That night, no one in the village dared to sleep.
They were poor. They were depressed. Some had forgotten what hope even felt like.
But tonight…
Just maybe…Jinhai's madness might work.
A fragile warmth settled over the village like mist. One by one, the villagers gathered in silence, their hands clasped together —not in any formal religion, just some ancient instinct buried under years of mud and mosquito bites.
Near the old storage shed, a wrinkled grandma, missing three teeth, mumbled through her gums.
"Dear tooth fairy," she whispered to the air, "I traded you one more tooth. Please… give us a rat. Or even a frog. I won't be picky."
By the fire, Lingling curled up with her legs over her head like a human pretzel. Half-asleep, half-drooling, she giggled to herself.
"If not rat… maybe snake. If not snake… gecko. If not gecko… worm. Big brother Jinhai blood = food. Logic."
She giggled again, then snored mid-laugh.
At the edge of the circle, Grandpa Lao let out a long sigh over a chipped clay cup of warm herbal tea. Steam curled into the night like a tired ghost. He sipped, then muttered, "If this really works… I'll write a new song for him."
Nearby, the Three Brothers sat in a quiet triangle, each facing a different direction like ancient statues guarding a secret.
They didn't pray with folded hands like the others. That was too simple. Too traditional. Instead, they each performed their own version of a "logical ritual", rooted in half-forgotten texts, observation, and just enough madness to get them exiled by their own father's first wife.
The eldest brother traced patterns in the dirt with a stick, muttering softly in a language only he knew. It was a fusion of military coded, star positions, and rodent behavioral patterns
"If the rats follow the scent trail and Jinhai's diluted blood has the correct mineral content," he whispered, "they should appear between the second and fourth bell."
The middle brother held a tiny bone fragment to his forehead and meditated with slow, rhythmic breaths.
"I've calculated the probability. If fate aligns with desperation and rodent population trends from last summer… we will succeed. Unless Lingling snores again and alters the scent."
The youngest brother had built a tiny wooden altar, lit a match, and burned dried onion peels while whispering to something in the shadows.
"I call not to gods, but to instinct," he said solemnly. "To the primal hunger of the forest. May it lead the prey to our trap."
Despite their strange methods, their eyes believe it will work.
The forest was still.
A faint morning fog clung to the ground like a sleeping ghost. Not even the birds dared sing yet. The air was cool, the sky barely touched by light.
Everything was silent—
Until a single leaf shifted.
Then another.
A soft patter, like rain that changed its mind mid-fall, echoed in the underbrush.
From the shadows, red eyes began to glow.
Not one. Not two. But dozens. Blinking, twitching. Watching.
Then, all at once—movement.
The spirit rats burst forth in a wave, their wiry bodies slithering through dirt and roots like shadows with teeth. They were fast — too — fast, driven by something more than hunger. Something ancient. Something was drawn to the faint metallic trace of blood soaked into a wooden trap.
More followed.
A flash of green — a long gecko with torn scales darted after the rats, tongue flicking like it was chasing destiny.
Next, a pair of black snakes slithered from opposite ends of the forest. Not together, but drawn to the same sport. Silent. Lethal.
A one-eyed frog leapt from a puddle as if it had heard a silent command.
Then came the crashing.
Bushes trembled. Small trees snapped.
A deep grunt rumbled through the fog.
A hog.
Not Spirit-hog. Just muscle, tusk, and confusion.
Its eyes are wide. Its breath is fogging.
It chased the chaos like a drunk uncle chasing rumors of food.
The trap waited.
A pit in the earth. Blood-painted bait. The bamboo cover is barely holding
The first rat slipped—
Then fell.
Another followed
The snake lunged.
The gecko dove.
The frog dropped like a wet stone.
And then—
BOOM.
The hog tripped, let out a squeal that shattered the morning stillness, and collapsed into the hole with all the grace of a sack of bricks.
CRACK. SNAP. THUD.
It was over.
The trap groaned under the weight of wriggling bodies and tangled limbs.
Then…silence again.
Lingling sat up slowly from her bamboo mat, eyes half-closed, one slipper on her head.
"Huh…?" she mumbled, scratching her cheek.
A strange smell floated in on the breeze. Earthy. Oily. Like something alive and edible.
She wandered toward the trap, yawning, still half-asleep.
Peered in.
Her brain needed a moment to process what she was seeing.
Then—
She fell to her knees and gasped.
"…We can eat for half a year…"
Drool began to form. Her hands trembled with disbelief. She whispered:
"Or eat like royalty for three glorious days."
She looked up toward the heavens, eyes glossy.
"Big Brother Jinhai…your thing work…"
Then, calmly—almost respectfully— she turned her head toward the village and screamed:
" WAKE UP!! BREAKFAST FELL FROM THE SKY!! BRING ROPE! BRING FIRE! MAYBE BRING A SHRINE!!"
The forest was quiet again.
But in the heart of the village, hope had just made its loudest noise in years.
The sound of Lingling's scream echoed through the village like a temple bell rung by a drunk monk.
One by one, doors creaked open. Faces peeked out. Eyes wide, mouths hanging open.
Grandma Toothless clutched her walking stick.
Grandpa Lao dropped his tea.
The Three Brothers sprinted with such coordination you'd think they planned the moment a week ago.
Soon, half the village had gathered around the pit, peering into it with disbelief painted across their dirt-smudged faces.
Gasps. Whispers. A stunned silence.
A real hog. Two snakes. One giant gecko. One confused frog. And more spirit rats than they could count on all their fingers and toes combined.
It was… abundance. In a place where "two cucumbers and a lizard tail" was considered a big meal.
Then came Jinhai.
He walked out of his hut with bed hair and one slipper missing. He rubbed his eyes, looked at the crowd, then peered into the pit.
He blinked once.
Twice.
Stared at the hog. Then back at the pit.
"…Huh," he said, scratching his head. "I expected two rats at most. Maybe a gecko if we were lucky."
Lingling turned, arms raised like a preacher. "This is a miracle! This is what a blood-based leadership tastes like!"
Jinhai chuckled, still half-asleep. He looked up at the sky.
"You see this, everyone?" he said, voice rising. "Even the heavens want us to build this water system."
He spread his arms wide, grinning.
"With a gift like this, what else can we do, huh? Haha!"
The crowd cheered, laughter rising into the morning sky like smoke from a fire finally lit.
But as the villagers rushed to prepare ropes, baskets, and firewood, Jinhai lowered his arms, turned slightly, and sniffed.
His smile faded just a bit. He muttered under his breath:
"…It still smells like poop."
He rubbed his nose cautiously.
"Did I… not clean it properly last night?"
He glanced toward Ma Cheng, who was already halfway down the pit, yelling about butchering logistics.
Jinhai sighed.
"A leader's burden never ends."
Then he turned and walked off, sniffing discreetly, the morning sun rising behind him.