Chapter 92: Hopeless Sea (XVI) Puzzle

In the room on the second floor of the hotel, the oil painting that Qi Si had wrapped in a bedsheet and thrown into a corner that morning was rehung on the wall. Below it, the bedsheets lay in a crumpled heap.

A small corner of the bedsheet was caught between the frame and the wall, like a lotus root whose fibers still clung, making one suspect that the painting had climbed onto the wall itself and then shaken off the bedsheet.

The composition of the painting was stark black and white; apart from Moses, the visual focal point, standing in the light, the surrounding scene was uniformly dark, even blending with the wall outside the painting, as if hinting that the player viewing the painting was also in darkness.

Moses, dressed in a white robe, looked terrified, his posture, holding his staff high, like a drowning person grasping at a straw, as if some fatal misfortune was befalling him, and only a higher-dimensional deity could bring salvation.

The fish bones beneath his feet had completely transformed into bird feathers, and countless black hands stretched out from the waves, grabbing at his body, as if to tear his skin and dig out his flesh… Chang Xu stared at the painting for two seconds, then uttered four words: “Faith is poisonous.”

Qi Si had heard this phrase many years ago, but now he feigned ignorance, raising an eyebrow and asking, “What does that mean?”

Chang Xu lowered his eyes and explained, “A senior once told me that the system of divine believers in strange games is built on transactions. Believers offer devout faith, and the gods must satisfy the believers’ desires, which is equivalent to an exchange of equal value.

“And this kind of faith, aimed at satisfying desires, is poisonous to the gods because it possesses coercive power under the witness of the rules.”

Qi Si thought of the scene in his dream where people put money and flesh into the donation box and then received feathers from the bishop, and he narrowed his eyes: “Believers offer sacrifices to the gods, and then they can tear off the gods’ feathers. The gods cannot refuse and must fulfill their wishes—is that what it means?”

“Something like that.” Chang Xu picked up the bedsheet and draped it over the painting frame. “That senior also told me that the extent to which a god fulfills a wish is determined by the value of the sacrifice.”

Qi Si asked, “How is the value of a sacrifice defined?”

Chang Xu shook his head: “It hasn’t been systematically tested yet. I don’t know.”

Later, Yuna brought two full bowls of Calming Soup and placed them steadily on the bedside table.

Qi Si asked knowingly, “Yuna, does everyone get a bowl of Calming Soup every day?”

Yuna looked up at him, her empty eyes bright and emotionless: “However many people book rooms, that’s how many bowls of Calming Soup there are. I like you, so I gave you an extra bowl of Calming Soup.”

“I see, then thank you very much.” Qi Si smiled and asked, “If I don’t drink the Calming Soup, is there any other way to fall asleep? I imagine the Sea God’s true self wouldn’t know about Calming Soup, right?”

Yuna was silent for two seconds, then slowly gestured with her hand: “Pray to the Sea God, and He will grant travelers peaceful sleep.”

The rules on the system interface stated that to pray to the Sea God, sufficient sacrifices must be prepared.

Qi Si humbly asked, “Then do you know what kind of sacrifices the Sea God likes? Or rather, what price do we need to pay?”

“Wealth, knowledge, life… anything of value can be a price. The Sea God will evaluate the value of your faith according to His needs.” Yuna swayed as she turned, gracefully walking away, her blue dress flowing like a stream.

“What about you?” Qi Si followed, pressing, “Yuna, what price did you pay? If you didn’t pay a price, then who paid your price for you?”

Yuna stopped, tilted her head, and looked over, her pupil-less blue eyes like a vast, continuous ocean.

Qi Si smiled and continued to ask, “How do these prices compare to the angel feathers you exchanged for? Which is heavier? Does the Sea God know that you don’t devoutly believe in Him, but instead foolishly aspire to become a god?”

Yuna dragged her shimmering skirt, her mouth suddenly stretching to her ears, revealing a set of white, fine, pointed teeth… A long, long time ago, a fishing town devoutly worshipped the Sea God who governed the ocean. The priestess, pure, kind, and beautiful, was beloved by almost all the townspeople.

The maiden lived in the temple, praying to the Sea God for calm seas and offering blessings to those who went out to sea. Although the Sea God had long been dormant and did not always respond, she still loved the god as she loved herself, for she had been sent to the temple since birth, and the Sea God was the meaning of her existence.

The maiden should have lived her life amidst the respect and adoration of the townspeople, but unfortunately, good times did not last. A red-robed High Priest arrived in the town on a stormy night, bringing a new faith and the doctrines of a new god.

