When night falls, don't go outside.
This saying has been passed down in Oldridge Village for many years. No one knows exactly when it started, but its truth is beyond doubt.
Granny Sue watched the sun slowly sink behind the mountains, her heart growing tense. As the last ray of sunlight vanished, the world fell into utter silence—no sound at all. Darkness crept in from the west, swallowing mountains, rivers, roads, and trees along its path, until it submerged Oldridge Village.
At each corner of Oldridge Village stood an ancient stone statue, weathered by time. Even Granny Sue didn’t know who had carved them or when they were placed there.
When darkness descended, the four statues glowed faintly in the night. Their light stayed on, and both Granny Sue and the village elders breathed a sigh of relief.
The darkness outside the village grew thicker, but with the statues’ glow, Oldridge Village remained relatively safe.
Suddenly, Granny Sue’s ears twitched. She paused, then exclaimed, "Listen! There's a child crying outside!"
Old Mark shook his head. "Impossible, you must've heard wrong... Wait, there really is a baby crying!"
The sound of a baby's cry drifted in from the darkness outside the village. All the elders, except those hard of hearing, heard it. They exchanged uneasy glances—Oldridge Village was remote and desolate. How could a baby possibly appear nearby?
"I'll go take a look!"
Granny Sue grew excited, tiptoeing over to one of the stone statues at the edge of the village. Old Mark rushed after her, "You crazy old woman, are you out of your mind? It's night—leave the village and you're dead!"
"If I carry this statue out, the things in the darkness will be scared of it. I won't die so easily!"
Granny Sue bent down, trying to lift the statue, but her hunched back made it impossible. Old Mark shook his head, "Let me do it. I'll carry the statue and go with you!"
Another elder hobbled over and said, "Old Mark, you've only got one arm. You won't last long carrying that statue. My arms are both good—let me carry it instead."
Old Mark glared at him, "You lame old fool, you've lost a leg—can you even walk? I may have just one arm, but it's plenty strong!"
He hefted the statue with his single arm, steadying himself—it was unimaginably heavy. "Come on, Granny Sue, let's go!"
"Don't call me an old hag! Lame one, Mute, everyone be careful—without one of the statues, don't let anything from the darkness sneak into the village!"
......
Old Mark and Granny Sue left Oldridge Village. Strange things circled them in the darkness, but when touched by the statue’s light, they screeched and retreated.
Following the sound of crying, the two walked a hundred paces to a wide riverbank. The baby's cries came from there. The statue’s faint glow didn’t reach far, so they carefully tracked the sound along the river. After a few dozen steps, the crying was close by. Old Mark, with his single arm, was struggling. Granny Sue’s eyes lit up—she spotted a tiny glow: a basket on the riverbank, glowing faintly, with the crying coming from inside.
"There really is a child!"
Granny Sue stepped forward and tried to lift the basket, but paused in surprise—she couldn’t pick it up. Beneath the basket was a pale, water-soaked arm, holding the basket and the child inside, supporting them to the shore.
"Don’t worry, the child is safe now," Granny Sue whispered to the woman beneath the water.
The female corpse seemed to hear her. The hand loosened, and the river swept her away, vanishing into the darkness.
Granny Sue picked up the basket. Inside was a swaddled baby, and atop the swaddling lay a jade pendant, softly glowing. Its light resembled that of the statues, but was much weaker—just enough to protect the child from the things in the darkness.
But the jade pendant’s glow was faint—it could shield the child, but not the woman.
"It’s a boy."
Back at Oldridge Village, the villagers crowded around—old, weak, sick, and disabled. Granny Sue lifted the swaddling for a peek, grinning with her few remaining teeth. "At last, Oldridge Village has a healthy child!"
Grandpa Lame, with his single leg, exclaimed, "Granny Sue, you mean to keep him? We can barely feed ourselves! I say send him away..."
Granny Sue snapped, "I found this kid fair and square—why should I give him away?"
The villagers murmured, not daring to argue with her. The village chief arrived, carried on a stretcher—he was in worse shape than the others. Most still had at least some limbs, but he had neither arms nor legs. Yet everyone respected him, even fierce Granny Sue wouldn’t act out around him.
"If we're going to keep him, we should give him a name, shouldn't we?"
The chief said, "Old woman, is there anything else in the basket?"
Granny Sue rummaged through and shook her head. "Just this jade pendant, no notes or anything. There's a character on it—Qin. The pendant's flawless, and there's something strange about its power. It’s no ordinary item, probably from a wealthy family."
"Is his name Qin, or is that his surname?"
