11: Chapter 11 I Love You, Mom (Part 1)

Ding Qing stepped down the mountain path, one step at a time, through the muddy ground softened by the rain.

Although the thick fog in the mountains had thinned considerably, it still clung to him like a damp shroud, carrying a strange mix of decaying vegetation and blood.

On his bronze skin, the dark blue veins from the full exertion of his Iron Cloth Shirt were slowly fading.

Only rising steam and mottled grime remained, indistinguishable between mud and splashed black blood.

Each breath tugged at his slightly aching muscles, but his gaze remained as hard as iron.

At the foot of the mountain, dazzling red and blue police lights tore through the gray sky, blurring the outlines of the gathered crowd.

Several police cars were parked askew on the wet asphalt road, and uniformed police officers moved among them.

The air was filled with tension, unease, and a trace of dazed relief after surviving a disaster.

As soon as Ding Qing's figure appeared at the edge of the fog, he was immediately spotted by the sharp-eyed Wang Yang.

“Brother Qing!!!”

Wang Yang's roar, filled with a distorted ecstasy and relief, was like a stone breaking the surface of suppressed water.

He practically scrambled out of the crowd, stumbling towards Ding Qing, his eyes red, his voice choked:

“You... you're alright! That's great! It's really... damn great!”

He vigorously patted Ding Qing's arm.

He wanted to confirm it wasn't an illusion, yet he didn't dare to use too much force, as if afraid of dispelling this figure who had returned from a bloodbath.

Huang Guohua, Zhao Xiaoya, and the driver Old Zhang also turned their heads sharply, their faces instantly erupting with indescribable excitement and complicated emotions.

Teacher Huang clutched his still throbbing forehead, his lips trembling.

It ultimately turned into a long, tearful sigh, as muddy tears mixed with bloodstains flowed down his face.

Zhao Xiaoya fiercely covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking violently.

Old Zhang, on the other hand, seemed to have had his last bit of strength drained, sliding down against the police car to sit on the ground, repeatedly muttering:

“Buddha bless... Buddha has manifested...”

Ding Qing swayed slightly from Wang Yang's impact, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly before returning to calm.

He raised a hand and patted Wang Yang's back, not gently, but with strength.

His gaze swept over the four speechless and agitated individuals, finally resting on the two police officers who were walking briskly towards him.

One middle-aged police officer had a solemn expression and eyes as sharp as an eagle; the younger one wore a look of incredulous astonishment.

“Student Ding Qing?”

The middle-aged police officer scrutinized Ding Qing from head to toe.

His gaze lingered on the still-wet mud, suspicious dark marks, and the fierce, violent aura that hadn't completely dissipated from his brow, his tone serious.

“You came down from the mountain? Where are the others?”

“Only I came down.”

Ding Qing's voice was calm, with a slight hoarseness from the intense battle.

“The fog in the mountain was thick, and we got separated.”

He was concise, avoiding all crucial details.

“Separated?!”

The young police officer couldn't help but raise his voice, pointing at Wang Yang and the others.

“They said you stayed behind alone to cover their retreat, drawing away... drawing away the 'thing'! And Li Feng, Zhao Qiang, and the others...”

“Xiao Chen!”

The middle-aged police officer cut him off with a low reprimand, sternly signaling him to mind the occasion and his words.

He turned to Ding Qing, softening his tone, but with a more intense probing meaning.

“Student Ding, we need you to explain the situation in detail, from when you got on the bus until you came down the mountain just now, the more detailed the better.

Especially... the 'missing' students, and the... anomalies you encountered in the mountains.”

He deliberately emphasized the word “anomalies,” clearly indicating that Wang Yang's terrified descriptions had gone beyond common sense.

The next few hours were spent in oppressive and repetitive questioning.

Ding Qing was taken to a police car alone to give his statement.

He calmly recounted the “surface” part of the “story.”

The bus breaking down, the thick fog, students getting lost due to panic, and himself staying behind to cover their retreat, attempting to search, but ultimately escaping alone.

He skillfully avoided all key points of the supernatural phenomena.

The shadows outside the window, the consumption inside the bus, Li Feng's mutation, Zhao Qiang's end...

He attributed it all to chaos, panic, and possible accidents in a harsh environment.

His tone was steady, his logic clear.

He even showed a hint of appropriate fatigue and “lingering fear.”

He was a completely different person from his previous violent and murderous image, yet he perfectly fit the state of an “ordinary student who miraculously survived.”

Facing the police's sharp questions and obvious suspicion.

He either remained silent.

Or he brushed it off with “the fog was too thick to see clearly” or “it was too chaotic to remember clearly.”

