The End
Chapter 727: Who
Until the cruise ship docked at the shore, a deathly silence was maintained on board.
Hugo kept his head down, playing with a box of chewing gum between his fingers, lost in unknown thoughts. Even Chen Cheng had lost his usual vitality; he leaned against the wall, not saying a word, as if he had been frostbitten. Su Cheng, meanwhile, sat by the table, his head lowered as he stared fixedly at the Tarot cards for a long time without speaking.
The others were either standing or sitting, every single one of them absent-minded and desolate.
Finally, after an unknown amount of time, the ship gently swayed.
It had docked.
Outside the ship, the sky had completely darkened. Silence shrouded the land, leaving only endless desolation.
A pale-faced Student Council member wearing an armband stood at the pier, clearly having waited there for a long time.
Not far behind them was a bus.
“I can only escort you this far,” Su Cheng said, standing on the ship and looking at the group.
His body and soul were now firmly bound to the cruise ship; he could not take a single step away from it.
“If,” he paused, lowered his eyes, and tried his best not to show his true emotions. His fingers resting by his side unconsciously stroked the Tarot card that had lost its King as he said, “If you find the thing we lost, please make sure to remember…”
“Alright.”
A female voice rang out from below.
That voice—both its timbre and its enunciation—was so familiar that it allowed everyone to instantly identify the speaker.
“Stop talking nonsense.”
Yun Bilan?
Everyone was startled and simultaneously looked toward the direction of the voice.
Clack— Accompanied by the sound of colliding metal, the doors of the bus behind them slowly opened, and a figure emerged from within.
Wen Ya was both surprised and overjoyed, involuntarily taking a step forward: “Wait… You can leave the university now?!”
“No.”
The other party took a step forward as she spoke.
It was only then that everyone saw clearly—it was actually a paper doll.
Although the facial features on it bore a seventy-to-eighty percent resemblance to Yun Bilan, the ghastly pale, paper-like texture of the skin, the bizarre sluggishness when its eyeballs rolled, and the lingering, eerie coldness exuding from its body all revealed the true material of her current vessel.
“I just found a way to temporarily leave the school’s territory, that’s all.”
“So, what are you waiting for?”
Yun Bilan looked up at Su Cheng, who was standing on the cruise ship, with a half-smile. Behind her, through the windows of the bus, another paper silhouette could vaguely be seen.
“Please, you didn’t think I only prepared one for myself, did you?”
And so, ten minutes later.
The paper doll Su Cheng boarded the bus along with the rest of the group.
The Student Council member who had greeted them sat in the driver’s seat. Accompanied by the roar of the engine, the bus slowly started and drove toward the depths of this cold, dreary world.
“I suppose you all already know my purpose for calling you here this time, right?”
No pleasantries, no small talk; she cut straight to the chase.
Instantly, the already cramped space fell into a dead silence.
Yun Bilan slowly looked around, her gaze sweeping over everyone.
“Lately, you guys must have noticed that something isn’t right, haven’t you?”
Even though they had anticipated this from the start, when Yun Bilan pointed it out so bluntly, everyone’s hearts couldn’t help but tighten, as if squeezed by an invisible hand.
“So, what exactly is going on?” Yang Fan lifted his head, turned his face toward Yun Bilan, and asked impatiently, “What happened to us? Why—why…”
Yun Bilan didn’t answer his question immediately. Instead, she looked at Ji Guan and asked an unrelated question:
“Who is the president of our guild?”
This question was very simple. Ji Guan didn’t even have to think before answering, “Chen Mo, of course.”
Who else but Chen Mo could be responsible for the operation of the guild and handling all its affairs?
However, the moment the answer blurted out, Ji Guan felt a sudden silence fall around him, and Chen Mo cast a sudden glance his way. Startled, Ji Guan looked back in bewilderment—had he answered incorrectly? But that was impossible…
“…No, I’m not.”
Chen Mo shook his head and spoke slowly.
He was not the president of the guild; he was very clear on that point.
Wait a minute, then who was the president again?
A look of struggle flashed across Ji Guan’s face, his gaze alternating between clarity and confusion: “It’s… it’s…”
It was as if a layer of thick, gray fog had covered his mind. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t disperse it. It firmly occupied the very center of his memories, blocking him from delving any deeper.
Yun Bilan turned her head and looked in Wen Ya’s direction:
“Do you still remember why you left Eternal Day?”
“The Dream Amusement Park Instance,” Wen Ya looked at Yun Bilan in confusion, as if she didn’t understand why she would ask such a simple question. “Because in that Instance, you told me the true nature of the Nightmare…”
But the next second, the other party gave an answer she couldn’t possibly imagine:
“No.”
