The moon had quietly climbed into the sky at some point, hanging over the chimneys of Pumpkin Town like a polished silver coin.
The bustling town of the day gradually settled down; the clanging from the Blacksmith Shop ceased, the finger-guessing games in the tavern dispersed, and even the most mischievous children were pulled back into their beds by their mothers. Only a few scattered lights flickered in the windows before going out one by one, returning the entire town to the night.
The wind swirled a few withered leaves on the stone road, making a soft "rustling" sound that only emphasized the surrounding silence.
A cricket in the corner chirped a few times and then suddenly stopped, as if startled by something;
A bat under the eaves had just spread its wings before retracting them and disappearing back into the shadows.
In this silence where even the moonlight seemed to hold its breath, the melodious sound of a flute suddenly drifted in with the wind.
The tune was exactly the same as the one used to drive away the rats that morning—at first listen, it was like a mountain stream flowing over jade, so crisp and cool it could wash away the dust in one's heart;
Upon closer listening, it was like a spring breeze brushing over a sea of flowers, carrying a warm sweetness that made one's ears itch.
But somehow, there was something else in the flute's melody, like crushed ice mixed into honey—sweet, yet with an indescribable chill.
It wasn't as lively as it had been in the morning; instead, it carried a lonely tone as it circled the empty streets.
As it drifted past the tightly closed doors of Mayor's house, the flute music paused for a moment, as if knocking;
When it bypassed the flagpole on the Square, it lingered around the rope knots, as if telling a story;
Finally, it slipped through the cracks of windows where lights had been extinguished, drifting into the dreams of the sleepers.
What was it for?
No one knew the answer.
Only the flute music drifted further and further into the silent night, entering the ears of every resident of Pumpkin Town and slipping beneath their closed eyelids like a promise about to be fulfilled.
In a small cottage at the west end of town, the blonde Boy who had been asking about "broken promises" during the day suddenly sat up in bed.
His eyes were closed, his eyelashes casting shallow shadows in the moonlight, and his small face was expressionless, like a puppet pulled by strings.
His parents were sleeping soundly; his father's snoring sounded like a worn-out bellows, wheezing loudly;
His mother rolled over, pulling the quilt into her arms, a bit of sleep-talk drool still at the corner of her mouth. No one noticed that the Child beside them had already climbed out of bed.
The Boy felt around to pull back the quilt, his feet stepping accurately into the cloth shoes by the bed. His movements were stiff yet practiced, like a small machine with a preset program, as he walked toward the bedroom door step by step.
The wooden door creaked open. The night wind blew the stray hairs on his forehead, carrying the coolness of grass, but he seemed completely unaware. He simply stretched his hands forward as if touching something invisible and walked out slowly.
The stone road shimmered with a cold light beneath his feet. His bare ankles were touched by dew, cold as ice, but he didn't even frown as he walked straight toward the Square in the center of town.
Just as he reached the street corner, a Little Girl in a pink nightgown suddenly walked out of a nearby house.
Her eyes were also closed, her pigtails lopsided with the hair tie halfway loose. She clutched a Cloth Doll in her hands; one of the doll's arms was broken, yet she held it tightly to her chest, following the Boy's footsteps one step at a time.
The doll's skirt dragged on the ground, picking up mud and grass, but she was entirely oblivious, as if it were not a toy but some treasure that had to be protected.
Then came a third, a fourth... more and more children appeared on the silent streets.
Some were still wearing striped pajamas with one pant leg rolled up;
Some were barefoot, the soles of their feet covered in dust, stepping noiselessly on the stone slabs;
Some held a Tin Frog in their arms, the key still sticking out and swaying gently with their steps.
Without exception, their eyes were closed, their faces wearing the same look of daze and obedience, like kites pulled by the same string, drifting in the same direction.
Their footsteps were light, like cat paws on cotton. Only the occasional kick of a pebble would make a soft "tap," sounding exceptionally clear on the empty street.
The moonlight stretched their shadows very long, weaving them into a swaying net on the ground, like a bizarre painting drawn with ink.
A Little Girl with braided hair bumped into the Boy in front of her as she walked. She paused, still with her eyes closed, and simply reached out a chubby hand to touch the Boy's back as if to confirm something, then continued to shuffle forward, her movements as mechanical as if completing some predetermined ritual.
In the houses on both sides of the street, the lights had long been extinguished. The parents were still fast asleep with satisfied smiles on their faces, none of them knowing their children had already left home.
Only the wind chimes under the eaves tinkled in the night wind, sounding like a faint alarm, but they were quickly drowned out by the melodious flute music, appearing insignificant.
The flute music still echoed in the center of the Square, possessing a bit more mysterious magic than it had during the day, like an invisible hand gently leading these children.
