The lingering smoke swirled, its heavy, acrid smell trapped in the confined space.
The villagers in the sacks thrashed like dying fish. Zhou Qi’an’s gaze settled on one sack, and he nodded.
Shen Zhiyi effortlessly hoisted it with one hand, then dumped the person onto the ground like trash.
The villager landed face-first, eating a mouthful of dirt.
With his mouth gagged, he could only glare at his captors with furious, blazing eyes as he struggled to roll over.
Once I’m free…
“Planning to take revenge in the cruelest way possible?” The young man crouched down, his gentle smile laced with mockery, making the villager avert his eyes guiltily.
Though in his fifties, the villager looked younger than his age.
Zhou Qi’an stood, returning moments later with an armful of unburnt, dry branches.
The villager, initially stunned, realized with dawning horror that he’d been brought to the village chief’s house.
Zhou Qi’an glanced at Ying Yu, his expression saying, I know you stole something.
After a brief silence, Ying Yu calmly produced a candle and a fire starter, handing them over.
During the candle-making task assigned by the cook, he’d naturally kept a sample.
Zhou Qi’an pressed the cold end of the candle against the villager’s chin, his pale fingers gripping the other end. Smiling, he asked, “If you burned to death here and were tossed down a well, would anyone know?”
Against the backdrop of the fire-ravaged scene, his earnest demeanor felt chillingly real. The candle’s tip slid from the villager’s chin to his throat.
The villager nearly wet himself.
He feared the candle, but the fire terrified him more.
The other sacks, still writhing, fell silent after hearing the threat.
“At your age, you must’ve been involved in the execution of the violent witch back then,” Zhou Qi’an said.
Guilt flashed in the villager’s eyes. Not just him—everyone around Yongxi Township had participated, culminating in a sacrificial ritual.
“Then you know what it’s like when flesh is scorched and vaporized.”
Zhou Qi’an’s soft tone slithered into the villager’s ears like a venomous snake. The gag was removed, but before he could beg or scream, the next question sent his heart racing.
“Where’s the priest?”
The villager’s mouth opened, curiosity flickering as he wondered how Zhou Qi’an knew about the saintess.
Zhou Qi’an’s fingers grazed the fire starter, his smile unwavering. “Think carefully before you answer.”
Shen Zhiyi kicked the other sacks, and amid their muffled whimpers, the villager’s resolve crumbled.
If he didn’t talk, someone else would.
His face, stiff from the gag, twitched under the silent threat. Finally, he croaked, “I don’t know.”
As Zhou Qi’an’s expression cooled, he blurted, “I really don’t know!”
Zhou Qi’an: “What’s the relationship between the saintess and the priest?”
“Don’t know.”
“Oh?”
The villager rushed to add, “But I once heard the village chief, drunk, say something about the priest…”
The word seemed to carry an inherent terror, making the villager swallow hard and lower his voice. “You mustn’t meet the priest’s gaze—that’s disrespect, and you’ll die. You mustn’t touch the priest—that’s overstepping, and you’ll die. And you absolutely mustn’t cut the priest’s umbilical cord—that’s taboo! No one can hide from the priest because…”
He swallowed again, trembling. “The priest is always watching the village.”
His voice quivered, the villager shaking like a leaf.
Zhou Qi’an listened thoughtfully.
The first two meant death, but the last was intriguing.
If cutting the umbilical cord was taboo, it might be a way to counter the priest.
But the details were vague—was it a literal umbilical cord or a metaphorical one?
He probed further, but the villager only shivered, as did the others.
Shen Zhiyi mused, “In stories like this, maybe the info you can get from villagers each day is limited.”
Satisfied that the villagers’ usefulness was exhausted for now, Zhou Qi’an stood and stepped outside.
Shen Zhiyi handled the cleanup. Since he’d lied about his evolved abilities, he clearly didn’t want others knowing the truth.
Noticing Zhou Qi’an giving him space, Shen Zhiyi’s mood lightened, his gaze softening eerily as he looked at the villagers.
Thin, gas-like threads, black as the charred walls, coiled around his fingers.
The threads surged into the villagers’ terrified eyes, and in moments, they lost their grip on reality.
“Don’t go to the back mountain,” Shen Zhiyi said.
The villagers’ faces twisted into eerie smiles.
It was a dream.
