Chapter 88 – Hopeless Sea (12) Lost

The footage cut off abruptly, maliciously zooming in on the fish-headed humanoid monster.

Qi Si was so repulsed he let out a soft hiss of disgust.

Chang Xu had seen the same scene. He analysed calmly: “Those images were the clue tied to the Clock Tower. Yuna can control minds; you mustn’t look into her eyes. The fish-men on the island used to be human; the transformation probably happens by jumping into the sea.”

“After the monsters eat people, their scales moult into feathers. Yuna needs to collect those feathers—who knows why. When we cough up feathers, it’s likely her doing.”

Qi Si gave an agreeing grunt, then inexplicably recalled last night’s dream.

The girl curled in the corner looked harmless—who could guess she’d one day stand on this terrifying island as one of the Eerie?

On a stage brimming with sin, if you don’t become sin itself, you’ll be devoured by it.

So the victim sheds innocence, takes the sceptre of sin from the evil god, and continues the feast of original sin—

Again and again, without end.

Chang Xu had no memory of the dream. Seeing Qi Si offer nothing more, he continued: “That surviving boy seems to have a way to drive monsters off; that’s how he ran from the inn all the way to the top of the Clock Tower and died in peace. What the method is, we still don’t know…”

“Maybe Yuna let him go on purpose—bait for the trap? Or maybe she’s racking up good deeds to earn her ticket to heaven.” Qi Si cracked a lame joke, stepped to the railing and looked down at the island.

In the island’s centre the lush coconut grove was oddly broken by a smooth-edged circle, revealing glimpses of white marble buildings.

Qi Si pointed and smiled. “Brother Chang, safe bet—that’s the altar of the Sea God. My guess: the offering is human life. You agree?”

It was the obvious conclusion; otherwise Yuna wouldn’t bother forcing slaves she’d never met to jump into the sea.

Chang Xu went on: “Before ever coming to Hopeless Sea, Yuna likely struck a bargain with the Sea God and gained her mind-control power.”

“The deal’s still in force. Killing players can’t be the whole terms, or she wouldn’t bother giving us Calming Soup.”

“I think so too.” Qi Si backed to the stairwell and started down. “To squeeze maximum value out of us, she probably wants us brimming with sin before we die.”

Chang Xu followed a step behind. At the word “sin” he tilted his head. “You seem to know a lot. I don’t recall that topic on the Forum.”

Without looking back, Qi Si smiled. “Sounds like you know about it as well. Why don’t we trade information and see who’s better informed?”

“How did you find out?” Chang Xu pressed.

Qi Si’s grin widened. “Take a guess.”

“…”

In the silence Qi Si reached the bottom of the Clock Tower and pushed the door open.

Chang Xu followed soundlessly, once again his shadow.

Against the dusk, the slim marble building caught the light; colourful enamel blazed, splitting the sky with vivid greens and ochres.

The statue of an angel lowered its head, gazing gently yet sorrowfully at every passing creature on the island; its huge eyes slowly swept past the inn and out to the distant sea.

In front of the tower the two of them stood like specks, turning from the landmark and moving slowly into the woods.

They had taken only a few steps when a hymn burst out behind them in an unfamiliar tongue, as though an angel imprisoned in the tower were singing.

“In fear, in prayer, I saw only the sea and the souls drowning…”

“They said: we can’t go back, can’t go back, homeland is out of sight…”

“O God, save me—hold is cramped, corpses and cargo heaped…”

“They said: give up, give up—there’s no hope of going home…”

Chang Xu frowned, uneasy. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Qi Si produce a Recorder and fiddle with it intently.

“What are you doing?” Chang Xu asked.

Qi Si smiled brightly. “Pretty tune—I’m recording it to play later.”

The boy had carved the lyrics on the wall before he died, most likely to tell those who came after.

The line “O God, save me” linked up neatly with what they already knew—

Qi Si clearly remembered that in last night’s dream the believers had shouted those words the most.

Only an even more fanatical faith can stand against faith… Chang Xu stared at Qi Si, certain this temporary teammate’s mind was far from normal.

Reading his look, Qi Si sighed. “I do see a shrink every six months; my next check-up’s still two months away.”

Chang Xu: “…”

The Clock Tower’s bell rang at that moment, a cold clang dropping from the sky like a Christmas chime heralding angels and scattering evil.

After seven unhurried strokes the echoes were tossed by the sea wind, mingling with it for a long while before fading.

“The bell again—so noisy.”

Qi Si lifted a finger to his lips, giving a hyena grin. “Brother Chang, tell me—is that a prayer bell, or a death knell?”

…Inside the tower, Xu Ruozi followed Bai Yanduan, climbing the narrow dusty stair one step at a time.

Both were veterans who had cleared seven official instances. In reality they were low-level clerks in big companies; in the game a bad investment had just wiped them out, forcing them to queue for a new instance.

They chatted, found their views, strength and plight matched perfectly, and decided to team up.

They dared not go near the altar—both had been yanked into the Eerie Game after sudden death, and staying alive another day mattered more than points.

Building the boat only needed four people; by the time they arrived the slots were full, and forcing their way in would look shameless.

Yet doing nothing felt wrong.

After weighing options they agreed to explore the seemingly safer Clock Tower.

Quiet, dead air, the stench of decay… every unsettling element blended in the cramped darkness, spurring thoughts of Ghosts and danger.

