Side Story: Hell on Earth
Chapter 102
Danau-Besar (The Island Lake)
Dang Khong walks quietly along the village road. The two rows of eaves stretch into one line, as if the horizon reaches all the way to the Heavenly Summit, appearing and disappearing in the misty haze, circling together with the lingering spirits.
Accompanying the saturnine fellow are still the confidences mingled with the irritable voices and curses from the villagers, who gather, sitting and sprawling about in disorder.
Each story and each fate might have been similar or distinct, yet all had lost everything in an earthly hell that drained their strength, inflicted brutal torture, and sowed the seeds of sickness and plague.
The wicked trampled on one another for survival, slandered acquaintances, accused strangers, harmed their own kin for three days' worth of food, accepted to become spies for the Hive, hunted traitors, and arrested opponents.
Even when they had obtained warm clothing and full meals, enlisted directly, received promises of a bright future and rewards, the righteous still refused to become hunting dogs. The Hive immediately crushed the victims, tormented their bodies, eroded their minds, and forced them to toil as laborers twenty-four hours a day, forbidding food, forbidding drink, forbidding rest, until they collapsed from exhaustion or perished by suicide.
They courted and bribed hearts, threatened, and in the agony of seeing their beloved ones falsely accused and framed, they shattered the will, imprisoning people like animals day and night, subjecting them to cruel torment, and compelling the truly talented to sell themselves to the devil.
Famine remained the most dreadful calamity, effectively assisting Death in claiming countless lives. That ordeal never releases its grip on the saturnine fellow. Regardless of what identity he lives with, the specter of hunger haunts him day and night, wreaking havoc upon the mind of this callous man.
The ghosts transform into a road paved with mountains of white skulls and bones, soaked in blood and tears. They stretch out thousands upon thousands of pitch-black, skin-and-bone arms, competing, violently pulling, and tormenting, attempting to tear apart that soul who was once a victim, later became a murderer, and is now returning to the past...
***
Danau-Besar was located on an island in the Danau River. The island was connected by a few small boats. With too many people and too few boats, it was impossible to move everyone to the island late at night. The evacuees poured into the temple, set up tents, laid mats, hung mosquito nets, and temporarily slept there while waiting for their turn.
After spending one night in the temple, the evacuees arrived at the new village. The place was utterly barren, thickly overgrown only with bamboo groves and other trees. The rebels lied again:
"Comrades, rest assured! The Hive takes care of everyone. Follow the rules, make no mistakes, do not rebel, and the Hive will not mistreat anyone, granting you a more peaceful life. Comrades, focus on working hard, the Hive handles everything!"
The evacuees, depressed, quietly went to collect hoes and machetes. Soldiers surrounded thirty households, threatening the crowd with weapons. Most of them were women, the elderly, the sick, and children unable to work. They were all driven into the forest. The soldiers monitored and urged them to clear land urgently so tents could be set up for the night.
The ringing of the bell signaled the arrival of the afternoon meal. The crowd stopped and gathered where the logistics women had laid out rice mixed with potatoes and cassava.
That day was the first in the new place, and the Hive allowed the evacuees to eat one extra bowl of rice. But everyone saved that bowl for the next day. Maria's family even made it into rice balls, dividing them into several meals.
Maria and Le tied the mosquito net to four wooden poles. The whole family entered and exited carefully, preventing mosquitoes and other strange creatures from flying in.
The buzzing and hissing were all bloodthirsty sounds, like the hungry evacuees whose stomachs clawed with emptiness. In the distance, nocturnal animals occasionally howled and growled while hunting prey in the misty darkness.
The guarding soldiers gripped their guns tightly, eyes wandering everywhere. They were carrying out their mission: to prevent wild beasts from devouring the slaves. If they failed, the Hive would lose a large labor force.
The soldiers were bitten by mosquitoes, their faces swollen, each of them angry, muttering curses. Reinforcements were supposed to arrive that night, but those bastards indulged too much in pleasure, departed late, missed the rendezvous, and so the soldiers had to take turns staying awake, guarding the lowly people.
