He’ll Invited Me to Fall in Love (Infinite) - Chapter 10

Raindrops slid down the iron gate.

The gate was so heavily rusted that the runoff was black a dark, inky liquid smelling of iron. The two Door Gods on the gate were so mottled that their faces were unrecognizable; only two pairs of ferocious, glaring eyes could be seen through the decay.

Shen Yi suddenly found himself unable to speak.

Standing there in the rain before the gate, he caught a fleeting memory of a sunset from his dreams. In the afterglow of a setting sun, he had stood before this very gate carrying a bag of oranges for Wen Mo.

This was Wen Mo’s house.

“Shen Yi?” Gong Cang called out, confused.

Shen Yi was oblivious. He reached out to touch the gate. It wasn’t locked; at his light touch, it creaked open with a mournful groan. Behind the gate was a dead silence, save for the distinct, heavy patter of the rain.

After a moment’s hesitation, Shen Yi pushed the iron gate open and stepped into the courtyard.

“Shen Yi!” Gong Cang cried out in shock. “What are you doing?!”

Again, Shen Yi didn’t answer. Like someone possessed, he remained silent, head down as he walked forward.

Once inside the courtyard, he looked around. The place was a ruin, clearly uninhabited for a long time. Weeds choked the ground, and the front yard was piled high with junk. The house was pitch black, coated in dust, with nameless withered vines crawling up the walls. Rain poured from the eaves, hammering against the ground.

In the gloomy weather, the abandoned house felt stagnant and devoid of life.

Shen Yi walked forward but was blocked after a few steps. The courtyard was so cluttered with miscellaneous debris that the path to the house was completely sealed. Standing before the mountain of junk, Shen Yi remained silent.

He looked around once more. Despite the rain and the gloom, he recognized it. This was definitely Wen Mo’s home. Although he had never stepped inside during his dreams, he was inexplicably certain.

This is Wen Mo’s house.

Suddenly, Shen Yi couldn’t make sense of the situation. The rain blurred his vision. He couldn’t tell if he was falling ill from the exposure or if things were just too bizarre, but a dull ache began to throb in his head.

In a state of hazy confusion, he thought of the thin, pitiful little mute from his dreams. There was one thing he hadn’t told Gong Cang:

In the dreams, he and Wen Mo were in a relationship.

Though he didn’t know the backstory, Shen Yi had heard himself say he liked Wen Mo, right to his face. And Wen Mo hadn’t been shocked or incredulous; he had simply lowered his head, his face flushing red. It felt as though they had already confessed long ago; Wen Mo had already known and accepted it. They were already that kind of couple that’s why he reacted that way.

Raindrops stung his eyes, and Shen Yi wiped his face. He looked at the sky. It was pouring; the sunset from his dreams was nowhere to be found. This courtyard was a wasteland, and Wen Mo was gone. A sense of “seas changing into mulberry fields” the passage of time and the shifting of fate hit him with full force.

Shen Yi’s confidence wavered. It was all too surreal. He began to seriously consider the possibility that he was the ghost after all, since Wen Mo’s house actually existed in this village, it meant this was the same village from his dreams.

He didn’t know how old he was in the dreams, but the memories were vivid. He had had that dream seven nights in a row; there was no mistake.

Could I really be a ghost here who brainwashed myself into thinking this was all just a dream?

It was a possibility.

“Shen Yi!” Gong Cang’s voice trembled as he shouted again. Shen Yi turned to see Gong Cang had followed him into the yard. He was hugging himself, eyes darting around in extreme unease.

“Let’s go,” Gong Cang urged. “Why did you come in here? This place is terrifying. I feel like something is about to come out.”

The courtyard did indeed look like a prime spot for a haunting. Shen Yi finally remembered his actual objective. He checked his phone: 5:30 PM.

Time was flying.

“I know,” Shen Yi said. “Then we—”

Just as he was about to put his phone away, the clock on the screen suddenly jumped. In the blink of an eye, 5:30 PM became 6:25 PM.

Shen Yi froze.

