Infinity Flow: The Man Assigned by the Game Cannot Be Wanted! - Chapter 8

Listening to Lin Chubai’s account, the surrounding air grew frozen, but they were not given much time before the middle-aged woman who had gone out appeared before them.

“The village chief has told you everything, hasn’t he? Stay with me these next few days.” With a rough, hoarse voice, the woman stood still in front of the three of them, gazing at the person in the middle with turbid eyes.

Lin Chubai nodded slightly, offering a polite smile: “Sorry to trouble you.”

“Come inside.” The middle-aged woman walked into the house without looking back at them.

The three of them exchanged glances and followed her inside.

Stale furnishings, moldy corners, and a static-filled television. The three of them sat on the wooden chairs in the living room, quietly watching the middle-aged woman busy herself in the kitchen.

After a while, the woman carried out three bowls of steaming corn bran, placing them on the octagonal table in the center of the living room: “Eat.”

With that, she paid no more attention to them and began eating by herself.

The faint fragrance of corn bran drifted into Lin Chubai’s nostrils, reminding him that he had not eaten for a long time. He could not help staring at the corn bran and swallowing, but his brain was still thinking.

“Eat.” Looking down, Lin Chubai found a steamed bun appearing in front of him.

Seeing that Lin Chubai did not take it, Ye Zhou said, “It’s clean.”

Lin Chubai hesitated for half a moment before finally breaking off a piece of the bun from his hand: “Thank you. You should eat too.”

Song Siyun: “Hey! What about mine?”

Noticing Song Siyun’s resentful gaze, Lin Chubai broke off another half of what was in his hand and passed it over.

Now Song Siyun felt a bit embarrassed, hurriedly pushing it back and buying a steamed bun for himself from the store.

When the steam rising from the corn bran had mostly dissipated, they finally moved to the table.

“Ma’am, why must there be a sacrifice?” Song Siyun spoke up.

The middle-aged woman slowly raised her head, a trace of struggle flashing through her eyes before they reverted back to a lifeless, turbid glaze, staring straight at the questioning Song Siyun: “It is merely our village’s custom.”

Seeing the change in the woman’s eyes and recalling the clarity of her gaze that morning at the village chief’s house, combined with the villagers they saw last night, Lin Chubai formed a bold guess in his heart.

Until the middle-aged woman finished her entire bowl of corn bran, none of the three touched their chopsticks.

The woman stood up and cleared away the bowls and chopsticks, acting as if she did not care whether they had eaten or not. The atmosphere was silent and eerie.

The faint sound of washing dishes drifted from the kitchen. Feeling that something was increasingly wrong, Ye Zhou gave the other two a meaningful look, signaling them to head outside.

The three walked toward the center of the village, where the sounds entering their ears grew increasingly bustling.

“Selling straw sandals! Selling straw sandals!”

“Candied haws! Freshly made candied haws!”

At first listen, there seemed to be nothing wrong; this was just an ordinary market. But upon closer inspection, you would find that their speech tones and pauses seemed to be carved out of the exact same mold.

By now, Lin Chubai experienced that same strange feeling.

“Many of them are not human, or rather, they are people being controlled.” Finding an empty pavilion, the three sat down, and Ye Zhou slowly spoke as he looked at the walking corpses before him.

This coincided precisely with Lin Chubai’s thoughts, prompting him to ask along with the flow: “How did you figure it out?”

“Look at that one. Stiff movements. What does that remind you of?” Ye Zhou raised an eyebrow.

“Oh! Like the little puppets in a shadow play!” Song Siyun finally reacted, unable to help his boisterous shouting.

Lin Chubai: “Ha.”

Ye Zhou: “Right.”

True to form, this exclamation of shadow play attracted attention. Two or three timid villagers glanced at them and hurried away toward the direction of the village chief’s house.

Crap, something is about to happen.

“Old Li! Old Li! They found out!” Two or three timid villagers ran up to the village chief, panting heavily.

“Impossible.” The village chief flatly refused to believe it. He had absolute confidence in his witchcraft; how could mere mortals possibly see through it?

“Really! They figured it out!” Terrified that the village chief would not believe him, the villager looked like he was about to drop to his knees.

The village chief remained silent, spinning the walnuts in his hand while his turbid eyes rolled around: “Go and prepare the items.”

Hearing the subtext in those words, the villager ran off as if granted amnesty.

Left alone in the house, the village chief pulled an old wooden box from his drawer and slowly pushed it open. Inside lay hundreds of blood-red beads.

His rough, withered hands rummaged through them. Seeming to find what he was looking for, his eyes narrowed, and two fingers gently pinched a bead covered in cracks, lightly rubbing it.

Song Siyun rubbed his nose, looking at the speechless expressions of the other two: “So, so sorry.”

