Chapter 1: Is That a Person or a Shadow Amid the Black Sandstorm?

Sunan, Gua County

When Qiao Ruyi closed her umbrella, black sand trickled down from its folds. The weather in the northwest remained fickle even in late April; the wind swept up sand, brushing coldly against the hem of her cheongsam. She tightened her shawl, brushed the worn red plastic chair, only to find her fingers stained with black grains. Above, the painted seven-colored deer on the parasol had been blurred by the dust.

At the next table, two rugged northwestern men sat with a plate of liangpi, a large bowl of mutton bones, and a bottle of local spirits. They glanced her way, muttering, “Doesn’t this lass feel cold at all?” Then resumed their conversation—

“Guess what? It was a shadow!”

“Really?”

Qiao Ruyi glanced across the street after sitting down. There stood a shop, the two floors in stark contrast. The ground floor had floor-to-ceiling windows, painted with coffee swathed in celestial ribbons, and a slogan beside: “Wish-fulfilling Special Blend, quantum extraction, where wishes collapse in the first sip.” The second floor was traditionally Chinese—main ridge, eaves, brackets all intact, though three ridge beasts were missing. A brown wooden plaque bore the words: “Wish Fulfilled.” Below it hung a bronze camel bell, which, though swayed by the wind, made no sound—perhaps it was broken.

Gua County was a small enclave, hemmed in by the Gobi and ancient walls—a speck on the ancient Silk Road deep within the Hexi Corridor, yet a strategic throat. In tourist season, the night market bustled with visitors from all over, the cries of vendors mingling with the exotic notes of the Hu flute, and the city was fragrant with melons, especially honeydew, sweet as syrup. Through the city’s crumbling ruins, one could almost hear the tramp of soldiers, the whinny of warhorses, and the thunder of drums.

But today, all was deathly silent.

The proprietress brought over a steaming bowl of mutton and wheat. She scrubbed the small table before Qiao Ruyi again and again, her rag gathering a layer of sand, and spoke quickly, “Drink while it’s hot. You’re dressed too lightly, dear. Here for sightseeing? Bad luck, the weather’s rare here.”

“A black sandstorm?” Qiao Ruyi tasted the lamb broth, surprised by its flavor.

There was none of the gamy tang—only a gentle sweetness from the wheat, which was firm yet tender, and the lamb fell apart at a touch. It was the only food stall open in the night market; the surroundings were humble, but the cooking was superb.

Only one other shop was open: the one across the street.

At her question, the proprietress’s eyes flashed with panic, her voice dropping, “Yes, last night was truly terrifying—ghostly wails and howls. See? Even the bricks on the city wall got stripped away.”

Qiao Ruyi looked out; indeed, there was a fresh gash on the mottled wall.

“I heard it happened last year too?”

“That’s right.” With little to occupy her, the proprietress dragged over a chair, deftly dusted it, and sat opposite Qiao Ruyi. “They say black sandstorms are a hundred-year rarity, but this is the second year running. When it hits, it’s as if the black Gobi floods in, smothering everything—so much darker than usual sandstorms. Last year it even made the news: over twenty thousand people trapped, far scarier than the norm.”

This small county, nestled in the Hexi Corridor, usually lived in tranquil obscurity. Though surrounded by desert, well-kept shelterbelts meant it rarely suffered the sandstorms that plagued the season.

Yet last year, Gua County became infamous for two reasons: first, its population of under fifty thousand hosted over twenty thousand stranded tourists; second, the sandstorm itself—not the usual yellow haze of the northwest, but a wave of blackness, like a tidal surge from the ends of the earth.

Experts called it a “black storm”—a disastrous phenomenon, but not unheard of. Yet locals and those trapped disagreed. They believed it wasn’t a black storm or black dust storm, for they had seen with their own eyes that the sand was black.

So, a saying arose: when the black sandstorm comes, strange things follow.

Whether anything strange had occurred, Qiao Ruyi left aside. What she’d seen was severe desertification, devastated shelterbelts, blocked irrigation, and ruined crops. Strangely, only Gua County suffered; the entire Silk Road lay untroubled, save here—last year and now again.