The remaining light in the world vanished instantly. The village plunged into a darkness so thick you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. The rain grew heavier, the drops hitting like knives.

The raspy voice of Hell echoed through the air once more:

[Night Watchman ‘Mo’, the hunt begins.]

Shen Yi stiffened. After a long pause, he slowly, stiffly turned his neck and looked up at the sky. The heavens were pitch black.

On the west side of the village, a massive stretch of empty land collapsed with a thunderous roar, forming a giant pit. A faint sound of wailing and weeping rose from the depths, gradually becoming distinct. Then, one by one, pitch-black, skeletal ghost hands burst from the soil, twisting and struggling as they reached out into the rain toward the sky, as if trying to escape the earth.

The ghost hands writhed and fought. A white mist began to spread behind the pit, and something seemed to emerge within the fog. Because the mist was so thick, no one could see what it was.

In front of that shimmering presence, a vague silhouette straightened its back and stood up within the fog.

“…Night Watchman ‘Mo’, the hunt begins…”

As the broadcast echoed faintly in his ears once more, Wen Mo’s consciousness gradually returned. His eyelids flickered, and a pair of eyes as red as fresh blood slowly opened within the white mist.

He was leaning against the head of a wooden bridge. This was no ordinary bridge; it was the Bridge of Helplessness the Naihe Bridge.

The bridge sat within this white mist. Anyone who crossed it could follow the foggy path back to the world of the living and escape the game. The Night Watchman guarded this crossing.

Wen Mo sat up straight, rubbed the back of his neck, and slowly, silently stood up. The rain hammered down on him. He stepped out of the vast white fog.

Night Watchman Mo was tall and lean, dressed entirely in black. He wore a black technical windbreaker with a high collar, over another high-collared garment. Both collars were pulled up high, completely concealing the lower half of his face. His black boots clicked rhythmically against the ground as he walked.

Wen Mo emerged from the mist to find the sunken pit before him. Countless ghost hands filled the hole, and the sounds of tragic wailing rose from below, as if people were being buried alive and were sobbing for help.

This was Wen Mo’s hunting ground, also known as the Execution Ground. Once the Night Watchman caught someone, Hell would bring the “Sinner” here to die.

Wen Mo stood before the Execution Ground, letting the rain soak him for a moment. Though tall and slender, he had deep features, thick eyelashes, and a pair of rounds, almond-shaped eyes—no different from the Wen Mo in Shen Yi’s dreams.

But unlike the dream, the Night Watchman’s eyes were a deep crimson. His gaze was icy, his expression indifferent and ruthless, devoid of the hesitation or shyness seen in the dream.

Wen Mo knit his brows and looked toward the entrance of Yang Zhuangzi Village with a grim expression, letting out a silent sigh. He pulled a piece of yellowed rice paper from an inner pocket and unfolded it.

This was the “Sentence of Damnation.”

Every Night Watchman possessed one. Issued by Hell, it was an old-fashioned form, the kind used during the era when Wen Mo was still alive, the 1970s. The text was written in calligraphy and stamped with the “Official Seal” of the Tongue-Pulling Hell.

A list of names ran down the paper, with specific crimes written beside each. In the final column, every entry was neatly marked: Mo.

That was Wen Mo’s code name.

The Sentence of Damnation recorded the crimes of every sinner in detail. Whenever a new batch of “Sinners” entered Hell, the names and crimes would automatically update. Wen Mo scanned the list. When he reached the name “Yan Pan,” he paused.

There was no crime listed next to Yan Pan’s name. Wen Mo wasn’t surprised, only puzzled. Why is she here?

After a moment of silence, he continued down the list. To match the theme of the Eighteen Levels of Hell, each round had eighteen Sinners. Wen Mo looked over the crimes, but when he reached the second-to-last line, he froze.

The second line was completely blank. No name, no crime only the mark “Mo” at the end. At the very bottom of the list was a newcomer.

What is going on with this person?

In forty-two years, Wen Mo had never encountered this situation. He looked at the very last name on the list.

Gong Cang.

