In 1958, amidst the early days of the People's Republic of Xiana, Zhao Xi, a recent graduate from Huabei Agricultural and Electrical Institute, was assigned to serve as the party secretary of Qing Shan County in the remote region of Boshan City. Alongside him, the newly appointed deputy party secretary, Feng Gang, accompanied the young man. Their arrival was met with the formalities and duties of the government office, including an entourage of armed guards. The men had to travel for several days before finally arriving at their new station.
Upon their arrival, they were greeted by the county head, Wei Tian. He welcomed them with open arms, but there was something peculiar about his demeanor—beneath the amiable and seemingly sincere façade, Zhao Xi couldn't shake the subtle feeling of animosity. He sensed it in the undertone of Wei Tian’s words, a coldness hidden beneath a veneer of politeness. For Zhao Xi, a young man who had grown up amidst the hard realities of war and family decline, his sharp instincts quickly identified these incongruous emotions. This wasn’t a simple provincial bureaucrat’s courtesy—it was something darker.
Despite Zhao Xi's youthful appearance, he was no stranger to the harshness of life. Raised by his grandfather, who had been a businessman, Zhao Xi had witnessed the collapse of his family’s fortunes during the anti-Fascist war. His experiences in the military had hardened his spirit and sharpened his perception. He had seen death and destruction firsthand, and the land of Qing Shan, which he remembered as a picturesque haven from his childhood, had changed in ways he could never have imagined.
Over the course of the next few months, Zhao Xi made it his duty to survey the county. Although it was picturesque in some respects, an unsettling atmosphere seemed to hang over the landscape. The land, once lush and fertile, had become marred by neglect and decay. Fields that once swayed with the promise of abundance now held only the ghosts of forgotten harvests. What had once been green was now a patchwork of dying crops, stunted growth, and barren earth. The animals that remained in the villages were few and in poor health—far fewer than those he had seen in the bustling urban markets of Boshan City. The people were starving, struggling to survive on what little they had, but the official reports from the county newspaper painted a far different picture. They boasted of bumper crops and high living standards, glossing over the growing hunger and despair in the rural districts.
Zhao Xi couldn’t escape the gnawing feeling that something was wrong in this county. The heat was unbearable, and the weather had been unusually dry for the season, but the most disturbing phenomenon was the stream that ran through the county—the Jing Shan Creek. The water had grown significantly weaker over the months, but the real mystery lay in its temperature. On several occasions, Zhao Xi had noticed that the water was unnaturally hot. It wasn't the cool, refreshing stream he remembered from his youth. Now, it felt like molten lava running through the earth, scalding to the touch. Though the region had been dry, this was the start of autumn, not summer, and Zhao Xi could find no explanation for such an anomaly. His scientific mind ran through possible causes—industrial waste, seismic activity, but none of it made sense. It was as if the very earth itself had begun to simmer with a malevolent energy.
Meanwhile, the local county head, Wei Tian, became increasingly evasive. As party secretary, Zhao Xi was technically the superior in the official hierarchy, yet Wei Tian continuously found excuses to avoid him. The county head claimed that his days were consumed by the "greenification" efforts of Qing Shan, which seemed odd to Zhao Xi. Wei Tian had assembled a small team of men who disappeared into the mountains, attending to the trees. There was something unsettling about this task—why was it so secretive? Why did the county head spend so much time in the mountains when there were pressing issues in the county, such as the worsening food crisis? Zhao Xi felt the chill of suspicion, but he said nothing—after all, the word from above was clear: in a few months, he would be transferred back to Boshan City, his hometown.
But despite the distance and the distractions of administrative duties, Zhao Xi’s unease grew. The county’s problems weren’t just economic—they felt unnatural, as if the very land itself was cursed. His memories of Qing Shan from childhood had always been of an idyllic, serene place. Now, it was a county on the brink of something ominous. The ever-present sense of decay in the fields, the endless reports of agricultural failure, the hostile undercurrents in the air—it was clear that Qing Shan was not just struggling with poverty. Something darker, more insidious, was lurking beneath the surface.
Zhao Xi’s thoughts began to spiral as he pieced together more of the county’s strange happenings. He had come to this place to serve, to help rebuild and guide, but it was quickly becoming clear that there was something ancient, something malevolent at work in Qing Shan—a force that no amount of policy or industry could overcome. The longer he stayed, the more he felt the weight of history pressing down upon him, pulling him into the growing shadow that now consumed the land.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
One fateful day, while Zhao Xi was instructing workers in the factory, his uniform was torn. He approached Liu Yu, the foreman of the local factory, to ask where he could find a tailor to get it repaired. Liu Yu directed him to a small tailor shop on the edge of the county town, though he cautioned that the shop hadn’t been open much lately. If it were closed, Zhao Xi would need to travel to the nearby town to find another tailor.
