Chapter 32: The Sculptor’s Vision

  The trio did not linger. Having extracted the location from the village head, they cut a direct path toward the home of Old Zhang, the village carpenter.

  Dragonwood consisted of a mere six households. In such a place, neighbors lived within earshot of one another’s lives; doors, one would assume, rarely required locks. When Ronen reached out and gave the wooden door a tentative push, it glided open with a ghostly silence.

  Inside, the air was thick with the stagnant breath of a place long abandoned. Wood shavings lay like fallen snow across the floor and the corners of tables. The atmosphere was heavy, as if time itself had run aground here weeks ago. Along the wall, shelves displayed a silent audience of carvings: a leaping snow-deer, a farmer with a bowed head, a child with a wide, toothy grin. Each was rendered with such startling realism that the master’s skill was undeniable.

  Ronen pushed open the door to the inner chamber. As expected, the layout mirrored the other houses in the village. This was the study. Shelves were crammed with weathered volumes on carpentry, joinery, and the soul of wood. He pulled a book at random and began to flip through it, but his gaze suddenly locked onto the page.

  The margins were filled with dense annotations. The handwriting was neat and deliberate, recording reflections on blade techniques, grain patterns, and the "spirit" of a piece—the private musings of a man obsessed with his craft.

  Ronen’s eyelid twitched. Reaching into his tunic, he pulled out the scrap of paper he had carried since the bear’s den.

  "The eyes are lying!"

  Though the strokes on the note were frantic and jagged—carved with desperate force in a moment of haste—and the paper itself was worn, the turn of certain characters and the sharp pressure of the pen...

  He placed the note beside the book’s annotations. His pupils contracted.

  While not an exact match due to the frantic nature of the note, Ronen was certain: the warning and these scholarly notes were born of the same hand.

  "So he was a villager," Ronen whispered to the empty room. "He found something... tried to flee... but died in the blizzard, only to be found by the ice bear?"

  He closed the book, his thumb unconsciously tracing the rough edge of the paper.

  "Little Ro!"

  Vivian’s voice drifted in from the main hall. It carried a rare tremor of genuine alarm. Ronen tucked the note away and hurried out.

  Vivian stood before the display shelves, her back as rigid as a spear. She didn't turn around. She simply held out a hand, her finger suspended in mid-air, pointing at three specific carvings.

  Ronen followed her gaze. His breath hitched in his throat.

  There sat three figures: a man and two women. The man was dressed as a mercenary, staring into the void with a look of profound shock. One woman stood tall and valiant, yet her finger was extended in a frantic gesture, hovering in the air. The other held a book to her chest, her expression lost in thought.

  They were...

  The three of them. Right now. In this very room.

  Ronen, Vivian, and Jiu. Even their postures and expressions were identical to the wooden effigies before them.

  A sudden gust of freezing wind swirled in through the open door, making Ronen’s eyes sting with dryness.

  "Come with me... and I will give you... the power to become a legend."

  A child’s voice—high-pitched yet crystalline—rang out inside his mind without warning.

  Ronen shuddered violently, his head whipping around to scan the room. The wood shavings remained still. The dust motes continued their slow, lazy dance. Vivian and Jiu were still mesmerized by the macabre carvings.

  It was as if the voice had tunneled into his ears alone.

  "Little Ro?" Vivian turned, her sharp eyes narrowing. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

  "Did... did you hear that?" Ronen’s voice was tight.

  "Hear what?" Confusion clouded Vivian’s face.

  This house was wrong. Ronen rubbed his eyes fiercely and looked back at the carvings. They remained frozen in the exact poses the trio had held moments ago.

  "Who... are you people?"

  The child’s voice came again, so close it felt like a cold breath against his ear.

  Ronen spun around.

  In the shadows of the doorway, a small figure slowly peeked out. It was a child, perhaps five or six years old, bundled in a puffy, worn cotton coat. His face was flushed red from the cold, but his eyes were unnaturally bright, staring at them without blinking.

  A hallucination? Or reality?

  The eyes are lying.

  The warning on the note scorched his thoughts. Ronen’s hand instinctively dropped to the hilt of his sword. He was beginning to lose faith in his own sight.

  "Oh, another child?" Jiu’s voice rose, carrying a rare, gentle lilt. "Are you from the village, little one?"

