He lay on the ground for hours before mustering strength to rise. He had to find food.
He thought of where the bandits had tethered their horses. With a stick for support, he staggered down the path.
Every step tore at his wounds. His scabbed back split open again, oozing pus. His lungs ached too much to breathe deep.
At last, he reached the site. Only skeletal remains greeted him: bones stripped clean, rotting hides crawling with maggots.
His heart sank, yet he didn't give up. His gaze fixed on the thick leg bones. Inside, marrow meant survival.
With great effort, he gathered the largest bones, dragging them step by step. They were his hope for the coming days.
At dusk, he lit a fire by the roadside, roasting bone sticks. The smell of marrow rose, rich and faintly rank, but to the starving, it was divine. He ate sparingly, one bone only, storing the rest.
With food in his belly, strength returned. But night brought new terror.
From the darkness came that sound again—heavy, hopping footsteps.
Ji En's scalp prickled. Looking back, he saw it: the black-faced corpse, leaping steadily toward him.
It had found him again!
Panic seized him. He snatched his bone stick and blade, fleeing with all he had left. The corpse hopped after him, never faster, never slower, always at the same distance.
Exhaustion broke him. Ahead stood a tall tree. Survival instinct roared. He clawed his way up.
The corpse circled below, thudding as it leapt futilely, unable to climb.
Ji En clung to the branches, breath ragged, heart hammering. Man and monster faced each other all night long.