The square-faced man suddenly remembered something—when they went to the mountains to pick wild vegetables, Zhou Qi’an had been humming an off-key tune the whole time.
The melody had felt oddly familiar. Now that he thought about it, wasn’t it “The Little Girl Picking Mushrooms”?
The female teacher, ever the practical one, stared at the elderly man lying unconscious, foaming at the mouth and twitching uncontrollably. She asked, “Will he… die?”
Zhou Qi’an waved his hand dismissively. “Important NPCs aren’t that easy to kill.”
At those words, everyone gave him a doubtful look.
Zhou Qi’an tried to reassure them. “I once went into a instance and ran into an old man about the same age as the village chief—his health was even worse. Guess what happened?”
The female teacher instinctively asked, “What happened?”
“Couldn’t burn him to death, couldn’t blow him up either.” Zhou Qi’an, who had barely slept the night before, yawned again. “Tougher than a crematorium.”
He turned to Miss Shen. “Right, Miss Customer Service?”
After all, the staff and customer service basically served the same function here.
Screw you.
A faint crack appeared in Miss Shen’s elegant facade.
“……”
Most of the players thought Zhou Qi’an was exaggerating, but one player—with a birthmark on his forehead and an air of elegance—seemed deep in thought. He stared at Zhou Qi’an, as if contemplating some possibility.
Then his gaze shifted to Shen Zhiyi. The two of them were partnered for this instance, and something about their dynamic felt… strange. At that moment, even Shen Zhiyi’s expression toward Zhou Qi’an was somewhat odd.
The young man had one long leg still resting on the village chief. This position made the muscles under his pants look even more defined. Shen Zhiyi’s gaze was tinged with displeasure—not out of sympathy for the village chief, but rather an expression that said: He’s not worthy.
Not worthy… of being stepped on?
The man shook his head, startled by his own thoughts.
Just then, Zhou Qi’an finally lifted his foot and turned around to do something.
The square-faced man asked in a low voice, “Where are you going?”
Was he trying to dump this mess on them?
Zhou Qi’an was speechless. “Bro, the man’s unconscious—where do you think he’s going?”
Square-face: “To get the village doctor…”
Before he could finish the sentence, Zhou Qi’an cut him off: “To search his house, obviously.”
Every inch of it.
Then he looked toward Miss Shen again. “Right, team leader?”
Team your damn—
Miss Shen, who claimed to be the head of the expert team, was on the verge of losing it.
The other players, still reeling from shock, all took a step back.
Zhou Qi’an sighed. Ying Yu would’ve been better for this. If he hadn’t left with the kitchen lady, his backpack would probably be full by now.
To be fair, the players were just reacting slowly. Veteran players were used to being cautious—they’d never encountered such a bandit-like playstyle before.
“We’ll search this room…” Shen Zhiyi said, glancing toward the inner room. Before he could finish, the square-faced man quickly moved to follow.
Bang.
Shen Zhiyi shut the door in his face without mercy.
The heavy door slammed shut just in time to almost smash his nose.
Outside the room, the square-faced man stood silently, face like stone.
Inside the room, everything was spotless—so clean even the door frame gleamed. The overly sterile air felt like it had been filtered a dozen times, chilling as it entered the lungs.
Zhou Qi’an looked to Shen Zhiyi.
Shen Zhiyi said, “I can’t pinpoint what’s off…”
He just felt the room was full of death.
Aside from the game itself, no one could fully grasp the rules—not even him. All death-related mechanics had to be discovered through trial and error.
What Shen Zhiyi could do for Zhou Qi’an was minimize mistakes and increase their survival margin.
The room wasn’t large. The layout was standard, with a carved wooden bed against the wall. The strangest thing was—no windows. Every corner was swallowed in deep shadow.
Zhou Qi’an walked around, his fingertips gliding from the wall to the table, casually picking up a candlestick and stuffing it into his bag.
“If you see anything you like, tell me. I’ll stash it for you.”
To put him at ease, Zhou Qi’an added, “Last night I took a teardrop pendant from the village chief. Seems like an important game item. Didn’t trigger any death rules.”
Compared to that pendant, the rest of the stuff here was basically junk.
They could grab whatever they wanted.
“……”
Shen Zhiyi didn’t loot. Instead, he walked over to the bed and knocked on the frame with a knuckle.