  "You... you can see him too?" Ronen blurted out.

  "He’s standing right there. I’d have to be blind not to," Jiu replied, giving him a strange look.

  "You need to relax your mind..." Vivian reached out and squeezed his shoulder, then let out a long, shaky breath. "...Actually, I think I do too."

  Ronen nodded, taking several deep gulps of air to force himself into a semblance of calm. The sequence of bizarre events was eroding his judgment. He had to steady himself.

  He looked at the child again. The boy remained half-hidden behind the door, his eyes a mix of curiosity and fear—the look of a small forest animal encountering a predator.

  "Why are you in Uncle Zhang’s house?" The child’s voice was clear and crisp in the silent room.

  This time, Jiu stepped forward. Her tone was soft and inviting. "We’re investigators here to help. We heard Uncle Zhang hasn't been home in a long time, so we wanted to see if we could find any clues."

  Ronen watched her in surprise. Their companion from the bookstore had been a silent observer for most of the journey. This was the first time she had taken the lead, displaying a natural, almost practiced warmth. He remembered how she had watched the children at the village head’s house. Does she have a soft spot for kids? he wondered.

  The boy stayed behind the door, his overly bright eyes scanning each of their faces. "Uncle Zhang doesn't like people touching his carvings. Be careful. If you break them, he’ll be very angry."

  Seeing they meant no harm, the boy stepped into the room. He didn't touch anything, but his eyes meticulously checked the carvings for damage. He looked up and blinked. "I thought so... you look so familiar." His gaze drifted between the three of them and the wooden figures. "You look exactly like the statues."

  By now, their postures had changed, breaking the eerie synchronization. Yet the chill remained on Ronen’s spine. "How long... have these statues been here?"

  "These are the newest ones Uncle Zhang made." The boy stood on his tiptoes, carefully cupping the carving that resembled Ronen. He held it up to his own face, his eyes lighting up. "It really looks like you! Uncle Zhang’s getting better and better." Then his smile faded. "But where did he go? I haven't seen him in forever."

  "These statues were here before he went missing?" Ronen pressed, his voice urgent.

  The boy gave him a puzzled look. "Of course. How can you carve someone if you aren't there?"

  Ronen swallowed hard. "So... they’ve been here for at least ten days?"

  "Yep!" the boy chirped. He wiped a thin layer of dust off the statue with his sleeve and carefully placed it back in its original spot with practiced ease.

  "You come here often? You seem to know the place well," Vivian asked softly.

  "Every house in the village is pretty much the same," the boy laughed, revealing a missing front tooth. "But I like coming to Uncle Zhang’s. Sometimes he gives me the carvings he’s finished." He scratched his head as if remembering something. "But... it’s really weird. You look so much like them, like he carved them while looking at you. Did you know Uncle Zhang before?"

  He wrinkled his nose, muttering to himself. "No... Uncle Zhang hasn't left the village in a long time. Did you come here before? I don't remember... Oh! Did you come with those traveling merchants last time? I was playing in the woods with Lei Xiao that day."

  "This is our first time here," Ronen said, his throat feeling like sandpaper.

  He exchanged a look with Vivian. Both saw the same deep-seated dread in the other’s eyes.

  Only Jiu remained calm. She leaned down slightly, her smile still warm. "What’s your name, little one?"

  "Maple Star."

  "Maple Star... you said you come here often. Were you here when Uncle Zhang was carving these?"

  "I was!" Maple Star nodded vigorously. He picked up a nearby log and mimicked the motions of a sculptor. "Uncle Zhang’s eyes were so wide back then. His hands were so fast. While he was carving, he kept saying..."

  The boy’s voice suddenly dropped. He widened his eyes, imitating a raspy, frantic tone:

  "'I see it! I see it again! Why are you in my house? You... you’re all fakes!'"

  He finished the imitation and giggled. "Uncle Zhang looked so funny back then! But he really made them look like you—"

  The laughter died down. Maple Star looked up, his clear eyes staring straight at Ronen. "Are you... really sure this is your first time here?"

  Ronen instinctively took a half-step back, a tremor of doubt leaking into his voice. "We... we should be here for the first time... right?"

  Vivian’s hand landed on his shoulder again. Her palm was steady and warm. She met Maple Star’s gaze without flinching.

  "Yes," she said firmly. "I am certain. This is our first time."