Friends who find themselves in Hell often should know. What Wen Mo meant was that veteran players should know. The reason this “Hell Game” used “Hell” as its gimmick wasn’t because the organizers were bored or going through an edgy phase. It was because they were the actual Hell.
Of course, they usually referred to themselves as the “Underworld.”
The organizer of the Hell Game was King Yama himself. The planners were the Judges, and the maintenance was handled by the two brothers, Black and White Impermanence. As for what the game looked like or how the scripts were written, Wen Mo didn’t actually have a say; he was merely a Gatekeeper.
In fact, six months ago, the Tongue-Rip Hell wasn’t this village. It was a school.
Looking at Shen Yi’s face, Wen Mo suddenly missed Guangming High School the previous iteration of the Tongue-Rip Hell, a haunted campus.
January 15, 202X. Guangming High School.
The weather remained bleak. In the inner courtyard of the school building sat a massive boulder, upon which a twelve-word school motto was inscribed in blood-red characters: Seek Knowledge with Diligence, Honor Virtue with Learning, Excel in Morals and Arts.
Wen Mo sat perched on the window frame of a fourth-floor classroom, braving the cold winds of Hell. After listening to the “Pale-Haired Guy,” he turned around.
[Change the script?]
[Why change a perfectly good script?]
Wen Mo raised an eyebrow in surprise at the man standing before him. He didn’t use sign language because it wasn’t necessary. The white-haired man dressed in all white didn’t need it—he was White Impermanence, and he could see into anyone’s heart.
As for his appearance, he was the very same staff member who had checked Shen Yi’s ticket at the front desk of the Haunted House. Unfortunately, Shen Yi still had no idea that he, a living person, had already crossed paths with the Underworld’s White Impermanence.
Just as when Shen Yi first met him, White Impermanence wore a beaming smile. Since it was the fifteenth of the first lunar month, he had come to the Tongue-Rip Hell for an inspection and to conduct a “follow-up visit” with Wen Mo, a staff member on duty.
“Because of some force majeure,” White Impermanence said. “Don’t blame me; new orders came from above to reform the entire Hell system.”
“As for you, there are some special reasons on your end that require the Tongue-Rip Hell to undergo a massive overhaul. The script has to be rewritten; Guangming High is finally going bankrupt. Be happy! You’ve been the security guard for this piece of junk school for forty-two years.”
Wen Mo’s lip twitched, the movement causing a slight sting.
“Here, this is the new script.” White Impermanence handed over a file. “Take a look.”
Wen Mo looked down. Staring at the stapled papers, the white background with black text reading Script for Tongue-Rip Hell and the signature of the Judge’s Decree, Wen Mo was momentarily at a loss for words. He took the script and flipped through a few pages.
“You know how it is. These Hell Game scripts are all written by the Judges of their respective Hells. Usually, they’d ask for your opinion.” White Impermanence twirled his finger in the air and gave a helpless smile. “But a few of your colleagues are difficult to deal with. They nearly came to blows during the last script change. You see, oh right, you haven’t met him. That new Night Watchman in the Iron Tree Hell has a very radical personality.”
White Impermanence was a chatterbox and continued to drone on. Wen Mo ignored him. As he flipped through the pages, his expression suddenly darkened. He took the script and hurled it violently at White Impermanence something he never did.
White Impermanence kept smiling, not bothered in the least. He picked up the discarded script and looked up with a grin.
“‘Who gave you permission to write such a story?’” he quoted. “My, I’ve never seen you this angry. I really should get a mirror so you can see yourself; this is the most you’ve ever looked like a malevolent spirit. What terrifying eyes. If you could look like this normally in Hell, you’d scare quite a few mortals back onto the path of righteousness.”
Wen Mo took several deep breaths. He knew his expression was ghastly; he could feel his brow twitching uncontrollably and his jaw clenched tight.
[I don’t agree,] he said in his mind.
