Chapter 39: The Village Head |
"Can... can I not go?" Zhou Yilin, huddled in a corner of the courtyard, suddenly asked in a small, timid voice. "I could stay here and search the main house while Su Po is gone..."
"But, sis, if you don't go, how will you get your share of the divine meat?" Zhang Licai interjected, unable to help himself. "Even if the rest of us agree to grab some for you, we can't guarantee we'll be able to if things go south."
Zhou Yilin raised a hand to roughly wipe at her eyes, her voice choked with sobs. "I'm really too scared to go outside... You don't have to worry about me. Please, just let me stay here?"
Zhao Feng, already halfway to the gate, raked a hand through his hair in frustration. He turned and spat on the ground. "Fucking hell, all you do is cry! Who's gonna coddle you? Piss off!"
His outburst made Zhou Yilin jump. She bit her lip, not daring to say another word.
"If you don't want to go, then stay. Just don't wander off," Yang Yundong decided, ignoring the weeping girl. He adjusted the broadsword on his back and pushed the gate open.
The world beyond was swallowed by a roiling fog, as if hidden behind an intricate veil of white gauze.
The road leading west was a blur, its layout lost in the swirling mist, clearly unsuitable for daytime exploration.
Following the main group to the village head's house seemed to be the only viable option.
At this point, no one particularly cared that someone was staying behind. The players filed out of the residence one by one, stepping into the dawn.
A sudden gust of wind slammed the gate shut behind them with a loud *bang*, sealing it as tightly as when they had first arrived.
Zhang Licai, the most timid of the group, shuddered violently, nearly jumping out of his skin.
Thankfully, the strange wind died down as quickly as it had come. Yang Yundong, leading the way, walked with a steady, reassuring gait.
The group of seven, loosely scattered, followed the map's directions toward the village head's house.
Splitting up might have been the most efficient strategy, but no one was willing to stake their survival on the goodwill of others. It was an unspoken agreement: when it came to something as vital as the divine meat, it was best to secure it for oneself.
The village paths twisted and wound, their unpaved surfaces kicking up dust with every step. It seemed it hadn't rained in days; the wild grass lining the way was withered and pale, utterly devoid of life.
The houses on either side were crooked and dilapidated, crammed together in messy clusters that looked more like heaps of carelessly piled refuse.
Gaping black windows were set into the walls like empty sockets. The yellowed plaster was peeling away in large flakes, collecting on the blackened ground like strips of old skin, nourishing colonies of carrion-eating fungi in the shadows.
After walking a while longer and rounding a stagnant pond, they arrived at the location marked on the map as the village head's house.
The village head's residence was a size larger than Su Po's but equally decrepit. Most of the paint had peeled from the exterior, exposing the dull brick and stone beneath.
The roof tiles were shattered. Perhaps disturbed by their approach, a few suddenly slid down with a sharp *clatter*. For a fleeting moment, Qi Si felt as if the house itself were alive, silently watching them draw near, waiting for its prey to walk right into its trap.
Below the roofline, a large, mottled gate stood firmly locked. It was positioned at a slight angle, just enough to miss the morning sun, leaving it cloaked in shadow and radiating a chilling aura.
Zhu Ling frowned, taking a few steps to either side of the gate. "It sits on the south side facing north, near water and backed by shadow," she observed. "The feng shui is abysmal. Even the most incompetent master would never have chosen a site like this."
Qi Si knew nothing of feng shui, and what little he'd seen of it had never piqued his interest. He walked straight to the gate and examined the lock hanging from it—a common mechanical type. Though rust crept around the keyhole, it still looked functional.
So, he gently pushed aside Yang Yundong, who was preparing to kick the door in, drew a thin wire from his bracelet, and inserted it into the keyhole, jiggling it a couple of times.
With a soft *click*, the lock sprang open and fell to the ground. Beside him, Yang Yundong's gaze grew a fraction more intense.
Qi Si took a step back, gesturing for Yang Yundong to proceed. "Brother Yang, after you."
Yang Yundong gave a slight nod and pushed the gate open, stepping inside.
Seeing the gate open, the other players followed a few paces behind. Only when it was clear that Yang Yundong, taking the lead, had encountered no immediate danger did they dare to peek inside before cautiously crossing the threshold.
The courtyard looked as though it hadn't been lived in for a very long time. A huge black canopy, meant to provide shade, sagged loosely overhead. Strangely, it blocked the light effectively, casting the entire yard in a deep gloom. Frost-white weeds grew rampant from cracks in the earth, dotted with bizarre dewdrops that glistened like a multitude of tiny eyes.
