The Second Night: The Tale of the Half-Faced Man

"Evenings are the perfect time for uncanny stories," my friend remarked as he stretched. Shedding his jacket, he settled cross-legged on the ground. His home was sparsely furnished; visitors usually sat on the floor since he believed that was the traditional way, scornful of chairs.

"Continue with the story about the half-faced man," I prompted eagerly.

"Right, this one might just be the eeriest tale I know. It still gives me chills when I recount it. My travels often lead me to remote places, which seem to be ripe with unusual stories. Normally, I just hear about these stories, but this time I was part of one.

I found myself in a village that was practically a small city. The villagers all had different jobs that interconnected, forming a self-sufficient community, gradually becoming isolated from the outside world. They were still very welcoming, though. Upon my arrival, they were exceedingly kind, and since I had some medical training, I managed to treat a few of their common ailments. This earned me a bit of a reputation as a miracle worker, ha!" He laughed with a touch of pride. Knowing him as an outstanding student back in college, who could have been a fine doctor despite his reluctance, his happiness seemed justified by the villagers' respect.

"But soon after my arrival, the village chief invited me over to his place. He was a figure of great respect, much like a tribal leader or even a king in local terms. He was always cordial but maintained a regal dignity. However, this time, he seemed almost meek, as if he needed a favor.

'You've been a godsend,' he began, showering me with praise. 'Everyone here praises your medical prowess, and you've even cured some of their longstanding, complicated illnesses. You're amazing.' His compliments were so lavish they nearly carried me away.

'So, is there illness in your family too?' I asked with a light chuckle. However, the chief's expression turned somber, and he hesitated as if struggling to speak. Finally, as though making up his mind, he confided in a low voice, 'It's my son, about your age, an incredibly capable young man. But for some reason, he's confined himself. He stays in his room all day, only emerging to eat the meals we bring him and avoiding all contact with us. His mother and I are beside ourselves with worry. Thankfully, you're here; you must help him.' His voice broke towards the end, and he seemed on the verge of kneeling. It was clear the issue was beyond my medical expertise, but I agreed to accompany him to assess the situation first-hand.

His home was notably more lavish than the others, though still a simple brick structure, but larger than most in the village. It was a two-story building with a sizeable front yard where they kept poultry. There was a scent of raw vegetables (really, just manure) wafting from the right side of the house—likely the location of the toilet and vegetable garden. The one unsettling element was a massive black dog that growled threateningly at me, showing its teeth. I knew these dogs could be dangerous, so I froze. Only when the chief scolded it did I dare to proceed inside.

The chief's family was exceptionally welcoming, embodying the hospitality typical of rural families. I couldn't help but wonder what sort of illness could afflict a child from such a wholesome background.

We climbed the stairs to a door.

'Here,' the chief gestured. 'My son, Zhuzi, has locked himself in there for a month now. I didn't know what to do until you came. I was about to seek out a doctor,' his voice laden with worry.

'Have you talked to him since he shut himself away?' I inquired.

He shook his head. I suggested he step downstairs, thinking maybe the boy was experiencing some sort of psychological issue related to adolescence—it might be better if his father wasn't present. As it turned out, my assumption was overly simplistic.

The chief reluctantly descended, muttering hopes that I could somehow manage a cure. Watching him go, I felt a deep sympathy for his plight.

'Zhuzi, are you there?' I tapped gently on the wooden door, the rough, splintered surface stinging my hand, prompting me to knock more softly.

There was no response, which wasn't unexpected. So, I commenced what could be called a psychological intervention, based loosely on the remnants of my college psychology knowledge. Unfortunately, it had no effect. An hour later, growing anxious and increasingly curious, I noticed a small, irregular hole near the bottom right of the door. I crouched down and peered through.

Through the dim light, I discerned the tall silhouette of someone sitting on the bed, presumably Zhuzi, motionless like a statue. On impulse, I shouted, 'Zhuzi, I see you, sitting on the edge of your bed!'

