Chapter 86 – The Hopeless Sea (10) Joy-Lays

Qi Si sat quietly for a moment, then felt an itch rise in his throat, as if some furry, living thing were clawing at his windpipe.

While the other players were still wrestling with the fish on the table, he slipped back to the second floor and into his own room.

The bed-sheet that had wrapped the painting had somehow come undone, revealing the white-robed man standing in the center of the canvas.

It was already morning; last night’s face of resentment had retracted every shred of malice and gloom, once again wearing a look of sacred compassion. The fish bones scattered at his feet now lay meekly on the sand, quiet and docile.

Qi Si noticed that the nearest few bones, from this angle, had softened edges and delicate barbs—they had clearly turned into the feathers of white birds.

The itch in his throat grew sharper, impossible to suppress; he coughed violently, large clumps of white feathers mixing with blood and spattering the floor, along with the seaweed he’d swallowed earlier—like ulcerated patches on flesh.

“Was the food off—or just that plate of seaweed?” Qi Si narrowed his eyes.

Too few clues and no control group; no way to be sure.

He kicked the feathers under the bed, re-wrapped the frame in its sheet, and headed straight for the backpacker’s room.

The single room near the stairs was fairly tidy—except the wooden window stood suspiciously wide open. On the sill were no feathers or blood, only a single human palm-print.

After its owner vanished without a sound, the hiking pack lay quietly on the nightstand, zipper still tightly closed.

Evidently Lu Li’s speech had done its work; the players had once again donned their moral finery and, under the young professor’s gaze, preserved a decent semblance of humanity—no looting of corpses.

Qi Si stepped forward and unzipped the pack; it was crammed with books thick and thin, large and small.

He pulled one out—<i>Ten Thousand Cold Jokes</i>.

Well, the poor fellow must have had a sense of humor.

He drew out another: the cover showed two obvious xiangsheng comedians, titled <i>Peerless Pair of Jokers</i>.

After turning the bag inside out he found nothing but books and cigarettes.

Qi Si felt pranked, even beginning to suspect someone had come ahead of him and stripped anything of value.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs; he quickly restored the pack, stepped aside, and pretended to study the traces.

Two seconds later a green-haired Angela burst in. Spotting Qi Si, she nodded with an I-knew-it smile and greeted him.

In this instance her identity was “Scholar,” an effect that let her sense the location of money.

After Yuna handed out the paper cash, she could clearly see fifteen tiny dots on her interface—herself included.

This was her first instance as a formal player; her combat stats were low and she had no skills unlocked. Presumably the game had balanced power by giving her an information-heavy role.

Information, as everyone knows, is the foundation of gaming; in competitive play its value far outweighs items or brute strength.

So, upon discovering two deaths and only thirteen dots left, Angela resolved to be first to loot the corpses after lunch for more intel.

Qi Si turned to her with a gentle smile. “I just arrived myself, hoping to find clues. A living person always leaves traces—might help us clear the instance.”

…Like I’d believe that.

Angela shot his obviously fake smile a glance, then unceremoniously yanked open the backpack.

Nothing useful inside.

Had someone beaten her to it, or had there never been anything informative?

Suspicious, she glanced at Qi Si spectating nearby and said openly, “Pity—I was hoping to recycle some cash.”

“Something happened last night, but I can’t remember a thing. Any new leads on your side? After a whole night we still don’t know what the money’s for besides room fees…”

She suddenly coughed, cupped a feather that flew from her mouth, hid it behind her back, paled slightly, then regained composure.

Qi Si pretended not to notice, looking reflective. “I’ve heard the saying ‘money makes the devil turn the millstone.’ But judging by how the cash vanished once Yuna got it, the ghosts here can’t hold onto it.”

“True—ghosts can’t keep money yet have to hand it out; the setup’s contradictory. Too few clues, no direction at all.”

Angela shook her head. “And the side quests feel off too. We’re supposed to cooperate to escape, yet we’re split into three hostile camps with flimsy reasons…”

Qi Si raised an eyebrow, inviting her to continue.

