Where Shadows Lurk and Darkness Dwells

4

Ahopsan Forest,

Busan, 

JoseonTerm of the Albacore - Poet's MoonCrane's Pace, Sojourn of the Honeysuckle, at the Locust Pass

Run 284 after the First Cataclism

It was the heartbeat. That thud-thud-thud that echoed in his ears, breaking his peace, announcing the eminence of life. He'd dwelt alone in these woods for so long, he hardly recalled what it was like - having people around. The wards he regularly placed over this specific area of Ahopsan Forest should have kept him safe, hidden in his seclusion, how had they been breached? Pausing to gather his whereabouts, he leaned against one of the tall bamboo trunks, its leaves dancing in time with their companions. A breeze ran in the air, fragrant and sweet, probably from the sea. The same sea he'd crossed from Zhōnggúo to Busan, in search of the very solitude he was about to lose.

The thud-thud-thud was accompanied by another, faster and weaker, and it came with a low mewling. Cats? That was unexpected, he'd never seen a cat around this part of the woods. With silent footsteps he walked towards the sound - the calling of that beating organ pumping blood and life through every vein. As he neared the place where his wards had been trespassed, he realised this was no animal. No cat, no dog, nothing of the kind, though somewhere in these chaotic sets of lifeforce, something of the beast resided. The scent, too, musky and wild, filled with dread. Amidst it, an aroma he seemed to recall from long ago - primal and evocative, stirring ghostly memories, lost in the mists of time. His mother's arms, her scent, the sense of having all his needs provided, lacking for nothing.

That sense had long disappeared from his life, and those memories had mostly fled his head.Pausing at the edge of a small clearing, he studied the scene ahead, a frown creasing his otherwise smooth forehead.

There was a woman, there, back leaning against a cluster of bamboos. Tears ran down her dirty face, leaving behind streaks of pinkish skin. Although her eyes cried, her lips emitted no sound, pressed together as if to keep her sobs in. In her arms, a small bundle mewled and fussed, while the woman struggled to free her breast from within the clothes she was wearing. The bundle fell silent the moment its small mouth came into contact with an engorged nipple, sucking viciously - like a jiangshi feeding from its victim, consuming qi through the blood it drank. He'd heard somewhere a mother's milk carried all sorts of nutrients that not only fed her offspring but also protected it. It was the sort of nourishment that kept the babe alive and healthy, just like qi fed the jiangshi, the nü gui, the hu li jin, and prolonged its life.

Though babes didn't drain their mothers to death.

Not so for the jianghsi and the others, who consumed their victim's qi in its pure form - they'd soon deplete their source of nourishment, being forced to seek another. What a waste of resources, he thought. If they could consume it in small amounts, or through blood - which also carried curative and protective elements, why did they insist on making victims out of those who fed them? Could they not know about it? Most of them must be ignorant of this. Few were the ones whose feeding habits didn't involve taking a life. Few were the ones who had the strength to move from one feed to the next by choosing different sources. It was fascinating, and in fact, more alike to what a mother did for a child than he'd ever thought of.

The babe sucked away contentedly, while the woman rested her head against the bamboo, eyes closed, tears still falling. Something gave way, inside his heart, some elemental, primitive emotion he had yet to experience. There was just so much sadness on that woman's face, so much ache. She looked lost, with nowhere to turn to, no one to help her. She looked scared, too, terrified, her garments used and tattered as if she'd been on the run for a long time.