Chapter 2 The Mark of Blood The pistol slipped from Giòng's trembling hand. For one endless heartbeat, neither he nor the floating apparition moved. The bamboo grove became unnaturally silent. No birds. No insects. Even the wind seemed to have abandoned the forest. The creature stared at him with dark, unreadable eyes. Her long hair drifted gently although no breeze remained. The smile on her lips slowly faded. Then... She tilted her head. Almost curiously. As if she had recognized something. A faint whisper escaped her lips. "So... another one..." Giòng could not understand the words. His heart pounded too loudly inside his chest. Every instinct screamed at him to run. He obeyed. Turning without another glance, he stumbled through the bamboo, branches whipping across his face as he fled. His boots slipped in the mud several times, yet he never stopped. Behind him... Nothing. No footsteps. No laughter. No pursuit. That frightened him more than if she had chased him. He burst from the grove and nearly collided with his horse. The animal reared violently, eyes rolling in panic. It refused to step toward the forest. "Move!" Giòng shouted, yanking the reins. The horse let out a shrill whinny before bolting down the village road. Only after the bamboo grove disappeared behind him did Giòng dare look back. The forest stood perfectly still beneath the morning sun. It was as though nothing had happened. ... Meanwhile, the villagers remained gathered outside Mr. Dân's house. No one had expected Giòng to vanish for so long. Minutes stretched into nearly an hour. Whispers spread among the crowd. "Where did they go?" "They should have returned by now." "What if..." An elderly woman quickly covered the speaker's mouth. "Don't say it." Finally, hoofbeats echoed from the road. Everyone turned. Giòng rode back alone. His expensive clothes were splattered with mud. His face had become ghostly pale. The arrogant smile that never left him was gone. He jumped off the horse before it had fully stopped. "Get everyone away from that forest." His voice cracked. Nobody answered. Giòng looked around furiously. "Didn't you hear me?" "No one enters that bamboo grove." His bodyguards exchanged confused glances. "Young Master..." "Where are Brother Hậu and Brother Tín?" Giòng remained silent. "They're dead." The words froze the entire village. Dead? Impossible. Those two men had served Madam Hội for years. Both were seasoned fighters who feared almost nothing. Yet they had died inside the forest? One of the villagers cautiously asked, "What happened?" Giòng glared at him. "They were attacked." "By what?" Silence. For the first time in his life... Giòng had no answer. Because he himself could scarcely believe what he had witnessed. He mounted his horse again. "If anyone asks..." "They were killed by bandits." Without waiting for a reply, he rode away. No one believed him. Bandits did not leave a man trembling. Bandits did not make horses refuse to approach a forest. Bandits certainly did not cause Giòng to avoid looking behind him every few seconds. The villagers watched him disappear into the distance. Then they all looked toward the bamboo grove. None of them dared speak another word. ... By sunset, rumors had already reached every corner of Vàm Trung. Some claimed a demon had awakened. Others insisted an ancient spirit had returned to claim revenge. The story changed with every retelling. But one detail remained the same. Something terrible lived inside the bamboo grove. And it had killed men without mercy. ... That evening, rain fell over the village. Heavy drops drummed against the tiled roof of Madam Hội's sprawling mansion. Inside the main hall, Giòng knelt before his mother. Madam Hội sat calmly beside a burning oil lamp, counting silver coins as though nothing unusual had happened. Without looking up, she asked, "You failed to collect the debt?" "I collected most of it." "Most?" "The farmer didn't have enough." She finally raised her eyes. "And my men?" Giòng hesitated. "They... won't be coming back." A brief silence followed. Madam Hội placed another coin onto the table. "Explain." Giòng recounted everything. The forest. The blood. The floating woman. The impossible creature. The bullet that had done nothing. When he finished, the room became silent once more. He expected disbelief. Mockery. Perhaps even a slap across the face. Instead... Madam Hội simply stared into the flickering flame. Her expression slowly hardened. "So..." "It has finally awakened." Giòng frowned. "You know what it was?" His mother did not answer immediately. Instead, she dismissed every servant from the room. Only after the heavy wooden doors had closed did she speak again. "I prayed this day would never come." Giòng felt a chill. "You've seen it before?" "No." "But my father did." She stood and walked toward an old ancestral cabinet that had not been opened in years. Hidden beneath faded incense bowls lay a weathered wooden chest wrapped in rusted iron chains. She unlocked it with a small brass key she wore around her neck. Inside rested a brittle bundle of handwritten papers. The pages had darkened with age. Some were stained by what looked disturbingly like dried blood. Madam Hội unfolded the first sheet carefully. "It has been nearly sixty years." "My father left these records before he died." "They contain only one warning." She handed the paper to Giòng. The old ink had almost disappeared. Yet several lines remained legible. When the Head Without a Body rises again, the debt of blood shall be collected. No silver may repay it. No weapon may stop it. Those whose ancestors sinned shall be the first to die. Giòng read the words twice. His mouth became dry. "What debt?" Madam Hội slowly closed the chest. "I never wanted you to know." "But perhaps..." "...it is already too late." Before she could continue... A servant burst through the doors without knocking. "Madam!" He collapsed onto his knees. "The northern watchman..." "He's missing." "And..." The servant struggled to breathe. "We found blood on the old bridge." Madam Hội's eyes narrowed. "Only blood?" "No body." Lightning flashed outside. For a brief instant, every shadow inside the hall stretched across the walls. Giòng glanced toward the rain-soaked courtyard. Someone... Was standing beyond the gate. A woman. Long black hair. White clothing drenched by the storm. She appeared only for the duration of the lightning. When darkness returned... She was gone. Giòng rushed outside. The guards searched the entrance. No footprints marked the muddy ground. Nothing. Only a single piece of wet white cloth fluttered gently from the gate. Caught on one of its wooden spikes. As Giòng reached out to remove it... He suddenly felt a burning pain around his neck. He touched the skin. His fingers came away red. Not with fresh blood. But with the shape of a crimson handprint that had not been there before. No one else seemed able to see it. The old prophecy echoed inside his mind. The debt of blood shall be collected.

9 chapters