"Damn it, make the slaves stand guard, I can't take it anymore!"
"You idiot, tomorrow they still have to work. The Hive needs to store food to face fierce battles. If they lose their strength, productivity will drop, progress will be delayed—can you take responsibility for that?"
Maria pricked up her ears, realizing why the Hive had given them better food these days. They wanted the slaves to regain strength to serve their dark schemes. Maria pondered, comforted her children, and lulled them to sleep with a promise:
"Whoever sleeps well will get to eat tomorrow!"
Hoping for dawn to arrive quickly, yet fearing the soldiers might cut out their tongues, the children soon fell into a deep sleep. Maria and Le rested their foreheads on their hands, tossing and turning in restless anxiety, remembering the children captured by the Hive last time.
Where were they? What were they doing?
Were they tilling fields under the midday sun until their skin burned and their feet were seared by the scorching earth?
Were they carrying thirty buckets of water over a ten-kilometer journey within a single hour? If they failed to complete it, would their rice rations be cut off?
Were they climbing the rugged and jagged cliffs, covered in sharp, cat-ear-shaped limestone, searching for bird nests?
Or were they walking into dilapidated, crumbling mines to extract ore and dig for coal?
Was the treatment from the genocidists even more cruel and barbaric than all the inhumane indignities her family endured? Would the children hold on until the day of reunion, or would they turn into desiccated corpses from sheer exhaustion?
The leaders of Pulau village had promised to take proper and kind care of the children. But only a ghost would believe those cunning and treacherous lies.
And... where was Yingming? The husband, the father, the pillar of the family—was he still alive, or was his corpse buried in a mass grave? If Yingming were still alive, would he ever have the chance to reunite with his kin in this realm of treacherous mountains and evil waters?
Anxiety, hunger, and thirst swirled around the two women's minds, binding their thoughts in a vicious cycle:
Eating today, worrying about starving tomorrow; living today, not knowing if they would have the strength to labor like oxen and horses tomorrow just to earn food for themselves and their family... carrying... a false hope that a miracle might appear.
Maria and her husband's elder sister laughed at themselves in self-mockery. Although they knew it was unrealistic, they still clung to that unattainable dream.
If hope died, the will to survive would perish before the body collapsed.
The two sisters wiped away their tears and comforted the children who were delirious, lamenting their hunger and thirst, pleading with the genocidists to stop beating their mother. The mother held the children close, gritting her teeth to suppress the sobs that would provoke the soldiers. They silently thought of the clear sky after the rain, of the dawn that would eventually break after other sleepless nights, coaxing herself to sleep. But throughout the night, the two unfortunate women still could not find rest.
After days of persistent tree-felling and land-clearing, battling wild beasts and paying the price in numerous lives, the evacuees finally cleared a hundred square meters and built their first thatched hut.
The men cut bamboo for stakes. The women and children took hoes and dug several holes about sixty centimeters deep. Everyone labored from six in the morning until six in the evening, with only an hour's rest for two meals.
The previous lunch was just a bowl of very thin porridge. If a task was completed on a certain day, the Hive rewarded the evacuees with an extra bowl of cassava porridge and a piece of pork. To alleviate the constant hunger, the evacuees chewed on small fish, swallowed tadpoles, and ate everything edible found in the fields.
Now that the arduous life had temporarily paused, the Hive served two bowls of dried squid rice, a plate of shrimp, vegetable soup, and boiled meat. The evacuees carved meat from wild animals to store for later.
Everyone was certain: to gain one thing meant losing another. Whenever the slaves had meat to eat, the Hive reduced their rations regardless. Worst of all, the food was so meager it did not even fill the gaps between their teeth.
Maria believed that whenever a goal had not yet been achieved, the food was always twice as plentiful as before. The food was more delicious and nutritious than they had imagined. The captain fellow pulled out a stack of photos and shouted:
"Every contribution will receive its due reward. This is proof that the Hive never lies!"
