Chapter 51: I Am a Watcher in the Night
Night descended.
The endless drizzle showed no sign of easing, soaking the air with a damp heaviness. Chen Fan rested his hands on the parapet, his gaze wandering toward the shadowy horizon.
He’d been young once, too.
He understood why the boy had acted as he did.
But understanding was one thing—letting it pass was another.
As leader, he couldn’t afford loose ends, not with Qi Chong watching, waiting to see how he would handle this.
Whenever a subordinate tossed a problem up the chain, it was never just about the problem itself. It was a test, a measure of their leader’s resolve—a way to decide how they’d act in the future.
The kind of leader you are shapes the kind of followers you have.
It was no different from when a new teacher stepped into a classroom in his previous life. There would always be students who stirred up trouble, probing the teacher’s limits, gauging how far they could push for the rest of the semester.
Kill? Rebuke? Punish?
...
Chen Fan stood silent for a long time, letting the rain soak his thoughts. At length, his eyes drifted to the altar in the camp’s corner—a new structure, raised from the latest building blueprint. It stood quietly within the walls, unassuming.
It could heal wounds.
He’d tested it on Zhou Mo’s battered palm. The results had been remarkable, and it barely consumed any Ghoststones.
Its principle was simple: the altar drew upon the energy within Ghoststones to mend injuries.
Ghoststones truly were a universal miracle—there was nothing they couldn’t do.
Night was nearly here.
He didn’t know if a Ghost Tide would strike tonight, but a sudden idea flashed through his mind: what if he used Copper Pipe to connect the altar to the Wall? Could the Wall then heal itself, too?
If so, their defenses would reach an entirely new level.
Just then—
A commotion erupted outside the camp.
Zhou Mo had returned, rumbling in on that battered trike. Crippled Monkey hurried out for the usual inspection, and after a quick check, Zhou Mo led a few of Wang Mazi’s men inside to report.
...
Beneath the little rain shelter atop the Wall—
“Station Master.”
Zhou Mo was visibly excited. “With that trike you built, I managed to reach several waystations today that I’d never reached before. Hauled back a pile of supplies—and five hundred seventy-eight Ghoststones!”
...
Chen Fan glanced down at the trike. Behind it, a cart was lashed tight, stacked high with all manner of goods—a true windfall for the camp.
“In less than half an hour, Eternal Night will fall.”
“Cutting it close.”
“Don’t stay out so late next time,” Chen Fan said, voice even but firm. “Safety comes first.”
“Understood.”
Zhou Mo grinned, broad and careless. The Station Master’s concern meant a lot to him. Every Builder had their own protector—everyone knew Builders were physically frail, and when they ventured out, they needed a guardian until they could raise new defenses.
To become a Builder’s protector was a mark of honor.
For someone who’d dreamed of martial glory since childhood, this was a path he cherished.
“You’ve done well. Go rest. Leave tonight to us.”
“Oh, right—” Chen Fan turned to one of Wang Mazi’s men standing behind Zhou Mo. “You, stay a moment. I want a word.”
...
Night approached.
Everyone in the camp was busy, preparing for the coming Ghostbeast incursion. Earlier that day, Wang Mazi and Wang Kui had dug a trench around the camp with shovels—specifically to deal with Flesh Maggot Ghosts.
When those things tumbled into the trench, they’d self-destruct and die.
It might not mean much against a full-blown Ghostbeast Swarm, but even a small advantage could buy them precious time—just enough, perhaps, for fate to turn.
Miracles did happen.
It was just that most people didn’t live long enough to see them.
“What’s your name?”
Chen Fan stood atop the Wall, looking down at the boy below, the rain tracing silver lines on his hair. His voice was gentle.
The boy was young, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, still unformed. He was quiet, rarely speaking—a loner, the youngest in the camp.
A beautiful, almost androgynous face.
In a place like this, such looks could land a man in a brothel as a boy-toy.
He was a head shorter than Chen Fan, his limbs slender.
“What’s your name?” Chen Fan asked again.
“Big Fish.”
“And your surname?”
“Don’t have one.”
The boy lowered his head, anxious. “I was born in a little fishing village by the sea. My father was a fisherman—he always hoped for a big catch, so he named me after one.”