Xu Ruozi stared at the great swath of feathers jutting from the wall, tucking her hair behind her ear in a habitual gesture to calm herself.

The suffocating hush pressed on her; desperate to break it, she hesitated, then spoke: “Yanduan, doesn’t it feel odd? We haven’t run into a single person…”

Bai Yanduan laughed without looking back. “Running into someone would be the scary part. In the pitch-black, a silhouette jumping out could stop your heart.”

Xu Ruozi was still uneasy. “But I heard loads of people say they were coming to the Clock Tower. How come we haven’t met a single soul? There’s no other exit, either—surely we can’t all have missed each other by timing?”

Bai Yanduan shrugged it off. “Maybe they were just talking big. Once they got out here they found somewhere to hide.

Between their words came a suspicious creak, like bare knuckles scraping the wall.

A chill raced down Xu Ruozi’s spine; she suddenly regretted having worn only a T-shirt into the instance for convenience.

She hugged herself, briskly rubbing goose-bumps to coax out a little warmth.

Somehow Bai Yanduan was already far ahead, no more than a blurred silhouette stitched into the dusk.

‘Yanduan—wait!’ she cried, but her voice came out a mosquito-whine.

Something icy settled on her shoulder; she glanced sideways and caught the glint of a bleached skeleton arm.

She tried to scream; her mouth opened, nothing emerged.

A cold voice asked, “Do you want to be a fish, or a bird?”

Fish? Bird? Xu Ruozi pictured a banquet of whole fish and, sensing danger, blurted, “I’ll be a bird!”

The voice tittered; countless shadows whispered and chattered.

“She chooses bird—new feathers for us…”

“Pluck the feathers, glue the wings; we’ll make an angel…”

Five or six skeletal arms slid from the wall, seized her limbs and dragged her toward the bricks.

“I was wrong!” she shrieked. “A fish—I’ll be a fish!”

The voices only laughed: “Then into the sea with her!”

The bones tightened; she couldn’t move. Only her mind still worked, as in the paralysis of a half-woken nightmare.

Inch by inch she was pulled to the wall; her back met the freezing bricks.

The grey blocks softened into a sludge that sucked at her skin; she sank slowly until the wall swallowed her whole.

As if waking from a dream she opened her eyes to a yellow sky and a vast ancient sail-ship.

Or perhaps it was only a dying flash: colour flickered once in her pupils, then left only boundless dark.

Seawater rushed into mouth and nose, filling every cavity and crevice of her body.

She was no longer herself—only a lump of the ocean, inorganic and adrift.

Down she sank, ever down, to the seabed…

In the palm grove Liu Yuhan and Zhang Hongfeng stared at the rolling head on the ground, frozen in shock.

Luckily the head soon fell silent, eyes closing as if truly dead, docile as any corpse.

Liu Yuhan was first to steady herself. “Back to the inn; we need to clean the blood,” she told the blood-smeared, dazed man beside her.

Zhang Hongfeng barely came round, still unable to look away. “What about the head? Should we take it to that young Lu fellow?”

He had a point: the thing had spoken, so it probably carried vital clues.

“Don’t touch it,” Liu Yuhan said. “First, it might be dangerous; second, if Yuna sees, she’ll get suspicious.”

Zhang Hongfeng nodded blankly.

The terror of having bitten human flesh still gripped him, yet he couldn’t help admiring these clever youngsters—he, a rough old labourer, was no match.

In truth Liu Yuhan herself was rattled, her thoughts a mess.

Yet instinct told her Zhang Hongfeng mustn’t risk touching the head again, so her brain automatically produced a string of airtight reasons.

In any case they couldn’t stay in the grove—who knew when the next coconut might drop as a head.

She tore a blank page from her notebook, scribbled a quick note of what had happened and wedged it into the half-repaired boat.

She led Zhang Hongfeng toward the inn at a brisk walk. Seemingly more fish-bone-and-feather things littered the path, several right in their way.

The palms still thrashed like living things; she had to push the fronds aside while Zhang Hongfeng, behind her, wordlessly kicked the feathers to the verge.

When they reached the clearing before the wooden building the Clock Tower struck seven.

No other players were in sight—most were still exploring the island.

The lobby was empty; no sign of Yuna behind the counter. The hush felt like an alien space you might wander into and never escape.

Liu Yuhan shook off her chaotic thoughts and stepped inside first.

Before the door stood two new statues since yesterday: one fish-headed but human-bodied, dressed in modern shirt and jacket—clearly Gao Musheng.

The second figure was covered head-to-toe in detailed fish-scales; the backpack on its shoulders identified the missing Xu Maochun.

Though carved from stone their eyes were alive, tracking Liu Yuhan and Zhang Hongfeng with the despair and terror of the drowning.

Zhang Hongfeng’s voice trembled. “Girl… are they still alive?”

“Gao Musheng is dead—eaten. He can’t be alive,” Liu Yuhan said flatly. “Stop imagining things. Let’s wash the blood off.”

“R-right!” Zhang Hongfeng looked round. “Where do we find water to wash?”

Liu Yuhan glanced at her notebook, then stared toward the counter.

Yesterday the wall behind it had been bare; now an angel painting hung there—tiny deformed wings, a face of pain and sorrow.

Angels again—why is Yuna so obsessed with these sad, grotesque ones? Liu Yuhan thought irritably, but kept her tone calm. “Uncle Zhang, let’s check the kitchen—there’ll be water there.”