“Invalid.” White Impermanence waved the copy of the script. “This time it’s a mandatory requirement, sorry. Besides, it’s out of necessity force majeure.”
Wen Mo was so angry he almost laughed. [What force majeure could there possibly be?]
“Well…” White Impermanence tilted his head. “Jiang Yi is a junior in college now.”
[…Don’t use him to placate me.]
“The little animation he made a couple of days ago won an award. Quite impressive.”
[…]
“He seems exceptionally close to a younger student.”
[…Get to the point.] Wen Mo’s brow twitched twice. [Stop using him to placate me.]
“Jiang Yi—”
[STOP USING HIM TO PLACATE ME!] Wen Mo flared up. [That’s the third time! Even if you brought him here in person, I would not agree to this!]
White Impermanence let out a laugh.
“Don’t be angry,” he said. “The time is coming; this is inevitable. This place will become your nightmare, but it isn’t meant to harm you. It won’t be for long, Mo.”
“…”
The rain drizzled.
Shen Yi stared at him with dark, brooding eyes. Wen Mo realized a beat too late what White Impermanence’s intention had been.
He, they knew he couldn’t speak, so they changed this place ahead of time to tell Shen Yi exactly what had happened to Wen Mo… to both of them.
A bunch of meddlesome busybodies.
Shen Yi’s gaze was scrutinizing, but Wen Mo had no intention of answering. After some thought, he gestured a few words to Shen Yi:
[I told you, you don’t need to know.]
[See? You insisted on investigating. I told you long ago it would cause nightmares.]
[Why be angry? I made things clear from the start; you’re the one who insisted on going.]
[You brought this on yourself.]
Shen Yi stood up abruptly. “What did you say!?”
Wen Mo gave him a cool look and indifferently turned his face away.
“You bastard, look at me!” Shen Yi strode toward him. “You—”
“Heave-ho!”
Before he could take more than a few steps, the voices of the players drifted in from the courtyard gate. Shen Yi stopped and turned to see the players carrying out the deceased groom and bride.
The blood had been wiped clean from the two corpses. Their eyes were closed, their expressions peaceful.
“Shen Yi,” Yan Pan called out to him. “Stop whatever you’re doing over there and come help lift the sedan curtain.”
Hearing this, Shen Yi gave Wen Mo a venomous glare. He visibly forced himself to swallow his words and turned to rejoin the main group.
Shen Yi lifted the curtain, and the players placed the groom and bride inside. Several villagers emerged from the yard.
“Are they in?” they asked mournfully. “Then let’s go. Let’s send-off Little Zhang Er one last time!”
“Lift the sedan!”
Several villagers stepped forward and shouldered the sedan chair. Inside the courtyard, a village woman struck a gong several times.
“The bride is departing!”
The villagers carried the sedan forward, with the players following behind. Someone lit a string of red firecrackers at the entrance, and the deafening pop-pop-pop echoed behind them.
Someone began playing the suona in the courtyard. Amidst the unique, festive music of the suona, the wedding sedan moved into the distance. A village woman walking alongside carried a bamboo basket.
She wiped her tears and shouted loudly, “Sun Jiao’er! Your auntie is seeing you off one last time! You had no luck in life and never enjoyed any blessings! Get married down below and live well with your Second Brother!”
She wailed loudly as she spoke, grabbing handfuls of paper money from the basket and scattering them into the sky.
The suona music was joyous and festive. The bright red wedding sedan was as vivid as a streak of blood against the grey, hazy earth as it moved forward.
Wen Mo leaped onto the eaves, following the wedding sedan step-for-step. Shen Yi glanced back at him. White paper money fluttered in the rain as the procession returned to the old woman’s house.
“Lower the sedan—” a voice cried out, purposefully drawing out the syllables.
The villagers set the sedan down. Several women brought out two fire basins, lit them, and tossed in paper money and gold ingots.