Yun Bilan slowly shook her head, “I never did that.”
She tapped her own temple: “I remember that you told me the true nature of the Nightmare, and only then did I join your guild.”
What?!
As soon as she said this, everyone was stunned.
“…”
They looked at each other, slowly scanning the faces of everyone around them, trying to correspond their figures with specific events and scenes in their memories. Yet, the more they looked, the less they could recall. Countless thoughts were like a tangled ball of yarn, ultimately leaving only confusion and bewilderment.
“Are you saying,” Hugo lifted his head, his calm gaze landing on Yun Bilan, “that our memories have been altered?”
“It’s not just memories.”
Yun Bilan looked back at him and said,
“——It’s the entire reality.”
A person’s existence had been silently erased, leaving absolutely no trace in this world. Everything related to him had been modified, supplemented, or obliterated, and everyone’s memories connected to him had been altered accordingly.
The world operated as usual; the sun rose as usual.
Yet, that person who shouldn’t have been forgotten was abandoned by the entire world, left behind in some corner of the past, as if he had never existed.
But he was clearly supposed to be so… so…
An immense silence descended.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Although their minds were still completely blank, for some reason, a strong, intense pang of agony spread deep within their chests, making it almost hard to breathe.
“So,” Wen Ya took a deep breath, raised her head, and locked her gaze tightly onto Yun Bilan, “What’s next? What do we do to—”
To find back what they had lost.
“You already have a lead, don’t you?” Su Cheng stared at her and suddenly spoke up.
Yun Bilan: “Of course.”
“Oh, right, almost forgot.” Saying this, she walked straight toward the back of the bus. Everyone’s eyes followed her back. They watched as she walked to the last row, bent down—and yanked out a person who was tightly bound by red strings. Everyone was startled.
What?
After boarding, they had all sat at the front of the bus, never expecting that Yun Bilan had actually hidden someone in the very back row.
The person was thrown forward by Yun Bilan, stumbling a few steps in a disheveled state. He stopped, and flashed a somewhat awkward smile at the bewildered group staring at him: “Hahaha, haha, long time no see…”
“…Figaro?”
Qi Qian slowly narrowed his eyes. “We’ve been looking for you for a long time.”
After the Nightmare died, supernatural items from the Instances began circulating on the black market. He and his subordinates had traced this clue for a long time and quickly locked their suspicions onto Figaro, the black-hearted information broker.
Unexpectedly, the guy vanished without a trace right at this critical juncture. Even after turning the place upside down, they couldn’t find a single clue about him. They originally thought this guy had caught wind of the danger and fled. Who would have thought they would see him here?
“This guy came to my territory to steal things.” Yun Bilan looked down at him and said, “And I caught him.”
Everyone: “…”
“I’m innocent,” Figaro quickly defended himself. “How can you say that? I thought it was just an unclaimed Instance. How can that be called stealing? That’s clearly…”
Before he could finish, Yun Bilan kicked him in the back of the knee.
“Shut up.”
He stumbled forward again, and the remaining half of his sentence was forcefully choked back down his throat.
Figaro shut his mouth with a bitter grimace.
“Although this guy has sticky fingers,” Yun Bilan lifted her eyes to look at the group, “he does know quite a lot.”
“Anyway, long story short.”
She looked at the people in the bus,
“If our reality has truly been altered by some kind of power—then there is one place that would not be affected under any circumstances. If we want to uncover the truth, or rather, find what we have lost… it is our only hope.”
The bus drove across the cold, soul-swallowing wasteland. Outside the windows was endless darkness and boundless, quiet death.
An unknown amount of time passed…
It finally came to a stop.
Hiss—
The old doors slowly opened.
The group looked down.
A bizarre building appeared before them.
“This is…” Everyone froze.
A slightly skewed roof, walls with peeling paint, tightly closed old doors, and a blurry sign hanging above:
Picture Framing Shop.
Looking at the familiar scene before her, a trace of nostalgia flashed through Yun Bilan’s eyes.
She truly never expected to return here after so long.
The last time she was here, the endless cold rain had not yet ceased. She still remembered the freezing, biting wind wrapped in icy raindrops that hit her skin when she was forced to push open those doors, bringing a bone-chilling sensation.
Then—
Bzzt, bzzt.
Like an old television with a poor signal, unfamiliar fragments suddenly flashed through her mind without reason. They were chaotic, incomplete, and fleeting, flashing before her eyes like sparks of fire, only to be swallowed by darkness in an instant.
“Ugh—”
Yun Bilan raised a hand and pressed it against her forehead.
Bzzt!
Old, faded fragments flashed before her eyes.