A hollow echo replied.
He smirked faintly, felt around the bed’s edge for a moment, and uncovered a tightly sealed compartment. Inside, a wave of musty stench drifted out—filled with rotting, yellowed newspapers stacked like trash.
Zhou Qi’an came over and glanced at the papers. “Looks like Fengshui Village wasn’t as isolated as we thought.”
There had been a calendar on the village chief’s wall. Comparing it to the newspaper dates, these were all from more than thirty years ago. The information was all over the place—just a rough scan would take hours to finish.
Zhou Qi’an clutched the paper edges and started flipping through haphazardly. Less than five minutes later, he declared, “Done reading.”
He hadn’t even tried to decipher the blurred, water-damaged text. Newspapers usually had weather forecasts—especially local ones. Fengshui Village fell under Yongxi Township. Like how parents name their kids to offset shortcomings—”Yongxi,” “Fengshui”—clearly, they were praying for rain.
Yet in all these newspapers, not a single mention of rain.
But now, the village was surrounded by water everywhere. Its development had clearly stagnated, to the point it didn’t even get newspapers anymore.
Zhou Qi’an put the papers down. As he looked up, he noticed a gap between the bed and the wall drapery.
He lifted the curtain—and came face-to-face with a blank memorial tablet.
A tablet with no inscription.
The color of the tablet was strange—pale and tender, like eyeless human skin, quietly watching everything in the room.
Zhou Qi’an’s throat bobbed. “Didn’t expect this. I thought they’d be worshipping some evil deity.”
He had assumed the evil god had an altar here too.
Zhou Qi’an took a half-step back.
As he bent down, he could feel a shallow groove on the smooth floor below—likely worn into place after years of kneeling. His full attention was on the tablet, so he missed the flicker of discomfort on Shen Zhiyi’s face when he heard “evil god.”
“May the Lord bless Xun Er,” Zhou Qi’an muttered, remembering the five-starred fish-eye.
In hell, I hope you’re living your best life!
Shen Zhiyi: “……”
Zhou Qi’an was still mourning Xun Er and feeling grateful for the pearl he left behind when a weak, terrified voice suddenly came from outside: “Holy Maiden!”
Followed by a flurry of clumsy movement—it sounded like the village chief had woken up.
Despite all the toxic mushrooms he’d eaten, the village chief had miraculously sprung back to life.
The creak of a door opening came from behind. Seeing two people walk out of his room, the newly conscious village chief’s deeply wrinkled face twitched instantly. “You…”
Zhou Qi’an walked up quickly.
Shen Zhiyi helped him zip up his backpack.
Zhou Qi’an: ……
Close one. The candlestick he “borrowed” nearly fell out.
“Thank goodness you’re awake! We couldn’t find any medicine in your room—I was so worried.”
His sincere expression made the still-dazed village chief freeze in place.
The village chief’s mind was now a muddled mess, and only belatedly did he recall the terrifying scene he had witnessed before falling unconscious—
The Saintess sat atop an altar forged from bone fragments. Her crimson lips slowly curled into a smile as she gazed down upon the “followers” below. A hissing sound issued from her throat, and in an instant, rain poured from the heavens like a waterfall.
The villagers knelt with bowed heads, scrambling to praise the Saintess’s nobility… and then, in the water, they slowly began to dissolve.
That wasn’t water. It was a furnace.
A scene half rooted in reality and half in delusion left the village chief praying in utter despair.
The Saintess. It was divine punishment brought down by the Saintess. They were all going to die soon!
Suddenly, the village chief spotted the players. The look in his eyes was scorching, like he had just seen scapegoats.
Several fresh, young bodies were right before him. A glimmer of hope rekindled in the village chief. His pale lips moved incessantly. “This afternoon… this afternoon we’ll skip the inspection.”
He muttered a few words in a dialect the others couldn’t understand, then began rambling mysteriously:
“Around three, I’ll take you to visit the church. At five, we’ll go to the hot springs. At seven, I will summon the villagers for the sacrificial ritual! And at nine… at nine we’ll return to the church for prayer. When midnight strikes, the merciful Saintess shall descend upon this world once again!”
His voice grew more and more shrill as he spoke, while the players exchanged increasingly complex expressions.
Was this… several days’ worth of quests crammed into one afternoon?
They’d seen NPCs treat players like pigs to be slaughtered—but never like donkeys to be worked to death.
