After completing the ritual of tomb sweeping and ancestor worship, my uncle only stayed with me on the rooftop of this building for a little over half an hour before riding his motorcycle out of the village, without saying goodbye to Grandma or my mother.
Since I was still preoccupied with what the toothless old man at the lakeside general store had said, I asked my uncle to drop me off at the entrance to the bamboo grove on the east side of the village before he left.
Watching my uncle ride off on his motorcycle, I took a proper look at this area I’d never set foot in before. When I was still a small child, my family wouldn’t let me wander far, so I could only play around the vicinity of our old house—at most, I’d visit the village market in the center of town.
The little dirt path leading east to the bamboo grove wasn’t easy to walk on. Although people said the bamboo grove was in the east of the village, it was actually farther out than if you circled the whole village.
On the way here, I asked my uncle whether he’d ever seen the ‘mysterious old lady’ mentioned by the toothless old man in the bamboo grove. My uncle pondered for a long time before recalling that when he used to skip school and catch bugs with his friends, he’d wandered in there by mistake. But he hadn’t found anything, not even a single insect—they all seemed to have vanished without a trace. It was so eerie that he felt a cold chill on his back after just a short while and rushed home, only to get a scolding from Grandma.
“Did you ever see anyone inside? Maybe someone in strange clothes?”
“No, I just saw, from a distance, a small wooden cabin deep in the bamboo grove. But I didn’t dare go near it. After I grew up, I didn’t stay in the village much, so I never had a chance to go exploring. If you go in later, don’t wander too far. Your catgirl childhood sweetheart is still waiting for you to come back and marry her, haha. You’d better let your dad come pick you up later. I’ve got business to take care of in Huacheng, so I’m already rushing to fit this visit in today.”
My uncle’s bright laughter still seemed to echo in my ears as I unlocked my phone, only to see a small cross for the signal icon at the top. Looks like I won’t be able to use any map apps.
On the way here, riding on the back of the motorcycle, I’d already let my family know in our group chat. Mom only gave a single reminder—“Be careful”—then went silent.
But, unusually, my usually quiet father called me at length when he heard I was going to the eastern bamboo grove. I hadn’t been able to properly read his message while on the jostling bike with my uncle speeding ahead, so now that I’d arrived, I finally had time to see what he’d written that made him—always so sparing with his words—send such a long message.
“Gu Fan, are you really heading to that bamboo grove? Make sure you mark your way as you go. I once accompanied your mother back home and, bored, went looking for a fishing spot there. I got lost for nearly half a day. It was nearly dark before I managed to find my way out by following a stray cat that was hunting in there. If you don’t reply to us within two hours, your mother and I will come looking for you.”
Could it really be that strange?
My uncle and my father’s experiences couldn’t help but raise my expectations for this exploration—a more negative sort of expectation.
Uncle works as a social media blogger whose main draw is motorcycle travel, so he’s no stranger to wild and remote places—his outdoor camping and navigation skills shouldn’t be bad at all.
My father, too, is an experienced fisherman. He’s said that my grandfather—who died of illness before I was born—used to take him fishing when he was little, and that’s how he picked up the hobby. He spends most of his free time in the countryside around different regions and even taught himself a bunch of wilderness survival skills, sometimes taking certification tests for them.
Yet even these two, you could call them half-professionals, got lost in this bamboo grove. It felt a bit like what happened to me back in the hills.
Luckily, I guessed this trip wouldn’t be easy, so I borrowed my uncle’s survival backpack, packed with tools and ropes—enough to let me explore inside for half an hour.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the bamboo grove, bathed in soft sunlight and glimmering with a gentle green hue.
I could smell the fresh scent of bamboo at the tip of my nose. I’d expected to occasionally step on animal droppings or prickly branches, but instead, only a sparse layer of fallen leaves cushioned the soft mud underfoot. It was even easier to walk here than on the pitted dirt road outside. I wondered why this bamboo grove had never been developed; it was curious.
All the way in, I used conspicuous cotton-white cloth and red string to make markers in high places, matching them with a compass, trying to go as straight as possible deeper into the grove.
My uncle’s survival bag also contained a multi-purpose tactical knife and a small iron spade for clearing the way, but I hardly needed them. The path deeper into the grove was so smooth, it felt like I was walking through a dream.
Just in case, I only walked in for less than ten minutes before turning back along my markers, returning to the entrance without a hitch. The shabby dirt road there was a stark contrast to the clean bamboo grove behind me—not even a single bug could be seen inside. My curiosity about this place was at its peak.
To be honest, after all these years, I still couldn’t let go of that forgotten period—everything that happened at the catgirl temple on the back hill.
A few days after that incident, when I went back to school from my hometown, I heard from my teacher that several new catgirl transfer students had joined the school.
After class, I excitedly told my mother about it, but she looked especially calm, as if the existence of catgirls was as natural as people having different skin colors.
As a child, I’d found it strange—so this world really did have these amazing catgirls. Back then, my teacher and mother both told me, “You were too little before, it’s normal not to know these things. You’ll get used to it.” With that, I stopped thinking too much about it.
But as I grew older and learned more about science, my curiosity about the illogical existence of catgirls only grew. I’d catch stray cats and study them repeatedly, but I never discovered anything.
Even little Zhi Nian in my childhood would obediently follow my every instruction: changing clothes, wagging her tail, twitching her ears. When I patted her head, she’d purr almost like a real cat, squinting her ruby-like eyes in contentment.
All the evidence pointed to this being a normal variant of humanity—no need to overthink it.
But on those sleepless nights, I still remembered that dying old tabby cat who led me into the temple, the wish I’d made, and how I’d lost consciousness and ended up back at the foot of the hill. Who had carried me there?
Could it be I never even made it into the back hills at all, and someone knocked me out before I could go? Maybe the temple and the wish were just part of a bizarre dream?
Turning around, I gazed deeply at the bamboo grove and took a photo with my phone. The picture looked perfectly normal—just what any ordinary bamboo grove should look like.
Forget it. I’d come back tomorrow for a more thorough investigation. It was nearly dusk, so I’d better head back to the old house to rest.
With that decision made, I walked slowly down the dirt road back toward the village. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bushes beside me tremble, as if something was darting quickly through them.
Could it be a snake? That thought came out of nowhere, and I quickened my pace to hurry home.