The afterglow of the setting sun, like a blazing torch, dyed the sky orange-red, but the magnificent color could not dispel the gloom over this land.
The two walked very lightly, each step feeling as if they were treading on a wound in the earth, afraid of disturbing something. As they drew closer to the source of the sound, Qin Qianluo gradually heard the crying.
The cries sounded particularly mournful in the twilight air, like the desperate cries of a wounded young animal.
She hurried toward the sound, her feet treading on the uneven dirt road. The wild grass beside the road looked withered and droopy in the setting sun, shivering in the wind and making a faint rustling sound, as if it were lamenting the tragedy that was about to be witnessed.
The further they walked, the more remote it became. The surrounding trees were sparse and twisted, their bare branches resembling thin, bony hands reaching towards the sky. There were virtually no people to be seen; only the occasional flight of an unknown bird added an eerie touch to the silence with its calls.
The two finally saw the source of the sound—a tower-shaped building. The tower looked like a giant staggering out of ancient times, or a lonely figure forgotten by time in the wilderness.
The tower is built of huge, rough stones, each stone bearing the weight of time, its surface covered with deep and shallow grooves, like the crisscrossing wrinkles on the face of an old man who has weathered many storms.
The stones are mottled and varied in color, with dark shades left by rain and the erosion of time. There are also some places where paint was once applied, but it has long since faded and can only be vaguely seen as some dim colors, as if telling the story of the tower's glorious or mysterious past.
The tower is surrounded by a desolate wilderness, with withered yellow grass almost knee-high, swaying violently in the wind as if dancing wildly or struggling in agony.
Scattered across the wilderness are broken stones, some half-buried in the soil, others exposed, their surfaces marked by the erosion of time, uneven and pitted, as if telling tales of past vicissitudes.
Not far away stood several crooked, withered trees, their trunks riddled with holes of all sizes, around which black beetles crawled. Torn strips of cloth hung from the branches, fluttering in the wind like banners summoning spirits, adding to the eerie atmosphere of the place.
The tower was covered with moss and vines. The moss was a dark, murky green, clinging wetly to the stones, as if it were giving the tower a rotten coat.
The vines, like withered arms, tightly coiled around the tower. Some vines had broken off, and the dry branches swayed in the wind, occasionally brushing against the tower and making a soft rustling sound, like the whispers of ghosts.
There are two small openings on the tower, one marked with a boy and the other with a girl. The tower marked with a boy is very small, appearing to be only one story high. It looks somewhat lonely in the afterglow of the setting sun, and the weeds around the tower grow wildly, seemingly trying to slowly devour it.
The tower marking the daughter is very tall, as if several more stories were built up behind it. The towering tower casts a long shadow, like a huge dark ghost, shrouding the land.
The baby's cries came from the window marked with the daughter's name. As one got closer, the sound became clearer, echoing in the empty wilderness as if lamenting the injustice of fate.
A stench of rotting corpses emanated from the tower, growing stronger in the warm evening air, a stench mingled with the earthy smell and the acrid odor of the setting sun, almost nauseating. There were no houses around; only the tower, bathed in the setting sun, appeared even more desolate, as if it were a forgotten corner of the world.
The two approached step by step. Xuanling's expression was solemn. She reached out and sealed her and Qin Qianluo's sense of smell. With each step, they could feel the ground beneath their feet emanating an aura of death.
When I reached the low tower, I peeked through the window and saw the remains of several small infants. The tower was dark and damp, with water droplets seeping from the walls. The droplets shimmered faintly in the setting sun, like the restless souls of the departed infants flickering in despair.
Xuanling felt a little relieved; it seemed things weren't as bad as she had thought. However, Qin Qianluo's brows furrowed deeper and deeper. She looked up at the rather tall tower, its windows high up, appearing so unreachable against the orange-red sky.
The window looked like an entrance to hell, and the sound emanated from this tower. Bathed in the setting sun, the tower exuded a mysterious and terrifying aura, as if it concealed countless secrets.
She glanced at Xuanling and asked him to lead her up. Xuanling carried Qin Qianluo, their toes barely touching the ground. In the afterglow of the setting sun, their figures resembled two moths struggling on the edge of darkness.
She arrived at the window marked with her daughter's name and peered inside. Just as she had expected, the tower was filled with countless infant remains.
In the light of the setting sun, some of the remains gleamed a ghastly white, while others were shrouded in shadow, creating a terrifying scene.
A tiny baby was crying near the window. Its pink face had turned red from crying for so long, and it looked like it had just been brought in. Amidst the scene of death, it appeared so fragile and helpless.
Unlike the low tower, most of the remains here are clean and intact. The white bones under the setting sun are like memories bleached by time, and each bone tells the story of the passing of life.
The remains on the lower tower were mostly wrapped in small blankets, though the blankets were tattered and worn, revealing only tiny skulls, like ghosts silently weeping in the darkness. On this side, however, everything was clearly visible, scattered haphazardly throughout the tower, resembling a horrific scene after a brutal war.
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