Shen Yi couldn’t investigate anymore.
He couldn’t be allowed to investigate further.
Wen Mo was the Night Watchman of this Hell of Tongue-Ripping, but he was also the Gatekeeper. He had stood guard here for decades; the causes, consequences, and every minute detail of this game were as clear to him as day.
Thus, he knew very well if Shen Yi had such a strong reaction just seeing the ruins, he would undoubtedly remember even more the moment he dug just a little deeper.
He had to get out of here.
Shen Yi stared at him blankly, clearly not understanding Wen Mo’s intentions. He asked, “Why?”
Wen Mo signed again: 【You will remember.】
“Remember what?”
【The things from before.】
“I’m not afraid.”
Wen Mo’s jacket was about to slide off his head, so Shen Yi reached up with both hands and yanked it back. “So, what you’re saying is that this Hell, this entire game, is indeed built upon the things that happened between you and me?”
He was so direct with his questions that Wen Mo’s eyes narrowed, but he offered no reply.
“It really is,” Shen Yi concluded.
“…” Wen Mo signed wordlessly, 【I didn’t admit to that.】
“Your reaction is an admission,” Shen Yi said. “If it wasn’t, you would have signed ‘no’ with total confidence.”
Wen Mo was speechless. Despite only remembering a tiny fragment, how did this person still know him so well?
He lowered his head and sighed Wen Mo didn’t know how many times he had sighed in the last few hours; matters concerning Shen Yi always gave him a massive headache. He felt utterly exhausted.
【In any case, I am sending you out,】 he signed. 【It won’t do you any good to keep digging, to find out the truth, or to understand it all.】
“Why wouldn’t it be good?”
Wen Mo was almost laughing from anger: 【What good could come of it?】
“I can find out what happened,” Shen Yi said, glancing around his “home.” “I can know what all of this is about.”
【So, what good does that do you?】 The speed of Wen Mo’s signing increased with his irritation. 【It has nothing to do with you anymore; it’s just ancient history, old news that ended long ago. You died long ago and have already been reincarnated; you have a new life now! Why learn these things? Do you want to have nightmares for the rest of your life?】
Shen Yi looked lost.
As the final silent sentence hung in the air, Shen Yi wore a look of deep hurt. He seemed at a loss for words, opening his mouth several times without making a sound, his eyes fluttering with a hint of grievance as he looked at Wen Mo. He looked like a bewildered child who had suddenly been scolded by a parent.
Seeing him like this, a wave of guilt unexpectedly washed over Wen Mo. He moved his lips slightly, turned his face away, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
“At least there would be dreams to have,” Shen Yi said suddenly.
The anger Wen Mo had just managed to suppress flared up again. He opened his eyes to meet Shen Yi’s wet gaze. Once again, Wen Mo found himself with nothing to say.
“At least there would be dreams to have,” Shen Yi repeated earnestly. “If you make me go back now, carrying a question I’ll never understand for the rest of my life that is what would truly torture me forever.”
Wen Mo remained silent. He lowered his gaze to the puddle behind Shen Yi. The rain crackled as it created ripples in the small, dirty puddle, which reflected the heavy clouds above.
“Nightmares don’t matter,” Shen Yi said sincerely. “I’m not afraid of ghosts or gods, but you have to let me…”
【It’s not ghosts.】
Wen Mo looked up and interrupted him with signs.
Shen Yi paused: “Not ghosts? Then why are you afraid of me having nightmares?”
【The most terrifying thing in this world has never been ghosts.】
【Everyone fears ghosts, but everyone is something far more terrifying than a ghost.】
“…”
The statement was profound. Upon hearing it, Shen Yi didn’t quite grasp it and tilted his head at him.
Wen Mo looked at him. His blood-red eyes were full of exhaustion, melancholy, and resentment; too many emotions were swirled together in his gaze.
Memories crowded his mind. Wen Mo thought that if he could speak, his voice would be hoarse and thick with unavoidable pain; perhaps then Shen Yi would understand his burden. But he was voiceless, so Shen Yi understood nothing, continuing to stare at him with that same bewildered, lost expression.
He understood nothing. …Nothing at all.
Wen Mo turned around and transformed into a burst of black mist, scattering into the rain.
“Hey, wait a second!” Shen Yi shouted, reaching out, but his hand caught only air.
Shen Yi stood dazed for a moment until the stench of the courtyard surged up again. He gagged once more and pinched his nose.
Wen Mo re-materialized on a nearby roof, hidden from view. He watched Shen Yi cover his nose in disgust and scan the surroundings, his eyes darting around and his head swaying as if he were a large dog that had suddenly lost its owner.
Wen Mo knew Shen Yi was looking for him. But Shen Yi wouldn’t find him.
After a fruitless search, Shen Yi scratched the back of his head, thought for a moment, and turned back toward the house. He still intended to investigate.
Wen Mo felt frustrated and suddenly lost the will to stop him. Let him go if he wants, he thought irritably.
Shen Yi walked to the lounge chair beneath the tree and, pinching his nose, looked down at the corpse. He studied it for a long time before straightening up and heading into the house with a troubled face, apparently unable to tell who the drowned body was. The corpse was too bloated to distinguish any features.
Shen Yi reached the front door. Thinking of what was inside, Wen Mo grew uneasy. He jumped down from the roof just as Shen Yi opened the dilapidated wooden door.
The scent of incense wafted from the house, and a trail of ethereal smoke drifted out as the door opened.
“I’m sorry…” “I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” “I was wrong, I was wrong, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
Low, tearful whispers drifted from inside. It was a woman.
Shen Yi covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve. Hearing the voice, he paused for a moment before stepping inside. Wen Mo followed.