He reacted violently, clutching his head and rolling on the bed in terror, crying out, 'Don't find me! I've already been punished!' Realizing the gravity of the situation, he soon lay still, sprawled across the bed.

I hurriedly called for the chief, and we forced the door open—a solid barrier that resisted our efforts. Upon entering, the chief, confused, stared at the figure on the bed and uttered, 'This isn't my son!'

Startled, I examined the young man lying there. His skin was dark, with a broad forehead and a prominent hooked nose, his thick lips dotted with sparse, stiff bristles reminiscent of poorly plucked pork. He bore no resemblance to the chief.

'This is Xiao Liu, Zhuzi's close friend,' the chief clarified.

Examining Xiao Liu's face, something seemed amiss, but I couldn't immediately identify it. In hindsight, a closer inspection might have revealed more.

Xiao Liu soon regained consciousness, still visibly terrified and persistently covering his right face without speaking. Clearly, he knew something about Zhuzi's whereabouts. Given his unstable emotional state, he was unable to provide clear answers. We decided to let him rest, and I accompanied the chief downstairs.

'Who is Xiao Liu, and where does he live?' I needed to know more about him.

'He and Zhuzi have been inseparable since childhood, thick as thieves,' the chief sighed deeply. 'I never liked him; he's always been a drifter, dreaming of quick riches and often dragging my son into foolish schemes under the guise of preparing for a prosperous future. Zhuzi naively followed him. It's truly unfortunate.'

It appeared that Xiao Liu was just an aimless vagrant. But why was he in Zhuzi's room, and for such a long time?

'When did you last see Zhuzi? What was happening?' I felt more like a detective than a doctor, the thrill of solving a mystery invigorating me, a fulfillment of a childhood fantasy.

'About a month ago. He came home one evening in a rush, complaining of stomach pain and went straight upstairs. He hasn't come down since.'

'Are you certain that was Zhuzi? Did you notice Xiao Liu visiting after that?'

'I'm sure it was Zhuzi; I'd recognize my own son. How could I not?' the chief asserted with confidence.

Considering the layout of the chief's house, it was feasible that Zhuzi could have sneaked out later, allowing Xiao Liu to take his place. What was he avoiding, though? And why did he react with such panic and fear when I called out through the door? Nevertheless, it seemed prudent to visit Xiao Liu's home next.

Guided by the chief, we reached Xiao Liu's residence, which was notably impoverished. His parents were humble, straightforward farmers. I had once treated his mother's leg, so they recognized me.

After exchanging pleasantries, we asked about Xiao Liu's recent activities. Both parents indicated he had been missing for nearly a month. Since he often wandered off, they hadn't been overly concerned. His mother, however, seemed apprehensive, asking, 'Has Xiao Liu gotten into trouble?'

'No, no, Zhuzi asked me to check on him,' the chief replied, sticking to a prepared script. The parents appeared somewhat relieved.

Upon leaving Xiao Liu's house, the chief appeared even more worried.

'Considering the timeline, it seems Xiao Liu had been staying in that room ever since Zhuzi's arrival,' I pondered, rubbing my chin—a habit I had, despite lacking a beard.

The question now was where Zhuzi had gone. To find out, we would have to wait for Xiao Liu to awaken.

But Xiao Liu never awoke.

We had just returned to the chief's house when we discovered Xiao Liu had died violently in his room, less than half an hour after we had left. He was positioned exactly as we had left him, though he had been breathing when we departed.

With a death now involved, the scenario had drastically changed. Overwhelmed, I suggested that the chief call the police.

'Police? We don't have police here,' the chief responded, his head shaking like a bobblehead.

'How do you usually handle such situations?'

'Village matters are decided collectively by the villagers,' the chief explained as if it were the most natural solution in the world. It was indeed a fascinating village, maintaining ancient communal practices similar to those from the time of King Wen of Zhou.

