Chapter 10 - A Sudden Departure
The day broke with a deceptive, crystalline stillness. The heavy snowfall had finally ceased, leaving the mountain forests draped in a pristine, suffocating shroud of white. When the sun finally crested the peaks, its light shattered against the frozen landscape, creating a brilliance so sharp it was physically painful to behold.
The green-eyed zombie, usually content to remain dormant within its coffin during the daylight hours, was uncharacteristically restless. It paced the confines of the cavern with a jerky, agitated energy that set Qiao’er on edge. Sensing a shift in the atmosphere she couldn't quite name, she watched as the creature began to gather every padded jacket she owned. Without a word—for it possessed no speech—it began to layer the garments onto her small frame, one over the other, until she was so bundled she could barely move her arms. She felt less like a girl and more like a *zongzi*, the very term humans used to mock the stiff, wrapped corpses of the undead.
Qiao’er remained bewildered, her breath hitching in the cold air as she watched the zombie scan the cave’s entrance. It gathered the remaining jackets she couldn't possibly wear into a makeshift bundle. As the twilight began to bleed into the sky, casting long, bruised shadows across the snow, Qiao’er noticed the red-eyed zombie already standing sentinel at the mouth of the cave, its gaze fixed on the horizon.
When the last vestiges of dusk faded into true night, the green-eyed zombie thrust the bundle of clothes into her arms, gesturing with a sharp, guttural grunt for her to hold them tight. Before she could protest, it hoisted her onto its back and leapt into the freezing night air.
The speed was terrifying. The wind whipped against Qiao’er’s face, stinging like needles. In what felt like mere heartbeats, they had covered miles of rugged terrain. As they crested a high ridge, Qiao’er risked a glance back toward the mountain that had been her sanctuary. In the distance, a pillar of fire roared toward the heavens, an angry orange scar against the black velvet of the night. The cave was gone.
They descended toward a small, quiet village nestled in the valley. By now, the darkness was absolute, save for the occasional glimmer of starlight reflecting off the slushy puddles in the road. The village was a patchwork of crumbling mud-walled huts and more substantial houses of blue brick and tile. The zombie moved with a strange, practiced familiarity, navigating the narrow alleys until it reached a particularly grand estate. With a silent, powerful bound, it cleared the perimeter wall and slipped through a window into a room lined with ornate wooden chests.
Inside, the air smelled of sandalwood and old paper. Qiao’er’s eyes widened as the zombie pried open a lid, revealing stacks of silver notes and heavy ingots of pure bullion. She had never seen such wealth in her life; the sheer glint of it made her head spin with a mix of awe and terror. The zombie, however, showed no such hesitation. It snatched up a box of silver and retreated back through the window, ignoring the doors entirely.
Their next stop was a local inn—a modest establishment, though in this desolate region, it was the height of luxury. When they entered, the scent of stale grease and woodsmoke greeted them. The waiter, seeing the zombie’s tattered, dirt-stained rags, immediately curled his lip in disdain.
"Out! Out with you!" he barked, waving a dirty rag as if shooing a stray dog. "You beggars have no business here. Go find a temple steps to rot on."
The zombie ignored him, primarily because it didn't understand a word of the human tongue, but Qiao’er felt a flash of indignant heat rise to her cheeks. "How can you speak to people that way?" she snapped.
The waiter moved to intercept them, grabbing the zombie’s arm to haul it toward the door. He might as well have tried to restrain a mountain. The zombie continued its steady stride, and the waiter was jerked forward, stumbling clumsily as he was dragged along. Realizing he was dealing with someone of unnatural strength, his bravado vanished.
The green-eyed zombie had observed humans enough to know that these buildings provided shelter for the night. It set Qiao’er down before the counter and flipped open the stolen box. The waiter’s insults died in his throat, replaced by a choked gasp. His face flushed a deep, embarrassed crimson. He couldn't fathom how someone dressed in such wretched tatters could possess a fortune in silver.
Qiao’er felt a pang of guilt—she had never been a thief, and spending stolen loot felt like a stain on her soul. But the zombie harbored no such moral qualms. It shoved the box toward the innkeeper, whose eyes nearly popped out of his head. The man quickly snatched a small piece of silver, his scowl transforming into a fawning, toothy grin.
"What are you standing there for?" the innkeeper hissed at the waiter. "Quickly! Prepare the finest guest room for these noble travelers!"
The waiter, now thoroughly cowed, led them upstairs with newfound fervor. "Please, honored guests, do not take offense. This is a small town, and we are often plagued by vagrants. I was blind, truly blind! To think you were set upon by bandits on the road... to be left in such a state..."
