Chapter 1 : The Bamboo Forest’s Sorrowful Cry

The old, worn-out bus stopped in front of the boundary marker of Pinghe Village, and Shi Pengpeng got off.

Ahead lay a village nestled between mountains and water. 

From the mountains to the village outskirts, vast bamboo groves stretched out, partially shrouded in lingering morning mist. 

The natural environment was quite beautiful.

Pinghe Village and the surrounding county towns were actually less than a two-hour drive from Xiluo, the provincial capital. 

However, due to the mountainous terrain and inconvenient transportation, development had always lagged. 

In recent years, thanks to rural revitalization policies, a new highway had been built, gradually improving the situation.

Shi Pengpeng had just graduated this year. 

Due to her highly specialized major, job hunting had been tough—she was rejected by all the major companies at the online application stage. 

Eventually, she managed to land a job at a small local specialty product agency called Fuxi Foods.

She was originally hired for e-commerce operations, but to her surprise, despite the company’s small size, the work was quite flexible. 

Before long, due to a lack of staff, she was asked to take on business development tasks as well.

At the beginning of the year, the company applied for government funding under the guise of supporting agriculture. 

In return, they had to help remote villages and towns sell their agricultural products, and Pinghe Village was one of the designated beneficiaries.

This time, Shi Pengpeng was here specifically to sign a detailed cooperation agreement with Pinghe Village.

“You’ve had a long journey. It must have been tiring to come all this way early in the morning.” 

A woman with a bun, around thirty years old, came forward to greet her. 

“I’m Wen Miao, responsible for Pinghe Village’s revitalization work. You can ask me anything you need to know about the village.”

“Hello.” 

Shi Pengpeng quickly shook her hand.

“You look really young,” Wen Miao said with slight surprise. 

“You must have just started working, right?”

“It’s okay.” 

Shi Pengpeng coughed lightly and smiled. 

“It’s been six months.”

Wen Miao: “…”

So, fresh out of college.

It made sense, though. 

Pinghe Village was a small, remote place. 

Its specialty products lacked recognition and weren’t very profitable. 

It was a tough, thankless job, and experienced professionals probably didn’t want to handle it. 

So, naturally, they passed it down to the bottom of the corporate food chain—a rookie.

Despite some disappointment, Wen Miao still welcomed her warmly. 

“Miss Shi, follow me. I’ll first take you to visit our village’s bamboo product workshop.”

Pinghe Village had an abundance of bamboo. 

In the past, the area had many skilled bamboo artisans, preserving unique weaving techniques. 

Unfortunately, since it wasn’t profitable, young people were unwilling to learn the craft, and many of the techniques were on the verge of disappearing.

Last year, when Wen Miao arrived as a resident village officer, she felt it was a pity for such excellent craftsmanship to be lost. 

However, reviving it wasn’t easy—the biggest challenge was finding a market for the products.

Shi Pengpeng wasn’t too concerned about that. 

As a newcomer in the workplace, her resources were very limited, so she valued every product assigned to her. 

She carefully listened to Wen Miao and the villagers’ introductions, taking many photos, and was pleasantly surprised.

The bamboo craftsmanship here was indeed impressive. 

The baskets, chairs, and other items they made were sturdy and practical. 

The villagers were also honest—despite her lack of expertise, they explained everything thoroughly without trying to fool her. 

Some, upon hearing she had come all the way from Xiluo, even insisted on giving her homemade dried bamboo shoots and cured meat.

By the time she finished touring the village, her hands were nearly too full to carry anything. 

She sighed, “Everyone is so kind.”

“Right? When I first arrived here, I also received a lot of care,” Wen Miao agreed. 

Then she shifted the topic and half-jokingly asked, “So, after looking around, what do you think? Do our products have potential for big sales?”

“The products themselves are fine,” Shi Pengpeng answered truthfully. 

“But none of our current clients deal with this type of product, so for now, we can only sell them online.”

Wen Miao looked a bit disappointed. 