Word by word she said, “I suspect the island’s money isn’t currency at all—it’s our life points made visible. The more you hold, the longer you survive here.

“Factor that in and the hostility makes sense: the total money among players is fixed; to get more, you have to kill the others.”

Qi Si cut in: “But so far, when a player dies, their money disappears.”

“Only if they’re killed by ghosts. Both deaths so far were ghost-caused…” Angela lowered her voice into secret-sharing tones. “People have to die eventually; being wasted on ghosts seems such a loss. Ever thought of… killing another player yourself?”

Qi Si smiled half-mockingly. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll tell Lu Li every word you just said?”

Angela flashed an innocent little-girl grin. “You won’t—because you’re thinking the same, aren’t we?… We’re the same kind.”

A familiar scene tugged old memories; Qi Si’s grin turned sardonic. “The last person who told me that is already dead.”

Angela kept smiling, provocative. “You can’t kill me, ‘Noble’ sir.”

Seeing Qi Si’s silent stare, she sighed theatrically. “Your duo with Chang Xu is too eye-catching; I couldn’t resist using a Peek Card on you. Looks like it paid off.”

Qi Si’s breath caught. “You’ve investigated Chang Xu outside? I’m sure I never posted anything about myself on the forum.”

Angela beamed. “He’s been rising fast lately; even without digging, the name sticks.”

With that, the girl strode out, certain Qi Si wouldn’t refuse her proposal.

Qi Si watched her leave in silence, the gloom on his face fading into calm.

He could be sure some players here held special items, and a portion of them—like Angela—might misjudge his role out of habit.

Veterans might have more experience and deeper insight, but in this faction game everyone’s information was equal: you knew only your own role, not others’ camps.

He was a rookie, yet not necessarily at an absolute disadvantage.

Qi Si descended the stairs and ran into Chang Xu at the bend.

Chang Xu said calmly, “I was just coming to find you. Everyone else has set off. After you left, every person still at the table started vomiting feathers—I did too. Lu Li suspects the food was tainted.”

“Possible.” Qi Si nodded. “I coughed up feathers as well. Unfortunately, without a control group, we can’t tell whether it’s from eating the inn’s food or simply spending a night on the island.”

“I’m not eating tonight; tomorrow we’ll have our answer.” Chang Xu paused. “Any plans for today’s exploration?”

Qi Si glanced at his pocket-watch and smiled. “I’d like to check out the Clock Tower. Shall we split up or go together?”

“Together.”

Between the inn and the Clock Tower stretched a dense coconut grove. The trees huddled in defiance of natural law; plant-choked paths twisted like entrails, and giant tropical fronds blocked every line of sight.

Fortunately the tower rose high enough to guide them onward. Marble wings of an angel, carved on its flank, draped downward like a robe, the lowered eyes watching players as if in invitation.

Chang Xu and Qi Si walked single file toward the tower, their steps crunching forearm-long feathers that, when kicked aside, proved only to be fish-bones.

Unlike yesterday’s bones in the sand, today the tip of each had softened, already taking on the texture of plumage.

The word metamorphosis surfaced unbidden in Qi Si’s mind.

On the island, fish-bones were turning into bird-feathers with time; fish becoming birds seemed an iron law of this instance—no reason, no prerequisite. Half an hour later the foliage thinned, a flat clearing opened, and a golden sky appeared overhead.

Qi Si and Chang Xu halted at the base of the tower just as the bell high above tolled six times—noon by the island’s reckoning.

The tall religious edifice, all in black, looked like a gash against the orange-yellow sky. A low bronze door faced the inn, thick vines dangling from its arch, the metal mottled with rust.

Qi Si slid a wire from his wristband, inserted it into the corroded lock, and twisted.

A crisp click. He glanced back. “Brother Chang, shall we go inside?”