She glanced around; every shop had its doors and windows shut tight. The wind whistled through the empty food street, and at dusk, the place felt all the more desolate.

A small heap of black sand on the ground drifted with the wind.

Qiao Ruyi narrowed her eyes. The sand seemed to walk, step by step, soft yet determined, stumbling at a stone crack as if it had feet.

Suddenly, the gold ingot in her pouch vibrated. She pressed it, and the vibration ceased. When she looked again, the sand had flattened, slid under the door of the shop across the street.

That shop—Wish Fulfilled.

A café, not large—five or six tables in sight—yet for years it had topped all local ratings online.

Her phone was still open to its review page from an hour ago.

The house blend was their signature, but reviews claimed every coffee was superb—blind order, never wrong.

Where there’s coffee, there must be pastries. Many reviewers clamored for the owner to open a separate bakery; his pastries were always in short supply. Themed desserts—camels, deserts, flying immortals, lutes—the whole Silk Road carved into sweets, colored with fruit or petals. Not only delicious, but a feast for the eyes.

Customers suggested the owner’s craft deserved heritage status.

Mention the proprietor, and every review praised his looks—

Handsome, yes, but cold as ice.

A bandit in a suit, or a refined gentleman.

He… acted unlike any other.

Now, though the café bore a “Closed” sign, its owner was hardly idle. He was at the corner, near the door… shoeing a horse.

Qiao Ruyi propped her chin and watched.

He wielded the farrier’s pincers, muscles taut in his forearm as he gripped the hoof. The old horseshoe snapped off, the horse tossed its mane, scattering dust. As the animal shifted uneasily, he pinned its foreleg with his knee at the join of flesh and hard hoof, then, with a deft hand, traced a crescent with his hoof knife. The blade flashed, and though his build lay hidden beneath a black shirt, the raw, vital force of him was plain.

Qiao Ruyi had seen horses shod before, and men in shirts, but never a man in a shirt shoeing a horse—it was oddly captivating.

Jin Wei, her companion, was talking to the man, brow furrowed like a wrung cloth, earnest and awkward. A scholar unused to negotiation, he fiddled with his glasses when anxious. He pointed across the street, and the man, silent until then, looked up.

From several meters away, Qiao Ruyi couldn’t see his face clearly, but it must have been striking—enough to dazzle all those patrons. She neither hid nor avoided his gaze; she even smiled and waved. He glanced briefly, then looked away.

Judging by how long Jin Wei had been “negotiating,” it seemed unlikely he’d succeeded.

“So, all the shops are closed because of the black sandstorm?” Qiao Ruyi asked the proprietress, cutting to the chase. “Or is there another reason?”

At this, the woman seemed uneasy, scrubbing the table again. “Well, whenever the black sandstorm hits, everyone stays home. I’m just trying to make a little extra, but I’ll have to pack up soon. These storms last two or three days at least.”

She seemed forthright, but her words were evasive—obviously hiding something.

After speaking, she tucked away her rag and got up to leave.

Qiao Ruyi was wondering how to coax more out of her when the proprietress turned back.

Her hopes rose, only for the woman to jerk her chin toward the café, “You’re with him, aren’t you?”

She meant Jin Wei. Qiao Ruyi nodded.

“And you’re going to the Guyang Ruins?”

Qiao Ruyi’s interest deepened. “How do you know we’re headed there?”

The woman sat down again, the dimming sky behind her making her face waxen. “Anyone wanting to enter Guyang comes looking for Xing Lin. He’s the owner of Wish Fulfilled.” She pointed at the silhouetted figure through the glass, then realized, “Oh, you must know his name—you’re here for him.”

Truth was, Qiao Ruyi still didn’t know it.

“You said only he can lead people into Guyang. Others can’t?”

“No, they can’t.”

“Only him?”

She nodded emphatically, “Only him!”

Qiao Ruyi’s curiosity was piqued. “Why?”

Guyang lies about seventy kilometers outside Gua County, on the Gobi—a strategic fortress since the Han dynasty, crucial for defense and signal fires, reaching its zenith in the Tang. Though abandoned, the main city still stands.

