On the second floor of the small house.
Only a few villagers had hurried upstairs; the others remained below, insisting on staying with the bride.
A group of “Sinners” followed them up. Upon pushing open the door, the carnage inside made their hearts skip a beat.
There was blood everywhere.
The walls were splattered with it. On the bright red wedding bed, the groom lay sprawled, his eyes wide in a deathly, unseeing stare. His wedding attire was shredded, and his body resembled a piece of torn paper, covered in countless gasps and cuts that leaked blood rhythmically.
Shen Yi squeezed through the crowd for a closer look and saw that the groom’s chest had been hollowed out. The space where his heart should have been was a void of mangled, bloody flesh.
He knit his brows.
Upon seeing this tragedy, the villagers broke into another round of frantic wailing. One village woman took one look at the scene and promptly collapsed as her eyes rolled back into her head.
“Old Zhou!”
Someone shouted her name and rushed over to catch her. “Don’t you dare faint! You still have several other children; losing this one isn’t the end of the world! Be strong and look on the bright side! Wake up, Old Zhou!”
Ah, so this is the groom’s mother, Shen Yi realized. Suddenly, his heart gave a sharp, painful throb.
He frowned again, overcome by a powerful sense of unease. It had nothing to do with him personally, yet hearing the words “You have several other children, losing this one doesn’t matter” made his chest tighten painfully.
It was, objectively, a terrible thing to say.
Suddenly, several people shoved past him from behind. With a startled “Holy crap,” Shen Yi barely managed to steady himself against the wall, nearly toppling onto the groom’s corpse.
He turned to see the other “Sinners” huddling forward to inspect the body. It was clear that no one cared about him; they didn’t apologize for shoving him, nor did they offer a hand to help him up. Their focus was entirely on the dead. They stared intently, scanning the groom from head to toe without so much as a blink.
The villagers also drew near, falling into a heavy, somber silence as they stared at the corpse. The room became deathly quiet. In the presence of the body, everyone seemed to have lost their words.
A hand reached out and pulled Shen Yi from the huddle. It was the woman with the wavy hair. She led him to a corner before letting go. “Well? What do you think?”
“What do I think about what?”
“Don’t play dumb the groom, obviously. What else would I be asking about? I have no interest in burying myself in that sweaty crowd. What did he look like?”
“How else could he look? He died a miserable death,” Shen Yi gestured vaguely. “Covered in cuts, blood flowing everywhere, even from his eyes.”
“…” The woman was silent for a moment. “That is the first time I’ve heard someone describe blood as ‘flowing everywhere’ with such a… casual tone.”
“Oh, really?” Shen Yi let out a short laugh. “I thought it was quite apt.”
The woman’s lip twitched, but she said nothing.
“Shen Yi.”
Gong Cang walked over. His face was currently devoid of color, and his pupils were trembling. “This is too abnormal,” he whispered. “How can you still laugh? How did the two of us end up in this ‘Hell’ place?”
“The Hell of Tongue-Ripping,” the woman reminded him.
“I agree, it’s beyond abnormal,” Shen Yi scratched his cheek with a bitter smile. “But there’s no helping it. We’re already in, so we have to find a way out. Once we leave, everything will be fine, right?”
“Is that so?” the woman countered. “You think once you leave, it’s over? Do any of us look like this is our first time here?”
Gong Cang had just begun to find some comfort in Shen Yi’s logic, but the woman’s words hit him like a physical blow. His face turned even paler.
When she put it that way, it made sense.
Shen Yi turned to her. “You did mention something about ‘newbies’ earlier. Does that mean you’re all veterans who have been through these Hell Games multiple times?”
“Exactly.” She shrugged. “Once you’re chosen by a Hell Game, you’re dragged back into these life-and-death scenarios over and over again. In all my time here, I’ve never heard of anyone successfully escaping this place for good.”
“As for why people are chosen, I’ve heard a few things from Night Watchmen in other Hells.” She looked at the two of them. “New participants are chosen because they committed the specific sins associated with that Hell.”
“For instance, the Hell of Tongue-Ripping,” she slowed her pace, her voice dropping to a low drawl. “Stirring up trouble, slander, gossiping, being two-faced, or lying to deceive others. Those are the crimes of this Hell. You two must have committed one of those and a severe version of it, at that. Do you really have no memory of it?”
Shen Yi’s gaze turned distant as he searched his memory. He reviewed his entire life a short life of only twenty-one years.
“I really haven’t,” Shen Yi replied earnestly after finishing his reflection. “Sister, I’ll admit I used to climb roofs and poke hornet nests as a kid. I once ate two whole crates of tangerines by myself in a single day during New Year’s. When I play games, I’m a healer who forgets to heal, a tank who runs away first, or a marksman with the lowest damage. I’ve even played Identity V and died in the basement within seconds. But I swear, I have never done any of the things you just described.”
The woman: “…” She gave him a massive roll of her eyes.