Everyone squinted to see him holding up each photograph; they gasped, food falling from their agape mouths, their eyes wide as they stared at the pictures of the evacuees from other reaches. Those people were eating and drinking happily, excited as if they had never suffered. Some were even singing and dancing; the atmosphere was even more ebullient than here.
The captain fellow grinned as he raised his camera. The evacuees understood the cue and spontaneously expressed a joy that suggested their freedom was near. Maria's family immediately responded to the collective jubilation; the most excited were the children, who kept asking:
"We are going home, right Mom?"
Maria smiled as she stroked the children's heads, but deep in her soul, she cursed this demagogic deception. They used both carrots and sticks to mislead the slaves into believing that as long as they served the Hive with wholehearted devotion, the day of their liberation would be just around the corner. This was precisely why the evacuees had been sent to clear land in regions infested with wild beasts.
Maria loathed the enemy for forcing her to deceive the children. She feared that if she did not play along, the children would become sullen, which would surely provoke the shameless soldiers who were busy "drawing cakes to satisfy hunger." Those soldiers were displaying those photos, luring the gullible to believe in the reality captured within... in truth, everything had long since been meticulously staged and camouflaged.
Her husband had vanished. Her daughter was malnourished. Her son and her husband's niece were laboring as coolies, with no way of knowing when they would return. Maria herself and her family were forced to endure slave labor and indignities worse than those suffered by beasts. Even if she had not overheard the soldiers' conversation that night, she still would never have believed any so-called 'good omens' from the genocidists.
When building houses and bridges, the evacuees split bamboo into thin slats and bound them together with rattan ropes to fashion floors. Adults and children wove dried leaves to cover the roofs and encircle the structures as walls. The evacuees had never performed such labor before.
Each household received a "little villa" on bamboo stilts, raised one meter off the ground. Le and her son, along with Maria and her daughter, still shared the same dwelling. There was water, but it had to be boiled before drinking. The river water was stagnant and silted; everyone treated it like a slave: washing clothes, bathing, rinsing rice, and even flushing away filth.
The people had no choice but to mistreat the river. The heavens were even more cruel—that eyeless old fellow vented his displeasure when the rainy season arrived. The torrential currents swept the silt, garbage, and foul-smelling waste from the banks into the river, including the nauseating contents of flooded latrines.
To prevent pestilence, Maria's family always boiled the water and infused it with leaves that purified and disinfected. Despite these stringent precautions, the downpours at the start of the rainy season breached their defenses, bringing plague upon their weak, hungry, and thirsty bodies.
The Hive achieved their grain targets, so they abandoned the evacuees once again, turning their backs faster than one flips a page, and intensified their torture. There was no rice to eat, let alone any hope of them distributing medicine. Many succumbed to the plague—the capable assistant to the famine in this living hell.
Hordes of rebels arrived to plunder what little remained: essentials, soap, medicine, and jewelry. Maria's family lost everything of value. They proclaimed triumphantly:
"The Hive will credit you for your merits, comrades! Hahaha!"
The captain fellow chuckled:
"Ah, I forgot. Comrades, before the flood season arrives, continue to clear more forest to plant vegetables."
The soldiers laughed heartily and departed on their bicycles.
Planting all sorts of flora, vegetables, and everything useful—this was what the Hive had once promised the people. Palm trees grew everywhere, providing sugar for the gang of genocidists... and... mocking those slaves who no longer remembered how sweet and refreshing the taste of sugar was. Lunch and dinner were replaced by watery gruel that was clear to the bottom... in... a country that had once exported thousands of tons of rice.
Withered bodies, slaves as thin as kindling, wasted away daily due to the lack of food. Fragrant flowers and sweet fruits emitted their scents under the shade of endless rows of green trees; one by one, the fruits fell into the insatiable mouths and tongues of the demons. Every day, they swung their legs while sitting in the shade, eating from golden bowls.