Seeing that name, Wen Mo’s mind went blank for a split second. Night Watchmen have an ability: as soon as they see a name on the Sentence of Damnation, they can automatically connect to the Sinner’s appearance, though it takes a few seconds. This allows them to know a person’s crimes the moment they see them.

After that brief blankness, Gong Cang’s face became clear in Wen Mo’s mind. At the sight of him, a thunderous roar erupted in Wen Mo’s heart. His breath grew heavy, sinking into his chest, and the taste of blood rose in his mouth.

Wen Mo covered his mouth, his pupils trembling violently as his tragic past flashed before his eyes like a revolving lantern. It took a long moment to snap out of the memories. He moved his fingers, only to realize he had lost sensation; his entire body was numb. He watched as his hand clenched the Sentence of Damnation into a tight ball, yet he felt nothing.

It was as if his soul had left his body; he couldn’t feel his physical form at all. Hatred began to burn like fire.

Thump-thump.

Thump-thump, thump-thump.

He realized he suddenly had a heartbeat.

The rain seemed to freeze for a moment, as if someone had hit pause the torrential drops hung suspended in mid-air. It stayed that way until Night Watchman Mo lowered his hand from his mouth and gripped the cold blade at his waist.

The rain crashed back down. The dense droplets formed an invisible curtain. The crumpled Sentence of Damnation was shoved back into his pocket.

Wen Mo unsheathed his blade and walked toward the village with grim determination. The rain washed over his face, soaking into his collar. In the darkness, the only thing clear was the numb, murderous intent in his blood-red eyes.

A sudden chill swept across his back. Gong Cang shivered and whirled around. Clutching a thick tree branch he’d scavenged as a weapon, he looked left and right, scanning the area with wide, wary eyes.

There was nothing behind them but the heavy rain. Gong Cang let out a breath of relief.

“What are you doing?” Shen Yi called out from a short distance ahead. He squinted through the darkness, trying to make out Gong Cang’s silhouette. “Fighting the air?”

“There was a sudden surge of killing intent…” Gong Cang said. “My back went cold all of a sudden. How much further? Is it even okay to be out here? Didn’t the broadcast say the Night Watchman is out?”

“As long as we don’t use flashlights, we should be fine,” Shen Yi said. “If there’s no light, he can’t find us. Besides, that courtyard earlier was too small and cluttered. No room to run. If we got caught there, we’d be dead for sure. We had to come out to find a route.”

“But if we get caught on the road, we’re probably dead too…”

“The road is wide. If we’re found, we just run. Every horror game has a chase sequence.”

“…” That actually makes sense.

Gong Cang had no rebuttal and followed him forward. Suddenly, a crack of thunder exploded in the sky. Gong Cang shrieked, jumped three feet into the air, and scrambled toward Shen Yi, grabbing his coat.

Shen Yi was yanked backward. He hissed through his teeth, nearly cursing out loud. “Gong Cang, what is wrong with you? It’s just thunder. A little thunder turns you into a scared dog?”

“It startled me!” Gong Cang looked ready to cry. “Why did it have to start thundering now?”

As he spoke, another bolt of lightning tore through the sky. The thunder was indeed deafening, making Gong Cang flinch again. Suddenly, he saw something, and his face went white.

“Sh-Shen Yi!” Gong Cang hammered on Shen Yi’s back. The strength of a terrified person is terrifying; Shen Yi was hit so hard he nearly coughed up blood.

“Gentle! What now?!” he snapped.

“That!!” Gong Cang pointed ahead. Shen Yi turned and immediately went silent.

In the distance, a figure in red was floating in mid-air. The figure appeared at a crossroad, wearing bright red wedding clothes. They were hunched over, leaning forward as they drifted along. They had no feet; from the shins down, they were a blur.

It looked like a groom’s outfit. Though the figure was slender, it appeared to be a man. But he was wearing a bridal veil. The red veil draped over his shoulders, swaying gently in the wind and rain.

The “Red Bridegroom” appeared from the right side of the road, silently drifting across to the left before vanishing from sight.