They were daydreaming.
In their dream, they headed toward a utopia.
Shen Zhiyi glanced at Zhou Qi’an’s back outside, weighing how far to take this and how to wrap it up.
Soon, his desolate voice echoed in their dreams: “Go to Yongxi Township.”
To the dead town the players had passed through, where they could revel in fear.
—
Outside, Zhou Qi’an and Ying Yu discussed the umbilical cord. A chilling breeze swept by as the villagers, dazed, shuffled toward the village entrance. Before Zhou Qi’an could look closer, a noise came from behind.
In the courtyard, Shen Zhiyi stumbled, seemingly drained.
Zhou Qi’an rushed to steady him. “You okay?”
Shen Zhiyi coughed weakly, his face deathly pale. “Fine. Just need… a little rest.”
His head slumped onto Zhou Qi’an’s shoulder, arms wrapping around his waist, body leaning in. Yet his legs held firm, sparing Zhou Qi’an most of his weight.
Ying Yu thought, expressionless:
Wow, he’s good at falling.
—
Night fell quickly.
The sun sank, its arc nearly behind the mountains. The daytime’s scenic beauty turned eerie at night. The canal’s reflections, trees swaying in the wind—everywhere oozed a creepy, terrifying vibe.
The corpse in the well stirred again.
Creaking, watery sounds of assembly rang out, like a child stacking blocks.
The players’ imaginations ran wild, picturing Sister Zhao’s scattered remains piecing themselves together.
The daytime corpse scare was just an appetizer—night was when ghosts truly roamed!
When the sound of nails scratching the well’s walls echoed, the trio scoured the village chief’s house once more, then fled at top speed.
Back at the brick house, the other players were already gathered, arguing fiercely about something.
As they approached, the argument became clear. After the first night’s lesson, tonight the group insisted on separating by gender, but Xu Gui adamantly demanded a single room.
Kou Tuo gave a wry smile to Ying Yu, who’d just arrived. “Looks like we’re squeezing in tonight.”
Ying Yu didn’t call out Kou Tuo’s subtle scheming.
Xu Gui might be assertive, but she was alone. Kou Tuo didn’t fight for a solo room, likely hoping to pry secrets from the group.
“Whatever,” Ying Yu said.
Beyond tasks and gathering materials, he was indifferent to external matters.
Surprisingly, Shen Zhiyi didn’t object either—perhaps too lazy to argue, still leaning on Zhou Qi’an, feigning weakness.
The female teacher was reluctant to share a room with the young girls.
After the square-faced man’s corpse stirred, it’d likely target the culprit’s room first. She cast a pleading look at Xu Gui, who ignored her, returned to her room, locked the door, and went to bed.
Zhou Qi’an helped Shen Zhiyi inside. As night deepened, he prepared to leave.
Assigned by the village chief to stay in the opposite brick house, he couldn’t switch rooms casually. Even with doors open, the players squabbling over space wouldn’t dare move in.
“Good night,” Zhou Qi’an said, stepping toward the door.
A cool hand grabbed his wrist.
He paused, looking down into eyes gleaming with deepened amusement.
“Good night,” Shen Zhiyi replied.
Pale yet exhilarated, he reminded Zhou Qi’an of Xun Er’s goodnight exchanges.
Zhou Qi’an froze briefly, glancing back as he crossed the threshold. Shen Zhiyi coughed rhythmically, a bead of crimson blood at his lips, smeared evenly by his fingers, adding a vivid hue to his mouth.
Was he truly hurt, masking it with composure, or just playacting?
Zhou Qi’an couldn’t tell.
Shaking his head, he ignored the performance and left.
–
At night, the isolated brick house sank into darkness.
Zhou Qi’an stayed alone, keeping the window open to catch sounds. The howling night wind heightened the eerie atmosphere.
No candles or lamps lit the room. He leaned near the bed, listening intently.
After some time, strange noises drifted in.
…The villagers were back.
Grinning mischievously, Zhou Qi’an thought, They avoid nighttime activity—must be scared of the dark.
Yet now they were forced to search for missing children at night.
The distant sounds weren’t footsteps but the rustling of fabric.
What could cause such odd noise?
Zhou Qi’an tapped the wall, picturing it: The villagers are crawling on their knees.
Kneeling for whom?