On the first day, He used divine power to stop the storm; on the second day, He found the townspeople trapped at sea; on the third day, He caused fish to strand on the shore, allowing the townspeople to get through the rainy season when it was inconvenient to go out to sea.

On one side was the silent Sea God, on the other was the High Priest who brought tangible benefits; the choice was not difficult to make. Half of the townspeople abandoned their faith in the Sea God and turned to follow the new god with white wings preached by the High Priest.

Although the maiden felt sad, she could understand the townspeople’s actions. After all, she could sense the weakening of the Sea God’s power; He was injured and unable to protect all His followers, so having a new god protect them was a good choice.

The new god’s church rose in the town, even more magnificent than the Sea God Temple. The maiden saw it, tacitly allowing the transgression, and merely continued to sweep the temple, wipe the idol, and talk to the Sea God.

However, the High Priest was not satisfied with the maiden’s concession. In the first mass, He declared all townspeople who worshipped the Sea God to be sinful heretics, who must be isolated and ostracized to show the believers’ devotion to the new god.

The new god’s believers were nourished by divine power, enjoying bountiful harvests and flourishing; the old god’s believers were excluded, only able to sigh enviously. Gradually, the previously wavering townspeople also abandoned the Sea God and embraced the new god.

The maiden had to leave the dilapidated and desolate temple to question the High Priest why He wanted to wipe them out completely.

“Since the Ancestor God is dead, the old god who followed Him should not continue to exist.” The High Priest lowered His crimson eyes, speaking words the maiden did not understand. “The defeated should be swept into the dust of history, buried in old graves, scorned and hated by the world, forgotten and discarded by all existence.”

The maiden felt fear and pleaded with the High Priest not to completely eradicate her and her faith.

The High Priest asked in confusion, “All religions and faiths are the same, taking children from their parents, and parents from their children, then making parents and children love the god more than they love each other—what difference does it make whether that god is a new god or an old god?

“The old god is high above yet outwardly fierce but inwardly weak, accustomed to taking and not knowing how to love you; although I also have designs on you, I can appear to love you more than He, and I do not force you to abandon worldly joys—what more could you be unsatisfied with?”

The maiden did not know the answer, but still moved out of the temple, taking only an idol of the old god as a memento. The old god’s temple was burned to the ground by the townspeople, and the maiden was no longer a priestess, but an ordinary woman.

She married an ordinary man and gave birth to a girl with fish scales on her neck. Because of the anomaly in her throat, the girl was born unable to make a sound, only able to laugh, but not cry.

The High Priest heard the news and came, declaring that the girl was cursed by the old god and was a witch who would bring misfortune; the old god’s idol secretly kept by the woman became evidence of inviting trouble.

The townspeople drove the mother and daughter out of the town, declaring they would never welcome them back. The woman asked the High Priest why He was so cruel to them.

The High Priest laughed: “Merely bestowing blessings may not earn devout faith; I want them to see the price of believing in heresy, and thus feel fear. You, who still believe in the old god to this day, are the best example.”

The woman knew that she could not defy the High Priest with her own strength; all she could do was obey His will.

Since the girl’s birth, an unprecedented emotion had grown in her heart, overshadowing her original love for herself and her faith in the Sea God. She told the High Priest that as long as the girl could grow up safely, she was willing to convert to the new god.

The High Priest magnanimously brought the mother and daughter back to the town. Although they were still discriminated against and ostracized by the townspeople, they would not be driven away or even killed.

Traces of the old god were forbidden, becoming an unmentionable taboo. From the time she could remember, the girl devoutly believed in the new god and was greatly troubled by the fish scales on her neck.

She asked her mother about the origin of the fish scales more than once, and her mother repeatedly hesitated, deceiving her by saying it was a sign of transforming into an angel. The girl never doubted her mother’s words and couldn’t understand why she was considered ominous by the townspeople.

After a mass, the girl secretly crawled through a hole in the wall into the church, where the townspeople never allowed her to enter. She passed through the chapel, confessionals, and main hall, and accidentally stumbled into a cemetery filled with a terrifying and eerie atmosphere.

She saw the red-robed High Priest squatting among the tombs, dragging a human corpse covered in fish scales from a coffin. He stripped off the mottled, putrid shroud, then cut His own wrist and smeared the overflowing golden blood onto the corpse.

