Dusk, crimson sunset glow, and sunlight gradually fading.
Xian Chengyue tidied up his bedding, while Su Yan sat in the chair nearby in a daze, his gaze locked fixedly on Xian Chengyue.
That lean, taut waist and slightly uptight hips, his arms with their flowing muscle contours, and the chest muscles that etched their shape right through his shirt even if he didn’t possess this particular face and were swapped with an ordinary passerby’s face instead, it wouldn’t diminish his magnetic appeal in the slightest.
“Xian-ge,” Su Yan stood up. “Why don’t you sleep on the inside side?”
Xian Chengyue didn’t even lift his head: “No need.”
“You didn’t sleep well last night either,” Su Yan said with deep, earnest affection.
The window was broken, and the villagers wouldn’t mend it for them, nor would they know how to patch up this kind of paper window themselves. The nocturnal night breeze was freezing, and once the wind poured in, the bed closest to the window was inevitably the coldest.
Unfortunately, Su Yan’s thoughtfulness and good intentions still failed to make Xian Chengyue lift his head to look at him even once.
Xian Chengyue finished making his bed and silently lay down upon it.
Sun Hao and Lin Min were also making their beds. Sun Hao acted like a walking powder keg, ready to fly into a raging fury at the slightest rustle. Wanting to put some distance between herself and Sun Hao, Lin Min spread her quilt right next to Su Yan’s.
This night was peaceful, and not a single strange stirrage occurred outside until dawn broke.
So much so that when the sunlight streamed indoors, Lin Min was still lying in bed with a blank expression, unable to snap back to reality.
Turning her head, Lin Min noticed that the spots where Xian Chengyue and Su Yan had been lying were already empty. Their quilts had also been neatly folded and placed at the head of the bed, leaving only Sun Hao still asleep. Sun Hao was curled up in a tight ball, breaking out in cold, nervous sweat even in his unconscious state.
There was no breakfast in the morning; the villagers didn’t send any food over, as they only ate one meal a day.
Fortunately, everyone’s nerves remained strung to the highest tension, so hunger didn’t even register.
The occupants of the various rooms all emerged. The group tasked with finding pastries needed to grind soybeans at the mill, so they had already departed the courtyard under the early morning glow, not even sparing the time to wash their faces or brush their teeth.
By the time Xian Chengyue stepped into the courtyard, Chen Wei had already fetched a basin of water. Wearing that same pitiful, endearing expression, he carried the wooden basin over and placed it right in front of Xian Chengyue, smiling with pursed lips: “Xian-ge, wash your face.”
This once again reminded Xian Chengyue of his older brother that man who clearly sported a full beard yet would break down crying at the drop of a hat.
Xian Chengyue still remembered how the other guy had lunged forward to rescue him back then. Suffering only a minor scratch, the man had stubbornly wept for days on end; the sight of him crying every time he looked his way had given Xian Chengyue a splitting headache.
Fortunately, although the guy was prone to crying, he never dragged his feet when there was work to be done.
Just like her.
Yet she would never cry looking that ugly. She always smiled right in his face, only daring to quietly weep by herself in her room once the dead of night fell and all was quiet.
He didn’t dislike fragile people; sometimes, fragile individuals possessed a far more resilient core.
“Mhm.” Xian Chengyue nodded. Lacking a towel, he simply cupped the water with his hands.
The chilling well water brushed against Xian Chengyue’s skin, and he closed his eyes. When he lifted his head once more, the well water had dampened his forehead and the black hair at his temples, with droplets sliding down onto his chest. A small patch of his white shirt had turned translucent, yet Xian Chengyue remained completely oblivious to it.
They still had to go search for chickens today. Sun Hao never emerged from the room.
It was only because Lin Min couldn’t bear to abandon him that she called out toward the door: “Sun Hao, we’re heading out.”
Sun Hao’s roar echoed from within: “I’m not going! Whoever wants to go can go!”
Lin Min stood at a complete loss: “Y-you…”
Sun Hao: “I’m not afraid of death! At worst I’ll just die! What’s there to be afraid of?!”
Subconsciously, Lin Min looked toward Xian Chengyue, only to find that Xian Chengyue didn’t care about Sun Hao in the slightest and was already heading out.
Hesitating for two seconds, Lin Min stamped her foot and hurried to catch up with Xian Chengyue’s pace.
Throughout that day, Xian Chengyue and his group still failed to find any chickens.
On the way back, Su Yan sidled up close to Xian Chengyue and asked, “Xian-ge, if we still can’t find a chicken by the end, what will happen to us?”
Xian Chengyue glanced at Su Yan. Within the depths of Su Yan’s eyes, there was no fear of death or the unknown, no nervous apprehension, but rather a trace of eager, restless excitement.
“We might die.” Xian Chengyue’s voice was cold and detached, devoid of emotion, and devoid of any human warmth.
Su Yan gazed at Xian Chengyue.
It was somewhat bizarre.
Xian Chengyue looked back at Su Yan as well.
Su Yan’s eyes were exceptionally light in color an amber shade that appeared almost transparent under the sunlight.
Right before his eyes, the corners of Su Yan’s eyes slowly reddened.
