Chapter 3

On the seventh day after I left Rust Town, I smelled death.

The smell of rust mingled with sweetness, mixed with a putrid stench and a hint of sweet fishiness. A breeze blew from the south, carrying this stench into my nostrils. I stopped, my heart suddenly pounding.

Blackwater Village was built beside a small river whose water was entirely composed of a murky, black liquid covered with iridescent oil. The oil reflected eerie rainbow colors in the sunlight, as if someone had poured rotting corpse oil into the river. Beside the well at the village entrance lay three corpses, their bellies swollen as if they were pregnant with twins, their skin so transparent that their intestines could be seen wriggling in the murky liquid.

The village was quiet. The door to the shack was ajar, and suppressed groans came from behind it. I pushed open the first door and saw a man lying on a pile of straw, his stomach swollen like a bucket, his skin so thin it was almost transparent, and I could see the veins bulging beneath. He stared at me with his eyes open, but there was no pleading in his gaze, only numbness.

"Are you here to collect a corpse?"

I shook my head.

"So what are you here for?"

"I'm just passing by here."

He laughed, revealing a set of yellow teeth. "Passing by? Everyone who passes through Blackwater Village dies. You'll die too. Drink the water here, and your stomach will swell up within three days. Then—"

He pointed to his stomach.

"They'll slowly end up like me. Their bellies will burst like water-filled bags. Then their intestines will spill out and rot on the ground."

I didn't answer. I turned and walked out of the shed, continuing deeper into the village. In the center of the village stood a stone house with a wooden sign hanging at the door that read "Pharmacist" in charcoal. The door was ajar, and I could hear a woman's voice coming from inside, very gentle, like she was soothing a child to sleep.

"Don't be afraid, it will be over soon. Just bear with it, and the pain will subside."

Then came screams. The screams of an adult man, the kind that tear your heart out, as if someone were pulling out his intestines one by one.

I pushed the door open.

The stone house was dimly lit, with its only window covered by a thick curtain. In the center of the room sat a wooden table, on which lay a man, his belly swollen like a pregnant woman's. A woman stood beside the table, holding a red-hot iron rod, its tip plunged into the man's stomach. The man screamed, gripping the edge of the table with both hands, his fingernails digging into the wood, leaving bloody marks.

The woman wore a black lace veil that covered half her face. Her movements were steady; the iron rod pierced her with precise angle, without the slightest hesitation. A murky liquid, with a rotten, sweet smell, gushed from her stomach. The liquid flowed into a wooden bucket under the table, making a gurgling sound.

"Just a little longer, Tom."

"The liquid is almost drained. Once it's drained, you'll live for three months."

"And then?" the man asked, panting.

"Play it again later."

How long can I live?

The woman was silent for a moment, then said, "I don't know. But at least you won't die today."

The man stopped speaking. He closed his eyes, tears streaming down his face and into his hair.

The woman pulled out the iron rod and pressed the red-hot iron sheet against the wound to stop the bleeding. The man screamed again, his body arching like a fish nailed to a chopping board. Then he passed out.

The woman put down the iron bar, turned around, and saw me. Her eye, which wasn't covered by her veil, stared at me calmly.

"Who are you?"

"Just passing by."

"Everyone who passes by is dead. You will die too."

"Someone has already said that."

She stared at me for a moment, then walked to the door and poured the murky liquid from the bucket into the ditch outside. The liquid flowed into the soil, instantly turning the land black and emitting a rotten, sweet smell.

"Are you here to watch the fun?" she asked.

"I'm here to find a water source."

"Water source?" She smiled, a soft laugh tinged with tenderness and helplessness.

"The water source for Blackwater Village was contaminated three months ago by the corpses of demonic beasts. The demon army slaughtered an entire orc tribe upstream, throwing their bodies into the river. The water turned black, and anyone who drinks it will suffer bloating. Where can we find clean water now?"

"I can try."

She stared at me for a long time, then said, "You're crazy."

"Maybe."

She turned and walked back to the stone house, picked up a rusty shovel, and tossed it to me. "Go ahead and try. Maybe only by digging deep underground can you bypass the contaminated aquifer. I hope you succeed."

I took the shovel and walked to the open space at the village entrance. The ground was hard; the shovel could only dig up a small clod of earth. I dug from morning till evening, but only managed to dig less than a meter deep. Blisters formed on my hands, and as they burst, new blisters appeared, until finally my palms were covered in blood.

The next day, the woman wearing a witch's veil came. She stood at the well, looking at me, holding a piece of black bread and a jug of water.

"Eat up." She placed the bread and water at the wellhead.

"Otherwise, you won't be able to dig it up."

I climbed out of the well and took the bread. It was hard; biting into it felt like biting into stone. The water was poured from her own kettle, carrying a mixed aroma of rust and sweetness. I took a sip, then spat it out.

You drink this kind of water?

"I'll die of thirst if I don't drink."