They formed a crooked line, walking toward the source of the flute music. Their small figures swayed in the moonlight like a flock of lambs lost in the night, so docile it made one's heart tighten.
When these children arrived at the Square, The Man in Colorful Clothes from the daytime—Jack—was standing right there in the center.
He was still wearing those multicolored clothes, but the brim of his hat was pulled lower, covering most of his face and only revealing his tightly pursed lips.
He played the flute, his fingertips dancing nimbly over the holes. As the moonlight fell on his hands holding the flute, one could see his knuckles turning slightly white from the exertion.
However, when he looked at these children, there was no anger in his eyes like there had been after being insulted during the day.
Under the influence of the flute music, all the children seemed to have their bones removed, collapsing softly one by one onto the grass in the center of the Square.
They huddled together, some leaning their heads on their companions' shoulders, others curling into balls like gentle kittens. Soon, the sound of steady breathing arose; they slept so peacefully, as if this were not a cold Square but a warm bed.
The flute music slowly vanished, the last note dispersing in the wind like a drop of water merging into the night.
At the exact moment the flute music disappeared, the blonde Boy suddenly opened his eyes.
His eyelashes fluttered as if he had just woken from a long dream. His pupils contracted in the moonlight, and he was immediately stunned by the sight before him—many children were lying all around him, all companions he knew from town, now sleeping defenselessly;
Not far away, under the flagpole, The Man in Colorful Clothes stood with his back to him, his shadow stretched long by the moonlight, doing something unknown.
But he made no move; he didn't shout or stir. He simply leaned slightly toward the girl beside him, just like the other children, nestling close as they did.
Then, he slowly and cautiously looked around, his eyes full of alertness and confusion, like a startled young beast silently observing this bizarre scene.
The Square was so quiet that one could hear the grass growing; only the moonlight continued to flow silently... Just as dawn was breaking, the silence of Pumpkin Town was shattered by a burst of heart-wrenching wails and shouts.
The eastern sky had just turned the color of a fish's belly, and the thin mist had not yet dispersed when the burly man from the Blacksmith Shop rushed out of his house, brandishing a hammer covered in iron filings.
On normal days, he could flatten a red-hot iron block with one punch, but now his fingers were shaking like falling leaves in the autumn wind. He couldn't even turn the lock on his own loose wooden door, finally crashing through it with a "thud," not even bothering to wipe the wood chips from his face.
"My Child! My Child!"
He screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice cracking as if rubbed by sandpaper, echoing through the empty alleys.
The proprietress of the Bakery next door followed, clutching the doorframe, her apron still stained with flour, her shoulders heaving as she sobbed.
"My Child..."
Just last night, she had smilingly promised her son that she would buy him a honey cake after finishing the bread this morning. Now, pulling back her son's quilt, only a half-eaten wheat cake remained by the pillow, the teeth marks still clearly visible as if the Child had just left.
At the west end of town, the blonde Boy's mother sat paralyzed on the doorstep, her messy hair plastered to her face, her fingernails digging deep into the soil in front of the door, leaving behind several winding bloody tracks.
She wanted to scream, but her throat felt blocked, and she could only make a "he-he" gasping sound, tears and snot flowing into the corners of her mouth, bitter and acrid.
Her husband, like an infuriated bull, kicked open the neighbor's door with bloodshot eyes. The door panel creaked and swayed as he hoarsely called his son's name, his voice trembling with despair:
"Tommy! Tommy, come out! Daddy will buy you cake!"
The entire town instantly fell into chaos.
Men carried oil lamps that hadn't been extinguished, the wicks "crackling" with sparks. Some held hoes, others gripped axes, rushing through the alleys, their footsteps and shouts making the morning mist tremble;
Women pulled at each other, their skirts brushing against the wild grass as they searched from the Mill at the east end to the Ancient Well at the west end, grabbing anyone they met by the arm, their nails digging into the flesh:
"Have you seen my Child? The one in red!"
"Did you see my Child? He was eating ham last night!"
Even the oldest blind man at the town entrance hobbled to the middle of the street with his cane, his withered fingers groping the ground, his fingertips brushing the texture of the stone road as he repeatedly muttered:
"The children won't have gone far... they must be hiding behind some tree..."
"The flute! There was flute music last night!"
A drunkard suddenly crouched by the roadside, clutching his aching temples and shaking his head violently.
He had been drinking in the tavern until midnight last night, and on his way home, he seemed to have heard someone playing the flute with a soft melody. At the time, he thought it was just a drunken hallucination, but now, spurred by the cries, he suddenly snapped to his senses.
"It was in the center of town! It played for a long time!"