Xian Chengyue: “…”
Although the corners of Su Yan’s eyes were slightly reddened, a smile still lingered at the corners of his mouth: “I’m not very good at this sort of thing; I can barely clear a few levels in escape room games, so I probably can’t help you much. But I can at least manage not to hold you back.”
“If there’s anything you don’t want to do, you can just make me go.” Despite radiating a carefree, devil-may-care aura, the way Su Yan delivered those words made people feel an extraordinary sense of sincerity, as though he had transformed into a completely different person in a split second.
Xian Chengyue couldn’t figure out why the men who had been relatively normal earlier all loved to cry the moment they got in front of him.
Was he an onion or something?
“As you like.” Xian Chengyue swept a brief glance over Su Yan.
It wasn’t until Xian Chengyue walked ahead that Su Yan reached up to brush the corner of his own eye.
Being able to summon tears on command was a skill in its own right. Having gone without blinking for so long just now, he had only managed to redden the rims of his eyes.
Which went to show just how deep-seated the scheming nature of someone like Chen Wei really was.
Still, this trick proved effective at least this time, Xian Chengyue hadn’t used a perfunctory “Mhm” to brush him off.
He had added two extra words.
Following closely behind Xian Chengyue, Su Yan grew even more curious about what kind of person Xian Chengyue was in the real world, and what sort of family background and environment could cultivate such an aloof, taciturn, yet sharp and intelligent individual.
When they returned to the courtyard, Zhao Feng was crouching right outside their room’s doorway.
With his head lowered, his bulky body curled tightly inward, he scanned the courtyard with eyes full of vigilance and suspicion.
The moment Zhao Feng spotted Xian Chengyue, he sprang instantly to his feet and hurried over to intercept him.
“Someone died in our room,” Zhao Feng said with a livid complexion.
“We thought he was just sleeping in this morning.”
As a young man who hadn’t slept well the previous night, no one would have suspected that he had slipped away in his sleep especially since monsters had materialized during previous deaths, whereas nothing at all had happened last night.
Zhao Feng’s teeth were chattering.
“Last night, we strictly followed what the village chief said and didn’t violate any taboos at all.” Zhao Feng looked at Xian Chengyue.
He had no one else to consult; he didn’t trust Jiang Zhongxu, who shared his room, and the other newbie blindly followed the deceased red-haired guy in hanging on Jiang Zhongxu’s every word. Racking his brains, the only person he could think to ask was Xian Chengyue.
Given Xian Chengyue’s temperament, even if he refused to help, he at least wouldn’t stab him in the back.
Xian Chengyue: “You should go ask Jiang Zhongxu.”
Zhao Feng froze. His eyes, normally squeezed into mere slits by flesh, suddenly widened: “H-he…”
Zhao Feng: “Did he kill Zhao Song?”
Xian Chengyue frowned slightly.
Zhao Feng stared in a daze, cautiously asking: “Isn’t it? I thought it was Jiang Zhongxu…”
“Jiang Zhongxu didn’t do it himself.” Xian Chengyue stated coldly.
Zhao Feng gazed blankly at Xian Chengyue, seemingly failing to grasp what Xian Chengyue meant. Zhao Song’s death was something to ask Jiang Zhongxu about, so why did Xian Chengyue turn around and say Jiang Zhongxu hadn’t done it personally? He didn’t believe the other young boy possessed the guts to commit murder in the middle of the night.
Besides, even if that young boy had genuinely been brainwashed by Jiang Zhongxu into being willing to kill, committing murder in the dead of night weren’t they afraid of making a commotion and getting themselves killed in the process?
Zhao Feng refused to believe anyone could hold their own life in such low regard.
His breathing stalled completely.
Yet Xian Chengyue clearly had no intention of explaining further, leaving him to watch helplessly as Xian Chengyue walked into the room while he stood outside, lacking the courage to ask again.
“Zhao-ge, don’t worry.” Su Yan patted Zhao Feng’s shoulder, wearing a look of genuine concern. “As long as you stay far away from Jiang Zhongxu and keep your guard up, you should be fine.”
Zhao Feng managed a smile uglier than crying: “I ran into Jiang Zhongxu on my last run too.”
“Back then, he acted just like this, roping in a bunch of newbies.”
Su Yan and Lin Min listened quietly.
Zhao Feng continued: “The first ones to die were always the people closest to him.”
Then he froze, his gaze locking with Su Yan’s: “On the first night we came here, the people in the room where the incident happened several of them spoke with Jiang Zhongxu before going to sleep, didn’t they?”
Lin Min suddenly shuddered. Her memory was sharp, even though she had been frantic at the time: “I remember… y-yes, three of them were called over by him before entering the room.”
Su Yan: “He’s that good at sweet-talking people?”
After all, everyone had heard the village chief’s warning with their own ears. No matter how well Jiang Zhongxu spoke, it shouldn’t have been enough to make people completely follow his lead after just a single afternoon.
Zhao Feng turned deathly pale: “I knew it, I felt something was wrong back then he was trying to use human lives to test…”
“Test what?” Su Yan fixed his gaze on Zhao Feng’s face, his eyes abruptly sharpening.
