He hesitated for a moment, his eyes following the movement of the bulging blanket as if it were moving on its own. He approached cautiously and noticed a solid shape hiding beneath the patched fabric…
Suddenly, the features of the corpse became clear before him.
He froze in place, not daring to get any closer as he observed the details of the corpse: the arms stretched out motionlessly, the distorted blanket wrapped around it as if trying to conceal something even more horrifying.
The foul stench grew stronger with every step he took.
He took a step back, his heart pounding rapidly, his hand stained with blood from the bleeding that hadn't stopped yet.
He clutched his head with his hands for a moment, thinking:
*"What is this place? Who is this? And what happened to him…?"*
Then he scrutinized the wounds on the corpse and whispered to himself:
*"It seems something struck him… something like a supernatural force… But do supernatural forces really exist in this world? I don't know anything about them yet. So I can't judge for now!"*
He took a deep breath, his eyes carefully scanning the corpse:
*"But… I have to examine the body… I'll take everything from it… Hehehe."* Xiao Ping let out a devilish laugh.
*"But don't worry, after I examine you, I'll make sure you get a proper burial."* He stifled his devilish laughter and replaced it with a resolute expression.
And so, he began the examination.
He noticed that the corpse was wearing an ornate combat suit with intricate designs, indicating it was a middle-aged man with hair streaked with black and white.
The first thing he did was cover his nose with a towel—he could no longer bear the stench, and his pale green eyes were watering and reddening from the intensity of the smell.
A cold wind blew again through the broken window, but this time, it carried fog into the shack, making everything seem to disappear before Xiao Ping's eyes.
*"Damn it… This isn't fog, just smoke from the factories."* He hurried outside to breathe in the fresh air.
*"Cough… cough…"*
He coughed violently—the foul stench of the corpse and the smoke had made things worse.
*"Damn it… Tomorrow, I'll go to that factory and settle the score!"* He clenched his wounded hand, the pain shooting through him, but he paid it no mind.
He couldn't see anything, and the entrance was about ten steps away. He hurried back before he could get lost or fall off the cliff.
*"Hehehe… Nothing will stop me now."* He bared a devilish grin mixed with strength and determination.
Slowly and carefully, he slipped his hand into one of the pockets on the side of the corpse's combat suit. He found nothing, but he continued searching the other pockets.
*"Man, how many things did you have to carry to choose a suit with so many pockets?"* he muttered sarcastically to himself.
After the sarcastic remark, he continued moving his hand cautiously—what if the corpse turned into a zombie? These were his thoughts, as he hadn't yet ventured out into the world to face it.
Suddenly, he stopped and pulled out some strange manuscripts. He set them aside when he felt something metallic. He moved his hand further and pulled it out—it was an old watch resembling an expensive antique.
Its hands were exquisitely beautiful and captivating, with a crude chain about 20 centimeters long.
Xiao Ping examined the watch further and discovered words written in a strange language—he couldn't understand any of it.
*"I think this is a language unique to this world… But that doesn't mean I'll throw away this antique watch. Maybe I'll sell it or keep it."* He pondered as he spoke.
Then he reached into the corpse's inner pocket beneath the suit and pulled out something odd.
*"Oh… What do we have here?"* he muttered in surprise.
The object resembled a cube, covered in strange inscriptions or cryptic symbols. Xiao Ping refrained from trying to read them—he might risk summoning something dangerous.
After a few minutes, he finished the examination. The only things left in the corpse's suit were:
- A strangely designed pistol.
- The antique watch, which he decided to keep.
- A pack of strange cigarettes, unlike any he'd seen before, with a lighter.
- And the most important find—the cube with the strange inscriptions.
He stood for a moment, contemplating everything he had gathered, sensing that these items were not ordinary—they might hold a mysterious secret in this new world.
*"Well, time to fulfill my promise… I'll bury you."* He muttered to himself.
First, he left the shack, carefully counting fifteen steps forward to avoid getting lost in the thick smoke.
Then he returned to the shack to look for a shovel but found nothing.
*"Damn it… This world only wants to see me suffer."* He shouted loudly. He was furious, but at the same time, he realized how much the owner of this body had suffered.
*"I have no other choice…"* he told himself, stepping out again and counting fifteen steps before stopping.
He began digging with his hands. He didn't want to break his promise, even to a dead man. And even though the man was dead, Xiao Ping had taken many valuable things from him—even a pistol for self-defense. So he decided to sacrifice everything to keep his word.
He kept digging, his hands bleeding from reopening the wounds he got from breaking the mirror. His heart ached from the bullet still lodged inside.
He gritted his teeth and endured the pain gripping him:
*"Damn it… Huff… Huff… Huff…"* He panted even harder than before.
His body was extremely weak—it couldn't endure anything… Even walking four steps exhausted him. His previous owner had suffered from malnutrition, leaving his face deathly pale.
After two hours, by now eight in the evening, visibility became difficult due to the darkness and the factory smoke.
