Famine 142: Search

The cult’s territory was at the northernmost edge of the Nest—a separately fenced domain, encircled by a tall wooden wall.

Word must have spread, because when Si Zhiyan and his party arrived, there were already cult members waiting at the main gate.

At their head stood the little bloodfolk always by the cult leader’s side.

A quiet aside from Guan Wang, who had accompanied them, offered an introduction: this man’s name was Hang Feng, though he was already an adult. Born with physical deformities, he had the stature of a dwarf, barely one meter thirty in height. Despite his formidable abilities, he’d never found a team—until the mutation of [Fellow]. Now that all who were assimilated by [Fellow] moved in a crouched, crawling form, Hang Feng no longer stood out.

The cult leader personally sought him out, honoring worthy individuals and sincerely inviting Hang Feng to become the cult’s high priest. For the first time in his life, Hang Feng was treated with such respect, and he was deeply moved by the cult leader’s recognition, swiftly becoming one of [Fellow]’s most loyal disciples.

Hang Feng stood atop the wall, looking down on them with a cold sneer.

“I’ve heard about your troubles. What a pity—hope you catch your culprit soon. But, this has nothing to do with us, does it?”

“Surely, you’re not suspecting the cult of some sort of wrongdoing?”

Si Zhiyan smiled amiably. “You misunderstand. We mean no such thing—merely a necessary confirmation.”

He raised his hand politely.

“We simply hope, in your company, to pay a visit as guests. If we find nothing, we’ll leave at once and offer a small token by way of thanks for your hospitality.”

“Since the cult has a clear conscience, there ought to be no reason for trouble. We can resolve this amicably.”

The words were handled with artful diplomacy.

The truth was, Si Zhiyan and the others had no proof that the cult was behind this.

So, a look inside would suffice.

A sleep pod could comfortably fit a person with plenty of room to spare, not to mention a bed of flowers—it was not small by any means. And with fifteen missing, it would make quite a pile. Previously, they nearly filled the open space in front of Havana’s house.

The Nest’s buildings were all low and cramped single-room wooden huts, too small for a sleep pod; even in the yard, one would have to clear a wide space, and hiding them was hardly possible.

Thus, all it would take was a circuit of the area to tell if the cult was involved.

Truth be told, Si Zhiyan could have used his phantom body to scout, but at present, the priority was not finding the sleep pods, but the one who had cursed HACK.

A direct conversation was far more telling—he could gauge the cult’s reaction for himself.

Hang Feng leaned on the battlement, speaking slowly, “I’m sorry, but we do not take guests. The cult’s quarters have always been off-limits to the unclean. Only those who have been assimilated to at least the third stage may enter the holy grounds. It’s long-standing tradition.”

Around them, the bloodfolk watching exchanged whispers. Many shook their heads in quiet commentary.

“Was it really the cult that stole them?”
“Maybe—sounds about right.”
“The innkeeper still seems like a good sort…”
“Havana only cares about that dog of hers. An honest type, what a shame.”

“All that stuff vanishing overnight with no witnesses—besides the cult, who else could manage it?”

With this incident, suspicion had already begun circling in the dark.
Anyone could see that the cult had shown open hostility to Si Zhiyan’s group from the outset. Now that something had happened to them, whom else would people suspect if not the cult?

Hang Feng’s hearing was keen. On catching these mutters, he was instantly incensed, bracing himself upright. “What’s that supposed to mean? What are you suggesting?”

“Who would want your junk anyway?”

“What use is that stuff? Isn’t it just for treating a couple of minor scrapes? Under my lord’s blessing, the bodies of our brothers and sisters have already evolved into a far superior form!”

He put heavy emphasis on superior.
Si Zhiyan had the sense he’d never gotten over the business with the bald one treading on him.

“If you have nothing to hide, why act so defensive?” Yan Cheng replied coldly.

“I told you, the cult’s land isn’t open to the unclean. That’s the rule!” Hang Feng snapped. “Today it’s your problem, tomorrow it’s someone else’s—should any excuse be enough to barge into our holy land?”

His voice was edged with the indignation of the falsely accused.

Hang Feng jabbed at the wood beneath their feet, enunciating each word: “Let me say it again—this has nothing to do with us!”

“Only a fool would want to soak in that thing!”

“No one in the cult wants your broken teapots!”

The cult members around him chimed in, indignant.
“Exactly!”
“Who collects trash? Who’d want those sissy trinkets?”

…What was going on?

Si Zhiyan frowned slightly.
However coarse their language, their reaction didn’t sound feigned.

Still, the cult area itself was the chief concern.

The standoff continued.

Suddenly, a gravelly cough sounded nearby. “Ah.”

A commotion broke out among the cultists atop the wall, and they parted to either side.

An elder crept forward slowly, face covered in tendrils, body hunched close to the battlement.

It was the cult leader.

“There’s no need to reproach them. We’re all children cradled in our lord’s embrace. There’s no need to speak so harshly.”

The leader clutched a wooden carving, the folds of his aged face shifting with each word.
He gazed at Havana a moment, sighing softly.

“Havana is a pitiful soul. This is not what we would have wished.”

“I know that unless I let you have a look, you won’t be at peace.”

“Come in, please. All of you.”

His cane struck the ground heavily; the gate creaked slowly open.

“Leader!” Hang Feng’s voice trembled.