Even stage actors didn’t hustle this fast!
Thud!
A dull pain struck the back of the village chief’s head. Just moments ago he had been raving manically—now his body tilted and slumped to the ground again.
Behind him, Zhou Qi’an stood holding a brick he had just pulled from his backpack. He looked down coldly at the unconscious old man and said,
“Trying to ascend to the heavens, are you?”
“…”
This time, no one was particularly concerned about the village chief’s life or death—at the very least, they all now knew his head was tougher than a brick.
Ten minutes later, the village chief groaned awake.
His resistance to poison and blunt force trauma was truly top-tier.
“I…”
Zhou Qi’an rushed over with sincere warmth. “Thank goodness you’re awake! We couldn’t find any medicine in the room, and I was really worried.”
The corners of several people’s mouths twitched. Shen Zhiyi turned his head slightly away, and the edges of his lips seemed to lift faintly.
The village chief felt a strange sense of déjà vu.
He knocked hard on his own head. Maybe the poison-induced hallucinations had faded slightly—his clouded eyes were now a bit clearer.
The bluish hue on his face gave away no expression. He stared at Zhou Qi’an, his hollow gaze reminiscent of the skulls inside the church—only with a layer of skin stretched over them.
“Today… let’s check the water quality first. I’ll take you to the Holy Grounds afterward.”
The village chief had calmed down, and his articulation carried an eerie tone:
“It just so happens that our village is preparing to hold a blessing ritual. You outsiders have come from afar—it’s a perfect chance for you to experience our local customs firsthand.”
The phrase experience firsthand sent chills down everyone’s spines. They still vividly remembered that earlier, when the village chief was delirious, he hadn’t said blessing ritual—he had said sacrificial ritual.
The village chief leaned against the wall and slowly left to notify the villagers.
Shen Zhiyi followed soon after, for reasons unknown.
Those still gathered in the courtyard couldn’t stop thinking about the village chief’s parting words.
Holy Grounds.
Oddly, those two words felt even more ominous than sacrifice. It was as if a foul swamp lay ahead, waiting to consume its prey.
Miss Shen added in a sarcastic tone, “You’re all sure to have an unforgettable experience.”
Suddenly, footsteps sounded outside the courtyard.
Thinking the village chief had returned, everyone tensed up—but when they looked up, they saw it was Ying Yu, who had been called away by the cook to make candles.
It wasn’t surprising he came back alive, but what was noteworthy was that he looked just as neat and tidy as when he left—his clothes unwrinkled, no signs of struggle or distress.
That meant the task he had undertaken hadn’t involved any life-threatening danger or combat. The others couldn’t help but reassess Ying Yu’s capabilities. Zhou Qi’an waved at him. “Come, let’s have a little chat.”
“…”
The others were speechless.
Using an anti-eavesdropping tool, the two began exchanging information privately. No one else could do anything but watch.
A Red Riding Hood member sneered. “Aren’t you guys annoyed by this?”
Xu Gui, who had yet to speak with Zhou Qi’an, replied coolly, “And what do you propose we do? Whisper secrets to each other out of spite?”
The Red Riding Hood member was momentarily at a loss for words.
With no intel in hand, anything they said would just be meaningless chatter.
Just as he was about to retort, he noticed Xu Gui’s expression had changed—his eyes fixed on something in the distance.
The Red Riding Hood member turned around.
This time, it was the village chief. In just a short time, he had changed into a loose white linen robe and wore a mask with a ferocious green face and fangs.
The chief was barefoot, standing silently in the doorway. No one knew how long he had been standing there, just watching them.
The Red Riding Hood member felt a tightness in his throat.
“We can depart now.” The village chief’s voice sounded different—less hoarse and more twisted, strange. If it weren’t for the tumor on his back, the players might have suspected he’d been replaced entirely.
A young girl, frightened, asked, “Do we have to go?”
The village chief gave a stiff smile. “Of course not.”
Just as relief started to rise in the girl’s eyes, the village chief added a final sentence that crushed every player harboring thoughts of backing out:
“But… you’ll bear the consequences.”
His last four words were laced with a sinister chuckle.
Everyone took a deep breath and had no choice but to follow the chief out.
At the gate, villagers clad in the same white linen robes had already gathered.
Each one wore a terrifying green mask. They stood in neat rows, facing the players with unblinking stares.
