The next day, the weather was grim.
Dark clouds blocked the sunlight, casting the world in dim silence.
Zhou Qi’an, waking to a new day, frowned for the second time.
Something was off.
The village chief had stressed rising early, likely a rule, so everyone should be up. No one dared use the canal’s water; washing came from the well, yet it was unnaturally quiet.
Adjusting his clothes, he crossed to the opposite courtyard.
The gate was open, a silent expanse with only wild grass swaying in the breeze.
The brick house’s door was unlocked.
Zhou Qi’an slowed his steps, ready to summon his white silk.
Peering through the door crack, he confirmed Shen Zhiyi and Ying Yu were absent.
Seeing no ghostly shadows, he pushed the door open. The Little Red Riding Hood member was slumped on the table, sleeping soundly. Kou Tuo, brows furrowed, seemed to be fighting a dream, struggling to wake.
Zhou Qi’an shouted loudly, even rousing Xu Gui next door, but the two didn’t stir.
No choice.
He slapped them both.
“…”
Kou Tuo and the Little Red Riding Hood member opened their eyes groggily. The latter gasped, “What happened?”
Seeing the slap mark on Kou Tuo’s cheek, he touched his own.
Xu Gui, awake, didn’t enter but went to rouse the young girl and the female teacher in another room.
The slap stung, and the Little Red Riding Hood member suspected personal grudges.
“You weren’t waking up—I was worried,” Zhou Qi’an said with a smile. “No need to thank me; your flushed faces say it all.”
One had tried to guilt-trip him after the church, the other he’d overheard plotting to poach his female teammate.
Kou Tuo and the Little Red Riding Hood member vaguely realized they’d been trapped in sleep, unable to wake.
Seeing Zhou Qi’an holding a small hammer, they thanked him, red-faced.
Better a slap than a hammer.
Suddenly, Kou Tuo’s gaze shifted. “Where are the other two?”
Before he could ask, footsteps approached. Ying Yu and Shen Zhiyi entered.
Shen Zhiyi carried fresh mushrooms—obviously foraging. Ying Yu, under curious stares, said calmly, “Mining.”
No one pressed, assuming he was evasive, and focused on why they couldn’t wake.
“Water,” Kou Tuo said, realizing. “The report mentioned the first expert team felt inexplicably thirsty here. I felt it too.”
Fengshui Village’s water likely had negative effects if drunk.
The group’s hearts sank. They could skip food for two days, but water—with the occasional sprint for survival—was impossible to forgo for even one.
They had to jump into the trap.
Zhou Qi’an recalled Shen Zhiyi stopping him from drinking at the chief’s house. He’d sipped some water later but limited it, minimizing the impact.
Shen Zhiyi leaned close, whispering a few words.
Zhou Qi’an nodded.
The next few minutes were silent.
Thinking they nearly died in their sleep, the Little Red Riding Hood member nearly crushed his cup in rage.
“This damn place…”
His words were cut off by crackling firewood in the courtyard. Shen Zhiyi was grilling mushrooms, with Zhou Qi’an munching beside him.
Grilled mushrooms released water, deliciously fresh when sipped.
The courtyard sizzled; the room was dead quiet.
Are you guys here for a picnic?
Share a bite!
The village chief appeared at dawn, hunched, counting heads. Seeing everyone present, a flicker of disappointment crossed his face.
Zhou Qi’an noticed the young girl’s expression shift at the sight of the chief.
He whispered, “What happened last night?”
Surprised, she said, “You don’t know?”
She assumed he’d spied from the shadows after closing his door.
Zhou Qi’an shook his head. “Watched a bit, then slept.”
“…”
The young girl’s mouth twitched. “The chief took control.” Hesitating, she added, “The reanimated players seemed wary of him, stopping their attacks on villagers, but it’s odd.”
“Hm?”
She explained, “He didn’t act immediately.”
The chief seemed powerful yet vulnerable—poisoned by food, knocked out by a brick. Yesterday, he only barely regained control after several villagers were injured.
Yet, in that chaos, he led most villagers away.