I had no option but to ask the chief to gather the villagers, instructing him not to inform Xiao Liu's parents just yet. I couldn't bear to witness their grief, and more importantly, their potential commotion could complicate the situation. I remained alone in the room where Xiao Liu had died, watching over his body because I believed he must have died unwillingly.

While not a forensic expert, I was still a medical school graduate. I faintly remembered the lessons from anatomy class. I began to scrutinize Xiao Liu's body carefully.

There were no apparent injuries, at least none visible to the naked eye. I had only been away with the chief for about an hour. Although the village wasn't large, Xiao Liu's house was situated at one extreme and the chief's at the other, so it had taken some time to walk there. The body was still warm, but signs of livor mortis were already appearing, though not pronounced. What intrigued me most, however, was his left face.

His left face was now completely asymmetrical to the right. It was almost as if two different faces had been cut and stitched together. Moreover, I noticed differences in the livor mortis on the left side of his face.

Livor mortis begins about 30 minutes after death, generally noticeable between 1 to 2 hours afterward. It develops in stages.

The initial phase, known as the pooling phase, becomes noticeable within 5 to 6 hours after death and can persist for 6 to 12 hours. During this phase, if you press on the discolored areas, they fade or disappear, returning when the pressure is released. If the body is moved during this phase, the discoloration shifts to the new lower parts of the body.

The second phase, the diffusion phase, starts about 8 hours after death and lasts until about 26 to 32 hours. During this period, the plasma stained with hemoglobin seeps into the surrounding tissues. At this stage, pressing on the discolored areas doesn't completely disappear but only fades slightly, and the color slowly returns upon releasing the pressure. If the body is moved, some of the discoloration may shift, while some may remain in the original locations.

The third phase involves the discoloration seeping into the tissues for a longer period, where pressing on these areas no longer changes the color or makes it disappear, and moving the body no longer shifts the discoloration.

The livor mortis on other parts of Xiao Liu's body was in the first stage, which was typical, but puzzlingly, the livor mortis on his left face did not change color or disappear even under pressure from a thumb. This clearly indicated that it had developed some time after the body had been positioned.

Furthermore, the discoloration on the left side of his face was red, a color characteristic of those who freeze to death.

Frozen to death?

It was summer!

With a frown, I left the room. Although I had encountered many corpses before, it had been a while, and I still felt uneasy. I went downstairs.

The chief had already summoned some of the village's key figures, all of whom held some position of authority. They all believed the chief would not harm Xiao Liu. They then discussed whether to simply bury Xiao Liu. I stood aside, waiting for them to disperse before approaching the chief to ask further.

'Is there anywhere nearby that's extremely cold? Cold enough to freeze someone to death?' I questioned.

'Cold?' The chief looked at me oddly, which was understandable. However, after thinking for a moment, he actually informed me, 'Yes, sometimes it gets so hot here in the summer that we've opened an ice cellar in the back mountain to store ice blocks. What's the matter?'

'Take me there immediately, fast,' I demanded with an unquestionable tone. The chief reluctantly led me to the ice cellar.

Once we reached the back mountain's ice cellar, which was really more of a basement probably used previously for storing vegetables, I could feel the chill even before entering.

Upon my urging, the chief opened the ice cellar, and we stepped inside. Sure enough, my instincts led me to what—or rather, whom—I was looking for. Not just a person, but rather a corpse.

This body wasn't Zhuzi's, and oddly enough, the clothes didn't seem typical for a villager but rather for someone from the city, quite well-dressed, seemingly frozen to death as he was still curled up. Moreover, this body had no face.

Imagine a faceless corpse. Though his face was frosted over from being in the ice cellar, it only made it more terrifying. However, from his build, I could tell he was likely a man in his thirties.

We quickly brought more people, but I didn't let them move the body because it would rapidly decompose if my theory was correct; he had to be linked to Xiao Liu's death and Zhuzi's disappearance.