On that first anniversary of the evacuation, which felt like an entire century had passed, countless people died of war, disease, and famine to build the ruling fortresses for the Hive.
The three days of the traditional Floating Kingdom's New Year coincided with three days of military victory. In the morning, people saluted the rebel flag and sang the national anthem.
Repeated sermons reminded them: thanks to the Hive, the evacuees escaped Bo Dan and the Empire; thanks to the Hive, the people mastered countless things they had never been taught before.
Everyone had to obey the Hive's orders and follow all regulations to repay this "grace." Anyone who opposed would receive their due punishment.
The evacuees no longer cared about or feared being indoctrinated. As long as they could eat well and fill their bellies during this brief moment, anything was fine.
The village head also ordered the slaughter of a pig, distributing three taels of meat to each person. The "old citizens" received twice as much meat as the "new citizens," and no one was allowed to voice an opinion.
For Maria's family, these three days were indeed a festival. After a long time of going to bed with ravenous stomachs, their children were finally teasingly close to being full. Yet, the sensation of nearly lulling this hungry ghost to sleep only served to make the underlying famine more smoldering and persistent.
From that day on, Maria's family lived frugally, eating thin porridge instead of rice. The small amount of pork she had saved gradually ran out after a few days. The "hungry ghosts" that had been coaxed to sleep began to wake, screaming frantically, inciting the family to fight one another over meager rations.
Whenever one person ate more than another, a tragedy erupted: sons beat their fathers, husbands killed their wives; wives ate alone, only to be beaten and have their bodies ravaged by their husbands and children.
Even Le, who was usually easy-going, no longer yielded as she once had, once the hungry ghosts clawed and tore at her intestines and liver; she frequently argued with her sister-in-law over the sharing of food.
Hunger demons and thirst devils dragged the evacuees into a vicious cycle: exhausted from hard labor, they went to bed with starving stomachs, then toiled again, facing the yellow earth and turning their backs to the sky.
With empty bellies, people no longer needed to discern right from wrong; only one thought remained in their minds: coax the hungry ghosts and thirst devils to sleep for as long as possible. These miserable people feared losing their reason, feared treating their own families with such cruelty.
Famine captivated everyone's hearts, and Maria was no exception. Many nights, she buried her face in her pillow to stifle her cries of remorse. She felt guilty because she thought only of herself and her child. Her slips of the tongue hurt her family, and she suffered through agony and self-reproach for the shameful act of snatching food from her own kin.
But when tormented by hunger and thirst, or even experiencing the illusion of eating and drinking well, the instinct for survival urged everyone to cast aside their conscience and fight for anything edible to nourish the beast of famine—the one that had long since turned its victims into something neither human nor ghost.
With withered shells and starving children, they no longer had the strength to hold onto their humanity. Countless people viewed one another as irreconcilable enemies.
The refugees were hungry, yet they still had to clear the land. Maria was reduced to a mere shadow, thin as a rail; when she slept on the floor, her entire body went numb, and her skin ached as if pierced by her own bones. Maria worked hard every day to ensure the food shared with Ange would not be cut off. The little girl was as frail as her mother, already devoid of any life.
Due to the lack of meals, Maria had to catch rats, grasshoppers, and scorpions. One day, returning from working the fields, a small duckling suddenly ran out onto the path. She looked around, saw no one, then grabbed the duckling by the neck, strangled it, and stuffed it into her shirt.
Unfortunately, the mother duck saw her from the distant bushes. It leaped forward, attempting to attack Maria. Maria ran out of the duck's line of sight and quickly hid in a secluded spot before anyone could discover her. The mother duck searched frantically, letting out sharp, persistent cries that cut through the silence.
In the silence that followed, the mother duck's sharp, persistent cries continued to cut through the air. Maria remained frozen in the shadows, clutching the stolen life against her withered chest, praying the darkness would swallow her whole before the sound drew any wandering demons to her spot.
Before long, the fierce wife of the village head arrived with a whip to investigate. She was frantically searching for the brood of ducks that had escaped their cage, drawing closer and closer to Maria.