“I see…”

She had already researched Fuxi Foods and knew that the company’s main business was offline. 

Their online store was just a side operation, with low sales.

Shi Pengpeng had a good impression of Wen Miao. 

Seeing her worried, she hesitated for a moment before revealing a bit of insider news. 

“You don’t need to worry too much. To be honest, Catpaw Live is launching a special program to support rural products. I’ve secured a small category recommendation slot. 

You probably know how much traffic Catpaw gets. It might not bring massive sales, but at least we can guarantee some basic volume.”

“Really? That’s great!” 

Wen Miao’s eyes lit up instantly. 

“Miss Shi, we’re counting on you this time!”

“No problem. It’s a win-win situation, after all.” 

Shi Pengpeng grinned.

After wrapping up their business talk, Wen Miao pulled out a small electric scooter and invited Shi Pengpeng to a farmhouse restaurant at the foot of the mountain for lunch. 

On the way, she continued promoting the village. 

“Even though Pinghe Village is small, the environment is top-notch. It’s just as good as those fancy ‘forest oxygen bar’ resorts. Last year, Yujian Mountain was even named the 73rd Blessed Land in the world…”

Shi Pengpeng: “?”

Wait a minute—Taoism only recognizes 72 Blessed Lands!

She couldn’t help but ask, “Who made that ranking?”

Wen Miao chuckled sheepishly. 

“Our village committee.”

Shi Pengpeng: “…”

Well, that’s some bold self-promotion.

As they talked, they reached a small stream with clear, flowing water. 

A stone bridge, wide enough for two cars, stretched across it, leading to Yujian Mountain.

Shi Pengpeng looked up. 

The dark green mountain ridges undulated in the distance—not too high, but covered in lush bamboo, swaying gently in the breeze. 

It had an undeniable charm.

“The restaurant is just behind that bamboo grove. Turn the corner up ahead, and we’ll be there soon.” 

Wen Miao twisted the throttle as she drove over the bridge. 

“If you’re interested after lunch, I can even take you hiking—”

“Shh—” Shi Pengpeng suddenly patted her shoulder. 

“Don’t talk.”

“Huh?” 

Wen Miao was puzzled but instinctively fell silent. 

Then, she understood why.

From somewhere ahead, a faint crying sound echoed.

“Wuu—wuuu—”

The voice, indistinguishable as male or female, was drawn out and thin, like a sorrowful lament or a ghostly whisper. 

It carried an indescribable sorrow, and as it echoed through the dense bamboo forest, it became eerily chilling.

Even though it was broad daylight, Wen Miao felt goosebumps rise on her arms. 

“Who’s there? Why are they crying like that…”

Shi Pengpeng remained calm. 

“Let’s go take a look.”

Wen Miao hesitated for a moment but continued driving forward since they had to pass through anyway.

As they got closer, the crying grew louder and clearer, almost to the point of desperation. 

They could even hear the sobs choking in the person’s throat.

Not long after, a young man in a T-shirt and jeans came into view.

He looked like a college student, with a few strands of pink-dyed hair. 

A bulging backpack, printed with the name of some academy, was slung over his shoulders.

But that wasn’t the most important detail.

The real issue was that he was half-kneeling on the roadside beside a cluster of bamboo, clutching a bamboo stalk with both hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

That eerie, heart-wrenching crying—they realized—was coming from him.

Wen Miao: “…”

She hadn’t expected this.

It wasn’t that male college students couldn’t cry, but she had never seen one crying like this before. 

Were today’s young people really in such a fragile mental state?

Feeling a mix of emotions, Wen Miao slowly steered the scooter closer.

Guo Jintai had been crying for so long that he was completely exhausted. 

He had to hold onto the bamboo just to keep himself from collapsing. 

He knew something was wrong, but the moment he tried to stop, an overwhelming sadness surged up from within him, drowning out the brief flashes of rational thought.

So sad.

So miserable.

He couldn’t hold back.