As the rain pattered down, the old Village Chief sat in the yard, leaning on his cane, his clouded eyes watching the busy crowd outside. The players stood by the sedan, waiting. Someone raised their hand and impatiently checked their watch.
“First bow to Heaven and Earth—” “Second bow to the Ancestral Hall—”
The village woman fed handful after handful of paper money into the fire. She opened her mouth to shout: “Third—”
“Stop!!”
A voice suddenly rang out. The players turned to see a monk dressed in a patched robe running from the distance, looking panicked and frantic.
“Monk Du Heng!” a villager shouted his name.
The players were startled, only then remembering there was such a monk in the script. The monk rushed to the sedan, but a village man stepped forward to block him.
“Monk, what are you doing!” the man said. “We’re in the middle of a ghost wedding!”
“A ghost wedding?! You still dare to hold a ghost wedding!?” Monk Du Heng pushed at his shoulders, sounding incredibly anxious. “Hurry and stop! Don’t you know how Shen Yi died? Don’t you know how Lin Wu died?! How is this any different from digging your own graves!”
Shen Yi keenly sensed something was wrong. He tilted his head and caught a flicker of unease on the face of the woman burning paper money. She looked down in panic, her eyes darting around as she swallowed hard.
When she looked up again, she wore a forced expression of self-righteousness. “H-how else could they have died?! That Shen Yi was possessed by a ghost; the villagers were forced to lock him in the temple and burn him to death! Everyone, everyone had no choice!”
“Right!” others quickly chimed in. “Everyone had no choice; we were forced into it!”
“Was Shen Yi the only one in there!?” Monk Du Heng roared. “Then why did you lock Lin Wu in there as well!”
Shen Yi was struck dumb. He instinctively turned his head to look at Wen Mo. Before he could see Wen Mo’s face clearly, he heard the villagers shout—
“Lin Wu was possessed too!”
“Exactly! He was possessed along with Shen Yi, it’s not like you didn’t know!” the village man barked. “Damn it, Jiang Shengguo caught them himself!”
“Two grown men trysting by the river if that’s not possession, what is? We asked them what happened, and they wouldn’t say a word! Later, Shen Yi went crazy and slashed his own uncle and Lin Wu’s father!” a villager said. “It was possession! Even forcing them to drink talisman water didn’t work!”
Wen Mo lowered his gaze, meeting Shen Yi’s eyes with an indifferent expression. As if he were merely listening to trivial neighborhood gossip, Wen Mo just watched him calmly.
A sudden sense of absurdity filled Shen Yi’s heart. Every word he heard was too ridiculous—truly too ridiculous. It was so absurd that Shen Yi couldn’t even process it as nonsense. He was stunned, his mind a total blank.
“Forcing both of them to drink talisman water didn’t work, and they were so stubborn! It had to be possession! Saying they had to stay together no matter what how can two men be together! It had to be possession! Shen Yi even slashed people; he was the most sensible child in the village! To suddenly turn into that—it had to be—”
Monk Du Heng roared: “Why didn’t he slash you?! Lin Wu’s father was going to beat him to death! His family didn’t dare use a knife and couldn’t stop that drunkard if Shen Yi didn’t use a knife, who would have saved Lin Wu!?”
The villagers argued, “He wasn’t the one being beaten! His father wanted to beat the ghost out of him; it was for his son’s own good! Shen Yi went mad, and Lin Wu was possessed! Everyone tried every method, but nothing worked! We had no choice but to lock them both in the ruined temple, hoping to burn the ghosts out of them! Granny Wang said it would work! If their fates were strong enough, they’d come out alive, and only the ghosts would be left in the fire!”
“Didn’t Lin Wu come out alive!?” they said. “Granny Wang was right; Lin Wu made it out!”
“He just couldn’t let it go. He came out and started slashing people again, saying we murdered Shen Yi—truly an ungrateful wretch! So, we had no choice but to throw him in the river! Who told him to bite the hand that fed him!”