His composure, far beyond his age, and his watertight responses made even the experienced middle-aged police officer feel tricky and deeply perplexed.

The entire incident was too bizarre and strange.

Out of a group of more than twenty, only five returned alive.

Wang Yang, Huang Guohua, Zhao Xiaoya, and Old Zhang's testimonies, though chaotic and terrified, filled with words like “ghosts,” “devouring,” and “monsters,” were highly consistent in pointing to an incomprehensible horror.

And Ding Qing's “ordinary” version, while avoiding supernatural elements, still couldn't explain such a high casualty rate.

The police retrieved the Vehicle camera's recordings.

However, they found that from the moment the thick fog appeared, the footage was just large patches of static and distorted noise, a complete blank.

The officers who went up the mountain for on-site investigation were also quickly blocked by the thick fog and returned empty-handed.

All clues pointed to a black vortex that could not be explained by common sense.

The nature of the case instantly escalated and was quickly reported, alarming higher-level special departments to intervene in the investigation.

But all of this, for now, had nothing to do with Ding Qing and the others.

After the lengthy and oppressive statement, the sky was already faintly white.

The five were allowed to leave temporarily but were asked to keep their communication open and cooperate with subsequent investigations at any time.

Before parting, Wang Yang pulled out his phone, his fingers still trembling slightly.

“Brother Qing, Teacher Huang, Xiaoya, Old Zhang... let's... let's create a group chat? So we can... contact each other if anything happens later.”

His gaze turned to Ding Qing, filled with inquiry and an almost devout reliance.

No one objected.

Huang Guohua nodded tiredly, Zhao Xiaoya silently took out her phone, and Old Zhang clumsily operated his.

Ding Qing said nothing, merely scanned the QR code Wang Yang offered.

A small group named [Survivors] was quietly established.

The group was silent; no one spoke.

But these five names quietly stayed together, as if silently proclaiming a special bond forged in fear and blood, surpassing ordinary friendships.

Ding Qing's name was at the top of the group member list, like a silent anchor.

Dragging his utterly exhausted body, Ding Qing finally returned to his familiar yet somewhat strange home.

The moment he unlocked the door with his key, a long-lost, warm scent of food wafted over him, instantly dispelling the bloody and cold atmosphere from the mountains.

The soft clatter of a spatula against a pot came from the kitchen.

Ding Qing paused, then a familiar figure wearing an apron poked her head out of the kitchen, holding a plate.

“You're back? Go wash your hands quickly, breakfast will be ready soon!”

“You child, did you stay up all night playing games again? Look at how dirty you are, like you crawled through a coal pile!”

His mother's voice carried her usual scolding, along with undisguised concern and a smile.

Years had etched fine lines around her eyes, but they did not diminish that familiar warmth.

Ding Qing stood in the entryway, watching his mother's busy back in the warm yellow light of the kitchen, his nerves, taut all night, suddenly loosened like a released bowstring.

The forced-down violence, calculations, and cold determination rapidly dissipated like a receding tide.

He opened his mouth, his throat bobbed, and finally, it only became a low response with a thick nasal tone:

“Mm, Mom, I'm back.”

A massive wave of exhaustion swept over him.

He quickly showered, washing away the mud and faint scent of blood, and changed into clean clothes.

On the dining table, steaming millet porridge exuded a sweet grain aroma, the edges of the golden fried egg were slightly crispy, and a plate of crisp salted vegetables—simple yet warm.

Ding Qing sat at the table, picked up his chopsticks, and ate silently as usual.

His mother chattered about recent trivial matters, complained about work, and reminded him not to stay up late.

He only occasionally grunted in response, burying his head in his porridge.

The hot porridge slid into his stomach, bringing a long-lost, solid warmth.

The smell of cooking oil from the kitchen, his mother's chattering voice, the soft clatter of bowls and chopsticks...

These most ordinary aspects of human life now seemed incredibly precious, like an invisible barrier, completely isolating the blood and strangeness of the mountain outside.

His strained spirit finally reached its limit.

After eating the last bite, Ding Qing put down his bowl and chopsticks, his voice tinged with undisguised weariness.

“Mom, I'm tired, I'm going to sleep for a bit.”

“Go on, go on, leave the dishes, I'll clean them. When you wake up, I'll stew some soup for you to replenish.”

His mother waved him off, her heart aching.

Ding Qing almost stumbled back to his room with his eyes closed, collapsing onto the bed.

The familiar scent of his bedding enveloped him, his body heavy as if it had fallen apart. His consciousness rapidly sank into darkness; he didn't even want to move a finger.