Instead of elaborating, Zhao Feng lowered his head as though sudden realization had dawned upon him. When he lifted his head again, his eyes were filled with sheer terror: “It was yesterday, yesterday, he led Zhao Song into speaking about using… a substitute.”
Su Yan caught on as well.
From start to finish, Jiang Zhongxu had never explicitly suggested using well water to substitute for rootless rainwater; he had merely stated that other methods could be used.
And what precisely that “other method” was had been spoken aloud by Zhao Song.
Jiang Zhongxu indeed hadn’t dirtied his hands; from beginning to end, he had simply used human lives to probe the rules.
While Xian Chengyue had known from the very beginning.
Zhao Feng was trembling all over. Although he had always known this wasn’t reality and that many questers would stop at nothing, ruthlessly murdering others without batting an eye just to survive, this was his first time witnessing someone as utterly deranged and maniacal as Jiang Zhongxu.
“I can’t keep living with him!” All the flesh on Zhao Feng’s body shook uncontrollably.
If he continued rooming with Jiang Zhongxu, Jiang Zhongxu would inevitably get him killed too. Even if he didn’t utter a single word, as long as Jiang Zhongxu wanted to exploit him, he had zero confidence he could avoid being used.
“Zhao-ge,” Su Yan sighed. “You’re in the same group. Even if you move out of the room, you still have to operate together during the day.”
Su Yan: “You can only be careful on your own.”
Zhao Feng suddenly cast a look of vicious jealousy toward Su Yan.
Why wasn’t he the one grouped with Xian Chengyue?
Xian Chengyue would have figured out a way to clear this level without backstabbing anyone behind their backs why wasn’t he the one paired with Xian Chengyue?
If it weren’t for Su Yan, would he and Xian Chengyue have been placed in the same group back then?
Was it Su Yan who stole his chance?
If he died.
Why? Just because his luck was bad?
Just because he happened to be grouped with Jiang Zhongxu?
While Su Yan didn’t have to lift a finger to walk out alive?
Su Yan was using him too.
“Zhao-ge, don’t split hairs.” Su Yan’s voice seemed to drift from far away, sounding somewhat muffled to Zhao Feng’s ears.
Zhao Feng stared at Su Yan. Under the threat of death, rationality was like a patch of mist scattered by a gust of wind. Gritting his teeth with bloodshot eyes, he squeezed a sentence out from deep within his throat: “I was the one who brought you along, I was the one who took you to meet Xian Chengyue back then.”
Su Yan looked as though he found it amusing: “Zhao-ge, you think this is a romance where seniority matters?”
“No, even in romance seniority doesn’t matter.”
Zhao Feng’s facial muscles tensed. Despite possessing a plump, fair face, it distorted at that moment into a mask of fierce, coarse hostility.
Resembling a Yaksha from a painting.
It was Lin Min who grabbed Su Yan’s arm, staring nervously toward the edge of the horizon: “Th-the sun is going down!”
Only then did Zhao Feng cast a malicious glare at Su Yan: “You just wait!”
Zhao Feng strode briskly back to his own room. Su Yan stood in place, shrugged, sighed, and remarked with the helpless resignation of someone detached from worldly desires: “Afraid to blame the ones truly doing the harm, and only dare to resent the person they feel is no threat.”
Unsure how to comfort him and lacking the skill to do so, Lin Min stiffly pivoted the topic: “Let’s go inside.”
Returning to the room, they found Sun Hao still curled up in bed, seemingly asleep; but a closer look revealed he was wide awake. He had given up on himself, convinced he stood no chance of survival, and decided he might as well lie in bed waiting to die—preferring that to going out, suffering through exhaustion, and ultimately engaging in futile labor.
When Su Yan stepped inside, Xian Chengyue was sitting in a chair with his arms crossed, resting with his eyes closed, evidently having no intention of lying on the bed.
“Xian-ge, should I help you make your bed?” Su Yan looked at Xian Chengyue with a smile.
Xian Chengyue didn’t reply.
Undeterred, Su Yan earnestly smoothed out the quilt Xian Chengyue used. He had never waited on anyone in his life; occasionally “serving” someone turned out to be not half bad.
It was a pity the person being “served” didn’t care in the slightest.
Su Yan squinted slightly as he studied Xian Chengyue’s profile.
He could easily imagine just how popular Xian Chengyue must be in reality. He practically fit every single fantasy one could hold regarding a romantic partner: a flawless physique, an extraordinarily handsome face, and refusing to be a general-admission heartthrob making anyone yearn to be the “one and only” in his eyes.
Gradually, night fell.
Lying in bed, Su Yan couldn’t fall asleep, staring wide-eyed up at the ceiling beams. His mind seemed to race with countless thoughts, yet simultaneously blank.
Just as Su Yan prepared to close his eyes, the sound of a door opening suddenly rang in his ears.
Something coming in?
Su Yan whipped his head toward the doorway
Xian Chengyue pushed the door open, and then.
Amidst the radiant clarity of the moonlight, Xian Chengyue stepped right out the door.
Has he lost his mind?!