"To the Square!"
Someone in the crowd shouted, like a bolt of lightning splitting through the confusion.
Everyone seemed to suddenly snap out of it. With feet as if carried by the wind, they rushed frantically toward the center of the town—the place where Jack had played his flute during the day and the source of last night's clearest melodies. Perhaps the children were there!
From a distance, someone squinted and saw a dark mass in the center of the Square, looking like something piled up.
The Blacksmith Shop Strongman, running at the very front, came to a sudden halt. His knees buckled, and he nearly collapsed to the ground.
His mouth hung open, unable to speak for a long time. He simply pointed ahead, his voice trembling uncontrollably: "That... that is..."
The crowd fell silent for a heartbeat, then an even greater commotion erupted.
It was none other than the group of children, curled up on the grass!
They were snuggled together; some had their heads resting on a companion's belly, while others were curled into balls like gentle kittens. Their breathing was steady, as if they were still fast asleep.
The adults rushed over like madmen. Cries, shouts, and hurried gasps mingled together, drowning out the chirping of the morning birds.
The Blacksmith Shop Strongman scooped his son into his arms. The Child was startled awake, rubbing his eyes and muttering,
"Dad, I dreamed the Tin Frog came to life..."
He still looked dazed, not understanding why he was in the Square.
The Little Girl holding the Cloth Doll was woken by her mother's crying. She blinked her sleepy eyes, looking at the surrounding adults with utter confusion.
"Mom? Why am I here? My doll got dirty..."
She held up the Cloth Doll in her arms, and the grass clippings stuck to her skirt fell away in a flurry.
When the Boy holding the Tin Frog was pulled up by his father, the Tin Frog fell to the ground with a "clatter," and the key rolled aside.
He frowned, looking at his parents' bloodshot eyes in disbelief: "Why did you bring me to the Square? I haven't had enough sleep yet!"
The adults didn't have time to explain; they just held the children tightly in their arms, sobbing until they shook.
The blacksmith's tears fell onto his son's forehead, the heat making the Child shrink back. The Bakery Owner's Wife hugged her daughter, repeating, "It's good you're back... it's good you're back..."
The children were frightened by the scene. At first, they were stunned, but then, caught up in the adults' crying, they also began to wail loudly.
For a moment, the Square was filled with the wailing of children and the sobbing of adults, a scene of total chaos.
Just then, an old man crouching under the flagpole suddenly stood up. He struck his cane against the ground with a muffled "thud" and pointed to the center of the Square, his voice hoarse yet exceptionally clear:
"This is revenge! It's the revenge of that Man in Colorful Clothes!"
The adults, who were busy hugging their children and wiping away tears, were stunned and looked up one after another.
Following the direction of the old man's finger, they noticed that on the patch of grass where the children had been lying, several lines of large characters were written in something like ink or charcoal. The handwriting was crooked, yet it carried an indescribable chill:
This is the price of your broken promise!
The wind swept across the Square with the morning mist, making the writing sway slightly, as if silently mocking something.
The adults holding their children suddenly froze. The crying gradually ceased, leaving only the children's confused whimpering.
They looked at that line of text and remembered their cold indifference toward Jack yesterday, as well as the two copper coins thrown on the ground. A layer of cold sweat suddenly broke out on their backs.
Just then, Tommy's voice piped up, carrying a timid quiver, like a small pebble breaking through a layer of ice.
"I... I saw it last night!"
The adults turned their heads in unison, their questioning gazes hitting him like spotlights.
Tommy's father quickly held him tighter and asked urgently, "Tommy, what did you see? Tell Dad, quickly!"
Tommy pursed his dry lips. His small face still had tear stains, but his voice was clearer than before.
"Last night... it was that uncle in the colorful clothes who brought us here."
A commotion immediately broke out among the crowd. Some clenched their fists, while others took half a step back. The Blacksmith Shop Strongman growled, "Why did he bring you here? He didn't hurt you, did he?"
"No."
Tommy shook his head, his fingers unconsciously twisting the corner of his shirt. "When we came... I didn't feel anything. It was like a dream, walking here with my eyes closed. But later... later the flute music stopped, and I suddenly woke up."
He paused and peeked at the surrounding adults. "I didn't dare move, so I just lay there pretending to sleep. I stayed there the whole time and saw many things."
"Then why didn't you come home?" the Bakery Owner's Wife couldn't help but ask, her daughter clutching her apron.
"Later... later I was too tired, so I fell asleep again." Tommy's voice dropped, like a Child who had done something wrong.
His father patted his back, signaling him to continue.
Tommy swallowed hard, trying to recall. "That night... first, The Man in Colorful Clothes brought us to the Square and had us lie on the grass.