The murmurs of the crowd grew as I noticed the chief's complexion turn pale. Amidst the subdued chatter, I thought I heard someone mention that Zhuzi was responsible for the ice cellar and that only he and the chief had keys to it. This put Zhuzi's involvement beyond doubt, as clear as lice on a bald head.

With two bodies now, both under mysterious circumstances, I insisted on calling the police despite the chief's objections. The majority, however, agreed that involving the police was best. I noticed on some faces not just a sense of duty but a schadenfreude, a delight in misfortune. They appeared to have two faces: one advocating for justice for the deceased, the other secretly smiling.

It would take some time for the police to arrive, so I pondered what else I could do. The chief seemed distressed, understandably, as it seemed my presence had unearthed two suspiciously deceased bodies in this otherwise peaceful and secluded mountain village.

The faceless corpse and the peculiar livor mortis on Xiao Liu's left face suddenly made me think of the right face of the ice cellar corpse. Piecing everything together, I realized I needed to confirm one last thing with the chief.

I stared intently at him; he looked around, lost in thought. I pulled him aside and asked quietly, 'Tell me, where have you hidden Zhuzi?'

The chief was taken aback. 'What are you talking about? I haven't seen my son in over a month, and now you're asking me?'

'Xiao Liu didn't stay there willingly, did he? Maybe you locked him up?' I struck a match, lighting a cigarette. I didn't look at the chief because eye contact is a conversational weapon—if overused, it loses its power.

As expected, the chief began to sweat heavily, his eyes darting around like dice in a shaker. Yet he remained silent.

'I remember when I first came here and treated Xiao Liu's mother. She mentioned her son had a chronic throat condition that made his voice distinctly hoarse. You're telling me you haven't heard the supposed Zhuzi speak in a month? Even if not, you claim to deliver food daily, but Xiao Liu's skin is dark, and your son Zhuzi isn't, is he? Haven't you ever suspected anything?' I continued, 'Okay, these are all assumptions, but once the police arrive, any further concealment will be pointless.'

The chief's forehead was drenched in sweat. 'I've hidden Zhuzi, but I won't turn him over because he's already received his retribution. Handing him over to the police would only cause chaos.'

'Retribution?' I queried, puzzled.

'Yes,' the chief lowered his head, beginning to recount a terrible event he had witnessed a month ago.

'That day, after dinner, Zhuzi came home breathless, rummaging and asking for money, saying he and Liu planned to leave for a while. I sensed something was wrong, so after sending his mother away, I pressed him for answers. He wasn't cunning, and he spilled everything under pressure. That's when I found out they had committed murder,' the chief sobbed, tears flowing freely. I patted his shoulder, urging him to calm down.

'He told me he and Liu had lured a foreigner to buy ice. The man wanted to open an ice bar and needed the pure ice from our water to sell to the wealthy. Under Liu's influence, Zhuzi reluctantly led the man to the ice cellar. But the man wanted to buy all the ice and threatened to force the sale if we refused. The ice is vital for the entire village; we don't have fridges or other means to cool down during the summer. So, Zhuzi refused to sell, and an altercation ensued. During the scuffle, Liu pushed the man hard, causing his face to hit the jagged ice, disfiguring him. The man screamed that he was being murdered. In a panic, Zhuzi struck him on the back of the head with a block of ice, and the man fell silent. They both fled, planning to lay low for a while.'

'What happened to the faceless corpse in the ice cellar?' I interjected, knowing that a crushed face differs from one that's been skinned.

'I'm not sure; maybe that's their retribution,' the chief continued.

'When I learned of this, I was enraged. I grabbed a stool and began beating him, but after all, he's my son. If the villagers found out about the ice cellar, he wouldn't escape blame. I had no choice but to agree to hide him, planning to seal the ice cellar eventually. But a few days later, Zhuzi's face began to change,' the chief said ominously.