Their talk was brief. The chief spoke, “Soon, I’ll take you experts to inspect the water quality.”
He was curt today, skipping breakfast.
Zhou Qi’an interjected, “Can we delay a bit? My stomach’s acting up.”
He shot Shen Zhiyi a look. Shen Zhiyi, deadpan, said, “Me too. Urgent.”
With only one outhouse, and two more players claiming food poisoning, the chief reluctantly extended the deadline.
“Half an hour,” he said coldly, adding, “Today’s itinerary is special. We’re heading up the mountain—no bathroom breaks later.”
The group exchanged glances.
After they nodded, the chief left.
The players’ eyes turned to Zhou Qi’an. His sudden delay suggested he’d found something.
Zhou Qi’an was candid. “I might have useful info, but…”
The young girl prompted, “But what?”
Zhou Qi’an said, “Collaboration means exchange. I need a healing prop and other solid info.”
He looked at Xu Gui and Kou Tuo.
They’d returned from the back mountain yesterday, likely revisiting the church with gains.
The Little Red Riding Hood member sneered—demanding a healing prop was outrageous.
Healing props were precious; who’d trade one for intel?
Zhou Qi’an, arms crossed, exuded arrogance, dropping two words: “The priest.”
The Little Red Riding Hood member’s eyes flickered, but he scoffed, “Even if you have priest info, it’s not worth a healing prop…”
“Deal.”
The sudden decision cut off the conversation.
It was Kou Tuo who spoke, calmly stating, “Props are only useful if you’re alive to use them. We’ve already pissed off the villagers.”
They needed to escape the instance quickly.
“I’ll provide the prop,” Kou Tuo said, looking at Zhou Qi’an. “But we need a contract prop to seal the deal.”
Zhou Qi’an smirked at his sanctimonious air, snapping his fingers. “Naturally.”
From the moment Zhou Qi’an mentioned a healing prop, Shen Zhiyi seemed to anticipate something, quietly watching the show.
After signing the contract, Kou Tuo produced a medicine bottle.
[Can’t Hold It Together: Temporarily accelerates wound healing, 70% pain relief.]
Zhou Qi’an touched it, the description popping up, his smile turning sly. “No wonder Mr. Kou was so eager to make a deal.”
The drug was near-useless, more a painkiller than a healer.
Some players caught on, smirking gleefully, waiting for Zhou Qi’an to eat the loss and spill his info. Healing props were rarely duds, but the chance wasn’t zero.
All eyes turned to Zhou Qi’an, expecting him to take the hit.
Suddenly, he grabbed the bottle and stood.
Kou Tuo’s smile remained, but his voice cooled. “Breaking the contract?”
Under everyone’s gaze, Zhou Qi’an said, “I’m going to find clues.”
“…”
Kou Tuo blinked, lifting his eyelids to confirm he wasn’t joking.
Who finds clues on the spot?
“By the time the chief returns, our deal will be done,” Zhou Qi’an said, hands in pockets, strolling out. “Then you can share your info.”
Crossing the threshold, he waved one hand with flair.
“…”
After a beat, the young girl opened her mouth, barely managing, “Should we… follow him?”
Polite phrasing for tracking him.
Kou Tuo glanced at Shen Zhiyi and Ying Yu, clearly a trio. Shen Zhiyi was dousing the barbecue fire with care, while Ying Yu stood under a tree, counting ore.
Neither moved to stop Zhou Qi’an.
Xu Gui had returned to her room, door shut, purpose unknown.
“Let’s go,” Kou Tuo said, rising with a low voice.
Meanwhile, Zhou Qi’an had walked some distance.
With only half an hour, time was tight.
Following the slate path, he ignored the villagers’ once-friendly faces, now glowering darkly at him.
He treated the NPCs like lampposts until he slowed near a house.
Clothes hung on a line, freshly washed but not clean, faint bloodstains lingering.
No one was working outside.
“Found it,” Zhou Qi’an muttered, tugging his lips into a kind smile before knocking politely.
