Volume One: Scroll of Fresh Rain Chapter Twenty-Four: The Town of Endless Night

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Nameless Town?

What secret could possibly be hidden in a name like that?

It’s already called Nameless—how much meaning could it hold?

Night had deepened, but Ye Mingke still felt no urge to sleep. His mind churned with all manner of thoughts, leaving him utterly restless.

He lay in bed for a long while, but sleep eluded him. At last, he threw off his blanket, dressed, and wandered out alone into the streets of the small town.

He had lived here for more than a decade, and knew every blade of grass, every brick and tile—yet it was as though he had never truly seen it at all.

Those strange customs that everyone accepted as normal. The hidden hatreds and conflicts lurking beneath the calm. What kind of place was this, really? And what kind of people lived here?

Why did it always feel as if everyone wore a mask—even masks they might not know themselves?

Nameless Town—what secret does it truly hide?

Ye Mingke let his feet carry him through street after street, lost in thought.

Clang. Clang. In the silent night, the sound of the night watchman’s gong echoed, accompanied by Old Wang’s drawn-out calls.

Old Wang’s over there—should I go talk to him? Bored, Ye Mingke kicked a pebble from his path, muttering to himself.

Old Wang was the town’s elder. Childless and aged, he had been entrusted with the light duty of night watch. He’d been at it for over a decade. Ye Mingke, often wandering the streets at night, was well acquainted with this other solitary figure.

As Ye Mingke mulled over the riddle of “Nameless Town,” his feet unconsciously drew him toward the sound of the gong.

Nameless Town… Deathless Town?

His mind adrift, Ye Mingke muttered a homonym for the town’s name, and suddenly wondered—how old was Old Wang, exactly?

As far back as he could remember, Old Wang had already been the elderly night watchman. When Ye Mingke was a child, Old Wang had seemed nearly seventy.

Now, after more than ten years, Old Wang was still the town’s night watchman.

He tried to recall any difference between the Old Wang of his childhood and the Old Wang of now, but in his hazy memory, there was almost no change.

Old Wang was always old—but never seemed to grow older.

But then, wasn’t that true of all the aunts, uncles, and townsfolk? In the decade or so he’d lived here, no one had really changed.

And except for the old mat-maker who was executed for breaking the town’s taboo, no one had died here in all those years, despite the many elderly among them.

Besides, the town was ancient—surely, after so many generations, there should be a cemetery. So where was it?

Why had he never been there, nor heard anyone speak of it? Was it simply that he didn’t know, or did it not exist at all?

Nameless Town. Deathless Town…

No death. Aging suspended. A town like a tableau, frozen in time.

A chill crept over Ye Mingke. The familiar figures of the townsfolk rose up in his memory, but when they turned to face him, it was as if he could only see blank, featureless faces.

Thud.

Startled by his own fear, he instinctively halted his steps toward Old Wang and spun around to leave.

But the moment he turned, he nearly collided with a face out of the darkness—wrinkled, grotesque, terrifying.

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His heart nearly stopped. That face seemed to press right up against the back of his neck; he could almost feel its cold, eerie breath upon his skin.

Something stirred in his mind. Fighting down his terror, he slowly backed away a few steps.

“Yezi, what are you doing muttering to yourself out here in the middle of the night?”

That dreadful face, bathed in ghastly moonlight, shifted and spoke in a low, ghostly voice.

With a little distance between them, Ye Mingke recognized the face—it was Old Wang.

Perhaps it was the effect of the moonlight, but the face that was usually just kindly and old now appeared twisted by a strange, unsettling smile.

“Nothing, really. Just couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d go for a walk,” Ye Mingke replied, forcing his voice to sound light and casual, as if nothing was amiss. He made a point of emphasizing “alone.”

“Heh heh, is that so…”

In the stillness, Old Wang chuckled softly.

The sound sent a shiver through Ye Mingke.