As the village head's wife brushed aside the thicket, Maria trembled all over. One more sweep and Maria would have been exposed. The 'duck thief' covered her mouth, not daring to breathe, silently cursing herself and fearing the price she would have to pay for failing to control the hungry ghost within—a cost that would surely drag her kin toward their deaths.
"Hey, woman! What are you doing in there? If you run into a venomous snake, no one can save you!"
Maria pricked up her ears and heard Wan—the village head—shouting at his wife: "Is it worth getting killed by a snake just to find a few stunted ducks?"
Terrified, the wife grabbed the mother duck, scanned the ground carefully, and gradually retreated until she disappeared.
"The brats are wailing from hunger. Go home and cook for them!"
Wan's wife grumbled and hurried home. She did not see her husband turn back and flash an inscrutable smile at Maria in the shadows, as if implying he had just saved her life. Wan then shouted at the curious onlookers:
"What are you staring at? Scatter! All of you, go home!"
Everyone fearfully obeyed, and in the blink of an eye, the surroundings were empty. It was clear that Wan had intentionally driven everyone away to let Maria escape.
She wracked her brain but could not understand why he had done it. How had he spotted her in such a secluded corner? Had he been personally monitoring her all along?
However, now was not the time to ponder this; she needed to leave before getting into trouble. Maria looked around once more, and after ensuring it was safe, she quickly ran home.
Maria originally intended to secretly eat the duck with her daughter. But she saw her nephew huddling in the corner, his face twisted in agony as he clutched his starving belly, which was now cramping and drenched in cold sweat. He glanced at Maria, his lips trembling as if to beg for food as usual, but he hesitated and turned to embrace his mother instead.
Le gently patted the child in her arms. The boy was whimpering, stealing glances at her while constantly swallowing his saliva. His empty stomach repeatedly urged him to seek his mother's permission so he could beg Maria for something to eat.
He was hungry—he was truly hungry. But if he did so, his mother would be heartbroken. The boy could not forget the quarrel between his mother and Maria over food.
He had to press his lips tightly together. He feared his mother would scold him, and even more, he feared the two would fight again, leaving him and Ange to cry helplessly. He was even more terrified of being punished by the Hive.
Maria did not want to wait for her husband's elder sister to lose face by begging for food before agreeing. That would not be a gift or a contribution, but mere alms. She could not let her husband's sister become a lesser person, nor could she bear to watch her own nephew starve to death. Thus, Maria whispered in Le's ear:
"To watch for anyone coming, keep a lookout outside while I cook the duck."
In that struggle over food, Le had been the first to err, and she assumed Maria still held a grudge. She never expected her sister-in-law to take the initiative to make peace. Le froze as she heard Maria smile tenderly:
"No matter who is right or wrong, no matter if you hate me or I am angry with you, we are family for life!"
Le pressed her lips together, her face covered in tears as she threw her arms around her sister-in-law.
"I'm sorry!"
Maria patted her husband's elder sister's back, gently reminding her to watch the door so she could cook the duck meat. Half an hour later, Le noticed a neighbor approaching with a pot and rice.
Le guessed the other party wanted to borrow the kitchen, so she knocked on the door to warn Maria. Her sister-in-law quickly put out the fire, took a small bowl of cold porridge, and gave it to Le to carry out. Before long, the neighbor knocked. Le invited the guest in. The person gave a greeting and got straight to the point:
"My firewood has run out. Let me borrow your stove to cook a bowl of porridge."
Le and Maria had already overcome similar dangerous situations many times. Facing the neighbor's probing, Le replied calmly:
"What a pity, the fire in my house has also gone out. The children and I have to eat cold food."
The neighbor furrowed her brows in suspicion and turned to question the child:
"What is your family eating today?"
Small children did not know how to lie, nor were they good at it. Le broke into a cold sweat, fearing the children would leak the secret. Ange pointed at the bowl of leftover porridge in Le's hand:
"Thin porridge."
