Reborn at the bottom of the drought-stricken loess pit in 1845, his throat was filled with dust and grass roots. The soil beneath me suddenly cracked, and a silver-white sphere rolled out silently, and cold blue light penetrated my cloudy pupils. "Aji! Where did he die!?" The village chief's smoky roar came from overhead. The red cracks of the collapse of the star ring in 2025 and the cracked loess ravines in front of me overlapped crazily in my mind. Amid the intense pain caused by the blue light, the ball cracked open, and strange lines were imprinted on my palm. Is it the key? Or a curse? That night, the only lean cow left in the village was disemboweled, with the same twisted dark blue marks carved on its organs. The village chief carried a hatchet with a hatchet, and the sparks in the smoke pot reflected the hungry wolf-like look in his eyes, and he walked closer and closer to the broken kiln where I was hiding.