Only after he disappeared did Shen Yi breathe a sigh of relief. Gong Cang was so scared he latched onto Shen Yi’s neck, pressing his face close, his words stuttering: “Y-y-you… you saw that, right, Shen Yi?”

“…I saw it.”

“What was that?” Gong Cang wept. “What was that?!”

“A ghost,” Shen Yi said, his voice flat.

“It’s a ghost! I knew it—”

—Click.

A sound came from behind them. Gong Cang shut his mouth instantly. Though the sound was distant, it was crisp the sound of someone stepping on a wooden branch.

Footsteps began to ring out, steady and rhythmic, growing closer and clearer.

Step, step. Step, step.

Shen Yi looked back but saw nothing. In this boundless, dark, rainy night, the newcomer was unhurried, their pace almost casual. An ominous aura swept over them. Gong Cang clung to Shen Yi, dragging him toward the wall of a nearby house.

The two of them retreated silently against the wall as the footsteps drew nearer.

A sudden crack of thunder boomed. Gong Cang flinched. As the lightning flashed, the dark night was torn open, illuminating everything like broad daylight for a single second.

Shen Yi’s vision blurred. For a fleeting moment, he saw a figure. A very familiar figure. But there wasn’t enough time to see clearly.

Another bolt of lightning struck. In the flash, Shen Yi clearly saw someone walking toward them. He froze.

A third bolt followed immediately. The person seemed to have “teleported” a great distance closer.

Shen Yi saw his face.

The moment he recognized him, Shen Yi’s blood turned to ice. He stood frozen in place. The rain intensified, hitting like needles, making it hard to keep his eyes open. The lightning seemed to go wild, a fourth bolt striking right after the last.

Ignoring the stinging rain, Shen Yi wiped his eyes and shielded them with his hand, staring wide-eyed.

The road, illuminated once more, was empty.

Shen Yi was stunned. His arm was suddenly yanked hard. Gong Cang’s panicked, terrified voice rang out beside him: “Where did he go?!”

Shen Yi realized his arm was throbbing, Gong Cang had been gripping it with all his might. Ignoring the pain, Shen Yi looked around frantically. The lightning continued to strike, the surroundings flashing intermittently.

But the person was gone.

“He disappeared?” Gong Cang whispered.

“Seems like it.” Shen Yi scanned the area for a long time before sighing. “He’s really gone.”

He felt a strange sense of loss. That person just now… should have been the Night Watchman. Even through the heavy rain and with the high collar covering his face, those eyes were exactly like Wen Mo’s.

Shen Yi was a mess of emotions. He bit his thumbnail, growing more confused by the second. Gong Cang didn’t share his complex feelings; he let out a sigh of relief and looked back at the road where the Watchman had come from, feeling lucky to be alive.

It was pitch black.

Suddenly, lightning struck. In the instant the world lit up, Night Watchman Mo was standing right in front of him. They were so close they were practically face-to-face.

Gong Cang could see the murderous intent in those eyes with terrifying clarity. He was instantly paralyzed with horror, his mouth opening to scream.

But no sound came out. Despite his wide-open mouth, he was silent.

Shen Yi turned and his heart skipped a beat.

Mo raised his hand, and a cold blade swung toward them. Gong Cang, seeing the blade coming for his throat, lunged backward. The cold edge grazed his neck and thudded into the wall.

Gong Cang’s retreat was so violent he lost his balance and fell to the ground with a thud. Caught off guard, Shen Yi was knocked back by Gong Cang and fell as well.

The blade was buried in the wall. Wen Mo pulled it out. Just as he was about to stab Gong Cang, the lightning struck again.

The light of the storm illuminated the rainy night. He suddenly saw Gong Cang’s companion.

Wen Mo’s movement froze. In an instant, the numbness and hatred in his eyes vanished.

The rainy night went dark, then bright again. In the flickering light of the lightning, Wen Mo saw the person’s wet, round eyes. He saw the thick, long lashes and the dark pupils shining just as they had in the past.

In this boundless, rainy night, he had unexpectedly come face-to-face with an old friend who had long since burned to death.