"Dying of thirst is a little faster than dying of bloating."

Your belly—

She lifted her clothes, revealing her flat stomach.

"I drink only a sip each day. The less I drink, the slower I die."

I stared at her stomach for a while, then said, "Can you teach me how to identify poisonous water sources?"

"Why?"

"Because I want to dig out clean water."

She remained silent for a long time, then said, "There's a multicolored oily film on the water's surface, and it smells like a mixture of rust and sweetness. This is the venom of a demonized beast. The venom will seep into the soil and pollute the groundwater. You'll have to bypass the polluted aquifer and dig at least ten meters deep."

"Ten meters?"

"Yes. At least ten meters."

“This was originally a very simple task, but everyone in the village was infected, without exception. The passing demon soldiers were more likely to kill them than help them…”

At this point, her tone was filled with indescribable sorrow. After a long pause, she looked up at me again:

"Can you... dig it out?"

I didn't answer. I turned and jumped back into the well.

On the third day, villagers came to help. One of them was a man named Tom—the same one who had his abdominal fluid drained the day before. His stomach hadn't completely shrunk, and he walked with a limp, but he still grabbed a shovel and jumped into the well.

"I'll help you," he said.

"Your body—"

"Since I'm going to die anyway, I might as well dig a well rather than lie in bed waiting to die. If I actually find clean water, I can at least have a sip before I die."

On the fourth day, three more people arrived. On the fifth day, five people came. On the sixth day, everyone in the village who could still walk came. They took turns digging the well, one person at a time, the next person taking over when they got tired. The well was dug deeper and deeper, three meters, five meters, seven meters. On the ninth day, the shovel hit wet soil. On the tenth day, the wet soil turned into mud. On the eleventh day, water gushed out.

Clear, without any iridescent film or rusty sweetness.

Tom was the first to jump into the well, scoop up a handful of water, and drink it down. He closed his eyes, and tears streamed down his face.

"It's clean water!"

"It's really clean water!"

Others gathered around the well, jumping in one after another to scoop up water and drink. Some cried, some laughed, and some knelt at the bottom of the well, burying their faces in the water.

A woman wearing a witch's veil stood at the well's edge, her one eye, not covered by the veil, staring intently at the water. The wind blowing the veil aside revealed a corner of her face. I saw a glimpse beneath the veil—a scar running across her eye socket.

"Can it still see?" I asked.

"I can't see it."

What should I see?

"water."

I just finished speaking...

A tear rolled down her good eye.

In this land corrupted by demons, she, a gentle woman with an eye that could no longer see the light, saw the source of nature.

That night, I slept in the stone house. She finally told me her name—Margaret—and she cooked me a bowl of soup. Although the soup only contained a few leafy greens and a piece of black bread, she cooked it with great care, as if she were preparing a feast.

"Are you leaving?" she asked.

"Um."

Where to?

"I don't know," I said, pressing my hand to my chest, "but it will tell me where to go."

She stared at my chest for a while, then said, "I can feel it; it's a vibrant life force."

She remained silent for a long time, then removed the witch's veil. The blind eye was exposed to the air, and the scar looked particularly gruesome in the candlelight.

"Before I was tied to the stake, the church's witch hunt blinded me with red-hot nails. They said I was a witch, that I used witchcraft to harm people. But I was just a healer; saving lives was my duty."

She pointed to her eyes. "This is a gift they gave me."

"Then what?"

"Then the demons came. The witch hunt team ran away, and the villagers took me down from the stake. They made me continue as an apothecary because I was the only one willing to heal them." She laughed, a bitter laugh.

I didn't answer. I just finished the soup and stood up.

A village abandoned by the church and the devil, the woman labeled a witch by the church ultimately became the only hope for holding on to this village...

"I have to go now."

"Wait." She walked to the corner and took a small cloth bag from a wooden box. "Here. This is some herbs I made; it might be useful on your journey."

I took the cloth bag, then turned and walked out of the stone house.

Margaret stood in the doorway, wearing a witch's veil. Her one intact eye looked at me, and there was something in it that I couldn't understand.

"Thank you."

"What are you thanking me for?"

"Thank you for letting me know that clean things can still grow on this land."

I turned and walked south. After a dozen or so steps, I glanced back. Margaret was still standing in the doorway, waving one hand. Then she turned and walked back into the stone house, her figure disappearing into the darkness.

That night I spent the night in the wilderness, with the herb bag Margaret had given me pressed against my chest. I could feel my heart beating.

Thump, thump, thump.

Its roots extended into my arm, and I could see the veins on my wrist emitting a faint golden glow. The light was a little brighter than it had been in Rust Town.

I closed my eyes and remembered Tom kneeling at the bottom of the well, burying his face in the water; I remembered Margaret's blind eye when she removed the witch's veil; I remembered the villagers crowding around the well, jumping in one after another to drink.

The people of Blackwater Village finally had access to clean water.