Chapter 1

DYLAN pulled something out of his pocket. Two spherical pieces, about the size of a 50-cent coin, with a rough texture like lizard skin, gleamed in a yellowish-white hue, resembling shells. They were said to be snake scales with mystical powers. To this day, Dylan wasn't exactly sure what kind of powers, except for one so-called gift.

That gift had once been a source of pride for Dylan, but over time, it felt as if it was consuming him from the inside. He began to regret ever accepting those scales, made worse by the promise he had made to his late grandfather.

He looked at the river in front of him. Known locally as Bushes Holes, the water gleamed in a blue-green hue, clear and calm. Once a popular spot for visitors, it had fallen into eerie silence since being closed off years ago. Yet, the surrounding area remained well-kept and pristine, though locals rarely ventured into place anymore.

Dylan sighed softly. Over two months had passed, and his efforts still bore no fruit. For almost a month, he'd gone back and forth to Mr. Smith's house, but every lead hit a dead end. He still had no clue where his father had disappeared to.

A sudden thud on his right shoulder stunned him. Dylan spun around to see three men standing uncomfortably close. One of them was holding a wooden stick.

Dylan rubbed his shoulder. "Hey, what's the big idea, man? Hitting people for no reason."

"You're coming with us to the station. Now!" one of them snapped.

Dylan frowned. "Station? What for?"

"You killed that man, didn't you? Do you even realize what bad luck you've brought to this village? Now, come with us and turn yourself in!"

The second man grabbed Dylan's left arm firmly. Dylan glanced toward the spot where a man's body had been found by the river a few days earlier. Yellow caution tape marked the restricted area.

Dylan yanked his arm back. "I didn't kill anyone. You can't just accuse me."

"Don't give us excuses! We know it was you. He met you, and not long after that, someone found his body here. And today, you show up to destroy evidence? That's suspicious as hell!"

Dylan's forehead creased in disbelief at the baseless accusation. Before he could say another word, he was shoved from behind, landing hard on the ground. The three men wasted no time kicking and punching him.

Dylan, overwhelmed and unable to fight back, curled up defensively, trying to shield himself from the blows.

"Hey!"

DYLAN winced as he touched his bruised right shoulder. Who knows what would’ve happened if Mr. Smith hadn’t shown up in time. The three men who had attacked him still shot him sharp glares. Dylan rubbed the back of his neck, which was aching as well.

“How many times do I have to tell you that this kid, isn’t guilty? You went and beat someone’s child. If he files a report, you three are the ones in trouble,” Mr. Smith scolded.

“If he’s innocent, what was he doing there?”

“He must’ve gone back to clean up evidence, right? Scared the police might find something he dropped?”

“Yeah. We've been keeping an eye on him for a while. His behavior is suspicious. You’re trying to cover up your crime, aren’t you?”

Mr. Smith shook his head at the three men who refused to let Dylan go. “The police already ruled it as sudden death, not murder. Calm down, will you?”

The trio went silent, though dissatisfaction was written all over their faces.

“Go home. Stop trying to do the police’s job. They know how to investigate if anything’s off. Just leave.”

“He’s an outsider. Our village has its rules. If something bad happens, we all suffer. Now someone’s dead. We’re in trouble.”

“And another thing. That guesthouse of his and his friend’s should just shut down. Ridiculous. Our village can’t handle outsiders anymore.”

“Enough. He didn’t do anything wrong. I know this boy. Now go home and don’t go around hitting people anymore.”

The men exchanged glances before reluctantly walking away.

Mr. Smith turned to Dylan, shaking his head weakly.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Smith,” Dylan muttered awkwardly.

“What are you apologizing for? You’re the one who got beaten up.”

Dylan lowered his head, feeling embarrassed. Mr. Smith had already helped him out of trouble several times since he first arrived at the village.

“They roughed you up pretty bad.”

“It’s nothing. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

Mr. Smith sighed heavily. “Is this village really the only lead you have? Have you tried searching outside? Maybe even across the border?”

