Chapter 169: Old Piano |
Ming Po slowly stood up and turned around, giving the doors he had just entered through a gentle push.
[Cannot be opened]
The prompt instantly surfaced before his eyes.
Was this to be expected?
"Hmph."
Ming Po scoffed and turned to leave.
In this loop, the environment had undergone a subtle change.
The room he had manually illuminated before remained bright, requiring no further action on his part. It felt less like a time loop and more as if he had simply been teleported back to the entrance.
The path leading to the second floor remained blocked by wooden crates. That had not changed at all.
It wasn't a particularly difficult feat for him. He just had to squeeze through the gaps—the obstacle was less than three meters high, and there were even crates at the bottom to serve as stepping stones.
Ming Po vaulted over nimbly, not even breaking a sweat.
He continued up the stairs toward the second floor.
As he advanced, the piano music grew louder. Evidently, the melody echoing in his ears was drifting down from the third floor.
At the end of the staircase stood an oak door.
It was plastered with a dense layer of white paper seals. The black text on the strips came in only two variations: thick, broad strokes reading [Sealed], and narrow, slender characters declaring [Do Not Enter].
Yet, these seals appeared utterly pointless. They barely secured anything—perhaps due to the passage of time, the adhesive had completely worn off, the edges curling and peeling away. Before Ming Po's arrival, they had managed to remain somewhat still, but the slight draft generated by his mere footsteps was almost enough to blow them right off.
Furthermore, the flimsy paper looked scarcely thicker than toilet tissue.
He wouldn't even need to tear them—a single forceful yank would pull the door wide open.
Ming Po leaned in, closing his eyes to listen.
He confirmed it. The piano music was definitely coming from inside the room.
Reaching out, he grasped the doorknob. This time, the [Cannot be opened] prompt did not pop up before his eyes.
That meant it could be opened.
Twisting the handle, Ming Po prepared to violently pull the door open.
But the instant he exerted his strength, an ethereal voice suddenly spoke by his ear, "Papa, I don't want to practice the piano today."
Ming Po's movements faltered slightly.
It was the voice of a little girl.
She spoke in Japanese, but the Game of Deception translated it directly for him.
Not that he actually needed the translation to understand it, of course.
He already had an inkling when he saw the car, the manor, the montsuki haori hakama in the photograph, and that Daruma-style Russian nesting doll. But only now was he completely certain that this story took place in Japan.
This occurrence, however, clarified another matter for him.
That meant Deceivers of the World could indeed be matched into a Game of Deception created by Deceivers of the World or a Paradox from other countries, or even other eras. Since the Game of Deception had a built-in simultaneous translation system, it was obviously meant to be used.
But while languages could be translated, the specific cultural differences and the information derived from them would not be explicitly explained.
What you didn't know, you simply didn't know.
From that perspective, Deceivers of the World well-versed in folklore, linguistics, and history seemed to hold a distinct advantage.
Ming Po paused for a few seconds. Finding no other reaction, he twisted the doorknob once more and pulled hard.
This time, he clearly felt his force being countered by something.
It was as if an invisible box sat behind the door, blocking his efforts. He only managed to pull it open a sliver before it slammed back shut.
"Darling, you need to consider Chizuko's feelings every once in a while too."
It was the voice of an intellectual woman, sounding somewhat upset. "It's so rare for you to come home—"
The voice abruptly cut off.
The door was once again yanked shut by an immense force.
Without hesitation, Ming Po pulled the door again.
This time, he managed to wrench it open about fifteen centimeters—a gap wide enough to wedge an apple through. He could even faintly make out the decorative layout of the second floor—
But then, Ming Po felt that obstructive collision once more, and the door wedged firmly in place.
"Papa, Papa! Come home quickly, Mommy is—"
A little girl's sobbing cries rang out.
Immediately after, an overwhelming force violently snapped the door shut.
When Ming Po tried the doorknob again, it refused to budge. Even the peeling seals had tightly adhered themselves back onto the frame.
[Locked]
The prompt materialized directly above the doorknob.
Ming Po pondered for a brief moment.
Then, he delivered a vicious kick to the door.
Bang!
A massive crash echoed out.