Chang Xu’s gaze was unreadable as he offered the age-old line: “Since we’re here…”

Qi Si stepped aside, ushering Chang Xu forward. “After you, Brother Chang; I’ll bring up the rear.”

“Back then I was dirt-poor; I took whatever job came and picked up a few crafts on the side. I apprenticed to a master carver—wood sculpture, model ships—and after watching long enough I got the gist…”

In the coconut grove Zhang Hongfeng whittled wood with a knife, muttering incessantly.

Liu Yuhan hugged a notebook, sitting quietly nearby, a quill in her hand, sketching and scribbling.

This was her skill, “Strange Tale Notebook,” usable three times per instance.

By spending ample time recording what she saw, she could obtain crucial clues for clearing the level—and, if luck smiled, even learn the optimal route.

In the Hopeless Sea instance her first hint had been: “Beware the Scholar.”

Seemed like empty advice; as a Noble she naturally had to watch out for Scholars whose faction quest was “Kill Nobles.”

Yet she sensed a deeper meaning.

Was it the entire Scholar camp, or one particular academic?

Was some dangerous individual lurking among the players, someone she must treat with caution?

Unable to decide and afraid to speak out, she maintained vigilance toward everyone.

“Ship” was her second hint.

After breakfast she hastily rallied a group into the grove; hours of digging in the sand uncovered the broken hull of a wooden vessel.

Though battered, the boat was not beyond repair; a little refitting would make it seaworthy enough to leave the island.

Strange Tale Notebook warned the craft could carry only four players. Liu Yuhan knew she couldn’t save everyone; saving three—including herself—was an ending she could accept.

Every Eerie Game instance had a solution; the drawn players each possessed part of the required toolkit. Their abilities formed jigsaw pieces that, fitted together, produced a perfect answer.

Zhang Hongfeng clearly embodied the ship-repair escape route, while other players must represent alternative solutions.

Praying to the Sea God, or—following the feather clue—turning into birds that could fly away… Liu Yuhan remembered the myth of Icarus and Daedalus fashioning wings of wax and feathers to flee Crete.

Only because Icarus flew too high did the sun melt the wax, sending both to drown and be buried on an island.

She wondered whether that myth would resonate in this instance.

While continuing to piece clues together, she mentally organized all data on Hopeless Sea so she could post a walkthrough the instant they cleared it.

Some time later two scouts returned to the grove, arms full of coconuts.

One grinned. “Told you the island couldn’t have only that cursed food—let those dead fish rot! Tonight we won’t touch the inn’s garbage even if we die.”

The other beamed at Liu Yuhan: “Boss Yuhun, make do with these for now—I’ll hunt for more tropical fruit!”

She nodded politely. Though her forum fame usually earned her deference, she still felt awkward with such warmth.

The pair set the coconuts down and left.

Zhang Hongfeng halted his work, split a coconut with his knife and offered it to her. “Little lady, you brainy folk burn the most energy—take a break.”

Liu Yuhan declined. “Thank you, I don’t like it.”

Her curtness didn’t bother him; he simply drank the milk himself.

Sweet yet not cloying, the juice quenched the heat; after a morning’s labor it was perfect relief.

He emptied it quickly, then scooped out the flesh.

A faint metallic tang of blood drifted past; Liu Yuhan tensed and snapped her head up.

Blood sheeted Zhang Hongfeng’s mouth, streaming down his chin onto his chest.

And what he cradled in his left arm was no coconut but a gory, half-shredded human head.

Liu Yuhan’s scream jammed in her throat; she pointed at the man devouring raw flesh, unable to speak.

Seeing her horror, Zhang Hongfeng jolted as though hauled from deep water, his mind abruptly clear.

He looked down, found his hands dripping red, and collapsed with a shriek.

“Mother of—what in blazes is this?!”

The head rolled free, righted itself, and howled in a tongue neither spoke—yet through the Eerie Game’s translation both understood: “Run! Yuna is going to kill us all! Beware Crouch—they’re in league, they all seek godhood…”