The villagers of Fengshui Village already had eerily pale skin. The wide sleeves of their robes billowed in the chilly wind, casting flickering shadows.
The village chief made a gesture, and all the villagers began marching toward the back mountain like lifeless puppets.
The players followed behind.
The female teacher whispered, “This feels like a funeral procession. Nothing good will come of this.”
The Red Riding Hood member’s face was equally grim. “Didn’t you hear the village chief? Going might mean a chance to live. But not going…”
He didn’t get to finish the phrase means certain death—because a low voice sounded from up ahead: “I’m not going.”
At the end of the path, Shen Zhiyi, who had left earlier, stood there calmly.
The female teacher blinked, instinctively asking before the villagers reached him, “You’re not going?”
Surprisingly, Shen Zhiyi actually answered her. He wore an unusually gentle smile as he said,
“I have more important things to do.”
“…I’m staying to teach the children to read. It’s always good to know a few words.”
Children under the age of fourteen were not included in the ritual procession.
More accurately, they weren’t qualified to participate at all.
Shen Zhiyi had somehow managed to convince the parents to let their children gather together under the pretense of teaching them how to read and write.
Perhaps, in the eyes of the villagers, this wave of experts was just like the last—city folks ignorant of the dangers of the world, carrying laughable pity as they came to “help” them.
Before, all attention had been focused on Shen Zhiyi. Only now did the players notice the children beside him.
The children standing next to Shen Zhiyi shared the same pale skin. Their pupils, stark black and white, looked at the players with an odd expression—not like they were looking at people.
It was a strange description, but more than one player felt the same way.
Behind that lingering naiveté was only cruelty.
The villagers, like ghosts, continued walking toward the back mountain. As they set off, Shen Zhiyi turned to Zhou Qi’an, who was passing by, and said, “If the situation becomes uncontrollable, use the communication tool to contact me.”
Zhou Qi’an reflexively replied, “What’s the use of contacting you?”
Shen Zhiyi just smiled without answering.
The villagers had already walked some distance away. The children stood at the edge of the village, looking at the departing players with a wicked innocence—like they were staring at weeds in a pigsty.
Ah… it would be so fun to cut pigweed…
Beside them, Shen Zhiyi remained friendly like a teacher. He patted a child’s head, his hand lingering at the neck for a moment—
Like caressing a stalk of straw in a field, ready to snap with ease.
Shen Zhiyi raised his other arm. This humble rural teacher waved at them and said, “Come back soon.”
———
Up ahead, villagers in hemp robes and ghost masks walked barefoot, drifting toward the back mountain like a funeral procession. At the end of the line, two villagers carried bamboo baskets covered with white cloth. No one knew what was inside, only that it looked heavy.
The players stayed at the end of the procession, unconsciously lightening their steps, as if they truly had become spirits wandering the mountains.
At some point, someone turned around for a look.
Shen Zhiyi stood there with a group of children, all of them smiling faintly as they waved goodbye.
The player who looked back couldn’t help but shiver in the cold. That final scene inexplicably filled him with greater fear.
Zhou Qi’an walked among the group, lost in thought with his backpack on.
The village chief had said those who didn’t go would face the consequences. If the ghosts were going to kill someone during the ritual, then what kind of danger would the ones who stayed behind face?
The villagers of Fengshui Village had strong constitutions. The village chief was a perfect example.
If even the elderly were like that, those children who looked neither human nor ghost probably weren’t normal either.
The villagers had left Shen Zhiyi behind without worry—as if they were leaving him a ration of food for the children.
But—
Zhou Qi’an closed his eyes and suddenly made the sign of the cross on his chest. “May the Lord bless this village.”
Nearby, a member of the Red Riding Hood team: “…”
He thought Zhou Qi’an must be seriously ill. Who prays to God in a rural local village?
Ten minutes later, upon seeing the mysterious, solemn church that radiated the aura of death, the Red Riding Hood member realized he’d spoken too soon.
Back when they were picking wild vegetables in the back mountain, they’d only seen the vague outline of a white building—no one had connected it to a church.
Dong.
Ding dong.
At the front, the village chief rang a bell, the sound of multiple bronze tongues overlapping with the sound of a mountain spring.
The villagers entered the church singing and dancing.
The players forcibly suppressed their nerves and followed.