The instant the crash erupted, the piano music inside stuttered to a halt for a split second, as if genuinely startled by Ming Po.
The tremendous recoil forced Ming Po back three whole steps before he could stabilize himself.
Forget about the door—even the paper seals remained completely undamaged.
[Cannot be opened]
A new prompt hovered in the doorway.
Ming Po didn't try again. Exerting that much force on a staircase was incredibly dangerous; anyone else might have tumbled all the way down. Only because his balance was impeccable did he dare deliver a full-power kick while standing on the steps.
However, the auditory hallucinations triggered during his three attempts at the door, combined with the clues he had observed in the previous loop, allowed Ming Po to piece together a portion of the truth.
This man must have been a wealthy heir or a prominent celebrity. Otherwise, he couldn't possibly afford such a massive manor with such luxurious furnishings.
He was likely a pianist, or a musician. He taught his daughter to play the piano, and she even won some sort of award.
Later, he and his wife argued over raising their child, though their relationship generally seemed quite solid. Following that, his wife appeared to have suffered an accident, fallen ill, or perhaps committed suicide—currently, an accident seemed the most probable. His daughter had likely called him, begging him to rush home.
What was the meaning behind this sealed room?
Had the man completely isolated himself ever since?
Ming Po felt a flicker of surprise.
Because he was currently participating in a promotion game—this meant that regardless of whether he engaged in combat, this instance absolutely had to have a boss.
And quite clearly, the boss of this instance was that very man. He had locked himself in this room, using those laughable seals to trap himself inside.
The boss had isolated himself and refused to come out—that was certainly something Ming Po hadn't anticipated.
Did this mean what was originally supposed to be a horror instance had turned into a pure puzzle-solving instance because the boss decided to go on strike and hide?
"If you don't want to come out, that's fine too."
Ming Po stated slowly to the door, "Then you better stay in there forever."
As if in response, the piano chords suddenly swelled in volume, the tempo accelerating slightly.
Though it was the same piece, it was no longer as melodious. Originally, the melody felt slow and sorrowful, but this D major rendition became sharper, crisper, and noticeably brighter. That ethereal resonance had faded considerably.
It felt exactly like someone rousing from sleep, yet stubbornly pretending to still be asleep.
Though their eyes remained shut and their body motionless, the rhythm of their breathing had clearly changed.
Seeing no further response from within, Ming Po turned and headed back downstairs.
He retraced his steps and vaulted back over the wall of crates.
Ming Po had barely taken a few steps forward when a deafening crash suddenly erupted from behind him!
For a brief second, the chaotic clatter of colliding objects completely drowned out the piano music.
It sounded as if something had dropped, setting off a chain reaction that sent a massive pile of clutter crashing down. It was like a disaster scene in a kitchen.
Ming Po looked back, only to discover that the corridor leading to the second floor had been violently and entirely barricaded.
It wasn't just wooden crates.
It was much more.
Discarded appliances, clothes, hats, toys, cabinets, rubber balls, books, and even a piano. They were packed together so densely that they completely choked the hallway, leaving a gap barely wide enough for a snake to slither through.
These old items possessed a completely different vibe from the opulent style of the manor.
If the manor screamed of extreme wealth or a corporate conglomerate, these discarded belongings looked like they came out of an ordinary home.
Of course—ordinary didn't mean impoverished.
Most of the clothes were women's apparel. While they weren't luxury brands, the styles were reasonably fashionable and completely intact. There were plenty of toys, too, alongside a few video game consoles.
The piano bore the Apollo brand—a solid, second-tier name known for good value.
Naturally, it couldn't compare to the Steinway in the main hall. Its price was less than a twentieth of the latter. Yet, it still wasn't something the average family could easily afford.
Ming Po, however, noticed a peculiar detail.
This piano bore obvious signs of meticulous maintenance.
Despite its age and the dust it had accumulated, there wasn't a single visible fingerprint on it. The keys showed no discoloration, let alone any damage to the body.
It was the cheaper piano, yet it had been used with far more care?
Or perhaps—
Ming Po narrowed his eyes, gazing toward the second floor.
'Could it be that this old piano was the true companion that stayed by his side as he grew up?'