In the cold wind and rain, a blurry figure stood before her. With their head lowered, the facial features were unclear.
From her wrist came a searing temperature—a heat completely different from what she imagined, a burning sensation utterly opposite to the cold rain. It brought an almost unforgettable, distinct pain.
By her ear, a distant, smiling voice echoed:
“——■■■■■.”
“Hey—hey!”
Amidst the howling wind, a friend’s worried voice poured into her ears, pulling Yun Bilan out of that momentary trance. She slowly lifted her head, meeting Chen Mo’s concerned gaze. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“…”
Yun Bilan shook her head, “I’m fine.”
She raised her eyes, looked at the gallery in front of her, and said,
“Let’s go. Let’s go in.”
This time, there was no merciless, life-taking heavy rain in the sky.
Thus, pushing open the door was no longer a difficult task.
The layout inside the gallery was the same as in her memory. The lighting was dim, and the walls on both sides were covered with oil paintings of various sizes. Some frames were as rich and crimson as fresh blood, while others were a dark red, almost dark brown, like dried bloodstains.
The air here carried an old scent, a smell that seemed to have settled here for hundreds or thousands of years and would remain forever in the future.
Cold, distant, profound, and ancient.
“Alright, the place I mentioned is here. Since you’ve all arrived, then why don’t we—”
Saying this, Figaro tried to step back.
But before he could even take two steps, Yun Bilan clenched her fingers. The blood-red strings tightened as if they had a life of their own—strings that once could bind the deeply alienated and immensely powerful Hugo. This time, binding a mere Figaro was effortless.
“Leave?” Yun Bilan sneered. “Don’t even think about it.”
Figaro: “…”
Hugo looked up at the oil paintings on the walls.
Even though he had long prepared himself to face all this again, at this moment, he couldn’t help but fall into a trance.
It was in this Instance that his entire squad was wiped out.
He was the sole survivor.
And when he stood in this corridor again, reborn, the familiar, intermittent mechanical voice echoed in his ears—Nightmare gave him a new contract.
In it lay the hope of resurrecting his friends.
And…
The identity of the Executioner.
“…” Even though all of this had passed, recalling the scenes of the past still made his old wounds throb faintly, as if reminding him of the blood staining his hands and the price he had paid along the way.
Hugo took a deep breath, preparing to avert his gaze. However, the next second, as his eyes lightly swept across the floor, a fragment suddenly flashed before him.
He saw himself lying on the ground with his eyes closed, unconscious and at death’s door. Blood poured continuously from his body. In the pool of blood beside him lay an oil painting soaked in red. Surrounding him was an immense, towering dark abyss.
A figure blocked his front. It was a very thin back, but it forcefully drew an impassable chasm.
Death accompanied him, unable to overstep even a fraction.
In the blink of an eye, the image vanished.
Hugo stared blankly at the smooth, clean floor devoid of bloodstains, unable to recover his senses for a long time.
“You saw it too, right?”
Hugo looked up, meeting Yun Bilan’s gaze.
His Adam’s apple bobbed: “That was…”
“I don’t know,” Yun Bilan stared at him, shook her head, and repeated, “—I don’t know.”
Even though logic and reason told her that none of this had ever happened.
No matter how hard she racked her brains, she couldn’t find the events connecting before and after that scene, nor could she find any evidence.
However, her wildly beating heart and the surging, nameless impulse deep within her chest told a completely opposite truth.
It had happened.
It had existed.
“Let’s go. We need to keep walking further in.”
If it was really as Figaro said—that this place, as the boundary between reality and non-reality, was the only space independent and immune to outside interference—then as long as they kept walking, the answer they had sought for so long, yet had no clue where to find, would eventually surface.
Hugo gave Yun Bilan a deep look, then slowly stepped forward to follow.
The corridor was bottomless. Oil paintings of various sizes hung on both sides, high and low, countless in number.
Hollow footsteps echoed in their ears, overlapping and repeating, as if they had fallen into an endless space-time. The overly repetitive, never-ending forward motion made everyone within begin to lose their perception of time and space.
Su Cheng walked forward. Because his current body was made of paper, with every step he took, he heard the rustle, rustle sound of his own movements.
One step.
Rustle, rustle.
Two steps.
Rustle, rustle.
The monotonous friction sound echoed in his ears, almost making him drowsy.
Suddenly, Su Cheng’s footsteps paused. The rustling sound stopped.
He turned his head to look behind him, his expression somewhat bewildered: “Did you guys hear…”
No, there was nothing behind him.
Silence filled the surroundings.
He turned back around, preparing to continue forward. But the next second, the world became entirely blurry.