The low buildings on either side had long since collapsed, leaving the ground strewn with rubble that crunched underfoot. Only the main house, directly opposite the gate, remained standing, its windows sealed with paper, making it impossible to see inside.
Yang Yundong gripped his broadsword and advanced step by step toward the main house. Qi Si followed close behind, a small blade held discreetly between two fingers.
"Fuck!" Allen, who was in the middle of the group, suddenly yelled. Everyone froze, their heads snapping toward the source of the sound.
Allen was wiping his face with one hand. He held up his right hand, now covered in some unknown substance. "What is this? It just dripped on my face. It's all sticky."
"Making such a fuss. You trying to give us all a heart attack?" the tattooed woman grumbled, though she still leaned in for a closer look. "No idea what it is. Looks like snot."
From a distance, Qi Si could see that Allen's hand was coated in a lump of flesh-colored mucus. It had a greasy texture, like fat, or perhaps like flesh scraped from a living creature. And now, as if it had a life of its own, it was slowly writhing and flowing.
Its viscous nature was deeply unsettling—less terrifying than purely disgusting. For some reason, it made Qi Si think of the strange things that had happened to his own skin after he'd eaten the divine meat the night before.
Without warning, Allen convulsed. He stared fixedly at the slime on his hand as if mesmerized, an expression of rapt fascination slowly spreading across his features.
Murmuring, "It smells so good," he suddenly lifted his hand to his mouth and extended his tongue to lick the slime from his skin, as if it were some rare delicacy.
Anyone could see something was wrong with him. Zhao Feng, who was standing closest, reacted first, slapping him hard across the face. Despite the blow, Allen's tongue still managed to touch a few drops of the slime.
His eyes flickered between lucidity and a dazed haze. He clutched his hand protectively, like an animal guarding its food, and stuck his tongue out, preparing to take another lick.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Zhao Feng cursed, landing several more slaps. The sharp *crack* of the blows was piercing in the silence.
The blows seemed to stun Allen back to his senses. His eyes finally cleared, a muscle in his cheek twitched violently, and with a shudder of his right shoulder, he flung the slime from his hand to the ground.
The glob of slime hit the dirt and, as if finding purchase, sprouted a cluster of fine tendrils from its underside and began to crawl slowly toward the shadows.
Finally realizing what he had just tasted, Allen bent over and began to retch, crying out, "Oh God! What in the world was that?"
No one could answer him. Qi Si looked up at the canopy serving as a roof and had a sudden realization: the reason no light penetrated the courtyard wasn't because of the fabric's thickness, but because the thin material was coated in a layer of that same slime, which acted as a blackout screen.
The other players also looked up. Several holes had appeared in the canopy, and clumps of flesh-colored slime were dripping down. Thankfully, they fell slowly enough for everyone to dodge out of the way.
But once the slime hit the ground, it continued to move, gradually connecting into a single, spreading sheet. It was easy to imagine that within five minutes, there would be nowhere left to stand in the entire courtyard.
Worse still, a rich, fragrant aroma began to fill the air, tantalizing the players' senses and stirring their appetites. It wasn't just Allen; Zhang Licai and the tattooed woman's eyes also began to gleam with hunger.
"Hurry up! Grab the divine meat and let's get out of here!"
Yang Yundong kicked open the door to the main house, holding his broadsword at the ready. But he stopped dead on the threshold, even taking a reflexive half-step back.
There, on a bed in the center of the main room, lay a monstrous tumor, as tall as a man and half as wide. A viscous slime, like melted candle wax, streamed down its surface, while blood-red, striated veins pulsed and twitched as if it were breathing.
The slime oozed from its flesh onto the bed, then cascaded over the edge like a waterfall, forming countless rivulets that snaked across the floor. They crept up the doorposts like ivy, spreading toward the canopy that served as the ceiling.
The slime they had seen outside was clearly an extension of this tumor's body!
The intense aroma of meat exploded through the air, saturating their surroundings.
Qi Si swallowed hard. He could see a blurry, ancient face embedded in the top of the tumor. Its nose and mouth were lost in the flowing ooze, leaving only two eyes that stared blankly at the doorway.
It ceaselessly repeated a phrase in a whisper that was part moan, part ventriloquism. "We killed the god, we are sinful... Go to the ancestral hall... pray for atonement..."
"You ate the god, so you are sinful, too... Eat me, and we'll all face retribution together..."
This thing, he realized, must be the village head.
Qi Si pressed his temples, trying to commit the village head's whispers to memory. His rational mind told him they were an important clue.
But his vision blurred, and his thoughts became a chaotic storm, the specific words sinking into the turbulent sea of his mind before he could grasp them.
A powerful thought suddenly surfaced: the village head's flesh must be delicious. So, so delicious. He desperately wanted to take a bite...