The woman neighbor intentionally intimidated the child:
"It is disrespectful to speak without proper address to your elders."
Le immediately raised her voice:
"Hey, the Hive strictly forbids bullying children. Do you want to be punished?"
Ange widened her eyes and questioned the one who had just rebuked her:
"You forgot? Hive says kids don't need to show respect to grown-ups!"
Le felt the cold sweat on her back vanish. She silently thanked her clever and quick-witted niece, masking her smile as she watched the neighbor twist her body in anger and huff away. Once the neighbor had returned home, Le smiled and rubbed Ange's head:
"Niece, you are truly clever."
Ange flashed a brilliant, toothy grin. She stared eagerly at the large bowl of steaming hot wild vegetable and duck porridge that her mother brought out, which was placed neatly in the center of the tray. Le then went to wake the sleeping Yi. The whole family ate and drank with joy. While blowing on the porridge to cool it for the child, Le asked Maria:
"You taught the children how to deal with strangers so well; the little girl lied without even blinking. When did you teach them this?"
While sipping her porridge, Ange answered for her mother:
"Nuh-uh, Auntie! Big bro Liberte and sis Ji taught us everything! "
Maria and Le were greatly surprised and pressed to know when they had taught the children. The little girl and Yi took turns recounting how that Mushroom short kid next door had slipped up, leading the village head to punish his father.
The two mothers, originally worried that the children would be caught in a blunder, had once thought of secretly teaching them how to cope.
However, because the Hive forbade parents to privately instruct their children, Maria and Le had nearly been exposed several times and had to give up. They did not have the courage to let the older children teach the younger ones, fearing it would provoke the gang of genocidists.
As it turned out, long before they were forced to build the dikes, as long as they could return home before the adults after work, Liberte and Ji would quietly instruct their younger siblings. The siblings used every opportunity to practice staying calm; they devised various scenarios and posed questions even harder to answer than those asked by the neighbor.
"We were super scared at first. Took forever to learn what bro and sis taught—how to lie and not get caught."
Le and Maria were still in shock. Le frowned and asked:
"What do you mean by practicing without adults present?"
Yi said while eating:
"If adults are around, we will act spoiled or throw tantrums; but practicing in a place where no one is, the sense of fear doubles. Without Mama's encouragement, we must force ourselves to calm down and concentrate to conquer the fear!"
Yi spoke too quickly and became a bit breathless, so Ange continued:
"The older siblings said they didn't know who would die first. We cannot rely on adults forever; we must learn to take care of ourselves and protect ourselves to survive!"
Ange and Yi put down their bowls and crawled over to embrace the two mothers:
"Mama, don't cry. The older siblings said that from now on, we must obediently listen to Mama and Aunt!"
"The older siblings also said that we must never pester or cry to make the mothers sad; that makes it easy to get angry and be punished by the Hive!"
Ji had grown up. Liberte was still too young; the adults always thought he was immature and worried day and night that he could not take care of himself. At this moment, they discovered to their shame that although the children were suffering from hunger and pain just as they were, they, as mothers, were mentally confused and even felt envious, sometimes struggling with their own family members for food.
The children, in stark contrast, had become more mature and profound than adults under the cruel "training" of the genocidists. That maturity was both a source of pride and an unhealable agony for the mothers.
All the bitterness that tormented the family was nothing compared to the humiliation that broke Liberte, his sisters, and his younger brother... and... perhaps they had witnessed too many parents die tragically because their innocent children did not know how to hold their tongues.
The children said innocently:
"Brother also said that if he dies, I must take care of Mama and the family for him!"
"Mama, sis Ji said the same thing to me!"
The two mothers swallowed their tears, struggling in the intense pain between emotion and reason as they tightened their arms to embrace their sensible children. The mothers felt ashamed before the children because they only knew how to wail for their kin and could not protect the home.
The two mothers could not imagine the immense pain the children endured when separated from their families.
Those who gave birth were not allowed to comfort their kin, forever unable to touch that unhealable scar.