“Take care, and head home soon,” Old Wang said, turning away with his gong, his hunched back shuffling toward the far end of the street.

“Young people shouldn’t overthink things. It’s not good for you, heh heh.”

He muttered as he went, his laughter low and strange.

Ye Mingke didn’t move or reply. He simply stood there, numb, until Old Wang’s figure disappeared from view. Then he ran home as fast as he could.

Once he’d shut the door behind him, the fear began to ebb. He slumped against the door, drained.

Nameless Town. Deathless Town…

He hugged his knees, shivering. What was he really afraid of? All of it was just wild speculation—based on thirteen short years and an imperfect memory.

Maybe he was just overthinking it.

Go to sleep. By morning, all the phantoms will be gone, and the town will be beautiful and serene as ever.

The next morning.

Uncle Jian opened his window and saw the boy splitting firewood—up half an hour earlier than usual. Hearing the window, Ye Mingke, lost in his chopping, hurriedly set down the hatchet and went to make breakfast.

After breakfast, he returned to chopping wood. He didn’t find the training hard to endure—in fact, he rather liked it.

When he lost himself in repetitive, mindless labor, his chaotic thoughts would settle. All worries faded, leaving only the small joy of gradual improvement.

At noon, Qiao Qiao came by to see him.

Knowing Ye Mingke was busy with training, his friends always came around mealtime so he could chat while he ate.

The two of them teased each other about a certain big oaf’s growing closeness to a certain senior girl, and laughed at how oblivious the oaf was, making all her flirtatious glances go to waste.

Of course, neither realized that one of them, too, was missing the meaningful looks of a certain poor girl sitting right beside him.

Qiao Qiao laughed along with Ye Mingke, then suddenly puffed her cheeks in mock annoyance.

That evening, Ye Mingke went to Aunt Long’s room earlier than usual.

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Tonight, Aunt Long had a new training assignment for him.

“Auntie, what’s the new training tonight?” Ye Mingke asked curiously, noticing there seemed to be no props in her room.

“Hmm… we’re playing chess again,” Aunt Long replied with a bright smile.

“But… where’s the board?” Sitting on her bed, Ye Mingke looked around in confusion.

“This time the chess game is special. No board, no pieces. But at the start, you’ll need this.”

Aunt Long spoke mysteriously, then bent down and rummaged under the bed for something.

“Ah, found it!”

She seemed to have located the object, leaning farther under the bed to drag something heavy out.

“This is it.”

She exhaled and pulled from beneath the bed a long rectangular object. It was quite large. With a flourish, she lifted it, spun it around, and slammed it onto the little table where the chessboard usually sat.

Bang.

The bed shook, creaking in protest.

Startled, Ye Mingke leaned back, staring in shock at the oddly familiar object, uncertain what it was.

“What… what kind of magical artifact is this?” he asked, astonished.

With a grand gesture, Aunt Long slapped her hand on the artifact and declared with immense pride, “This, of course, is… scratch paper!”

“…,” Ye Mingke was speechless.

“Uh… but…” he began, only to be cut off by Aunt Long’s voice.

“There’s no math problem that can’t be solved with two sacks of scratch paper. If there is, just add another sack!”

She stroked the mountain of paper before her, her gaze distant and full of nostalgia, as if recalling the wild, glorious days of the past.

“Uh… but if we’re playing chess… with scratch paper? Does that mean—”

Ye Mingke instinctively traced crosses and circles in the air.

“Are we playing tic-tac-toe?”

“Hmm… two sacks of tic-tac-toe?” he mused.

“No!” Aunt Long interrupted, sweeping her hand in a decisive arc. “What we’re playing is…”

Ye Mingke sat up straight, holding his breath in anticipation.

But Long Yinling seemed to freeze mid-gesture, her hand suspended in the air, unable to utter the crucial word.

“Hmm, what should we call this chess game?” she murmured, withdrawing her hand and resting her chin in her palm, lost in thought.