted, comforting Xu Xing instead: “Don’t belittle yourself. You’re the real genius.”
“That map came from someone who’d sailed right up to the cave. Yours is based entirely on self-study and deduction.”
“Xu Xing, you really will be a famous geographer one day.”
Xu Xing blinked. Zhou Xiahua hugged her shoulder. “Don’t worry—how does the saying go? Where there’s a will, there’s a way—”
Wu Mei chimed in, “When the cart comes to the mountain, there’ll be a road; when the boat reaches the bridge, it’ll go straight.”
“Anyway—”
“My birthday’s coming up. Can I spend a day at one of your homes?”
Zhou Xiahua raised her hand. “Come to mine!”
*
By midday, Ye Tian had primed herself and launched into heartrending sobs at the door.
Soon, the teacher unlocked the door, scolding them with sour remarks. But as they were sacrifices for the Cow Immortal, they couldn’t be allowed to starve. After her sarcasm, the teacher left them alone.
Ye Tian mumbled, “Why must women make things harder for women?”
Xu Xing said indifferently, “Teacher Tang got brainwashed by some villagers long ago. Zhao Yao’s notebook said Tang Miao was her best friend, but clearly, the teacher’s become nothing but a lackey now.”
They chatted as they strolled to the cafeteria.
Seeing Jiang Yan’s group eating their own pastries, Yun Mingyue disdainfully tossed them some money. Before leaving, she sneered at Jiang Yan, calling her a pauper.
[That sour-faced Guanyin has come to deliver us.]
[I could definitely use a few of those heiresses.]
[Don’t you all think this place is off?]
[Seriously strange… Even after clearing the cattle-rearing class, this isn’t a new rules-based challenge. What even is this—watching everyone’s story unfold?]
[The spirit can’t possibly be this gentle.]
This was just what Jiang Yan was thinking.
She quietly ate stir-fried vegetables, bought with Yun Mingyue’s money, and said, “The worst outcome has happened.”
Shen Xiaoxiao was feasting merrily. “This food is so good… Hm? What’s the worst?”
“Everything’s going so smoothly!”
Yu Renwan nodded. “It feels like if we just keep following along, watch the conversations, and unravel each girl’s story, we’ll figure out who the spirit is, and why she’s in so much pain.”
But Shen Huanhuan’s face didn’t look optimistic.
She shook her head. “No. This is the worst.”
“The spirit has abandoned the kind of rules game where people die mysteriously. That can only mean one thing…”
“That she’s very confident,” Jiang Yan picked up.
She swallowed a bite of fish. “The spirit is supremely confident—even if we see all the stories, we won’t find her true source of pain.”
“But for now, we have no other way, so let’s watch and learn.”
“As for what we need to focus on…” Jiang Yan paused, picked up a slice of lotus root, “The sacrifice begins in three days, so the storylines will accelerate. And Wu Mei said her birthday is coming up.”
When checking the main building yesterday, she and Yu Renwan had found a test sheet with a conversation between Xiahua and Wu Mei—a mention of Wu Mei’s upcoming birthday.
Then Lan Lin’s spirit had appeared, foretelling what was about to occur.
Jiang Yan said, “Wu Mei and Xiahua are about to fall out.”
“Let’s see what happens.”