The chief pondered. "Let’s make Qin his surname, and call him Mu—Quinn Shepherd. When he grows up, he can herd cattle and at least get by."
"Quinn Shepherd." Granny Sue looked at the swaddled baby, who wasn’t afraid of her at all and even giggled.
......
By the river, the sound of a flute drifted through the air. A young shepherd sat atop a cow, playing a clear, melodious tune. He was eleven or twelve, with delicate features, rosy lips, and white teeth, his shirt half open and a jade pendant hanging from his neck.
This boy was the infant Granny Sue had found by the river eleven years ago. Over the years, the village elders had struggled to raise him. Granny Sue had somehow acquired a milk cow, so Quinn could drink fresh milk every day and survive infancy.
The villagers of Oldridge Village all looked fierce and intimidating, but they treated him well. Granny Sue was a seamstress—Quinn learned sewing from her, herb gathering and medicine from the apothecary, leg techniques from Grandpa Lame, sound recognition from Grandpa Blindeye, and breathing arts from the limbless village chief. The days passed quickly.
The cow had been his wet nurse when he was little. Granny Sue once wanted to sell her, but Quinn couldn’t bear to part with her, so the job of herding cattle fell to him.
He often herded cattle by the river, surrounded by green hills, blue waves, and white clouds—a peaceful life.
"Quinn Shepherd! Quinn Shepherd! Save me!"
Suddenly, the cow beneath him spoke. Quinn jumped in surprise and leapt off her back. Tears welled in the cow’s eyes as she pleaded, "Quinn Shepherd, you grew up on my milk—I’m half your mother. You have to save me!"
Quinn blinked and asked cautiously, "How am I supposed to save you?"
The cow said, "You have a sickle at your waist. Peel off my hide and you can set me free."
Quinn hesitated. The cow said, "Have you forgotten the debt of being nursed?"
Quinn raised his sickle and carefully cut into the cow’s hide. Strangely, not a drop of blood flowed, and inside the skin there was no flesh or bone—just emptiness.
Halfway through, a woman in her late twenties or early thirties tumbled out. Her legs were still wrapped in the cowhide, fused to it, but her upper body was free.
The woman, hair wild and eyes fierce, snatched the sickle from Quinn’s stunned hands. With a few quick cuts, she freed her legs from the cowhide, then glared at Quinn, malice burning. She pressed the sickle to his throat, sneering, "You little villain, it’s because of you I was turned into a cow! For eleven years I’ve eaten grass and nursed you! Pathetic—I’d just had a child when that witch cursed me, turned me into a cow to feed you! Now I’m free, I’ll kill you first, then wipe out every fiend in your village!"
Quinn’s mind reeled. He had no idea what this woman, crawling out of a cowhide, was talking about.
Just as she was about to slash him, a chill pierced her back. She looked down—there was a blade sticking through her chest.
"Quinn, your apothecary grandpa says it’s time for your medicine." The woman’s body collapsed. Standing behind her was Grandpa Lame, kindly and honest-faced, holding a bloodied blade and smiling at Quinn.
"Grandpa Lame..." Quinn’s legs went weak. He stared at the cowhide and the woman’s corpse, still in shock.
"Go on, go on." Grandpa Lame patted his shoulder, chuckling.
Quinn staggered back toward the village, glancing over his shoulder to see Grandpa Lame tossing the woman’s corpse into the river.
The shock was so great, Quinn couldn’t even remember how he got back to the village.
"Quinn Shepherd! You little brat, how many times have I told you? When it’s dark, don’t go outside!"
Night fell, and the statues at the four corners of Oldridge Village glowed once more. Granny Sue caught Quinn as he tried to sneak out to the river to check on the cowhide, dragging him back.
"Granny, why can’t we go out after dark?" Quinn asked, looking up.
"After dark, terrible things roam the darkness. Go out and you’ll die."
Granny Sue said solemnly, "The village statues protect us. The things in the dark don’t dare enter."
"Do other villages have statues like these?" Quinn asked curiously.
Granny Sue nodded, but her face grew worried as she glanced outside and muttered, "Grandpa Lame should be back by now... I shouldn’t have let him go out, he only has one leg..."
"Granny, something strange happened today..."
Quinn hesitated, then explained about the woman who crawled out of the cow’s belly. Granny Sue waved it off. "You mean that woman? Grandpa Lame told me—he handled it well. I said we should’ve sold the cow when you stopped nursing at four, but you couldn’t bear it, so we kept her. See? I told you, nursing till four would make you attached to the cow."
Quinn blushed. Nursing until four was a bit much, but that didn’t seem to be the real issue here.
"Granny, Grandpa Lame killed that woman..."
"Good riddance."