Chương 206: Chapter 206
In the mountains of Zhejiang Province, the villagers whispered about the Dulo Bird. It was said to be a harbinger of death, a creature with glowing eyes and feathers like the shadows themselves. They said it hunted the wicked, that it never rested until it found its prey, but no one ever spoke of who it would take next. The bird had existed in stories for centuries, each generation passing the tale like a secret too dangerous to be told too loudly.
Qian Li, a young scholar with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue, had always scoffed at such superstitions. To him, the Dulo Bird was nothing more than a ghost story, a tale spun by old women to frighten children into behaving. There was no such thing, he thought. Nothing but a myth to placate their fears.
He had come to the mountains to escape the city, to study ancient texts in peace, away from the distractions of the bustling world. The innkeeper who ran the small guesthouse in the village warned him on his first night not to venture out after sunset. "The Dulo Bird comes out at night," she said, her eyes wide, her voice low. "It doesn't matter if you are good or bad. It takes those who are evil. You best stay indoors."
Qian Li had laughed, shaking his head. "A bird that hunts the wicked? Ridiculous." But the innkeeper's face did not relax, her eyes darting nervously toward the darkening sky.
That night, as he lay in bed, the wind howled through the cracks in the walls, the trees outside creaking as if they were about to snap. He tried to sleep, but something gnawed at him. The idea of the Dulo Bird, lurking in the darkness, unsettled him in a way he couldn't explain. He cursed himself for allowing such foolishness to take root in his mind.
He spent the next few days buried in his books, barely interacting with the villagers, dismissing their warnings as nothing more than superstition. But as the nights grew colder and longer, he began to hear things. Strange sounds, scratching at his window in the dead of night, like something—or someone—was trying to get in. He had assumed it was just the wind, or perhaps a wandering animal, but the sounds grew more distinct, more deliberate. A faint tapping, then the screech of something sharp against the wood.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Qian Li decided to confront whatever was causing the noise. He couldn't let his imagination get the best of him. He strode to the window, hands trembling slightly, and pushed the shutters open. The forest was dark and quiet, the only sounds the rustling of leaves in the wind. He stared into the night, the feeling of being watched crawling up his spine.
Then, he saw it.
At first, it was just a shadow, a figure moving among the trees. But as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out the shape of the creature. It was large, much larger than any bird he had ever seen. Its feathers were jet black, darker than the night itself, and it seemed to absorb the light around it. Its eyes glowed, an eerie red that pierced through the darkness, locking onto his own.
Qian Li's heart stopped. He stumbled backward, his breath caught in his throat. The Dulo Bird. It was real.
He slammed the window shut and backed away, his mind racing. He had heard the stories, but now, standing in the presence of something so unnatural, so terrifying, he didn't know what to do. The creature outside remained still, watching, its glowing eyes never leaving him.
That night, sleep eluded him. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind a whirl of fear and disbelief. He couldn't shake the image of the bird. It had been so close, so real. Was it a warning? A punishment? And what did it want with him?
As the days passed, the presence of the Dulo Bird lingered in his mind. He tried to ignore it, to focus on his studies, but the tension in the village grew palpable. People whispered more urgently now, their conversations hushed whenever he walked by. And the sounds—those scratching, tapping sounds—grew louder, more frequent. They came every night, always when the moon was high in the sky.
One evening, unable to take it anymore, Qian Li decided to leave. The village, the forest, everything—it felt wrong. The stories, the whispers, the presence of the bird, it all had begun to suffocate him. But as he packed his belongings, he noticed something odd. His reflection in the small mirror on the wall. His face was pale, his eyes sunken, as if he hadn't slept in days. He reached up to touch his face, and his fingers came away covered in a cold sweat.
When he left the inn, he felt the weight of the air shift. The wind had died down, and there was no sound at all. No rustling leaves, no distant calls of birds, nothing. It was as if the world itself had paused, holding its breath.
He walked toward the edge of the village, toward the path that would take him to the next town, where he could forget all of this madness. But as he stepped into the darkened forest, a chill ran through him. Something was there. He could feel it, stalking him from the shadows.
Suddenly, the screech of a bird echoed through the trees, sharp and grating. Qian Li froze. It was close, so close. His blood ran cold as he turned, but there was nothing there—nothing but the dense forest and the darkness that seemed to stretch on forever.
He kept walking, faster now, his feet pounding against the earth, the sound of his own breath ragged in his ears. But the noise didn't stop. It followed him, a constant presence just behind him. The screeches grew louder, more frantic, as if something was getting closer. And then, just as he thought he might escape, the darkness shattered.
The Dulo Bird appeared before him, its massive form stepping into the moonlight. It was even larger than he remembered, its wings stretching wide like the night itself. Its eyes locked onto his, and he felt a weight settle over him, a crushing, suffocating force that left him gasping for air. He couldn't move, couldn't look away. It was as if the bird had seized his very soul, holding him in place.
And then, it spoke.
Its voice wasn't a sound, but a feeling, a vibration in the very air around him. It was not words, but something deeper, something primal. He heard it in his chest, in his mind, in the pit of his stomach. It was the feeling of guilt, of shame, of every dark thought he had ever buried deep inside.
"You are evil," the voice whispered, not in words, but in essence. "You are not innocent. You do not belong in this world."
The bird's eyes glowed brighter, its form growing darker, and Qian Li felt himself being pulled forward, as if his body was no longer his own. His knees buckled, his legs gave out, and he fell to the ground. The bird hovered above him, its wings beating slowly, its eyes never leaving his.
In that moment, Qian Li realized the truth. He had not come to the mountains to escape the world—he had come here to hide. To run away from the things he had done, the people he had hurt. He had used his mind, his intellect, to manipulate others, to deceive them, and to protect himself from the consequences of his actions. He had convinced himself that his cruelty was justified, that he was above it all.
But the Dulo Bird knew. It had always known.
The bird's talons sank into his chest, not as a physical blow, but as a ripping of his very being. The pain was excruciating, not because of any wound, but because it was as if the bird was tearing apart his soul, revealing every dark corner of his heart. Every lie. Every betrayal. Every selfish act. And in that moment, Qian Li understood. The Dulo Bird didn't just hunt the wicked—it hunted the unrepentant, the ones who refused to face the truth.
The world around him began to spin, the trees warping, the sky darkening. He wanted to scream, to run, but there was nowhere to go. The bird's presence was everywhere now, suffocating him, crushing him. The last thing he heard was the bird's voice again, the words cutting into him like a knife.
"You will never escape yourself."
And then, there was no more air. No more light. No more sound. There was only the weight of his sins and the crushing silence of the Dulo Bird's judgment.
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