Accustomed to it by now, Lin Chubai simply covered his face in a helpless bitter smile, turning his gaze to Ye Zhou beside him.

With a flat expression, Ye Zhou spoke calmly: “Let’s head back first.”

Seeing that neither of them was angry, Song Siyun trailed obediently behind them like a happy puppy.

Upon returning to the middle-aged woman’s house, an eerie aura enveloped the surroundings.

“Ma’am, we’re back!” Song Siyun testily shouted out, but the house remained dead silent.

Ye Zhou and Lin Chubai exchanged a tacit glance, then lifted their feet and walked inside.

Kitchen, living room, bedroom. There was no sign of the middle-aged woman anywhere.

Noticing Lin Chubai standing quietly in the woman’s bedroom, staring at the moldy wall as if in a daze, Ye Zhou asked, “What is it?”

“This wall is a bit strange.” Reaching out, Lin Chubai knocked on the wall; there was no hollow sound. He turned to Ye Zhou: “Go outside and take a look.”

Standing outside, Ye Zhou looked at Lin Chubai through the bedroom window.

Lin Chubai spread both arms wide, touching the wall with one hand and holding the other out flat. Only half of his body was visible through the opening.

Squinting slightly, Ye Zhou observed the wall from the outside, recalling Lin Chubai’s arm span.

Incorrect! Extremely wrong! There is another space inside here!

“Where is the door?” Looking at this extra stretch of wall, Song Siyun posed the ultimate question.

“Unknown, but it is not on the inside.” Lin Chubai replied calmly.

“Why?”

“The walls in the room have no connection seams, no switches, and they are solid. It is likely that the extra space was built from the outside.”

The three walked a circle around the extra wall section without finding any anomalies. Lin Chubai turned back to look at Song Siyun: “Do you still remember the thunder-summoning talisman your master taught you?”

Eyes wide, Song Siyun looked as if he had two eggs stuffed in his mouth: “Aren’t you afraid I’ll summon people over?”

Pondering for a moment, Lin Chubai replied, “They’ve already noticed us anyway. A bolt of thunder won’t hurt.”

“True, but I don’t have any cinnabar or yellow paper!” Song Siyun realized he had a point.

Thwack. A bundle of yellow paper and cinnabar was placed directly into Song Siyun’s open hands.

“Where did this come from?” Song Siyun asked as he began to draw.

“Stolen from the old man’s house. Aim the strike accurately.”

In an instant, the sky that had been clear just moments before was covered by dark clouds, and a thick, fierce bolt of lightning crashed down.

However, the landing point was slightly off.

Suddenly feeling his scalp tingle, Ye Zhou darted violently to the side, dodging a bolt of lightning that struck straight down toward the crown of his head.

Ye Zhou: “Wow.”

“Hehe, did you do something guilty to get struck by lightning?” Shifting the blame entirely onto Ye Zhou, Song Siyun grabbed a fresh piece of yellow paper and started drawing again.

“Did he always used to be like this?” Ye Zhou turned to look at Lin Chubai, whose lips were curving upward for reasons unknown.

“Pretty much. Back then, after some thugs stole his money, he dragged me along to go strike them with lightning, and almost struck ourselves instead.” Recalling the peaceful life of the past, Lin Chubai felt a tinge of emotion.

Rumble. The dark clouds that had only just dispersed gathered once again. The second bolt of lightning struck precisely onto the roof, sending showers of wall dust raining down as a large breach was blasted open in the hidden room.

Waving away the smoke in front of him, Lin Chubai stepped onto a nearby stone and vaulted over the wall.

A coffin sat in the middle of the room. Unlike the ones seen previously in the ancestral hall, this one lacked any runes entirely; it was clean, neat, and looked as though it was regularly cleaned by someone.

Gently lifting the coffin lid, a wisp of coolness washed over them. Inside lay a horribly mutilated young girl with ribs deeply caved in. Her eyelids were densely pierced with needle holes, as if someone had forcefully sewn her eyes shut and then ripped them open again, and countless scars of varying sizes covered her body.

Gazing at the young girl before him, a trace of forbearance and heartache flashed across Lin Chubai’s heart, while the old man’s hidden photographs and last night’s dreamscape suddenly popped into his mind.

“Dingxiang.” Spitting out those two names plunged the atmosphere in the room down to freezing point, after which he gently placed the coffin lid back down.

“Dying in such a miserable way, no wonder…” Song Siyun could not help but sigh.

“Chubai.” Discovering something on the ground, Ye Zhou picked it up and placed it in his palm.

Following the sound, Lin Chubai looked over to see the earrings the middle-aged woman frequently wore casting a faint glow in the setting sun.

Standing in the ancestral hall, the village chief quietly gazed at the dense dark clouds overhead. The blinding white light brought by the lightning highlighted his pale, bluish-gray complexion, and he let out a sigh as if helpless.

Must it truly come to this?