Xiao Ping stood up, his entire body covered in mud, some of it smeared with blood where it mixed with the dirt. But he paid it no mind. He walked toward the shack, counting his steps.
He entered the shack and searched for some wood to light a fire so he could see the path. Since the shack was dark, he used the lighter intermittently to avoid draining it—strangely, it showed no signs of running out.
He went to the kitchen but found only charred wood in the stove and a pot filled with water, which Xiao Ping ignored.
Then he returned to the room and covered his nose with his sleeve—the smell was horrific. Even with the windows open for ventilation, the stench of the corpse was unbearable.
He headed to the small kitchen and looked at the floor. Seeing the broken chair, he took some wood from it and went back outside.
The darkness and fog obscured the path, hindering his vision.
He placed the first piece of wood near the entrance, then counted four more steps and placed a second piece. He repeated this process until he reached the fifteenth step, placing two pieces—one on the left side of the grave and one on the right.
Then he lit them, taking advantage of the carbon-rich smoke that made the wood catch fire more easily.
When he reached the fifteenth step, he looked back and saw three small pillars of light flickering in the darkness and fog, like markers signaling the temporary end of his task.
He took a deep breath and approached the corpse. He had tied a cloth over his nose and mouth.
*"Swoosh…"* A cold wind blew against his exhausted body.
His short black-and-gold hair shimmered as he walked toward the shack against the cold wind.
He entered the shack, wearing a black coat covered in mud and bloodstains. His white shirt looked even worse, but he didn't care now—he moved toward the bed.
He tried lifting the corpse but couldn't; his body was exhausted… But this didn't discourage him. He gritted his teeth and lifted it with all his strength, veins bulging on his face.
Xiao Ping frowned slightly—his legs trembled, and his stamina was fading. He hurried toward the exit, carrying the corpse vertically to avoid hitting the door—it was very tall.
With each step, his face grew redder, his veins more pronounced, and his wounds bled more than they had while digging. The pain intensified, but he saw only one goal: burying this man as quickly as possible to fulfill his promise.
Step by step, he advanced—only seven steps remained. At that moment, black clouds gathered in the sky and let out a roar:
*"Boooom…"*
Lightning split the sky, illuminating it, and rain began to pour, dispersing the smoke and revealing the crimson moon before Xiao Ping.
This was both good and bad—good because it allowed him to see, but bad because the rain would extinguish the wood. The shack also had a hole in the roof, but he didn't care about that.
He kept moving forward as the rain poured mercilessly, washing the blood and mud from his body. His black-and-gold hair was completely drenched, and the rain also cleansed the corpse in his hands.
He advanced—only two steps left—but suddenly, he felt he could endure no more:
*"I'm sorry… But it seems I can't do this."*
Summoning all his strength, Xiao Ping threw the corpse into the grave, now filled with rainwater seeping from the slopes and nearby trees.
He dropped to his knees, gathered dirt with his hands, and pushed it into the grave. Then he kicked more in until it was completely covered. He looked left and right and noticed a flower with a sky-blue violet hue, strange with its multicolored petals, near a medium-sized rock under a giant tree.
He approached it and placed the rock at the head of the grave, with the flower in front—a simple touch of beauty amid the tragedy.
*"Oh, I forgot… This will be pretty for the cats."*
He ran back to the shack and returned carrying a hunting hat. An ID card fell to the ground unnoticed.
He approached the grave, removed the hat with his right hand, and lowered it to his waist. The rain had plastered half his hair over his right eye, leaving only his left eye visible. The crimson moonlight reflected in his pale green eyes as he gazed at the grave.
He sighed and spoke sadly:
*"I don't know you, sir, but you've done me a great favor. I needed these things, and I found them with you.
I don't know if you'd be upset hearing me now, but thank you… Whatever your name was, may you rest in peace.
I'll study those manuscripts and avenge you if I can. If I can't, it's because I'm weak."*
Then he put the hat back on and returned to the shack. He moved the bed to the other corner, cleaned it of the corpse's stench, discarded the blanket, and replaced it with the black coat to prevent rainwater from leaking through the roof's holes.
He rushed to the kitchen, took the pot, emptied the water, and placed it directly under the roof to catch the leaks. Then he took a bucket and placed it in another corner. The sound of dripping water was clear and annoying, yet it continued relentlessly.
The shack was plunged into darkness, and Xiao Ping had only the moonlight and the lighter—but he refrained from using it, deciding to rely solely on the moon's glow.
All he could hear was the rain dripping on the roof, the pot, and the bucket.
He collapsed onto the bed, mentally and physically exhausted from transitioning to this world and the grueling work of digging and carrying the corpse. But he quickly pushed all thoughts from his mind, closed his eyes, covered himself with the coat, and fell asleep.
...
**If you've made it this far, then from the depths of my heart—thank you for reading my story.**
To be honest, this particular work leans heavily into mystery. So, if you're looking for a uniquely dark writing style steeped in existential philosophies...
**Then my first novel, *"Secrets of the Dark King,"* is the perfect choice for you.**
Thanks again. 🚬🗿🔥