Translator: CinderTL
It was Meng Yumian!
Gao Yan never imagined he would be the first to be targeted.
Thump!
Thump!
A dark figure rushed toward him with astonishing speed, stopping just inches away, separated only by a sheet of opaque plastic.
Peering through a small hole, Gao Yan saw nothing but pitch darkness outside.
The figure's legs blocked his view.
Drip.
Drip.
The incessant sound of dripping water pounded in his ears, each drop like a needle piercing the depths of his mind.
His heart raced, cold sweat trickling from the corners of his eyes. All he could do was clamp his mouth shut, terrified to make a sound.
Riiiip—
Gao Yan watched helplessly as the plastic sheet separating them slowly rose.
A pair of blood-stained ballet shoes came into view. As the sheet continued to rise, he saw half a pale calf.
The leg was drained of color, marred by ragged wounds—likely inflicted during a struggle. The flesh was torn, revealing pale, bloodless meat beneath.
It looked like zombie flesh: drained of blood and frozen in a cold storage room for years.
The plastic sheet stopped just below the knee.
Gao Yan trembled uncontrollably, too terrified to lift his head. He only dared to glance sideways, fearing he might suddenly come face to face with a horrifying visage.
After a rustling sound, two bluish-purple hands slipped through the gap in the plastic sheet. Both were clenched into fists, palms down and knuckles up, as if gripping something hidden inside.
The sight thoroughly frightened Gao Yan. No normal person could perform such a maneuver without bending over.
So, this must be the rock-paper-scissors game they mentioned, he thought.
The ghostly hands remained motionless after entering, seemingly giving him time to choose.
The situation differed from what he had initially imagined, and Gao Yan hesitated to rashly hand over the glass eyeball.
Summoning his courage, he leaned closer to examine the hands.
Their movements were almost identical, and the clenched fists were the same size. Just as Gao Yan began searching for any discrepancy, he suddenly noticed a small red stain on the ground beneath the left hand.
A drop of blood.
Though tiny and easily overlooked, he spotted it immediately. It looked like a careless splatter. He quickly checked the ground beneath the right hand, finding it clean except for a thin layer of dust.
"When Meng Yumian died, she was clutching a stolen eyeball in her hand. The hand gripping that eyeball must have been stained with blood."
Without hesitation, Gao Yan pulled out the glass eyeball, placed it before his left hand, and forced his trembling voice to say, "I choose the left hand."
A gust of icy wind swept past, blinding him. Then, he heard a series of faint thump-thump sounds receding into the distance.
The glass eyeball at his feet had vanished.
The tension drained from Gao Yan's body, leaving him slumped motionless on the ground, utterly paralyzed.
In the rain-drenched darkness, Jiang Cheng hid behind a metal rack. Moments earlier, he had seen a red figure hop out of the equipment room.
But then, as if sensing something, the red figure abruptly turned around and retreated inside. This time, its footsteps were so light they were almost drowned out by the drumming rain.
Jiang Cheng instantly understood: someone had tried to hide in plain sight in the equipment room, only to be discovered by Meng Yumian, who had ambushed them.
Who could it be?
Fatty Huai Yi could be ruled out. Liang Shan had already bolted toward the restroom, too terrified to look back.
It couldn't be Shen Mengyun, and Wang Qi would never be so foolish. That left only Gao Yan.
The darkest place is always under the lamp. It perfectly suited the old fox's cunning nature.
Thump.
Thump.
A crimson figure, moving like a zombie, hopped out of the equipment room. This time, she leaped directly from the second floor, covering a distance of seven or eight meters in a single bound.
Jiang Cheng had braced himself for Meng Yumian to come looking for him, but she didn't. Her stiff back turned in the opposite direction.
After observing her movements, Jiang Cheng realized Meng Yumian's route seemed predetermined. She was systematically searching along a fixed path.
After leaving the equipment room, she headed straight for the Bell Tower.
The first time Meng Yumian had emerged from the equipment room, she had also been heading for the Bell Tower, but something had interrupted her, forcing her to return to Gao Yan.
Though the rain blurred the surroundings of the courtyard, the crimson figure remained distinct. Wang Qi, watching from the Bell Tower window, saw her advancing directly toward him.
There was little fear in Wang Qi's eyes. He trusted his judgment.
Soon, the rapid thudding of footsteps echoed up the stairs from below.
A fierce ghost, come to claim its due.
Hearing the sound, Wang Qi turned to face the gate, crossed his legs, and slowly lowered himself to the floor. Head bowed, he quietly awaited Meng Yumian's arrival.
Creak...
A small door at the top of the Bell Tower swung open.
Thud.
In a single bound, Meng Yumian leaped before him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Wang Qi caught sight of a pair of blood-red ballet shoes, their crimson hue almost blinding. Above them were pale, damp legs.
Just like Gao Yan's encounter, being found meant one thing: a game of rock-paper-scissors.
Wang Qi made his choice almost instantly. "Left hand." He fidgeted with the glass eyeball in his palm, feigning reluctance as he offered it up.
Thud.
Thud.
The thumping footsteps faded into the distance. Wang Qi stretched his limbs, stood up, and descended the Bell Tower.
As he passed a dark room on the lower floor—apparently a janitor's storage area—he paused. Inside were a few tools, cloth sacks, and plastic bags hanging on the walls.
Wang Qi casually grabbed a plastic bag, shook it out to check for cleanliness, poked two holes in it, and pulled it over his head.
Jiang Cheng stood at the entrance of the Bell Tower.
"Wouldn't want to mess up your hair, would you?" Wang Qi said, seemingly unsurprised by Jiang Cheng's arrival. He straightened the plastic bag on his head, then tore another one from the darkroom wall and waved it at Jiang Cheng. "Want one too?"
Staring at the black plastic bag over Wang Qi's head and the two eyes peering through the holes, Jiang Cheng suddenly felt a strange sense of familiarity.
During a past mission at Peace Apartment—the one where they acquired the Gate of Wu—there had been a man claiming to be Wei Jinting.
Their appearances were strikingly similar, and both men exuded the same unsettling aura of danger.
"Weird, huh?" Wang Qi chuckled, unfazed. He tapped his head and muttered to himself, "Someone else I used to know liked doing this too. A foul-mouthed guy... but I can't quite recall his name. No, wait—it feels like I've forgotten a lot of things."
For the first time, Jiang Cheng sensed a hint of melancholy in this man's demeanor.
Earlier, when interacting with Liang Shan, Jiang Cheng had noticed similar memory gaps, particularly his inability to recall boarding the bus.
Their memories had fragmented.
(End of the Chapter)
---
📖Read (NS) on Pa.treon@CinderTL - c1150. [+4]
🔑Early Access at $1.
💥Translated (6) Series, (4.6K+) Chapters, (6.7M+) Words.