The air was filled with the buzzing of buffalo flies. The edge of the rainforest was extremely humid, with the ground covered in muddy puddles that could never dry up. The trees here were perennial willows and banyans, with massive trunks, and Weitoma’s tent was set up next to a giant banyan tree.

Now he was sitting against the banyan tree, and Zhang Haiyan had temporarily stopped his bleeding. Weitoma was extremely weak, his face pale. Nanre’s corpse and a grass cocoon sat side by side next to Weitoma; it was unclear what kind of magic the cocoon possessed, but all the buffalo flies dared not come near, only feeding on the pool of blood that Weitoma had just spat out. In the puddle, leeches could be seen wriggling out of the mud.

The night was still very muggy. Brother Zhang tore off his dirty rag and began to fan himself with it in front of Weitoma’s wide-open eyes. Ma Dexun sat nearby, his head bowed, long hair obscuring his face, still recovering.

“How are you?” Zhang Haiyan asked him.

“I feel very unwell,” Ma Dexun replied slowly.

“Guilt, shock, and a collapse of faith?” Zhang Haiyan inquired.

“Too much has happened recently. My daughter and children were all killed, I burned my church, and now I’m killing people.”

“Don’t brew such feelings for yourself. If you think something is serious, it becomes serious, but if I knock you silly, you could still drool your way to ninety-five.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“I have a way to temporarily free you from this self-imposed pressure.”

“What is it?”

“You could indulge in some self-pleasure in front of this fat guy named Weitoma, turning serious, logical self-loathing into farce, and then you might see things more clearly.”

Weitoma widened his eyes and turned his head.

Ma Dexun raised his head, wearing a confused expression: “What did you say?”

“Self-pleasure, playing with snakes, whipping the whip—what do you call that?”

“No! I won’t do that,” Ma Dexun covered his head.

Zhang Haiyan sighed and looked at Weitoma, who immediately shook his head: “No, please.”

“Come on, tell me, what is the great secret of the rainforest?”

“Will you let me go if I tell you? And who exactly are you?”

“Oh, you’re so annoying,” Zhang Haiyan said impatiently, looking at Ma Dexun. “Forget it, I don’t want to know anymore. Let’s continue with the practice; he still has an artery left, don’t waste it.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t ask anymore. But if I tell you, you have to let me go.”

“You’re basically a useless person at this point. Why don’t you tell me, and I’ll make your death quick and painless.”

“No, I want to live. You understand, right? I don’t want to die.” Weitoma started to cry.

Zhang Haiyan glanced at Nanre’s corpse beside him and felt a wave of nausea. He could accept all kinds of bad people, but what he demanded was an equal view of life; you might think human life is worthless, but you better consider your own life to be worthless too. If you think your life is valuable while others are not, that’s just disgusting.

The fat man had a kind of underdeveloped evil, akin to a child in their early years, approaching other lives with a naïve ignorance. Just like humans and many ferocious beasts, in the early stages of consciousness development, they establish their boundaries in the food chain through killing. However, this desire is quickly suppressed by human awareness, but it seems that Weitoma, due to his physical deformity, has not experienced this mechanism. This person is already broken.

“Alright, I won’t kill you, you speak,” said Weitoma.

He looked at Zhang Haiyan and asked, “You won’t lie to me, will you?”

“Of course not. We practitioners of sorcery value honesty above all. I can swear to God.”

Weitoma stared into Zhang Haiyan’s eyes, and Zhang Haiyan said, “If you keep stalling, I’ll lose interest.”

“I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you.” Weitoma coughed a few times. “They are going to the rainforest to find a valley. In that valley, there is a tribe, and the people there blink with vertical eyes.”