Shen Yi turned to Gong Cang. “You haven’t either, right?”
Gong Cang clearly lacked Shen Yi’s composure; he didn’t have the mental energy to recount his “gaming” history. Cold sweat poured down his face, soaking his shirt. He pressed his lips together and nodded. “I… I’ve truly never done those things either.”
“Don’t lie to me; you two definitely did something,” the woman said dismissively. “There are no exceptions for newcomers. Hell never recruits people for no reason.”
“That’s so unfair!” Gong Cang wailed. “We really haven’t!”
Click.
Gong Cang choked on his words and turned toward the sound. A balding elderly villager was standing by the window; the glass was splattered with mottled blood. He pulled out a lighter and lit a cigarette. That click was the sound of the flame catching.
The old man’s skin was dark and weathered, his face a landscape of deep wrinkles. His eyes were narrowed into thin slits. He took a long drag while staring out the window, his chest heaving as he exhaled a thick cloud of white smoke.
“Still couldn’t escape it,” the old man rasped.
The words were heavy with meaning. All the “Sinners” straightened up and looked at him. The villagers in the room looked defeated. One elderly woman sat against the wall, rubbing her face and letting out a long sigh. The groom’s mother had already been carried out, leaving only a few villagers behind.
“Let’s go,” the old man said. “Go find the monk, Yuan Heng.”
The villagers stood up, wiped their tears, and began walking out with their heads hung low.
“You lot follow us, too,” the old man said to the “Sinners.” “There are things about this you don’t yet kno—”
The old man suddenly stopped mid-sentence.
As if he had seen a ghost, his eyes bulged out of his head. His dark face turned several shades paler in an instant. He let out a piercing scream and began scrambling backward, stumbling until he slammed into the wall behind him.
The “Double Happiness” red cross-stitch hanging on the wall wobbled and fell, shattering on the blood-stained floor with a heavy thud.
The “Sinners” looked at the old man in confusion. His face was twisted in terror as he pointed at Shen Yi, his hand shaking uncontrollably. His voice was thick with horror:
“Shen Yi!!”
Shen Yi blinked. Yes, I’m Shen Yi. My name is Shen Yi. So what?
Just as the thought crossed his mind, he realized something was wrong. The looks on everyone’s faces had changed. Not just the villagers even the other “Sinners” were looking at him differently.
The woman with wavy hair immediately took several steps back. The man in the suit grabbed a bewildered Gong Cang and pulled him into a corner, far away from Shen Yi.
A wide circle of empty space formed around Shen Yi instantly. Within seconds, everyone was ten feet away, their faces filled with wariness and suspicion.
“Hey, wait,” Shen Yi said, confused. “You guys…”
“GHOST!!”
A village woman nearby suddenly screamed. She grabbed a broom and swung it at Shen Yi. “There’s a ghost! A GHOST!!”
“!?”
The broom came whistling toward his head. Startled, Shen Yi ducked and yelled, “What the hell?! Can’t we just talk about this? Why am I a ghost all of a sudden? Sister! Stop hitting me, Gong Cang! Help me!”
The woman chased him relentlessly with the broom, her face contorted with grit and fear. She was swinging with everything she had, clearly trying to drive him away despite her own terror.
Gong Cang pulled away from the man in the suit, wanting to help. But before he could take half a step, he was yanked back.
“You can’t go!” the man in the suit hissed. “That person isn’t right. Don’t help him!”
Gong Cang was stunned. “Not, right? You mean Shen Yi?”
“Yes,” the wavy-haired woman added. “This is a Hell Game. These villagers are NPCs. NPCs never know a player’s name unless it’s a powerful ghost specifically meant to kill players. These villagers clearly aren’t that.”
“They shouldn’t know a player’s name, yet they called out ‘Shen Yi’ perfectly.”
“That means that ‘Shen Yi’ is part of the game’s plot he’s likely actually a ghost,” the man in the suit concluded.
Gong Cang’s eyes widened. “Shen Yi is a ghost?!” he exclaims in shock. “How is that possible? We were college roommates! We lived together for three years! How could he be a ghost?!”
The other “Sinners” were shocked. “You two were roommates?”
“No duh!” Gong Cang shoved the man’s hand away and charged toward Shen Yi, who was being chased around the room by the woman with the broom. “Old Shen! Hang in there!”
Shen Yi turned and saw Gong Cang running toward him. Tears practically welled up in his eyes brothers were brothers after all!
However, the village woman didn’t stop. She swung the broom with pinpoint accuracy, thwacking Shen Yi right on the head. “Go to hell!”
Shen Yi couldn’t dodge in time. His head rang with a dull thud, and the world immediately began to spin. He staggered a few steps, leaning against the wall as he crouched down, clutching his buzzing head.
Gong Cang rushed over to shield him, but then another shout erupted. He turned to see another elderly male villager who had appeared out of nowhere, wielding an axe. With a face full of loathing, the man charged at them: “SHEN YI!!”
