Hundred Fruit Orchard, midnight.

The twin moons had just risen above the horizon. Lead-gray storm clouds, heavy with moisture, hurried across the night sky. Pale moonlight seeped through gaps in the clouds, falling on the abandoned wheat field outside the orchard. Since mid-September, endless autumn rains had turned the soil to mud. Half the rain-rotted wheat stalks lay fallen. Shed grains had taken root and sprouted, pushing tender new shoots through the cold, damp earth under the moonlight. Wheat ears stood tall like fluffy fox tails, some drooping low. Cold raindrops pattered noisily on the field. Shadowy shapes slid through the darkness. Flocks of startled crows flapped their wet wings, circling over the depression outside the village. Nearly five hundred human corpses lay piled in the hollow beside the wheat field. The elven army had merely gathered the bodies and covered them with a thin layer of yellow earth. The drizzling rain washed away the soil. Wild dogs dug up the corpses. The intermittent downpour swelled the bodies, and a potent stench spread. Mad dogs charged into the pile, tearing open bellies, making the stench surge even stronger.

Bella was a twelve-year-old girl. Her small, thin body crouched in the cold, thorny, damp bushes. Raindrops dripped through bare branches onto her thin clothes. The distant sounds of wild dogs scavenging made her heart pound with fear. The night wind carried a fresh, strong stench, which oddly comforted her a little. Villagers pinched their noses when they saw her, calling her the "stinky kid." Even dogs wouldn’t bite her; they said dogs couldn’t tell the difference between corpse stench and her smell. So, children her age would all pinch their noses and shout, "Stinky brat! Stinky brat!" Even though she bathed whenever possible, the name "Stinky Brat" never left her. Only her older sister didn’t think she stank. Sadly, she was dead now, killed by the villagers’ flying stones.

Bella crawled shivering through the bushes for about ten minutes. Finally, she spotted a clump of Thundergrass atop a huge boulder. Under the dim moonlight, its stems and leaves glowed faintly, looking incredibly tempting. Beside the boulder lay scattered, yellowed corpses. Their sunken eye sockets stared blankly. They clutched withered Thundergrass in their hands, yet their clothes showed no signs of burning. Bella didn’t know why distant visitors craved this grass so much. Villagers risked being torn apart by wild dogs or burned by the "Ghost Woman" to get it. Even the village Elder refused to move away. Bella felt her flat cloth bag at her waist. That morning, the Elder had promised her a plump, fat chicken if she brought back a full bag of Thundergrass. She’d never eaten meat, only sucked on scraps clinging to bones. She was an outcast.

Bella stared at the Thundergrass on the stone. She crept forward quietly and gently. Not far away, the depression was filled with a pack of dogs. Mangled limbs and debris flew out from the frenzy. Bella whispered a prayer to the gods, hoping her scent would blend with the corpse stench, praying her dead sister would protect her. The short journey went surprisingly smoothly. She climbed onto the big rock, pulled out a half-rusted knife, and swiftly cut the Thundergrass, stuffing it into her bag. Sap oozed from the cut stems. A purplish-green spark flashed, but Bella didn’t notice. When her small hand touched the damp roots, a powerful current surged through her body. Her left hand trembled and jerked. Bella screamed in fright and yanked her hand away.

The dog pack grew restless. The glowing sap dripped on the rock, shining brightly under the moonlight. Some dogs barked at her, their foul mouths open. Instantly, the whole pack howled wildly. Crows flapped their wings in panic. Bella froze on the rock, unable to move. "Run! Bella, run!" Perhaps it was a divine warning. Bella immediately jumped off the rock and sprinted away. Her fleeing figure ignited their wild instincts. The barking dogs charged after her. As she ran, Bella patted her bag. It wasn’t full yet. Almost instinctively, she spotted a small bag hanging from a corpse’s waist. A fresh stalk of Thundergrass peeked out. The image of a plump chicken flashed in her mind. She stopped instantly and ran to the corpse. "I can make it," she thought. "Just grab the bag and run faster." She crouched down and tried to pull the bag off. But the corpse’s hand gripped the strap tightly. The barking grew closer, tearing at her eardrums. Bella remembered her knife. She pulled it out and slashed hard. It took several cuts to sever the strap.

