Early in the morning, with the first rays of sunlight, the forest birds awoke, filling the surroundings with their trills, as if deliberately preventing the bandits from getting any sleep. Their usual singing sounded especially irritating today, and to make matters worse, the wind had cleared the clouds, so the bright sun mercilessly shone into the eyes of those who had fallen asleep right on the ground. Some pulled their shirts or robes over their heads, unwilling to rise, while others yawned, scratched themselves, grabbed half-empty jugs of wine, and went to finish the leftover meat from the night before.

  The shed’s walls shielded Zhang Ming from the sun, but through the gaps in the roof and planks a few rays had found their way inside. They crept slowly across the ground, then along his body, until they reached his face. Frowning in annoyance, Zhang Ming rolled over to his other side, trying to get comfortable again. The soft “pillow” beneath him stirred and let out a faint, muffled groan.

  For a moment Zhang Ming’s heart froze, his eyes flew open wide, and a very bad feeling came over him.

  Blinded by the sunlight after his long sleep, he reached out to feel what he was lying on. His hand slid across smooth, delicate skin, brushed against silky cloth, felt a pulse and heard ragged breathing. Zhang Ming sat up sharply, but hesitated to turn around and look at his “pillow.” Swallowing hard, he slapped his cheeks lightly, then slowly turned his head.

  “A nightmare. I’m having a nightmare,” he muttered.

  Before him, three bound teenage girls lay on the ground, each gagged, their tear-filled eyes staring at him with a mixture of fear, anger, and shame. Their lifted skirts revealed snow-white legs, and judging by the marks on their soft skin, he had been lying across one girl’s thighs, wrapped in another’s hem. Though their clothes remained intact, they were in complete disarray. He hadn’t done anything beyond dragging them here and using them as pillows, but by local standards, that alone was enough to disgrace and insult them. Still, social norms were the least of his worries at the moment.

  “I’m doomed! Ugh,” he groaned, sinking to the ground. “I don’t feel so good…”

  Suddenly, sweat poured down his face, glittering drops forming on his brow. His breath caught, he felt as if he were falling into a deep abyss with no way back. His imagination painted the scene vividly: him, beaten and dragged before the chieftain, who then ordered his head cut off. Just yesterday, he had seen a man devoured by black snakes, his life drained away as if every drop of water had been sucked from a wineskin, leaving only a shriveled husk behind. Zhang Ming had no desire to share that man’s fate.

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  That’s why I shouldn’t drink. No one should! Only trouble comes from it! He looked around. Familiar place… rakes, shovels… this is the shed behind the pigsties. It's like I'm stuck in a swamp — I pull one foot out, and the other one gets stuck! This place is cursed!

  Pulling himself together, Zhang Ming crouched beside the captives and examined them more closely. One was a girl of about eleven-twelve, another a bit older, and the third looked like a senior schoolgirl. Apparently, he hadn’t chosen, just grabbed whoever was closest. The details were hazy, but judging by the ache in his cheek and the scrapes on his knuckles, there had been a fight.

  “I need to return them before it’s too late. I’ll say I just found them by accident. Laugh it off. Ha-ha-ha,” Zhang Ming muttered grimly. “Or maybe tell the truth? Confess I stole them while drunk. Then that guy who sucks the life out of people will laugh along with me and immediately forgive us all… or maybe we’ll all end up mummies instead? Yeah, that second one sounds more likely. Damn it! Damn! I don’t even remember who I fought with. What if it was someone important? Damn!”

  Pressing his face against the wall, Zhang Ming peered through a crack between the boards, but saw no one nearby. Around the shed, weeds grew thick and tall grass swayed in the breeze. He creaked the door open slightly and stepped out cautiously. From the pigsty nearby came the peaceful grunting of pigs, blending with the rustle of the forest and birdsong.

  Gripping the edge of the roof, Zhang Ming pulled himself up and scanned the surroundings.

  The only person nearby was a bandit sleeping in a pig trough, clutching an empty wine jug. In the distance, a few figures moved sluggishly between houses and along the paths, those who had already woken. They were either relieving themselves or staggering toward the feast ground, shielding their eyes from the sunlight. There was no commotion, no one seemed to be looking for the captives yet. Either no one knew they were missing, or no one had noticed. But time was passing, and Zhang Ming had to decide quickly.

  Jumping down from the roof, he returned to the shed and shut the door tightly. For a moment he stood still, eyes closed, as if hoping the women would disappear once he opened them again, but no miracle occurred. He didn’t have much time to think; sooner or later, the missing captives would be discovered and a search of the fortress would begin.

  “I need to get rid of them. Fast. Erase all traces.”

  Against the wall lay a heap of tools. Among them, he found a pickaxe and a shovel. Tearing up the wooden floor near the far wall, Zhang Ming began to dig. He filled old baskets stacked in the corner with loosened earth, then carried them outside to dump near the ravine. Thanks to his newfound strength, even the stones he struck split easily beneath the iron pickaxe.

  Soon, a pit resembling a grave appeared beside the shed wall.

  The girls looked at him in horror, writhing and crying through their gags, but their muffled pleas went unheard until their voices weakened into hoarse sobs. Without saying a word, Zhang Ming lowered them one by one into the ground, onto the cold, damp soil. Tears streamed down their faces, the cloth around their gags soaked through, but bound as they were, they couldn’t resist.

  They were being buried alive.