That was what Qiao Ruyi sought.

But Guyang, deep in the Hexi Corridor, is perilous and elusive, its entrance hidden within the black Gobi. Without a guide who knows the route, one risks being lost forever amid the endless Qilian Mountains.

Hence, Guyang is called the “Mouth that Swallows Men” of the Hexi Corridor.

“Only he can find the way. Anyone else will get lost. And…” The proprietress leaned forward, voice conspiratorial.

Qiao Ruyi, intrigued, leaned in as well.

“There’s a ranch outside town—he’s got money. Otherwise, how much could a café possibly make? His temper’s not great, but he’s handsome—girls flock to him…” the woman sighed, her tone switching to earnestness. “I shouldn’t meddle, but you seem nice. Let me warn you: don’t go to Guyang. Xing Lin won’t take you. Last year, someone came with a whole suitcase of cash, but he threw both the money and the person out. Why bang your head against the wall? There’s plenty to see here—the Han Wu Emperor, have you seen him? Why is it just a head? Because the whole Hexi Corridor is his body…”

Qiao Ruyi seized on the key point, “And that person?”

The woman shook her head, “I don’t know the details, but apparently he went to Guyang alone. If he really did… I doubt he made it out, especially with the black sandstorm.”

She paused, then sighed, “I just wanted to tell you about Guyang. Don’t laugh at our superstitions.”

Qiao Ruyi sat up, sensing something important.

“Everyone says the black sandstorm isn’t a natural disaster—it’s not like a normal dust storm. It comes from Guyang.”

Qiao Ruyi started.

“There’s something in Guyang that comes out with the black sandstorm to snatch the living. That’s why the shops are closed—who isn’t afraid of dying?” The woman’s eyes were wide in the gathering gloom, her expression almost eerie. “We locals don’t go near Guyang. It’s unlucky.”

“What’s in Guyang? You mean people disappear?” Qiao Ruyi pressed.

“Exactly. Last year, several vanished! Some were lucky and found, others are still missing, as if they vanished into thin air. But do you know where those found were discovered?” The woman’s tone was both solemn and mysterious, her words abrupt. “On the black Gobi road to Guyang! Isn’t that terrifying? One moment, they’re in town, the next, on the Gobi! Worse, they lost an eye! Those who returned said there were shadowy things in the sand, like human figures—they’re the ones grabbing people.”

“All missing an eye?”

“Yes!”

Qiao Ruyi frowned, thinking. After a moment, she asked, “Are there people hidden in the sand, or just shadows?”

The woman nodded, about to answer, when one of the men at the next table burst out, “Shadows! I saw them with my own eyes—scared me half to death!”

The sudden exclamation startled Qiao Ruyi. She remembered she’d overheard them earlier.

His friend chimed in, “That’s right, he saw them.”

“See?” said the proprietress, “I’m not making it up.”

Qiao Ruyi turned to the man. “What were the shadows like? How did they appear?”

Without hesitation, he replied, “Much taller than a normal person.” He raised his hand above his head, stood and stretched higher. “Really tall—just shadows, wearing armor, ancient armor, drifting in the black sandstorm, half-seen, half-hidden.”

“When did you see them?”

“Yesterday, during the storm!” The man, agitated, recounted his story.

He’d been driving home, caught in the storm on the Gobi. At first, he thought it was an ordinary sandstorm—gone in a few minutes. But the darkness deepened, until the black sand swallowed the sky, all light vanishing as if devoured by some great maw. Then, in his rearview mirror, he saw them: shadows flickering in the sand, floating, impossibly tall, gliding with the storm like underworld wraiths. Terrified, he floored the accelerator, barely daring to breathe, fleeing for his life.

“The storm blew up from Guyang, straight for the county. I was lucky to escape.” He rolled up his sleeve, “See? Even now, talking about it gives me goosebumps!”

“Just shadows? You couldn’t see their faces?” Qiao Ruyi pressed.

“Just shadows,” he insisted. “Wearing ancient armor!”