The door opened after a few knocks, revealing a pale-skinned child.
“Pig grass,” the kid said, a village slur for outsiders.
Though parents forbade it—equating them to fodder was an insult to the saintess—kids were rebellious. The child’s malicious, innocent eyes fixed on Zhou Qi’an.
A weak voice from inside scolded, “Don’t use disrespectful terms.”
Zhou Qi’an strode in like it was his own home. The child, reacting late, didn’t stop him. With a sly glance, the kid locked the door and grabbed a sickle from a basket.
“I heard someone here’s injured,” Zhou Qi’an said, ignoring the child behind him, holding the bottle with genuine concern. “I brought medicine.”
The chief had mentioned the village’s poor medical resources. Last night’s dual ghost attacks on villagers surely left wounds.
Zhou Qi’an was hunting for such an unlucky soul.
He unscrewed the cap, shaking the bottle. “Absolute miracle cure.”
Sunlight filtered through the window paper, illuminating his translucent fingers.
The light couldn’t dispel his scheming intent. The bottle’s liquid sloshed, nearly spilling with a slight increase in shaking.
Hearing it was city medicine, the feverish villager on the bed glared at the child to stop, his voice eager. “You—hold it steady.”
“Achoo.” Zhou Qi’an sneezed lightly, the bottle wobbling.
As the villager’s heart leapt, Zhou Qi’an stiffened half his body, as if startled by the sickle-wielding child, spinning back in a waltz-like twirl.
Drip.
A drop of medicine hit the floor.
The sound echoed last night’s dripping well water from the reanimated players.
Painful memories of the attack stirred.
The villager roared at the child, “Get away!”
Outside, the trailing players listened silently, their faces a mix of awe and realization.
An injured villager desperate for medicine was a perfect chance to extract clues.
The Little Red Riding Hood member gritted his teeth. “He’s… playing… dirty.”
Zhou Qi’an had snagged a prop from someone else to play savior, and per the contract, Kou Tuo still had to share all his info.
He glanced at Kou Tuo, whose face was grim.
A master manipulator played like a dog—humiliating. But Kou Tuo stayed rational, gesturing for silence.
The female teacher was pragmatic—compared to the villagers, they got off easy.
Fengshui Village’s villagers were like sponges—
Squeezed dry by Zhou Qi’an’s grip.
“Your shoulder wound needs disinfecting,” Zhou Qi’an said inside, voice full of concern. “With this bleeding, you’ll soon get feverish, possibly for days. An hour of high fever brings throat swelling, two hours upset stomach, four hours breathing trouble… seven hours, straight to the afterlife!”
The players outside were stone-faced.
Keep spinning tales. No one outdoes you.
“Good thing I’ve got medicine.” Zhou Qi’an moved to the window. The villager reached to snatch it but feared spilling the drug.
Villagers were tough but not immune to illness or death—the chief’s food poisoning proved that.
“Give me… the medicine,” the villager rasped. “You’re an expert—experts must help us.”
Zhou Qi’an’s smile was warm. “Of course.” His tone shifted. “But you help me too. The chief told stories about the saintess. I’m intrigued, want to write a paper on it.”
The report noted the chief shared stories to keep the last expert team.
The villager showed no suspicion.
Zhou Qi’an pressed gently, “What’s the standard for selecting a violent witch? How do you confirm a woman is the witch?”
The villager’s face flickered with unease.
Zhou Qi’an tilted the bottle, letting two drops fall on the unhealed wound. Instance items worked fast—the gaping hole from the square-faced corpse’s attack dulled in pain instantly.
“How’s the effect?”
The villager stared at the bottle. “Tell you, and you give me the medicine.”
Zhou Qi’an gave a light, “Mm.”
“The chosen violent witch was once a villager of Fengshui Village,” the villager said, coughing as he sank into memory. “Her mother’s behavior was, well, less than proper… Got pregnant with her from some fling, and the man supposedly paid a hefty sum.”
“When she returned to the village with the child, she built the houses you’re staying in—two sets, one to support her parents…”
Zhou Qi’an’s eyelid twitched.