In the pitch-black room, he recalled the villager’s words: The priest is always watching the village.
Suddenly, a sharp scraping sound from beyond the wall disrupted his thoughts.
Besides the village chief’s group, another distinct noise was close—right outside.
An uninvited guest was in the yard. Zhou Qi’an held his breath, then slammed the window shut!
–
Under moonlight, Fengshui Village stirred.
Hundreds of villagers knelt uniformly, bowing every three steps. The retrieved children, still dazed as if just woken, knelt too, following the adults’ orders.
One figure stood alone.
Not quite human.
Miss Shen, face grim, walked along the canal, her shoes untouched by water.
Excessive NPC deaths could disrupt the instance. Though the children were likely alive—otherwise, the game would’ve issued a notice—Miss Shen had checked to be sure.
Tracking down these half-dead, barely human kids was a hassle, delaying her until now.
“Where’s Li Zhu and the others?” The village chief, standing after kneeling, frowned at the dark village.
He’d ordered the remaining villagers to light special bone candelabras after dark to guide the others back.
They’d bowed countless times on the way, and without their unique resilience, they’d have collapsed. Now done, the chief stood, fighting dizziness, and sent a sturdy man to check.
The man returned quickly, shocked. “They’re all gone.”
A dozen villagers—vanished!
Miss Shen, walking by the canal, slipped, her shoe finally wet.
Enough is enough!
Finding the kids only to lose the adults—this shouldn’t be Fengshui Village; it should be Misfortune Village.
The village chief was livid.
Once was coincidence; twice was not.
Forgetting the sacrificial offerings, his rage made the tumor on his back quiver. His unmarred face twisted grotesquely.
“Follow me,” he growled through clenched teeth.
The crowd rallied, grabbing farm tools from a nearby shed. The cook and other women led, wielding kitchen knives. Awakened children giggled, taking sickles from adults: “Time to cut pig grass!”
Their silhouettes twisted under the moonlight, a ghostly procession marching toward the players’ residence, stopping first outside Zhou Qi’an’s place.
The chief loathed this young man who’d made him burn his own house.
Without a word, the burly man understood, raising a thick leg.
Bang!
One kick sent the scarlet door flying open.
The man blinked, stunned.
He’d meant to scare the occupant, but the door wasn’t even locked—it just gave way.
As it swung open, something shot out from behind.
A woman’s head!
The shattered skull rolled across the ground. The headless body aligned it with the broken neck, reattaching it.
Blood-matted burgundy hair tangled in the flesh and bone.
“Sister Zhao” twisted her head, hair grinding out bits of flesh.
The villagers stepped back.
From nearby bushes, Zhou Qi’an stowed his white silk, mouthing to the villagers: Good evening.
He looked disheveled, elbows and knees scraped, fabric torn, as if he’d been rolling on the ground.
“Phew.” Zhou Qi’an exhaled, relieved the villagers arrived in time.
“Sister Zhao’s” vengeful corpse targeted her teammates, and Zhou Qi’an, who’d dumped her body in the well, was first in line.
He’d left the window open to listen, waiting for the villagers. If more went missing, the chief would come for him.
To ensure they clashed, he’d risked luring the battle to the yard.
“I’m jealous of myself,” Zhou Qi’an muttered.
People wanting him dead could line up from here to the village end.
The ghost’s primary target was Zhou Qi’an.
But after her head’s parabolic flight, “Sister Zhao” glared at the man like he was already dead, then leapt like a grasshopper, pouncing.
The villagers scattered. The burly man, terrified, hid behind the chief.
The chief’s face twitched.
Slap!
Another door swung open behind them.
A young girl rushed out, pursued by the square-faced corpse.
In a puddle from the afternoon rain, the corpse’s vengeful, pale face reflected, dripping water as it sought its killer.
“Still as dumb as when you were alive,” the girl sneered, her gaze landing on the children.
With a cold smile, she darted toward them.
“Sister Zhao’s” attack had already rattled the villagers.
Facing the charging young girl, the child instinctively swung his sickle. She deliberately timed her dodge, narrowly evading as the blade grazed her abdomen.
Foul black blood splattered the ground, the square-faced corpse’s gut torn open, halting its steps.
“Help…” the child stammered, terrified by the sight and aware he’d caused trouble.