Bella turned to run. A massive force hit her from behind. The cold, muddy ground rushed up to meet her face. A nauseating stench washed over her. Several wild dogs pinned her back. Bella saw their sharp teeth dripping thick saliva, aiming for her neck. She lay flat on the ground, holding her breath, motionless. She hoped the dogs would mistake her for a corpse—a stinking corpse. But the wild dogs lunged for her neck. Suddenly, a green light flared. A woman’s mournful wail echoed on the night wind. Bella buried her face in the mud. She heard only the dogs’ agonized howls and the sounds of their retreat. She opened her eyes. A greenish light shone. Within it, she glimpsed a tattered figure of a woman with a long, dangling tongue. "Ghost fire!" Bella screamed. She scrambled and rolled, leaping over bushes, running through the damp wheat field, fleeing toward the village under the night sky. Behind her, the dying howls of the wild dogs rose and fell...

The next day, at dusk. Bella, having survived, returned with a full bag of Thundergrass. The villagers treated her a bit more gently. At least, when they accidentally touched her hand, they didn’t scream for her to die. Dinner was still watery wheat porridge, but with chopped onions as a reward. There was also a piece of not-so-fresh bread. No chicken. The chicken had been roasted and was enjoyed solely by the Elder. He tore off a chicken leg from the very bird he’d mentioned the day before. Grease glistened, dripping over the pus-filled pimples at the corner of his mouth. Bella watched secretly, saliva pooling in her throat. As the Elder finished eating, he finally looked up from his plate and caught Bella staring. "Come here, come here." A chicken leg still had some crispy, golden-brown meat attached. He’d forgotten, and only now remembered. Bella thought, perhaps she shouldn’t have made a voodoo doll of him, cursing him to die. Sadly, she left her wooden stool and walked toward the Elder. "You were staring at me. I saw you." The Elder wiped his fingers on her tunic’s front. He grabbed her neck and slapped her hard across the face. "What did I tell you?" He slapped her again. "Don’t look around! You outcast! If you dare pollute me with your filthy gaze again, I’ll gouge out your eyes and feed them to the dogs!" With that, he shoved her hard. Bella fell to the ground. An exposed iron nail tore her dress, ripping a large hole. "You won’t sleep tonight until you mend it," the Elder declared. He gnawed the meat off the chicken leg. After finishing it, he tossed the bone to his spotted, skinny bitch. He sucked his fingers loudly, savoring the taste.

That night, Bella hid in the woodshed, crying quietly. She made three straw dolls, praying the gods would send an avenger to punish the Elder.

The next morning, the autumn rain stopped. A six-wheeled carriage, driverless, rolled across the abandoned wheat field and arrived at the village. Several villagers, aged seventeen or eighteen, wearing straw hats and holding hay forks, trembled as they emerged from houses that looked like ruins. An armored knight jumped down from the carriage. He removed his black helmet, revealing long ears and golden hair. A scar ran down his young cheek. The villagers dropped their hay forks in fear. The young elf’s expression was grim. He shouted at them, "Hey! Is this the Hundred Fruit Orchard?" "Yes, yes, Elven Knight sir," the villagers said, all bowing low with their heads up, speaking timidly. "Do you have Thundergrass?" "We don’t know about Thundergrass," one villager waved his hand. "But the Elder should know." The Elven Knight turned back impatiently. "Let’s go, Aelina." "Call your Elder here," a clear, gentle female voice came from the carriage. The Elven Knight sighed in frustration. He glared fiercely at the human farmers and yelled, "Go call your Elder now!"