Chapter 1: How to Bury an Enemy in 3 Steps. (Or: Why You Should Never Piss Off a Writer with a Shovel)

  Alternative title: A Sworn Enemy

  Under a starless night, beneath clouds like heavy lead, even breathing felt exhausting.

  A light voice, as if utterly unbothered by the discomfort, murmured:

  "So tired."

  Yet...

  The crunch of dry earth and sand beneath his feet tickled his eardrums like insects crawling through his ears. His true feelings were practically the same.

  Breathing heavily, Ji Xiahan’s hands were stained with a sticky red liquid—blood-like. Gripping an iron shovel, he dug into the earth, forming a shallow grave, pausing occasionally to catch his breath.

  His once elegant, handsome face now bore exhaustion, but a faint smile still graced his lips.

  Every so often, his fingers—stained crimson—brushed against his lips, now dyed a nauseating, vivid red.

  Nearby y a bck bag, half the size of a person, stuffed with faint outlines of human limbs—except the proportions were all wrong. As if something had been sliced apart and tossed in haphazardly. A dark liquid seeped from the bottom, staining the soil and leaving a half-meter radius darker than the rest.

  The scene was undeniably horrifying. Even a grown man would faint from shock.

  But Ji Xiahan wasn’t the least bit afraid—nor worried about being caught in such a compromising situation.

  This was an isoted forest on the city’s outskirts, deep in the night. No visitors, no stray tourists. The ranger’s station was over two kilometers away. The only building within five was a dipidated old hotel on the forest’s far edge.

  "I did my research."

  A pointless pride swelled in his chest.

  And even if someone did stumble upon him—even a cop—Ji Xiahan wouldn’t flinch.

  He wasn’t committing a crime!

  Well... maybe, possibly, illegal hunting of a protected species?

  The thought made him pause. This forest didn’t—couldn’t—support rge animals like tigers or bears, let alone monkeys.

  So how had "Big Bck", that smug-faced monkey who’d tormented him for three days straight—now chopped into pieces in a trash bag—ended up here?

  Gritting his teeth, Ji Xiahan dragged the bag into the hole and shoveled dirt over it.

  Midway, the moonlight vanished behind thick clouds.

  "Why now?"

  "...How inconvenient."

  Forced to turn on his fshlight—its battery nearly dead, the beam flickering erratically—he marveled at its stubborn will to live. It had survived drops, cracks, and two full years of abuse, outsting every new model on the market.

  'A true warrior.'

  Over those two years, he’d gone from wanting to repce it to being awed by its resilience. Lately, he’d even started wondering if it had a will of its own.

  It refused to work under threats or insults—only responding to praise.

  ...How embarrassing.

  "Come on, you can do it. Just thirty more minutes, and I’ll clean you spotless. No stains, I promise."

  But did shame fill bellies?

  Gently tapping the fshlight’s handle with his bloodied hands, he coaxed it like a child, using his softest voice.

  It flickered reluctantly before steadying into a strong, unwavering beam—as if it weren’t ancient and half-dead.

  "Good girl."

  Ji Xiahan smiled. Not even slightly unnerved by its seemingly supernatural responsiveness. Even if it were haunted—so what? This ghost saved him money on batteries!

  Not that Ji Xiahan—a polite, schorly youth raised under the red banner, grounded in science and socialist virtues—believed in ghosts. It was less about belief and more about hedging his bets—a blend of metaphysics and superstition where faith simply paid better than doubt.

  After all, what if?

  ---

  Ten minutes ter, the grave was filled. Sitting atop the slightly raised mound, Ji Xiahan caught his breath and patted the earth with a mocking smirk.

  "See? When you messed with me three days ago, did you ever imagine this would happen?"

  The memory of his humiliation darkened his expression, fueling the urge to dig up the corpse and slice it into ten thousand pieces.

  "No. I’m too tired."

  With great effort, he sighed.

  ---

  Exactly four days ago, Ji Xiahan had gotten the idea to camp in the western forest to gather inspiration for his new book.

  Packing a tent, mosquito repellent, a bnket, and a snack box, he’d arrogantly assumed he was prepared for a one-day trip—unaware of what awaited him.

  It was safe regardless, probably even safer than the old neighborhood he was staying in.

  The first night passed without incident. But upon waking, he discovered he’d been robbed.

