Bang bang bang!

Suddenly, a rapid knocking sounded at the door, interrupting my thoughts. I looked at my parents with a puzzled expression.

My dad gestured for me to be quiet, and my mom immediately pulled me into the inner room. Then, she smeared something haphazardly on my face.

It's a bit pungent, a bit smelly, and a bit fishy.

It made me feel a little nauseous. Then I heard a series of pattering footsteps, which grew louder as they approached. Soon, a very handsome man with a stiff expression appeared in front of me.

He frowned at me, then sat down next to me.

Its nose was twitching, which was strange, like a dog sniffing something.

My mom was standing next to me, and I saw fine beads of sweat on her face. She was scared, but what was she scared of?

I don't know, I just remembered what the system said, that there are ghosts here.

But I don't believe him. After these two times, I've realized that he doesn't tell me everything that's true; often it's a mix of truth and falsehood.

The man smelled it for a while, then got up and left.

I rushed out and saw my dad close the door, bolt it, and then sit down against the door, panting heavily.

Seeing me, a man in my forties, burst into tears.

My mom followed behind and hugged me, burying her head on my shoulder and sobbing uncontrollably.

It seemed like they had been crying and scared ever since I walked into the house.

This made my heart, which had just calmed down, jump again. I started to desperately want to find the system, but I didn't know what it was like now, or if it was still the same as before.

This is obviously impossible.

I mentally slapped myself hard.

I thought to myself, "What an idiot! Who leaves me with the answer to find?"

I must have lost my mind.

I gently lifted my mother's back to comfort her, and I heard my voice sound a little hoarse: "Mom, how many people are there in our village?"

My mom wiped away her tears and looked at me: "Why are you asking this?"

I chuckled and said, "It's nothing, I just wanted to ask."

My mom shook her head: "I don't know exactly how many people there are, but you shouldn't go out unless you have to. Also, change out of those clothes as soon as possible. Oh, and don't wash this off your face."

I nodded: "Okay, I understand, Mom."

My mom didn't say anything more and went inside. My dad was still sitting at the door. I thought about it and went over to him, helped him up, and helped him sit down on the stool again.

My dad patted my shoulder, and after a long while, he sighed and said, "Sister Yue, Dad knows how much you've suffered for this face, but now that you're back, you don't need this face anymore. Use this knife; this knife will be faster."

He handed me a knife; it was small but very sharp, a newly sharpened dagger.

The dagger was about the length of an adult man's palm.

It is very convenient to carry around.

But the point now isn't how sharp this dagger is, but why I can't keep my face...

I didn't ask, but I had a vague feeling that this face would bring me trouble.

I thought for a moment, gritted my teeth, washed my face, and facing the red mirror, I made a cut from my left temple to my right jaw. Blood gushed out instantly and flowed down the wound, turning my once stunningly beautiful face into a hideous mess.

Like a demon.

At the same time, I was trembling with pain. Without spiritual power, this kind of pain was worse than death for me, and even my vision began to blur.

Through the blur, I saw two people walking towards me, each holding something in their hands; they were my parents.

When I woke up again, my clothes had been changed, and a bark-stripped stick was tied to my mouth. The mirror was on the kang (a heated brick bed), and I quickly picked it up to look at my face. I found that the wounds on my face had been stitched up and covered with a layer of yellow powder.

Those powders have hemostatic, analgesic, and wound-healing effects.

Something was applied to my skin, but within just a few minutes of waking up, my originally fair and delicate skin turned sallow.

It was no longer as beautiful as it had been when we arrived; now it was just hideous.

But my parents looked much more at ease, though they were still quite scared when someone knocked on the door.

I stayed in the village for a whole week. During that week, my parents kept a close watch on me and wouldn't let me go out until the wound on my face healed.

However, although it healed, it left a scar that looked like a centipede running across his entire face.

That night, my parents finally let me go out.

Late at night, they dragged me out of bed, carrying a basket covered tightly with a black cloth, and led me into the mountains with torches, ropes, and a knife. My father took a glass bottle out of his pocket, which contained a bright red liquid.

He opened it, and I smelled it; it was blood.

I nudged my mom's arm: "Mom, what's that in Dad's hand? What are we doing here?"

My mom covered my mouth and whispered, "Keep your voice down. It's all because of you. If you hadn't come back this time, your dad and I wouldn't have needed to come down into the mountains to catch that thing in order to save your life."

"That thing? What is that thing?" I asked, puzzled.

My mother didn't say anything more.

She told me to stay there quietly while my dad and I went over to start digging.

I couldn't see very clearly at night, but I knew they seemed to be digging a trap.

I wanted to go over and see clearly, but they wouldn't let me. Every time I moved, my mother would pull the knife and glare at me fiercely.

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