“Wuu—wuuu—”

Just as he felt like he was about to pass out, a small electric scooter stopped in front of him.

“Hey, are you okay? Do you need help?” 

Wen Miao asked gently.

The sound of another person’s voice brought a sliver of clarity to Guo Jintai’s mind. 

A flicker of relief passed through him, and he hurried to ask for help. 

But as soon as he opened his mouth, the words came out differently:

“You… you heartless thing, how could you leave me behind, haha—”

Wen Miao: “…?”

What does that mean?

Guo Jintai froze too, his face turning bright red. 

He tried again:

“Wuu—how am I supposed to live without you—”

This time, the trailing sobs stretched even longer, making the sorrow feel even more gut-wrenching, truly moving.

Guo Jintai: “…”

Wen Miao: “…”

Now she understood. 

If she remembered correctly, the last time she had heard someone talk like this was when Xiaoyueyue broke up with Yanzi.

Wen Miao fell silent for a moment and had an epiphany.

Ah, so this was heartbreak.

He must have been deeply in love to be devastated to the point of sounding like Xiaoyueyue.

Wen Miao felt both sympathy and secondhand embarrassment. 

She wasn’t exactly skilled at comforting heartbroken young men. 

Just then, her phone rang—it was the village committee, calling about an urgent matter that required her attention.

She immediately felt a headache coming on, hesitating over what to do.

“It’s fine, go take care of it.” 

Shi Pengpeng suddenly spoke up, her tone full of warmth and enthusiasm. 

“I’ll talk to him.”

That was probably the best solution. 

Since the restaurant was only a few hundred meters away, Wen Miao figured it wouldn’t be a big problem. 

She nodded and agreed, reminding her before leaving, “I’ll meet you at the restaurant later.”

“Got it.” 

Shi Pengpeng nodded. 

As she watched the scooter drive away, her gaze gradually darkened. 

Wen Miao might not have noticed, but Shi Pengpeng could clearly hear that the young man’s cries carried several different tones, subtly overlapping. 

This wasn’t the cry of a normal human being.

Bringing her index and middle fingers together, she lifted the young man’s chin. 

“Come on, let me take a look.”

Her voice was crisp and clear, like a mountain spring, pleasant to the ear.

Guo Jintai looked up and saw an exceptionally beautiful face. 

Her skin was pale as the moon, and her naturally smiling peach-blossom eyes exuded an innate charm, making people instinctively feel at ease. 

At his university, she could easily be a campus beauty…

Guo Jintai was momentarily dazed—then started crying even harder. 

“Wuuu—”

How embarrassing! 

He had just let a beautiful girl see him in such a miserable state.

His eyes were brimming with tears, his sclera a deep red from crying, and between his brows, a faint trace of black energy lingered.

Just as she suspected—he had encountered something supernatural.

Shi Pengpeng raised an eyebrow, opened her canvas backpack, and took out a black-lacquered wooden lipstick tube. 

She removed the cap, revealing a deep red pigment, and lightly brushed her fingertips over the surface.

Guo Jintai: “……”

Wait, what? 

Is this really the time to do her makeup?

That thought had barely crossed his mind when the girl suddenly muttered something under her breath. 

At the same time, her red-tinted fingertips darted forward and pressed firmly against the center of his forehead.

A burning sensation, as if seared by fire, spread instantly from his forehead. 

The suffocating, almost tangible sorrow that had engulfed him retreated like a tide. 

Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming lightness, and his uncontrollable sobbing came to an abrupt halt.

“Ah… th-this…” Guo Jintai was dumbfounded. 

He hadn’t fully recovered yet and stammered, “This lipstick…”

“This isn’t lipstick.” 

Shi Pengpeng calmly twisted the pigment back into the tube. 

“It’s a special portable cinnabar paste I made.”

She casually traced a symbol in the air with her fingers. 

“Usually, it’s used for drawing talismans.”

Guo Jintai: “…Huh?”