In the massive, blurry, and shattered light and shadows, someone was smiling gently, reaching a hand out to him: “Let ■■ formally reintroduce ■■—”
Bzzt, bzzt.
“Nice to meet you, please take care of me.”
Who was it?
A splitting headache, a dizzying spell.
Su Cheng stumbled, taking another step forward.
Someone was smiling and saying to him—I won’t abandon you, we are friends.
In a gradually forming world of flesh and blood, where violent winds tore everything apart, who was it that let go of his hand right in front of him, plummeting straight down?
Even though he was currently using a paper doll’s body, he still felt a sharp pain, as if a red-hot blade was brutally piercing through his temples, stirring violently inside. A tearing agony dragged at him.
Crazy divinations in a dark room.
A destiny of death substituted with thorns.
A cold voice rang in his ears— “At least we are still friends now, don’t make me not even want to say this.”
No… no… no…
The world around him trembled, swayed, splintered, and recombined.
Su Cheng stumbled forward, feeling as if his very insides were falling apart.
He struggled to reach a hand forward, as if wanting to grab hold of something—
Through his blurry vision, he saw a palm, its flesh entirely corroded, leaving only pale finger bones, reaching out in front of him.
Amidst the endless howling winds sweeping from the crevices between reality and delusion, that voice echoed once again:
“Do you believe in prophecy, or do you believe in me?”
“…”
Su Cheng struggled to open his eyes.
He turned around in a daze, his gaze falling upon the faces of the others around him.
He saw expressions completely identical to his own.
Seemingly joyful yet sorrowful, seemingly angry yet agonizing.
Wen Ya slowly lowered her eyes and raised her hand, her fingertips blankly touching her cheek.
Since when had her cheek become so icy cold?
It was tears.
Endless tears flowed from the depths of her eyes, like a river that would never run dry, trailing down her cheeks.
In their minds, that solid, towering wall was being smashed by an invisible, immense force, blow by blow, emitting thunderous sounds. The sunlight from outside poured in through the cracks, illuminating those patches of blank spaces and strings of memories.
Chen Mo’s brows furrowed tightly.
His lips parted and closed, trembling, instinctively wanting to spit out a name.
The invisible power of the rules was still at work. Like a final barrier, it blocked them from recalling the other person’s figure, the other person’s face, the other person’s name—even though faint light had already seeped through and the answer was right at their fingertips, that tiny step, that short syllable, was like an insurmountable chasm to them at this moment.
Suddenly, Wen Ya felt a tug on the hem of her clothes.
She froze, looked down, and met the clear, calm eyes of the little girl.
…Orange Candy?
It was only then that Wen Ya hazily remembered that ever since entering the corridor, Orange Candy hadn’t been by her side.
When did she disappear? And when did she reappear?
She didn’t know; she couldn’t remember.
The little girl didn’t say a word. She merely let go of her clothes, turned around, and ran toward the depths of the corridor.
Indeed, the rules would erase everything.
But, what if the existence it was supposed to erase had already been forgotten from the very beginning due to the side effect of a Talent?
How do you erase a blank from a blank?
Her heart began to beat frantically, as if it was going to leap out of her throat. The violent sound of her heartbeat and blood flow pounded against her ears and her entire body. Wen Ya could no longer care about anything else. She broke into a run, stumbling as she followed the small figure ahead. Her steps grew faster and faster, as if she could no longer bear the panic and anticipation that was about to burst out of her body. The sound of the wind roared in her ears.
Faster, faster!
Otherwise… otherwise—
Otherwise what?
She didn’t know, and she didn’t want to know.
Echoing around her were urgent footsteps identical to hers, as if everyone else besides her was running along as well.
But Wen Ya didn’t even have the time to turn her head.
Because at this moment, all her attention, all her energy, and her entire soul seemed tethered to the front—
Suddenly, the small figure ahead abruptly stopped.
She stood in front of one of the paintings and looked up.
Under the oppression of some unknown, overwhelming emotion, everyone raised their heads, their panicked and urgent gazes simultaneously looking toward the direction she was gazing at.
The moment they saw that painting on the wall, the entire world seemed to have the pause button pressed on it.
Everything around them seemed to vanish along with it, turning into an empty void where all sounds were extinguished.
Inside a red frame was a blurry, unfinished painting—a long time ago, a brass short knife had pierced a mirror, and blood was left on the mirror that trapped a god. The blood splattered upon it was too little to complete a full painting, but it was already enough, enough to at least leave a silhouette in the world.
The young man’s facial features weren’t clear, but the curvature of the smile on his lips was faintly discernible.
From deep within the frame, he gazed at them from afar.
Smiling lightly, just as usual.
Author’s Note:
Leaving blood in the corridor: Chapter 337
