Chapter 171: Who Exactly is the Boss? |
Ming Po stepped lightly onto the soft carpet, drawing out a series of sour creaks.
Accompanied by the piano, he hummed "Singin' in the Rain".
The cheerful tune of "Singin' in the Rain" felt rather eerie set against the melody of "Für Alina".
"Let everyone here, rush out into the pouring rain~"
Ming Po sang leisurely.
Right then, the lights in front of him flickered a few times before suddenly snapping off.
Yet in the darkness, Ming Po's pupils continued to shimmer with a flame-like radiance.
Like liquid gold, or solidified twilight.
"With a smile on my face~"
The lights went out section by section, and the piano music from the second floor abruptly stopped.
Pure darkness and silence blanketed the entire manor.
This sudden silence could instantly focus a person's attention.
The soundlessness lasted for merely two seconds.
—Crash!
It sounded like a gunshot.
As Ming Po rounded the corner of the entryway, several panes of glass in the long corridor ahead suddenly shattered!
The heavy snow from outside howled in.
When he first arrived, there was already considerable snow on the ground, but the sky beyond the dense forest had been relatively clear. Now, it seemed the blizzard had intensified.
Bone-chilling cold air surged into Melody Manor through the broken windows.
Creak, creak—
Heavy footsteps seemed to echo from right above Ming Po, or perhaps from directly behind him.
Ming Po completely ignored these anomalies.
He even swayed his body slightly. His singing echoed through the silent manor, somehow sounding even more sinister than the piano music.
"I'll stroll down this lane, with a happy refrain—
"Just singing—
"Just singing in the rain—"
Click.
The next moment, the light furthest ahead of Ming Po suddenly flicked on.
It was the light at the very end of the corridor.
But it was no longer its previous bright illumination; instead, it cast a macabre, blood-red glow.
A tall mannequin, draped in black, quietly appeared beneath the crimson light.
It resembled the kind of half-body plaster mannequin often found in clothing stores—devoid of facial features, hair, or legs. It wore the type of black kimono favored by middle-aged men, looking much like an instructor at a martial arts dojo.
Click.
Immediately after, another blood-red light illuminated, slightly closer to Ming Po.
The corridor itself had stretched to more than four or five times its length from just seconds ago—it appeared to be well over a hundred meters long, stretched to an unbelievable extent. Even the blurry plaster mannequin looked somewhat like a living person standing there.
Click.
The lights were moving.
Click.
Click. Click. Click—
At first, one light lit up every two seconds. The pace gradually quickened, accelerating until they illuminated once every second, finally stabilizing without getting any faster.
The blood-red lights steadily closed in on Ming Po.
With every new light that flicked on, the mannequin would instantly teleport a few meters forward—drawing a few meters closer to Ming Po.
Crunch~
As Ming Po walked past the shattered windows, his foot crunched down on the broken glass.
And at that very moment, the blood-red mannequin finally materialized right beside him.
A pair of hands shot out from the empty sleeves, making a grab for Ming Po's collar.
Ming Po simply executed a nimble backward dodge, evading the grab.
He swatted away the "mannequin's" reaching hand with a backhand slap, then advanced instead of retreating.
Reaching out with the exact same move, he grabbed the mannequin's collar.
With a shoulder throw, Ming Po slammed it onto the floor.
"So happy it can't be stopped~"
Ming Po didn't even pause his song, simply rising leisurely. "I'm singing and dancing in the rain—
"It was as if he were dancing with the clothing mannequin, moving with such elegance that his clothes weren't even ruffled. Even his footwork resembled the rhythmic steps of a dance.
Yet, at some unknown point, a gleaming dagger had appeared in the mannequin's chest.
It rested there quietly—
It was impossible to tell when Ming Po had even thrust it in.
Ming Po pulled it out and retracted it with a sharp swish.
The mannequin seemed to lose all its strength, returning to normal. The space beneath its clothes was empty, with no sign of the arms that had just reached out, and no flesh or blood within the cracked plaster.
"Just singing and dancing in the rain~"
Having finished his song, Ming Po offered a polite bow to the plaster mannequin lying on the floor, concluding his performance.
He turned back around.
The scarlet lights had returned to normal, and the impossibly long corridor had, at some point, reverted to its usual length.
"What's wrong?"
Ming Po asked with a hint of dissatisfaction. "Why did the piano stop?"
As if startled by Ming Po's words, the piano music hurriedly started up again.
This time, it even fumbled two notes right at the beginning.
No sooner had the eerie tune begun than Ming Po called out, "Play something more cheerful!"
The piano music upstairs paused for a moment.
And then, it actually changed.
This time, the background music was "Summer of Kikujiro".
The player's technique was quite impressive; the bouncing keys imparted a relaxed and joyful feeling. The warm, touching music flowed out like a summer stream.
"That's more like it."
Ming Po smiled in satisfaction. "Music is something meant to bring people happiness. Don't carry so much resentment.
—It makes it easier for me to work, you see."
As if responding to Ming Po, the piano music leaped into a few measures of variation.
The bouncing notes sounded like a question, or perhaps dissatisfaction.
The corners of Ming Po's mouth curled up slightly as he walked into the main hall amidst the warm music.
He already understood the background of this Promotion game.
The psychological analysis capabilities of "Silence of the Lambs" were indeed very practical.
The most crucial point was that many game designers were in the games themselves. This was especially true for Promotion games.
These Deceivers of the World who had become Paradoxes weren't so much malicious ghosts trying to harm people—it was more accurate to say they were trapped within their own nightmares.
They could not seek revenge, nor could they harbor hatred.
Because the ones who had abandoned them here were none other than their past selves.
This was punishment, and it was torture. It was the price for a Deceiver of the World arbitrarily altering the years—a penal sentence from hell.
It was a life sentence, much like Sisyphus.
They certainly resented Deceivers of the World and envied the living—
But ultimately, what they truly desired was release.
Just as Chang Ning had said to Ming Po back then—
[It's useless even if I kill you! I've already warned you not to participate in the Game of Deception anymore—this is an infinite cycle of suffering! Everyone is destined to be trapped here, life after life! Ignorant living is instead a kind of happiness—]
That wasn't a malicious curse.
It was a heartfelt admonition, the indescribable agony of someone who had 'been there', the incessant muttering of someone broken by tragedy.
It was the sorrow of not wanting others to become like themselves.
It was the fear of remaining here forever.
Unless their past selves became Wronged Dead once more and re-entered the Game of Deception—they would never be able to leave this place.
And their reason for killing all the Promoted who came here was merely to prevent that minuscule possibility of "their resurrected selves falling back into hell"—guarding their current assets for the sake of their future selves returning to the Game of Deception.
But everyone knew.
If one day, that resurrected self who had attained total happiness—once again abandoned it all and stepped back into the Game of Deception.
That would mean the "happiness" they dreamed of had already collapsed.
"Don't be afraid, Chizuko."
Ming Po said softly, "I know it's you.
"I know you're listening."