Shen Yi’s hands began to shake. A buzzing filled his head, and once again, he couldn’t hear what people were saying. Amidst the overwhelming clamor, he slowly pieced together the original shape of the events.
Decades ago, he had come to this village with his mother to seek refuge with his uncle, Jiang Shengguo. He and Wen Mo fell in love, and one day, Jiang Shengguo caught them.
So the villagers turned on them… the villagers thought they were possessed; they were “filthy.” They were forced to drink talisman water and beaten beyond recognition. Shen Yi fought back, and they said he had gone mad and was slashing people.
They locked him in the ruined temple but he wasn’t alone. Wen Mo was locked in there with him.
For some reason, Wen Mo escaped. He must have been unwilling to let Shen Yi die like that… he had picked up a knife too. No one knew how many villagers he had killed, but in the end, he was thrown into the river.
He died as well.
A ridiculous farce, ended in a ridiculous way.
Shen Yi could barely stand or move; the blood in his body seemed to flow backward. He looked up through the curtain of rain. Wen Mo’s expression was so peaceful. It was so peaceful it was as if all of this were merely a children’s prank.
Shen Yi felt a sharp pain in his chest. He would have preferred Wen Mo to be hysterical and heartbroken over this, rather than this death-like silence.
This expression only meant he had grown numb. He had faced this scene for far too long, so he no longer had any reaction. He had never been able to leave this village; he was long since accustomed to all of this, so he would never react again.
Shen Yi suddenly felt like vomiting. He stumbled two steps to the side, nearly falling, when someone grabbed his arm. He snapped back to reality and looked over to see Yan Pan.
Yan Pan raised an eyebrow at him and pulled him up. “Pull yourself together,” she said. “These villagers really aren’t good people.”
“Eh?”
“NPCs are rarely good people,” Yan Pan explained, “especially the ones so eager to give out tasks.”
“…I see.”
“Enough!!” a villager barked, cutting off Monk Du Heng.
Shen Yi rubbed his chest, which ached as if he’d been stabbed, and looked back. A village woman stood up, pointing at Monk Du Heng and cursing: “If you don’t want to watch, then get lost! Is it any of your business?! Was Lin Wu any good? He’s been haunting us for years! In three years, only two or three families have had children get married and as soon as one family forms, he comes to destroy them! How many weddings have turned into funerals because of him!?”
“Exactly! We saw how pitiful the children were and decided to hold a ghost wedding for them, yet you come here to criticize us! Ptooey! You bald donkey!”
Monk Du Heng was frantic: “I’m telling you that you cannot hold it! Have you no idea how many people Lin Wu has killed?! When the first family died, I told you this child was forcibly separated from his lover. You called their love ‘possession,’ and the resentment in his heart is immense, which is why he turned into the Ghost Groom! You absolutely must not hold a ghost wedding for the dead! It will make him furious! I’ve been saying this all along…”
“Shut your trap!” a middle-aged man cursed. “Always so much trouble, so many rules! Besides, who says what you say goes? Three years ago, when the haunting started, we went to you. Those talismans you gave what use have they been these past few years? Plenty of children still died! Why should we be afraid of that dead deaf guy?! Auntie Zhao, do it! Keep going!”
Monk Du Heng was incredulous: “You—”
“Step aside!” Auntie Zhao said. “Xiao Fang, go get the paper figures! The spirit medium said the next step is to burn the paper figures for them!”
“On it!”
Xiao Fang, dressed in her floral padded jacket, stood up and went into the house to fetch the paper figures.
Seeing this scene, and the sneering expressions of the villagers, Monk Du Heng was finally silenced. He couldn’t say a word. He could only let out a long sigh and lower his head, two lines of clear tears streaming from his eyes. He raised his hand, fingering his prayer beads, his voice trembling: “Amitabha…”
The villagers sneered, “Putting on an act.”
“Amitabha…” Monk Du Heng murmured. “Sinful, sinful…”
“…Amitabha…”