He’d seen plenty of dead kids and killed his share of people, but the water dripping from the square-faced corpse sealed the wound, reforming into vague flesh.
Fragmented memories of being stabbed lingered in its resentment. Roaring, the corpse lunged at the child, its cadaveric spots spreading.
The child screamed, wildly swinging the sickle.
A village woman, trying to save him, shrieked and hacked at the corpse.
You chop yours, I kill mine—utter chaos ensued.
The reanimated players had moderate attack power, but a watery mist seemed to envelop them, rapidly healing any wounds.
Under the blood-soaked, violent night, Zhou Qi’an did one thing: as “Sister Zhao” pounced on the burly man, he slammed the door shut.
The cacophony was sealed outside.
Yawning, Zhou Qi’an patted his chest. “Scared me to death.”
Needing a breather, he used his white silk to nimbly climb a tree, perching on a sturdy branch to watch the mayhem.
“The chief’s face nearly got shredded.”
“Square-Face got whittled to a cone—gave the chief a left hook.”
Zhou Qi’an broadcasted live updates to Shen Zhiyi and the others via a communication prop.
But the spectacle soon bored him—he’d rather sleep.
Noise over fifty decibels at night counts as disturbance; this was far beyond. Back inside, Zhou Qi’an pillowed his head on his backpack, optimistically treating the racket as a lullaby.
With people outside, he didn’t fear a ghost creeping up in dead silence.
“Nice,” he murmured, nuzzling his backpack like a small animal and curling up to sleep.
Hoping to wake to a clean sweep of corpses.
–
Amid a percussion orchestra of chaos, Zhou Qi’an slept deeply. As night waned, the “lullaby” abruptly stopped. Without the comforting din, he frowned uneasily in his sleep.
So hot.
Like being roasted on an iron plate, his hands gripped the sheets, veins bulging.
“I curse…”
“I curse you all!”
A woman, bound to a pole, wailed in agony, her skin peeling under scorching sun, flaking off in horrific, fading screams.
Then, a man’s voice joined, seething with rage, each syllable dripping with hatred. He cursed too, words choked in his throat like a viper’s hiss.
How much hatred could produce such a sound? Zhou Qi’an strained to open his eyes, to see the scene.
Blazing sunlight pierced the fog, his vision cutting through layers. In that instant, without warning, he locked eyes with a pair of heterochromatic pupils.
They glared cruelly, fury deepening their malice and resentment.
Zhou Qi’an vaguely saw a cross pendant on the figure’s chest.
The priest?
Am I being watched by the priest?
The thought jolted him awake to a blaring alarm.
“What the hell?” Zhou Qi’an gasped, drenched in cold sweat.
For safety, he’d set his [Small Alarm Clock] before bed.
Cool night air dried the sweat on his brow, the nightmare’s aftershock finally fading.
He didn’t chalk it up to mere daydreams. Climbing out of bed, he peered through the narrow window.
The world was silent again.
“All gone, or all dead?”
He tried contacting Shen Zhiyi and the others via the prop, but the connection failed.
It seemed after a certain midnight hour, everyone was cut off.
“Rule restriction…” Zhou Qi’an mused, then considered another possibility: “Or maybe only the player in this house faces this.”
The latter seemed more likely.
Sitting still on the bed, he sank into deep thought, almost statue-like. After several breaths, he pulled something from his pocket: a pendant swiped from the village chief.
The teardrop-shaped pendant glinted faintly in the dim moonlight. Staring at it, Zhou Qi’an recalled the last instance—stepping on a dead player’s eyeball led to a night of nightmares about being beheaded by the school doctor.
Though not as psychic as some, his constitution seemed peculiar.
His fingers idly toyed with the pendant. “Nightmares from carrying this thing?”
The woman burned alive, the man’s furious curses… Zhou Qi’an gazed at the pitch-black sky. He’d focused on prying priest info from villagers but should’ve tried a different angle.
The priest and saintess seemed closely linked. Tomorrow, he’d dig into the saintess’s story for priest clues.
Especially since, in the dream, something around the saintess felt more unsettling than the priest’s eerie eyes.
Moonlight streamed in, illuminating the figure on the bed, his fingers tapping the bedframe rhythmically until they paused.
A slow smirk curled Zhou Qi’an’s lips.
“Now that’s a good entry point.”
Discover more from 98Novels
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