He rattled on, but the zombie remained a silent, imposing statue. Qiao’er eventually sighed, waving him off. "It’s fine. He... he doesn't understand you."
"Ah!" The waiter draped his towel over his shoulder, a look of realization dawning on him. "Foreigners then? From far away?" He noted the strange, verdant hue of the man's eyes and shuddered inwardly, thanking his lucky stars that the 'nobleman' hadn't understood his earlier insults.
Once inside the room, the zombie set Qiao’er down and began gesturing wildly, pointing at its mouth and grunting. The waiter, eager to please, nodded vigorously. "Food? Of course! We have chicken, duck, fish—anything you desire. And a jar of aged Shaoxing wine, perhaps?"
When Qiao’er hesitated—having spent her life as a lowly maid at Squire Liu’s estate, she had no idea how to order such delicacies—the zombie grew impatient. It thrust more silver at the waiter. In its experience, money was the universal key to all human doors.
"Oh, heavens, sir! Our most expensive feast is but two taels! Even with the finest wine, it's barely more! This is far too much..." Nevertheless, the waiter vanished down the stairs, his feet drumming a frantic rhythm on the wood.
Qiao’er began to peel off the excess padded jackets, whispering a soft lecture to the zombie. "I told you, stealing is wrong..." But looking at their surroundings, she realized she had no other choice. She fell silent, watching as the zombie poked curiously at the furniture.
Soon, a large wooden tub of steaming water was brought up. Qiao’er sighed in relief; she hadn't had a proper bath since the beginning of winter. She retreated behind a painted silk screen and began to disrobe. However, the zombie, driven by a sudden curiosity about the warmth radiating from the tub, followed her.
"Wait! You can't come in yet!" Qiao’er cried, pressing her hands against its cold, firm chest. "Let me finish first!"
But the green-eyed zombie was a creature of stubborn whims. The more she resisted, the more determined it became to investigate the "warm water." With a powerful shove, it squeezed into the tub. Water cascaded over the sides, drenching the floor.
"I told you not to come in!" Qiao’er scrambled out, shivering as she dried herself and threw on clean clothes. She used her discarded rags to mop up the mess. The zombie splashed around for a moment, found the experience underwhelming, and prepared to climb out.
"Wait, don't move!" Qiao’er panicked. She grabbed a towel and began to scrub the creature’s skin. It was a difficult task; the zombie was tall and the tub was cramped. When it tried to stand, she had to use all her strength to hold it down. "Don't come out yet!!"
The sound of splashing and the heavy thud of the tub shifting echoed through the door. Outside, the waiter, carrying a tray of food, paused. He listened to the commotion for a moment, a knowing, slightly scandalous smirk playing on his lips. *My, my,* he thought, *that little lady looks so demure, but in private... I think I'll come back in half an hour.*
Washing the zombie was like bathing a restless mountain. Once she finally managed to clean him, she realized his old clothes were beyond repair. She stripped the remaining rags away, her face burning with a fierce blush despite their time together. The zombie, oblivious to human modesty, stood naked and impatient.
To get him dressed, Qiao’er had to resort to a game of mimicry. She put on her own inner robe very slowly, and the zombie, watching intently, copied her movements, sliding its arms into the sleeves of a spare set of clothes. She buttoned his tunic and tied his belt, then dried his long, surprisingly soft hair. Cleaned and dressed, he finally looked less like a monster and more like a rugged, eccentric traveler.
She turned to clean the floor, but the moment her back was turned, the zombie headed for the door. It seemed it wanted to "eat," but not the food the humans provided. It wanted the essence of the moon.
Instead of using the stairs, the zombie simply stepped off the balcony. With a sharp *whoosh*, it plummeted toward the ground, only to snap into a horizontal flight path before landing gracefully in the courtyard. Before the stunned onlookers, it looked up at the roof, coiled its strength, and shot upward like an arrow, landing silently on the tiles.
The courtyard fell into a deathly silence. Qiao’er stood frozen on the balcony, her mind racing for an explanation. But the townspeople didn't scream in terror. Instead, they swarmed out of the inn, craning their necks to look at the figure perched atop the roof.
"Look at that lightness skill!" one man shouted, his voice full of awe.
"Even the famous Swallow Li could never leap two stories in a single bound!" another exclaimed.
"To have such cultivation... how many years of training must that take?"
Qiao’er stood there, utterly speechless. It seemed humans were creatures of remarkably low survival instincts. In their desire for wonder, they had mistaken a predatory corpse for a grand master of the martial arts.