Zhao Xi, accompanied by his loyal guard, Sun Cheng, set off to find the shop. They reached the location to find the shop's exterior a little run-down, with peeling paint and a sign that appeared to have been hastily scrawled on a blackened wooden board: “Tailor Shop.” The faded letters almost seemed like a mocking afterthought—something barely clinging to its former purpose. Pushing open the door, they were greeted by the musty scent of old fabric and dust.
Inside, Zhao Xi noticed a young woman, perhaps his age or slightly younger, sitting at a worn-out wooden desk, sewing something with a quiet precision. Her back was turned, and without lifting her head, she spoke with a disinterested tone: “The shopkeeper is resting. Come back tomorrow.”
Zhao Xi was disappointed but, as if guided by some strange compulsion, he took another look at her. Sun Cheng, however, seemed irritated by the young woman’s casualness and muttered under his breath, "You don’t even know who you're talking to?"
Zhao Xi quickly intervened, raising a hand to silence Sun Cheng, signaling him to calm down. The girl, hearing Zhao Xi’s movement, lifted her head slowly. Their eyes met. Her face, pale and worn, had a sickly yellowish hue, and her cheeks were hollow as though drained of vitality. Despite this, there was a strange, almost defiant fire in her eyes, something that felt out of place in the sleepy town.
Zhao Xi felt an unsettling familiarity in her gaze, as if he had seen her before, though he couldn't place where. Trying to brush off the strange feeling, he spoke gently, “Miss, I only need the sleeve of this uniform mended. It's a small repair. Could you help me?”
The girl didn’t respond immediately. She examined the uniform, her fingers hovering over the fabric for a moment as if considering something deeper. Then she said, “It’s a small issue. I can fix it, but… are you a cadre?”
Before Zhao Xi could respond, Sun Cheng, still bristling with irritation, interrupted. “Hey, girl, do you know who you’re talking to? This is…”
Zhao Xi raised a hand, stopping Sun Cheng mid-sentence. He turned back to the girl and said with a calm smile, “Yes, I’m the new party secretary of the county.”
The girl froze, her eyes widening in shock. "Ah!" she exclaimed softly, as if caught off guard. “I... I'm sorry, Secretary, I didn’t recognize you... I’m not too familiar with the county’s affairs."
Zhao Xi, ever the diplomat, waved off her apology. "Don’t worry. A party secretary is just another citizen. You need not be so startled. Besides, I’m counting on you to fix my uniform."
With that, the atmosphere seemed to lighten as Zhao Xi took a seat, waiting for the repair. They sat in silence, the only sound being the rhythmic hum of the sewing machine as it stitched through the fabric. As time passed, Zhao Xi couldn’t shake the feeling of unease creeping up his spine. It wasn’t just the threadbare state of the shop or the strange behavior of the girl—it was something more.
After what felt like an eternity, the girl handed him his mended uniform. “Here, Secretary, it’s fixed. You can check it now.”
Zhao Xi took the uniform, inspecting it closely. The stitches were neat, but there was something unnerving about the way the fabric had been repaired, almost too perfectly. When he looked up, he found the girl staring at him with an intense, almost desperate look in her eyes. Without thinking, he blurted, “Did you grow up here? Is food scarce around here?”
She seemed taken aback by the question, her expression softening into one of resignation. “Yes, I’ve lived here my whole life. My family has run this shop... for as long as I can remember. Lately, though... there’s been less food. It’s harder to get by.” She paused, clearly hesitant, before continuing, “But... the food that’s left... doesn’t seem to sustain people as it used to.”
Zhao Xi’s instincts flared. He could hear the unspoken words hanging in the air, the hidden fear in her voice. “I understand,” he said reassuringly. “Don’t worry, a shipment of grain will arrive soon from the city. You’ll have enough to eat again soon. I promise.”
She nodded slowly, though something in her eyes suggested she was not entirely convinced by his words. As he prepared to leave, the door creaked open behind him. He turned to see the girl standing silently, as if wanting to speak but unable to find the right words. There was a moment of hesitation, as if she had something important to say—something urgent—but she remained silent.
Zhao Xi opened the door, his hand hovering on the handle. He glanced back at her one final time. The expression on her face had shifted; there was a subtle, almost unreadable sadness in her eyes now. He was about to ask, “Have we met before?” but the question died on his lips. Something inside him warned him not to press further.
As he stepped outside, the air felt unnervingly heavy. The town felt different now. The sounds of the world outside seemed muted, as if the very land itself was holding its breath. Zhao Xi felt a shiver run down his spine, but he brushed it off, telling himself it was nothing more than fatigue. Yet, as he walked away, the image of the girl’s face lingered in his mind. There was something off about her—something he couldn’t place, but it gnawed at him as he left the tailor shop behind.