“My father didn’t have a surname, either. He was an orphan. Didn’t know his own father’s name.”
“He used to say, if I ever made something of myself, I could choose a surname I liked and pass it on. If I didn’t, well, ‘Big Fish’ would do. Simple names last longer.”
“A fisherman, huh?”
Chen Fan gazed out into the rainy night. “The sea north of the Wasteland?”
“Yeah.”
“Who set up your Ghostfire?”
“It was a natural Ghostfire Zone. Not many Ghostbeasts there. The village sat at the bottom of a gorge, surrounded by steep cliffs. Normally, during the Rainy Season, you just had to block the only exit with stones and you’d make it through.”
“So you left because you didn’t want to follow your father’s path?”
“No.” The boy shook his head, voice heavy. “One Rainy Season, Ghostbeasts came pouring down from all four cliffs—killed everyone. The village was wiped out. I was the only one who escaped.”
...
Chen Fan’s expression didn’t change as he watched the boy. He wasn’t feeling pity—he was just curious how the kid had survived such a massacre. But the boy seemed triggered, his body trembling, eyes wide with terror and pain.
On the edge of breaking.
Fear—real fear—was contagious.
Just meeting the boy’s eyes sent a chill down Chen Fan’s spine.
When the Flesh Maggot Ghosts and that Female Ghostbeast had attacked, the boy had only looked anxious, not terrified like this.
There weren’t many people in the camp. Chen Fan hadn’t known the boy’s name before, but he always observed everyone closely in moments of crisis—to see their true nature. It was hard to fake yourself at times like those.
That was why he hadn’t dragged the boy out for public punishment.
From what he’d seen, the boy wasn’t selfish or foolish.
He had a guess as to what was really happening, but didn’t press.
“This place is safe.”
Chen Fan placed a hand on the boy’s head, ruffling his rain-soaked hair with a smile. “What’s past is past. You have to look ahead. This is your new home now. If we stick together, we’ll make it through the Rainy Season and build a camp of our own.”
“Alright.”
“Go rest. Night’s coming, and tomorrow you’ll be heading out again with your big brother Zhou Mo.”
The boy seemed to calm a little, though his eyes were still dazed as he turned to descend the stone steps. But just as he set foot on the stair, he stopped and looked back at Chen Fan.
“Station Master, my father used to say that too—‘You have to look ahead.’”
“But why do people always have to look ahead?”
“Because the future will be better.”
“But how do you know it’ll really be better? What if it’s just more tragedy?”
...
Chen Fan fell silent for a moment, then smiled, his face blurred by the rain and darkness.
“If you look ahead, all you see is your dick—the thing you use to fuck others.”
“If you look behind, all you see is your asshole—the thing you get fucked with.”
“I’m guessing you don’t want to be the one getting fucked.”
He could tell the boy was right on the edge—emotionally unstable, wrestling with something deep inside. This wasn’t the moment for reason—reason wouldn’t help, and might not even be right.
The boy stood frozen, stunned that the Station Master would say something so crude. Then, suddenly, he snorted, then burst out laughing, tears glittering in his eyes.
“Station Master, you’re not going to kill me?”
“Why would I kill you?”
Chen Fan smiled calmly, his hand pausing as he traced the rain-slick stone of the parapet.
“I overheard Wang Mazi talking to you. He told you I’d hidden some Ghoststones. I thought you’d kill me.”
...
Lightning split the night.
Darkness surged in like a tide.
For an instant, the flash illuminated the boy’s tearful, desperate smile.
“How did you know?” Chen Fan asked quietly.
“I can look behind.”
“It’s all I can do.”
“I’m not a normal Practitioner. I’m a Watcher in the Night.”
Another flash of lightning, just before the darkness swallowed everything.
The boy shook his head, long black hair tumbling down like a waterfall, catching the faint starlight. His voice grew frail, eyes rimmed red and shining with tears, a strange, wounded aura clinging to him.
He looked like a stray puppy, battered and lost—someone you couldn’t help wanting to comfort.
He lifted his head, forcing a smile that made Chen Fan’s heart ache.
“Big Fish doesn’t have a dick.”
“Big Fish was born to get fucked.”