He didn't do anything; he just sat under the flagpole watching us, his hands rubbing that flute. He didn't move at all, like The Statue."
The crowd was so quiet that the sound of the wind blowing through the grass could be heard. Even the most impatient people held their breath.
"After a while,"
Tommy's brow furrowed slightly, as if he were counting something.
"He wasn't alone. Several others came... I didn't count them all, and it was too dark to see their faces clearly."
"I heard them talking."
Tommy's voice dropped even lower, but it was enough for the surrounding people to hear clearly.
"One person—who seemed quite short—spoke first and asked, 'How is it?'"
He paused, mimicking Jack's tone at the time, his voice carrying a hint of raspy fatigue.
"The Man in Colorful Clothes replied, 'Thank you. If it weren't for you all, I would have taken mad revenge on them. I would have drowned these children; I would have become a total villain.'"
As soon as these words were spoken, gasps of cold air rose from the Square. Several mothers instinctively held their children tighter, their faces pale.
"Then..."
Tommy licked his lips and continued.
"That Short Person said, 'They broke their promise, so it's fine to punish them. But there's no need for this. After all, some can still be saved; it wasn't intentional.'"
He remembered very clearly that The Man in Colorful Clothes was silent for a long time—so long that he almost thought the man had fallen asleep—before he heard the sound of the flute lightly tapping against a stone, like a sigh.
"Then they left,"
Tommy looked up at the shocked or ashamed adults before him, his small face still carrying a lingering innocence.
"Before The Man in Colorful Clothes left, he looked back at us once. It seemed... it seemed like he was sighing."
As soon as he finished speaking, the crowd fell into a deathly silence.
The morning mist gradually dispersed, and the sunlight fell on everyone's faces, revealing expressions ranging from red to pale—there was guilt, there was lingering fear, and some people lowered their heads, their fingers unconsciously twisting the corners of their clothes, as if weighing how many cold words they had actually said yesterday.
Just then, the Blacksmith Shop Strongman suddenly slapped his thigh and shouted in a gruff voice,
"Wait a minute! Where is Mayor? He's the one who started this whole thing from beginning to end. Where has he gone?"
These words were like a stone thrown into boiling water, and the crowd immediately erupted.
That's right! Yesterday, the most arrogant and stingy ones were Mayor's family!
He was the one who withheld the gold, and he was the one who let his daughter come out to throw a tantrum. Now that the children have returned safely, the instigator is nowhere to be seen—it's truly suspicious.
"Let's go! Let's go to Mayor's house and see!"
Someone shouted through gritted teeth. Before the words had even faded, people were already grabbing hoes and rushing toward the east end of town.
The adults seemed to have suddenly found an outlet for their emotions, flocking toward that direction. Even the mothers holding their children quickened their pace, their eyes filled with a complex, indescribable mix of wanting an explanation and a faint sense of unease.
The door to Mayor's house was tightly shut.
Someone reached out and pushed, but the door wouldn't budge. Instead, a strange sound came from inside—"Hee-haw... hee-haw..."
The sound didn't seem human; it sounded more like a donkey braying, yet it was several degrees more piteous than a normal donkey's cry, making people's skin crawl.
"Mayor! Open the door!"
Someone pounded hard on the door, the force making their hand go numb. "What are you hiding in there for? Come out and explain yourself!"
The donkey braying inside became even more urgent, mixed with "clanging" sounds of impact, as if someone inside was desperately smashing things.
A few strong young men exchanged glances, picked up stones from the roadside, smashed the lock with a few "bangs," and threw the door open.
The moment the door opened, an indescribable smell of musk and filth wafted out, making everyone instinctively take half a step back.
Then, everyone was terrified by the sight before them—
In the courtyard of Mayor's house, there were actually three "monsters."
They had the bodies of donkeys, covered in grayish-black manes, with thick limbs and hooves that had dug deep marks into the bluestone floor;
But on their necks sat the heads of Mayor, The Mayor's Daughter, and The Mayor's Wife!
Mayor's face was flushed red. His chin, which was usually held high, was now trembling like a leaf in the wind. His eyes were wide and bulging, and his mouth kept letting out "hee-haw" donkey brays, but he couldn't utter a single word.
He tried to point his finger at the people at the door, but what he raised was a donkey's hoof covered in coarse hair. The hoof slammed heavily onto the ground, making a sound of despair.
"This... this is what happened?"
Someone was so frightened that the hoe in their hand dropped, their voice trembling uncontrollably.
"It's the price... it's the price of a broken promise!"
Someone in the crowd shouted, their voice carrying a bone-chilling coldness.
That's right, Jack had said,
"This is the price of your broken promise."