The house was incredibly dim and covered in dust. Something was thumping rhythmically deep within the house, the sound distant and muffled as if heard through a layer of parchment. The woman’s crying and apologies were similarly muffled and far away.
Shen Yi scanned the surroundings, moving cautiously toward the back of the house. Slowly, light began to appear ahead. A transparent plastic curtain hung over a doorway, and the scene behind it was partially visible.
Several small fires were burning, and a woman dressed in red knelt there, her voice now clear.
“I’m sorry…” She continued to apologize, her voice choked with sobs. “I’m sorry, I was wrong, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have believed… shouldn’t have believed…”
Shen Yi grabbed the curtain and yanked it open.
He froze.
Behind the door was a small shrine. Inside the shrine was a photograph of Shen Yi himself though it was in black and white. On the offering table before the shrine were several plates of fruit. The incense burner was filled with joss sticks burning brightly, filling the room with mist. The woman knelt on a prayer mat, repeatedly kowtowing to his funerary portrait.
“I’m sorry…” she muttered incessantly. “I was wrong, I beg you… I beg you, let me go, I will, I will take good care of the offerings…”
“I’ll do anything, I’m sorry…”
Shen Yi walked into the room, standing before his own funerary photo. The woman’s body trembled as she struck her head against the floor, but Shen Yi ignored her. He picked up his own portrait with one hand, coughing as he studied it.
He looked just like he did now, even the hairstyle was mostly the same.
The smell of incense in the room was stifling. Shen Yi waved his hand to clear the air, lowered his head, and said in a muffled voice through his sleeve: “Mom, stop kowtowing. What’s going on here?”
The woman kneeling on the floor was indeed his mother. It had been decades since Wen Mo had heard Shen Yi call someone “Mom.” Wen Mo leaned against the doorframe, his gaze turning distant for a moment.
However, his mother, Li Guilan, gave no reaction, continuing to sob and kowtow.
“I beg you…”
“No, stop begging me first,” Shen Yi said, taking two steps to the side. “Stop crying and talk to me, okay? I’m already here; even if you want to beg, don’t beg for this anymore! Right? I’m standing right here; tell me what you want to beg for?”
Li Guilan remained unresponsive.
Shen Yi was as persistent as ever, even when he was clearly being given the cold shoulder. He put the portrait aside, crouched down next to her, and began to plead earnestly: “Mom, Mother! Really, please stop kowtowing. This won’t solve anything, right? As everyone knows, if you want to solve a problem, you have to talk it out… Oh for heaven’s sake, look, your forehead is bleeding! Stop it!!”
Shen Yi began to pull at his mother.
Unfortunately, Wen Mo’s superiors the organizers of the Hell Game were notoriously cold-hearted. They made the games very rigid and absolute; no player could interfere with an NPC’s actions. Furthermore, NPCs possessed the strength of an ox.
Shen Yi pulled, but she didn’t budge. Instead, he was pulled forward by her downward kowtowing motion. Caught off guard, Shen Yi crashed down with her. He let out a sharp cry as he slammed his own head hard against the floor.
Wen Mo: “…”
Shen Yi was sprawled flat on the ground. Wen Mo covered his face, unable to watch the scene.
Shen Yi stood up, coughing incessantly as he dusted himself off. Watching Li Guilan continue to weep and kowtow, he let out a deep sigh and scratched his hair. Covering his nose, he searched the small room. Finding nothing, he turned, pushed aside the curtain, and left the room.
It seemed he understood that staying with Li Guilan would lead nowhere. Wen Mo turned and followed him out.
Shen Yi began rummaging through the house. The interior was dim, making it hard to see anything. Shen Yi pulled his phone from his pocket, turned on the flashlight, and searched. The house was dusty, and many items were broken. A leaky faucet dripped rhythmically, and cobwebs clung to the corners.
Shen Yi searched for a while, humming a nameless little tune.
“Oh.”
After rummaging through the cupboard for a bit, he found a red envelope in the corner. “Why put a red envelope here?” he muttered, pulling it out. The envelope was unopened but covered in dust and grime. It felt bulging, though he didn’t know what was inside.
Shen Yi dusted it off and stared at the envelope for a moment. It was wrapped in layer upon layer of red thread.
Shen Yi reached out and tore the envelope open.
Wen Mo pressed a hand to his forehead Shen Yi’s courage hadn’t changed a bit. In such an eerie place involving ghost weddings and ghost grooms, with his own funerary photo sitting in the house, he still dared to open a red envelope he’d just scavenged.
The red thread was pulled away. Shen Yi pulled out two pieces of paper money from inside. It was joss paper hell money, bright red in color.
Shen Yi froze. The envelope was still bulging; realizing there was more inside, he reached in again.
It was two straw-headed dolls made of mud, very small. The dolls were misshapen and eerie, with two beans for eyes and mouths carved into a grinning slit with a knife.
Shen Yi was stunned. He placed the dolls on the table, leaned his hands against it, and remained silent for a long time. He likely couldn’t understand it.
After a moment, Shen Yi looked up. Several pieces of paper were nailed to the wall in front of him, covered in dense handwriting. Most were recipes or notes. Li Guilan often used this wall as a memo board; Shen Yi knew this.
He reached out and pulled a yellowed piece of paper from the wall.
Wen Mo watched him. He had found what he needed to find.
The paper was old and yellowed, much of the handwriting blurred. Shen Yi narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow, trying hard to distinguish what was written.
“Son!”
A heart-wrenching cry suddenly rang out from outside. “Where is my son! Give my son back to me!”
“Old Jiang… give my son back! Old Jiang!!”