'His right face started itching, then he often complained of feeling cold, followed by many blotches, and eventually, it began to rot and emit a terrible stench, full of pus-filled blisters. He was in constant pain. I tried many remedies, but none worked. After some time, his face healed, but, but...' the chief paused.

'His right face lost all sensation, like someone who's had a stroke. He couldn't move that side at all, couldn't close his eye, and food and drink would leak out. He kept screaming about ghosts. I was afraid of drawing attention, so I had to hide him behind the house near the pit toilet. Then Xiao Liu showed up, saying he had similar symptoms and was scared, so he came looking for Zhuzi. I had to hide Xiao Liu in Zhuzi's room, telling everyone Zhuzi had caught a mysterious illness and didn't want to be seen. That's when you arrived, and I thought to use you as a cover, as it would look bad if a doctor came but wasn't allowed to see Zhuzi.'

The chief finally finished his story. My cigarette had burned out by then. I spoke slowly to the chief, 'That man died from freezing. At that time, Zhuzi and Xiao Liu probably just knocked him unconscious. He could have been revived, but they were so scared they left him in the ice cellar to freeze to death. As for Zhuzi and Xiao Liu's strange illness, I can't be certain, even though I'm theoretically an atheist. Please take me to see Zhuzi now.'

The chief looked at me, finally trusting me. He nodded, arranged some matters with others, and took me back to his house.

In a dark room in the backyard, I finally met Zhuzi. He was nearly catatonic, aloof and afraid of light, constantly giggling foolishly. But his laugh was horrifying. Only half of his face was laughing. The chief, wiping away tears, said, 'Even if it takes his whole life, I'll take care of him.'

'Don't hit him, Xiao Liu, don't!' Zhuzi suddenly cried out, then fell to the ground like a madman. The chief and I rushed to help him. When we straightened him up, his originally expressionless face briefly showed a hint of a smile, though it was fleeting. I was certain I wasn't mistaken. It was the smug smile of someone who had taken their revenge. And on that half of his face, I saw the same livor mortis that had been on Xiao Liu's face.

'He's dead,' I murmured softly, observing Zhuzi's pupils. The chief burst into tears, clinging to Zhuzi's body, unwilling to let go. His tears and mucus smeared Zhuzi's face.

I stood up and walked out of the house. My mind flashed back to a book I had read long ago, claiming that a person on the brink of death could sever their own face to exact revenge on others. I had dismissed it as mere fiction, but it seemed there was some truth to it.

The situation quickly resolved. The chief was no longer the chief, and the bodies of Zhuzi and Xiao Liu were removed. The evidence corroborated the chief's account and confirmed my suspicions that the faceless corpse in the ice cellar had indeed severed his own face.

I left the village, stopping to visit Xiao Liu's parents before departing. They showed little overt grief, perhaps because I couldn't see it.

As I was being sent off, the villagers were already discussing how to rebuild the ice cellar and plan its sales."

I looked at my friend, noticing his enigmatic smile.

"Is that really true? Can severing one's own face actually be used for revenge?" I asked, intrigued.

"Who knows?" my friend responded casually. "Perhaps Zhuzi and Xiao Liu were just scaring themselves, but no one knows what they saw in their final moments. Moreover, it's said that during the autopsy, the livor mortis on their faces disappeared. Strange, isn't it?"

"It is indeed strange," I reflected. "Sometimes, a crime is just a fleeting lapse of judgment. And the retribution is unavoidable."

"That may not always be the case," my friend countered. "Sometimes, misfortune seeks you out, like that sales clerk who was obsessed with whitening his skin."

"Oh? What's that story?" I asked curiously.

"Just one story per night," my friend replied, standing up with a smile. "I'll tell it tomorrow night. Be careful not to listen to too many; you might end up having nightmares. Go to sleep; I'm tired too." With that, he headed to his room.

I lay down to sleep, drifting off quickly. Fortunately, perhaps because it was daytime, I slept soundly.