So they were living in the saintess’s old home—no wonder it attracted so much ghostly ire.
“The village kids were naughty, didn’t like the ‘bastard,’ and often threw trash into the yard,” the villager continued, coughing again. “They even smashed windows. Later, they raised and narrowed the windows.”
His eyes flickered as he said the last part.
Zhou Qi’an suspected that was only half the reason. The house had an extra layer of brickwork, its layout more like a trap—perhaps to contain a ghost, but it failed.
“That’s why you called her a witch?”
“Of course not. That girl was truly trouble.”
A strange glint shone in the villager’s eyes. “As she grew, she left to do business, staying in town for a month during the off-season. Each time she returned, she’d spout bizarre ideas, disrespecting the township chief, talking about ‘fair competition’ and how anyone could run for chief.”
“She even wrote a campaign manifesto, offering to fund road repairs… Tch, isn’t that just bewitching nonsense? Roads—what good are they in this backwater? If she was sincere, she’d have handed out cash.”
Zhou Qi’an listened quietly.
“Every year she came back, a drought soon followed.” The villager sneered. “Tell me that’s not eerie.”
Zhou Qi’an paused. “She returned at fixed times, didn’t she?”
The drought season spanned those months.
The villager deflected. “Like her loose mother, she came back and was soon found pregnant… unmarried!”
“So?” Zhou Qi’an’s face was impassive. “How’d you confirm she was unmarried?”
The villager smirked. “Like mother, like daughter.”
“…”
Noticing Zhou Qi’an’s growing impatience, the villager, eager for the medicine, dropped his critique of the witch’s morals. “The township had executed violent witches before. That year, during a severe drought, the chief held a vote to revive the sacrificial ritual.”
“She was tied to a pole and died under the blazing sun—gruesome. Her nails were ground to nothing,” the villager shuddered, recalling the scene. “The pole was covered in blood, one part scrawled with twisted curses.”
Zhou Qi’an’s gaze sharpened, thinking of the ominous presence from his dream.
“Where’s the pole?”
“The medicine…”
Zhou Qi’an raised his arm, repeating sharply, “Where’s the pole?”
Fengshui Village was clearly cursed. Solving the water issue meant breaking the curse, and finding that pole—the curse’s direct vessel—was critical.
The players eavesdropping outside held their breath, realizing the same, itching to barge in and ask.
“I’ve said all I know,” the villager growled, eyes bulging, repeatedly reaching for the bottle, growing frantic. “Give me the medicine!”
He fixated on two things: the medicine and relief that the violent witch was “purified” into the saintess by the priest.
Zhou Qi’an narrowed his eyes, recognizing this was the limit of an ordinary NPC’s intel.
Finally, he lowered his hand like granting alms, watching the villager snatch the bottle.
At that moment, the child behind him hid the sickle, stealthily creeping closer.
So annoying!
These pig grasses were infuriating.
It was his turn to cut.
The villager, pain dulled by the medicine, sat up, glaring at Zhou Qi’an with malice.
Seemingly oblivious to the hostility, in the face of approaching danger, Zhou Qi’an glanced at the door. His sharp gaze, glinting under his lenses, seemed to pierce through it.
Through the narrow gap, the female teacher, peeking closest, felt her heart lurch, sensing their eyes had met.
No, he couldn’t have noticed, right?
Inside, the young man stood still as the eager child neared with the sickle. Yet he didn’t move, smiling through the slit, his lips forming: Don’t forget, I know more about the priest.
“!!!”
Her last shred of hope vanished.
She’d wondered why he didn’t call out the trackers earlier.
Amid the players’ varied expressions, she realized: he knew he’d clash with the villagers and wanted free muscle.
The female teacher sighed.
We’re the sponges.
__
Author’s Note:
Zhou Qi’an: Players provide the potion, I trade for clues, then sic them on the villagers. Looks like I’m losing big!
Talking makes me thirsty, and the water here’s bad—I’m sacrificing too much.
Time for some reflection.
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