“When a trap is sprung without prey…
ask who was truly hunting.”
– Saying of the Poison Tribe
The morning after the Festival of Serpents…
The village awoke later than usual.
Children chased one another through the muddy paths.
Hunters stretched tired muscles after a rare night of celebration.
For a few precious hours…
The shadow hanging over the Black Marsh seemed to fade.
…
It did not last.
Just after sunrise…
One of the hunters returned from his patrol.
His expression was grim.
“The southern traps…”
“They’ve all been triggered.”
The elders immediately gathered.
“Were there animals?”
The hunter slowly shook his head.
“Nothing.”
“Not even footprints.”
…
Grandmother Wu selected six experienced hunters.
To everyone’s surprise…
She looked toward Zhao Long.
“You are coming.”
Several elders objected.
“He’s too young.”
“He’ll only slow them down.”
Grandmother Wu replied calmly,
“If he slows them down…”
“They’ll return without him.”
No one argued again.
The group reached the southern marsh before noon.
The first trap lay broken.
The rope had been cut cleanly.
Not torn.
Cut.
The second trap…
Had been carefully disarmed.
The third…
Had simply vanished.
The hunters exchanged uneasy glances.
“This wasn’t done by an animal.”
…
Zhao Long walked quietly from trap to trap.
Then he stopped beside a tree.
A small branch had been tied into a knot.
Not by nature.
By human hands.
He looked farther ahead.
Another knot.
Then another.
His eyes narrowed.
“They’re marking the safe paths.”
One hunter frowned.
“For whom?”
Zhao Long didn’t answer.
He simply continued walking.
…
As the sun reached its highest point…
The trail ended at a shallow stream.
Beyond it…
Nothing.
No broken branches.
No scent.
One hunter muttered,
“They disappeared.”
Grandmother Wu slowly crouched beside the water.
She dipped her fingers into the stream.
“They didn’t disappear.”
“They crossed.”
The hunters searched the opposite bank.
Still nothing.
Zhao Long smiled faintly.
“They walked in the water.”
The older hunters looked at him.
“It hides their tracks.”
Grandmother Wu nodded.
“And tells us…”
“They’ve done this before.”
Silence settled over the group.
Whoever had entered the Black Marsh…
Was patient.
Disciplined.
And experienced.
…
On the journey home…
No one spoke.
Each hunter was lost in thought.
As the village came into view…
Zhao Long looked back one last time.
The stream flowed quietly.
As if no one had crossed it.
As if no secrets had been carried away.
The Black Marsh remained silent.
But silence…
Could hide many things.