The cult leader held him back with a shake of the head. “The rules of the holy ground have always been clear. This must be the work of someone laying a trap—hoping to sling mud in our direction. Do not let yourselves be goaded into enmity with your brothers and sisters over the ambitions of others.”

A hush fell over the courtyard. The bloodfolk who had been muttering were all caught off guard.

Si Zhiyan bowed. “The cult leader sees the greater good.”

Without further delay, he stepped into the cult’s territory.

The cult’s lands were simply part of the Nest.

If there was anything remarkable, it was the sheer number of wooden carvings.

The silhouettes of [It] stood everywhere—at the center of clearings, slouched beside houses, in every imaginable pose. Their stances were vaguely human, but with unnaturally elongated faces, crawling limbs, and eyes that gleamed in the dark.

Each hut hung full, every crack stuffed, the twin eyes seeming to watch every visitor.

There were so many. The effect was uncanny—arousing a chill down the spine.

The base of the Nest was a broad wooden platform, the carvings all hewn from timber harvested from the Nest’s northern fringe.
With so little space, the houses were packed far denser than in other areas, many clustered tightly together.

And with so many wooden statues as well, Si Zhiyan’s party had to dodge, squeeze, or even scramble on hands and knees to get through. At times, they had to climb over the carvings.

By contrast, Hang Feng, the cult leader, and the members moved with incredible agility, running and leaping on all fours, their tentacles aiding them.

Havana was not known for agility, and while climbing one carving, she heard Hang Feng sneer, “Poor thing, still stuck at the first stage.”

At the center of the cult zone was a relatively open space.
It was utterly empty—there was nothing there.

No distant singing of the little flowers, no feedback from Si Zhiyan’s spring-eye.

Si Zhiyan even knocked gently on a carving—the sound was crisp and solid. They were solid all through—nothing could have been hidden inside.

They spent considerable time exploring every part of the cult’s area.

They found nothing. Not a trace of the missing pods.

They returned to the entrance of the cult’s compound.

“Well? I trust everything is clear now.” The cult leader sighed amid the assembled crowd.
“No compensation is needed. Please, be on your way.”

……
…

【3:03 pm / 5 hours till the appreciation gathering】

“So the cult wasn’t behind it?”

Ye Xianqing was clearly astonished.

In any case, they had already wasted over two hours on the cult.
There was little time left.

“Eliminating a whole sector isn’t so bad,” Yan Cheng said.

“In any case, we now have only one option.”

Si Zhiyan straightened his collar with a soft sigh.

“—Let’s go. We’ll divide the area. Street by street, we’ll search them all.”

They would visit every alley, searching each and every house.

The sleep pods were huge—very few spaces could even contain one, let alone fifteen gathered in one place. The Nest was closed off. The sleep pods had to be somewhere.

If not within the cult, then elsewhere.

All they could do was search, and they were sure to find them.

Si Zhiyan had already sent white mist to scout from above, but it wasn’t reliable. The aerial view was imprecise and easy to fool. Anyone who planned a theft would surely have prepared for that.

The only solution now was to take to the streets themselves and search, player-style, with their own eyes.

The only problem was, only five hours remained. The Nest might not be huge, perhaps the size of a small county town, but could just a handful of people search everything in time?

Guan Wang, ever willing, stood up and slung his skateboard over his back. “All right, assign me a sector; I’m fast on my feet.”
Another of Yan Cheng’s brothers spoke up. “I’ve got to help, too.”
In a moment, Yan Cheng’s old teammates lined up to join.
Even some bloodfolk who weren’t his friends, having followed the crowd for who knows how long, stepped forward, saying, “If you trust me, I can sweep two streets. Havana, lend me a bandage—I’ll remember the favor.”
“…”

Havana was a good soul, always kind, and in that moment many really did volunteer to help.

For a second, Havana found herself lost for words. Her anxious heart eased a little.

Yet, touched as she was, the volunteers still had to be vetted. Havana picked out a few who were entirely trustworthy, along with the closest brothers from Yan Cheng’s crew, and thus assembled the search party.

Si Zhiyan surveyed the group, factoring in the map and everyone’s likely speed, and assigned sectors to each.

They had to finish combing the entire Nest within three hours.

Orders delivered, the group scattered to begin their search.

……
…

【6:00 pm / 2 hours till the appreciation gathering】

With all their efforts, they managed to search the area in three hours.

Ye Xianqing, the last to return, ran back, breathless.

She braced herself against the doorframe, struggling for breath, and managed to say she’d found nothing. Then she looked up.

She saw the gravity in Si Zhiyan’s eyes—the somber faces of everyone nearby.

A sinking feeling hit her.

The north district was the cult’s area, crowded with carvings—no luck there.
The south district was the entry zone—mostly timber and open ground, easy to see at a glance. Guan Wang’s board sped through without obstruction—no luck there.
The eastern district had the highest population density—they’d checked every house, door to door, not missing a single curtain—no luck there.
The western district was home to dozens of small groups, each with its own little courtyard. To avoid confrontation, Si Zhiyan had transformed into cloud and mist, slipping through gaps and searching every heap and pile…

Nothing.

Against all odds, with time running short, they turned the Nest over completely, including the cult’s sector.

No one found a trace of the vanished pods.

It was as if they had simply disappeared.

Si Zhiyan frowned, eyes returning to the map.

Only two hours remained.
He had to make a final judgment—where was the culprit?