  His bnket, tent, snack box—even the shoes he’d removed to sleep—were gone. The repellent can y emptied, tossed aside like trash.

  Furious, Ji Xiahan spent the day scouring half the forest for the thief, though he knew they were likely long gone.

  Returning home at dusk, he tossed and turned all night.

  Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

  By dawn, dark circles framed his eyes, and his resolve had hardened: do or die.

  Armed with a cleaver (for intimidation) and "nutritional supplement bars" (junk food), he returned to the forest for revenge.

  By noon, he found his suspect—no, his culprit.

  Perched on a high branch, three stories up, a rge bck monkey wore Ji Xiahan’s prized limited-edition red sneakers—a 20th-birthday gift he’d kept pristine. Now, they were mud-caked, scratched, their ces tied around the monkey’s neck like a trophy.

  Below the tree y his shredded tent, torn bnket, and half-eaten snack box. The stench of insecticide hung thick in the air.

  "...I’m losing my mind, haha..."

  Ji Xiahan had found his enemy.

  And the enemy had noticed him. The monkey’s expressive face twisted into a sneer, mocking the fool who’d dared seek revenge.

  Then—

  Something brown, sticky, and foul-smelling spttered onto Ji Xiahan’s left shoulder.

  Recognition dawned slowly.

  His head turned stiffly, like a broken doll’s. If looks could kill, that monkey and nine generations of its ancestors would’ve been tortured to dust.

  In response, the monkey bared its teeth in a taunting grin—

  Then its arms became a blur.

  Ji Xiahan ducked, diving behind trees and sprinting without looking back. A wise choice, but not enough to escape unscathed.

  By the time he reached safety, he was covered in monkey feces.

  ---

  The first two days ended in defeat. But no more.

  On the third night, Ji Xiahan returned—prepared.

  A razor-sharp cleaver. His legendary slingshot, sealed away since age fourteen. Even tools to erase evidence (the target might be a protected species, after all).

  This time, it’d be a stealth attack. His second-day failure proved he stood no chance in a fair fight.

  Creeping silently, he hid in a bush, spying on his "sworn enemy" napping peacefully on the same branch—completely unguarded.

  Arrogance? Compcency? Either way, the monkey hadn’t even moved after being discovered.

  Ji Xiahan’s handsome face twisted into something sinister as he loaded his slingshot, aiming for the monkey’s forehead.

  A self-procimed sharpshooter, he’d once earned the nickname "Zhang Taofang" (a legendary sniper) in his childhood—though only for hitting stationary birds.

  Now, slightly rusty but still precise, he pulled the slingshot to its limit, ignoring the pain in his hands.

  He’d blow this monkey’s brains out.

  And he did.

  The stone tore through the air like a bullet, striking between the monkey’s brows—

  —Sending it crashing to the ground.

  Its body spasmed once, then stilled.

  But once bitten, twice shy.

  Ji Xiahan didn’t move an inch—not even when he fired a second stone at its sprawled legs. No reaction.

  If it were still faking after that, he’d respect it as a true man.

  (Or woman. A true feminist.)

  Approaching cautiously, cleaver raised, he confirmed the kill. The fall had broken its neck—not his stone.

  A twinge of regret surfaced, but justice had been served for his red sneakers.

  Now, to bury the evidence.

  ---

  Hours ter, under the weak moonlight, a scene straight from a horror film unfolded.

  Blood. Spttered viscera. Three trash bags filled and buried in separate locations.

  If asked why he’d gone to such lengths?

  "I’m just a good Samaritan!"

  With practiced motions, Ji Xiahan bnketed the fresh grave with forest debris—a yer of leaves, then unrecognizable monkey flesh to confuse the scent. His final touch: a cardboard marker jammed at a perfect 45-degree angle.

  "DOG FOOD. DO NOT TOUCH."

  "Perfect."

  Casting one st gnce at his sworn enemy’s remains, he sneered.

  "If reincarnation exists, may you come back as a crawling mutt—no, a maggot—forever crushed under human feet."

  With that, Ji Xiahan turned and left, footsteps steady, spirit at peace.

  Unaware that his recent misadventure would unleash chaos for countless others—dragging even him into this quagmire with no hope of escape.

  "Big Bck" had truly been his eternal sworn enemy.

  ---

  (End of Chapter 1)

  ---

  *IMPORTANT*

  The author does not speak English! If there is any inconsistency or strange pce, please let me know here!