“I’ve checked. No leads at all about my dad, unless...” Dylan’s voice trailed off as he looked down. “Unless he changed his name.”

Mr. Smith nodded thoughtfully.

Dylan glanced at the older man, who looked to be in his late fifties. “I heard from the villagers that this place has a ‘guardian.’ Is that true, Mr. Smith?”

Mr. Smith laughed and shook his head. “What did you find by the river earlier?”

Dylan simply shook his head.

Mr. Smith paused before speaking again. “Even though the river is deep, it used to be a recreational spot for swimming. The water was clear and calm. Lots of people loved coming here. But there were many drowning cases. The last one was three years ago. After that, the place was completely shut down.”

As usual, Mr. Smith never got tired of recounting the village and river’s history. Even though some of it seemed hard to believe, Dylan never grew bored of listening.

“You already know the story,” Mr. Smith said.

Dylan just nodded. It was the same tale he had heard since first arriving at the village in search of his father.

“The government tried multiple times to develop the riverside area, but every project failed. Too many problems kept popping up. Some say it’s because of Master Headrick’s curse.”

“A curse? I only heard about the village having a ‘guardian.’ Never heard about a curse. Mr. Smith, who is Master Headrick?”

“I’m not sure either. It’s all hearsay. No idea if it’s true or not. That land by the river is vast. If developed, it could be worth millions.

“Apparently, the land originally belonged to Master Headrick. But since no one knows where his heirs are, the name on the land grant belongs to someone else now.”

Mr. Smith paused and pulled out a tobacco leaf, filling it with a twist of dried leaves before lighting it. Thin smoke curled into the air.

“That place is always clean, even though no one dares to go there. So you get what I mean, right? Something’s ‘watching over’ it,” Mr. Smith said.

“Master Headrick is an old story. His tale was popular around the late 1800s, so it’s probably been exaggerated over time. I’m supposedly a descendant of the original owner, but I don’t know much. My great-grandfather only told bits of the story. It was never complete,” Mr. Smith continued.

Dylan nodded. “That’s a long time ago. Has no one ever sought help from a powerful shaman or handler? Or maybe a sorcerer with knowledge of the unseen? You’re just going to leave it like that?”

“They’ve tried countless times. Nothing ever changed.”

Dylan fell silent for a moment. “Uh... are there any houses on the other side of the river, Mr. Smith?”

“There used to be. If I’m not mistaken, a family of foreigners lived there. But they moved out. Said they couldn’t sleep at night. Kept seeing strange figures. Well, it’s near the forest, so that’s normal. The villagers didn’t dare to go there either, but they built houses anyway.”

Mr. Smith chuckled and shook his head. “What made you think you could find your dad here?”

Dylan hesitated. “I heard the last place he was seen was in this village.”

Mr. Smith fell into thought. “As far as I remember, no one here knows anyone named Adam. Did your father go by another name?”

“I’m not sure. It’s been 15 years since he disappeared. I was just a kid then. Maybe he came here but didn’t know anyone.”

Mr. Smith let out a small sigh. “That makes things harder. Your search has hit a dead end.”

Dylan gave a faint smile. Sometimes he wondered if his father was truly dead.

“Be careful if you go back to the river. Don’t end up as the second body pulled out of there.”

Mr. Smith’s joke made Dylan uneasy. His hair stood on end as he thought about the river.

Bamboo Village was a mysterious place. Many strange events had occurred there. The most well-known belief was that the village was guarded and ruled by a group of snake spirits.

It sounded ridiculous, but that’s what people often said when Bamboo Village was mentioned. The village was said to have mystical stories no one could fully understand.

Mr. Smith, born and raised in the village, knew a lot about its history. But since the stories were passed down orally, many seemed far-fetched, with likely more embellishments than truth.

“Thank you, Mr. Smith. I understand.”

Remembering the scale he had dropped during the attack, Dylan touched his pocket. As usual, the scale was still there, having mysteriously returned to his side once again.

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