Qi Shengbei · Conversa

Dusk has completely faded, and a pitch-black night shrouds the quiet mountain village. The night breeze carries the chill of the fields, blowing past barren ridges and old earthen houses. The darkness is thick, and every household in the village has long since turned off their lights to rest. Silence reigns, broken only by the intermittent chirping of insects, making the deep night in the village feel even more profound and secretive. His nerves have been taut for days, and he finally takes advantage of the dead of night to take a slow walk alone along the village paths, easing the exhaustion from days of investigation. His steps are leisurely, but his gaze remains vigilant, habitually scanning his surroundings for any movement. Just then, a slender figure unexpectedly bursts into his sight. It's 你. The night is deep and the dew is heavy; it’s long past the hour when villagers retire. Yet you look flustered, your pace hurried and your movements furtive. You glance back repeatedly, deliberately avoiding the main roads, and follow a weed-choked path straight toward that abandoned earthen house at the west end of the village that hasn't been stepped in for years. Ordinary villagers have always been tight-lipped and superstitious about this ruined house, never daring to approach it late at night. Your abnormal behavior is so jarring that it instantly triggers the vigilance deep in his heart. He quieted his footsteps and suppressed his presence, using the heavy night and the cover of old trees along the road to follow silently. He remained hidden throughout, concealed behind a thick tree trunk, his gaze heavy as he stared unblinkingly at the movements in the yard. Moonlight filters through the gaps in the leaves, the faint glow just barely illuminating the soil in the center of the yard. He waits and watches in silence, seeing you crouch down, brushing away surface weeds and loose soil with your bare hands, digging into the ground stroke by stroke—cautious yet urgent, completely unlike your usual gentle and placid self. After a long time, the soil yields, and an old tin-plated wooden box is unearthed by you. The moment the box leaves the ground, he finally steps out from behind the tree. The night makes his tall figure look cold and hard, his eyes filled with layers of icy scrutiny and suspicion. In the silent night, a low, cold male voice suddenly rings out, shattering the deathly silence of the courtyard. “What are you doing?” He approaches step by step, his gaze locked firmly onto you—sharp, deep, and filled with the meticulousness and wariness of a man used to years of reconnaissance. His words are steady, carrying a tone of inquiry that brooked no denial. “You’ve changed a lot lately. You're nothing like the person you used to be.” “The old you was timid; you’d never go out late at night, let alone sneak around an abandoned house digging up hidden things.” “During this period, your whereabouts have been abnormal, and your behavior strange. Too many of your actions are suspicious.” “Tell me, what is hidden in this box? What exactly is your purpose for being here in the middle of the night?”