“You’ve brought us no peace! You caused the Zhang family’s second son to die a miserable death!!”
Seeing the axe coming toward his head, Gong Cang let out a terrified scream. He let go of Shen Yi and instinctively dove to the side, curling into a ball and covering his own head.
Shen Yi: “?”
Wait. Seriously?!
The villager roared as he swung the axe. Shen Yi’s soul nearly left his body as he scrambled backward just in time. With a loud crack, the axe buried itself in the wall.
If Shen Yi had been a second slower, his head would have been split open.
Gasping for air, Shen Yi stared at the blade in the wall, his breath hitching and his pupils trembling. This was the closest he had ever been to death.
The villager twisted his head, his eyes bloodshot as he glared at Shen Yi, his teeth grinding audibly. He clearly hated Shen Yi with every fiber of his being.
Shen Yi’s mind went numb. He didn’t understand. He truly, deeply did not understand what was happening. Everything currently occurring was beyond his comprehension, far outside his ability to process.
“Stop!”
A sharp thud echoed through the room, the sound of a cane striking the floor.
Everyone turned toward the source. A small, thin old man stood at the doorway. His hair was white, his back was hunched, and his eyes were sunken. He was small in stature, but he carried an undeniable air of authority.
As the old man’s weary eyes swept across the room, the shouting villagers immediately fell silent. Shen Yi noticed the man with the axe freeze, the murderous rage in his eyes fading slightly.
“What is all this nonsense,” the little old man barked, tapping his cane again. “Put those things away! Another life was just lost; the body isn’t even cold yet, and here you are causing a scene in front of the dead!”
The woman with the broom couldn’t help but point at Shen Yi. “Village Chief! This isn’t nonsense! Shen Yi is back! That monk was lying to us!”
So, the small old man was the Village Chief.
The Chief turned his head and looked Shen Yi up and down. Shen Yi stood up awkwardly under the scrutiny, trying his best to straighten his back and look presentable.
The old man’s cloudy eyes rolled as he studied Shen Yi for a long time. Finally, he spoke:
“This is not Shen Yi.”
“What?”
“Just a young man who looks similar,” the old man said. “Why are you all acting so foolishly? Think carefully was the ghost haunting this village Shen Yi?”
At these words, the villagers were silenced.
“Follow me,” the Chief said slowly, turning around. “You young people, come as well.”
The rain began to fall.
It wasn’t a light drizzle; it was a torrential downpour that hammered against the eaves and splashed onto the ground, quickly forming puddles in the courtyard.
They were led to an ancestral hall. Inside, countless spirit tablets were arranged, and a single chair sat in the center of the hall. The old Village Chief sat in the chair while the “Sinners” sat in a circle on the floor around him. The villagers stood by the doors, some watching the scene inside and others staring gloomily at the rain.
“While you children were away making your way in the world… something terrible happened in our Yang Zhuangzi,” the Chief’s voice was shaky and raspy. “Three years ago, the old ruined temple in the village caught fire for no reason. Someone was burned alive inside.”
“That fire was unnatural; it burned for a full day and night. After it was extinguished, not even a bone could be found.”
“When the fire died down, we thought no one had died. We were relieved for half a day before we realized the Shen family was missing a child.”
“Once he died, another child who had always been close to him was heartbroken. Not long after, he jumped into the river and died as well,” the Chief sighed, wringing his hands. “I don’t know if it was out of deep affection or something else, but that child became a ghost after death. Every few days, he would… he made sure no household had peace. Over a dozen families have already moved away.”
Gong Cang was confused. “Why would he become a ghost to take revenge on the village?”
“Who knows? Perhaps his heart was full of resentment with nowhere to go, so he took it out on all the villagers,” the Chief said. “The tragedy of the bride and groom dying at today’s banquet… this isn’t the first time.”
“For three years, every time someone in this village gets married, they die a miserable death at the feast.”
“Sigh. A ‘Red Affair’ turns into a ‘White Affair’…” the Chief lamented.
The woman with wavy hair asked, “Three years ago, what was the name of the child who jumped into the river?”
“Don’t ask; it’s bad luck,” the Chief dismissed the question. But she didn’t give up. Since that lead was dead, she tried another: “Then the child who burned to death… was he?”
“Yes.” The Chief gave a raspy confirmation.
Shen Yi stood behind the Chief with a dark expression, positioned in front of the altar. A mountain of spirit tablets sat there amidst clouds of incense smoke. In the very center, one tablet held the place of honor, placed higher than the rest.
In front of the tablet sat an incense burner and a plate of fruit offerings. And behind the tablet sat a black-and-white photograph a funeral portrait.
Shen Yi reached out and picked up the photograph.
The old Village Chief spoke from behind him: “That is Shen Yi.”
In the photo Shen Yi held, his black-and-white self was smiling brilliantly.
Truly his voice and face lingered.
He. Was. Still. Smiling.
Remembered forever.