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Chapter 41: The Mine
Before Li Xingyuan and his companions could react, the cafeteria door swung open. A tall, bespectacled man with a heavy northern accent burst in, visibly panicked. Despite the freezing weather outside, beads of sweat clung to his forehead. “Secretary Chen, something terrible has happened!” he exclaimed breathlessly. “The miners have gone mad! Di Mu didn’t produce milk today. They think it’s because the offerings weren’t enough—they’re planning to use… to use…”
He glanced at Li Xingyuan and the others before leaning close to Chen Yingyao and whispering urgently into his ear. Chen Yingyao froze for a moment, then exploded in anger. “They’ve gone too far!”
Jumping to his feet, he grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and turned apologetically to Li Xingyuan. “I’m sorry, Mr. Li. Please rest here while I go deal with this.”
“We’re coming with you,” Li Xingyuan said firmly, wiping his mouth with a napkin as he stood.
Through all their trials, Li Xingyuan had learned one crucial lesson: waiting passively for strange events to unfold was a death sentence. Taking initiative—even if it meant walking into danger—was the only way to survive.
Old Liu said nothing but immediately rose to accompany Li Xingyuan. Lin Song, however, remained seated, unmoving.
“Mr. Li,” Lin Song said quietly, “I won’t be joining you.”
Li Xingyuan glanced at Lin Song’s pale face and nodded. “Alright.”
As they exited the town hall, Chen Yingyao made a half-hearted attempt to dissuade them but quickly relented when he saw their resolve. He gestured for them to climb into the car.
Li Xingyuan had faced bizarre situations like this before, and Old Liu’s military bearing—evident in every movement—spoke volumes about his readiness. There was no mistaking that aura of an elite soldier.
“Take us to the mine first,” Chen Yingyao instructed the driver. “After dropping us off, head to the police station and bring everyone over.”
If push came to shove, desperate times called for desperate measures. Chen Yingyao steeled himself for what lay ahead.
“Try to avoid direct confrontation if possible,” Li Xingyuan suggested cautiously.
“It’s unavoidable now, Mr. Li,” Chen Yingyao replied firmly. “We can’t let this madness continue unchecked.”
His voice softened as he elaborated. “If they succeed in offering human sacrifices today—and Di Mu produces milk—what then? Tomorrow they’ll kill another, and another. How many lives will they take before they stop? And what if even human sacrifice doesn’t work? Will they give up—or double down, thinking they need more victims, more extreme methods to please Di Mu?”
Li Xingyuan sighed deeply. He knew Chen Yingyao was right. Even he, skeptical as he was, had once prayed to gods whose existence he doubted. What hope did ordinary people have against such fervor after witnessing miracles attributed to Di Mu?
“So,” Li Xingyuan asked, “what exactly is this ‘milk’ they seek?”
Chen Yingyao avoided answering directly. Sighing heavily, he rubbed his hands together and gazed out the window. “Don’t ask, Mr. Li. No one should see such things. I can’t describe it—you wouldn’t want me to. If your luck runs out today, you’ll find out soon enough.”
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Fengyuan Mine wasn’t the ramshackle, impoverished operation one might imagine. On the contrary, its sprawling grounds were surrounded by sturdy metal fences, with several buildings serving as offices and dormitories for employees. Massive mining trucks sat parked near the entrance, red warning lights flashing silently above. Instead of sirens, the air crackled with the sharp pops of firecrackers—a sound that must have been going on for some time, judging by the acrid stench of gunpowder hanging thickly in the cold air.
Villagers crowded around the gate, their faces lit by flickering lanterns. In the center of the cleared snow-covered area, performers dressed in elaborate traditional costumes sang shrill operatic tunes. Children cried, elders laughed, and voices mingled in chaotic celebration. Without prior knowledge, Li Xingyuan might have mistaken the scene for a lively village festival rather than a ritual site.
But in the middle of the crowd lay two bound figures, motionless and helpless.
“Make way! Make way!” Chen Yingyao shouted, pushing through the throng. “Stop! Everyone, stop!”
Two vehicles from the town hall had arrived, bringing a total of eight men—including Li Xingyuan and Old Liu. Against the hundreds of villagers gathered, their numbers seemed pitifully small. Yet Chen Yingyao stood tall amidst the crowd, his fear masked by determination—or perhaps swallowed whole.
“What’s gotten into you all?” he bellowed. “Have you lost your minds? I don’t care how you usually behave, but today I hear you’re planning murder!”
The villagers murmured among themselves, encircling Chen Yingyao. No one stepped forward to challenge him, nor did anyone offer explanations. They simply watched, silent witnesses to the unfolding drama.
Chen Yingyao directed his staff to untie the ropes binding the two central figures. The villagers offered no resistance, though their murmurs grew louder.
Finally, someone spoke up. An elderly man stepped forward, his hair streaked with gray but his posture unbowed. Standing nearly six feet tall, he exuded authority. The chatter ceased instantly as he addressed Chen Yingyao. “Chen Yingyao, Mayor Chen,” he began calmly. “Didn’t we agree not to interfere with each other?”
“That agreement holds only so long as you don’t cause trouble!” Chen Yingyao shot back, his hand trembling slightly—half from rage, half from apprehension. “Sacrificing animals is one thing, but killing humans is illegal! It’s a crime! Mine Director Shi, aren’t you supposed to know better?”
Just then, the staffer tasked with untying the captives returned to Chen Yingyao, pale-faced and shaken. Leaning in, he whispered urgently.
“What?” Chen Yingyuan’s expression darkened further. His eyes locked onto the elder, blazing with fury. “You killed Xu Anguo?!”
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