Inside, the church was pitch-dark even in broad daylight. Sunlight was blocked by skulls hanging upside-down in the windows.
The moment they stepped in, everyone gasped. They had seen human bones before—but never this many, and never so blatantly displayed. It was utterly grotesque.
Even Zhou Qi’an hadn’t seen clearly at night. Now that he looked closely, the visual impact was overwhelming.
The Red Riding Hood member, who was knowledgeable in these matters, focused on the area in the front.
There, a collection of white bones had been arranged into a smooth arc—at first glance, it looked like a demon’s eye.
“These villagers aren’t afraid of taboos, huh,” he muttered.
But then he thought—villagers couldn’t possibly build a church on their own. There must be someone knowledgeable behind the scenes guiding them.
One by one, the villagers uncovered the white cloth from the heavy baskets. Inside were not only strange horn-shaped instruments, but also candle holders made from bone fragments.
The villagers began to gather at the front. The players stood stiffly at the back.
Wearing the same masks, the villagers moved with wide, exaggerated motions. It was impossible to tell who was male or female.
Suddenly, a cold mechanical voice descended:
[Main Quest One Activated.]
[Main Quest: Before the ritual ends, locate at least two missing members of the expert team and throw them into the village chief’s courtyard well.]
[Quest Reward: Report.]
[Helpful Hint: This is a draft report from the missing expert team, detailing some of their discoveries in Fengshui Village.]
Find people?
At the front, the villagers’ dancing grew more frenzied. With overlapping shadows, each person seemed to have three silhouettes. Though they wore masks, it felt like the twisted smiles underneath could still be seen.
A player said uncertainly, “The experts… they were assimilated into the villagers? They’re among them?”
“Never heard of someone gaining dance skills after assimilation…”
Zhou Qi’an’s gaze swept over the skulls clustered on the ceiling in the shape of a sky lantern, the radius bones arranged in height order on the columns, the countless skulls on the walls—and even the bone candle holders some villagers held aloft…
Any of them could be the “people” they needed to find.
Others had clearly thought of this too. Their expressions were grim.
The drumbeat quickened. The square-faced player said sternly, “Let’s move quickly. Look for fresh corpses first.”
This was a main quest—if they failed, everyone would die.
“Each of us will take a section.” The square-faced man assigned roles rapidly. “You two search that side…”
Under his direction, the female teacher and the young girl were assigned to the west side, Little Red Hood member and Ying Yu to the east. “I’ll search the area around the door and ceiling alone—I have a summoning skill and can use insects to observe. As for the front…”
His eyes turned to Zhou Qi’an. “Since the mission emphasizes ‘individuals,’ it must refer to relatively intact bodies, so we can rule out things like bone candleholders. There are only a few places in the front that need to be searched.”
His gaze lingered on Zhou Qi’an, and his voice seemed to grow even faster, keeping pace with the villagers’ dance. “I’ll leave that to you, Brother Zhou.”
Now was not the time to argue. Anyone raising an objection would only draw resentment.
The square-faced man had a good point—but to get to the front meant passing through the terrifying dancers.
Zhou Qi’an, however, nodded crisply.
The square-faced man was momentarily stunned.
As the players dispersed to search their areas, Ying Yu remained in place and said to Zhou Qi’an, “I’ll go. I swiped a mask from the cook during the candle task.”
“No, I’ll go.” Zhou Qi’an ducked behind a pillar, seemingly better equipped than anyone else. He pulled out a hemp robe from his backpack and swiftly changed: “Clothing, token…”
A good thief never leaves empty-handed—he had everything ready.
With deft movements, he tied the village chief’s teardrop pendant around his waist. Every villager today wore one. It seemed to be some kind of identification token.
“And besides…”
Zhou Qi’an summoned a strip of white silk, which floated silently toward the window. He said, “The villagers aren’t dancing a blessing ritual. It’s a sacrificial dance—they’re worshiping a shaman ghost.”
Ying Yu hadn’t expected him to be this knowledgeable—or this well-versed.
“It’s an annual performance for the boss at the company New Year’s party.”
A perfectly legitimate way to go insane, vent frustrations about performing during the holidays, and promote traditional culture at the same time.
“……”
__
Author’s Note:
Villagers: Why does he dance better than us?
Zhou Qi’an: In the middle of the dance. Do Not Disturb.