Like applying a glaze to a finished pottery, the dirty scales on the corpse’s surface elongated into white feathers, and the rotten spine unfurled into angel wings, with a few feathers plucked off, scattering golden-red blood.

The girl was stunned. So fish scales really could grow into feathers, and people really could become angels after death, but she never expected it to be in such a terrifying form.

But as the angel opened its golden eyes, its face becoming sacred and beautiful, she felt that everything before her wasn’t terrifying at all; instead, it resembled a sacred ritual.

The High Priest helped the angel up from the ground, making it stand by the tombstone, like a prelude to parting with a dance partner before the ball ended.

He walked towards the girl step by step, smiling wickedly yet sacredly, “By appropriately making concessions to drive out all competitors, they will have no choice but to believe in me. Even if the benefits I give them dwindle and what I take from them increases, they will have no other option.

“I take from their hands what rightfully belongs to them, then casually pluck a tiny fraction to give as alms, and they are forced to be grateful to me, simply because they don’t want to be among those who lose, but among those who gain.

“As long as half of them receive something, I will gain the support of that half, even if the other half is exploited and oppressed more terribly. They will only think it’s because they weren’t devout enough—

“You want to be one of them, don’t you?”

The girl didn’t understand what the High Priest was saying, but she could feel the dangerous malice hidden within his words. Suppressing the tension in her heart, she quickly gestured with her hands to tell the High Priest that she wanted to grow up quickly and become an angel.

The High Priest smiled even more brightly, “I know you. You are as beautiful as your mother. I think I might need a true priest, or perhaps, an ‘angel.'”

He snapped his fingers, and the newborn angel reverted into a corpse, yet its hideous eyes remained wide open, stiffly rigid, its maggot-ridden eye sockets staring at the girl.

The girl retreated in fear, but when she reached the wall, she made some kind of decision and stopped.

The High Priest seemed to have anticipated this, his tone playful, “As you can see, I am an evil god who can only create terrifying specters, unafraid to deceive foolish lost souls with the greatest malice.

“Having witnessed the truth, do you still want to become one of these corrupt, festering angels under my command?”

The girl thought of her past, cowering with her mother in the dark attic, of the glorious sight of angels being revered by the townsfolk, of her mother secretly weeping late at night, and she nodded seriously.

She thought, if she could become an angel, she and her mother would no longer have to face the world’s malice and ostracism.

It was the fish scales on her neck that harmed her mother; it was only right that she should end this farce. Mother would be proud of her.

“Have you made your decision so quickly? What a good child.”

The High Priest’s smile widened, and the desolate graves were reflected in his crimson eyes: “Then, kill your mother, the heretic. Perhaps you will become a deity even more exalted than an angel.”

…When Qi Si returned to the room, Chang Xu was staring at the Calming Soup on the nightstand.

Hearing footsteps, he picked up a bowl of soup and gestured with his eyes for Qi Si to take the other.

After establishing their cooperative relationship, this ‘tool’ always had a strange insistence on doing things together, even drinking soup.

Qi Si knew this was because his own credibility was poor, and the other party was afraid that any step might go wrong, leading to him being tricked again.

He pretended not to know, and smiled bitterly with a sense of shared misfortune, “According to Yuna, the number of Calming Soups is determined by the number of people who booked rooms. Brother Chang, do you think if I hadn’t shared a room with you, Xu Maochun wouldn’t have died?”

Chang Xu looked at the young man with some surprise, sensing that something was off.

When did this guy, who tricks people without batting an eye, ever feel sorry for others?

But he still followed Qi Si’s lead and pondered the topic, commenting, “Yuna was the one who distributed the Calming Soup; Xu Maochun’s death was orchestrated by her.”

This was a fact, and the most rational perspective.

Qi Si, however, shook his head, “But Brother Chang, have you ever considered that with the total survival probability remaining constant, everyone’s survival rate must inevitably wax and wane?

“The total number of living slots is fixed. One person’s survival means another’s death. Everyone who survives is a murderer, but due to the diffusion of responsibility, the guilt cannot be pinned on an individual… Among us official players, who is innocent?”

Chang Xu frowned slightly, subconsciously touching the back of his neck, “We are all guilty. Since we can enter this eerie game, innocence is irrelevant. Strive to survive, strive to clear the final dungeon, and then all the deceased can be resurrected.”

Qi Si sighed, “But for thirty-six years, no one has ever triggered the final dungeon. How do you know it’s not a hoax? Even if we take it a step further, what right do others have to make decisions on behalf of someone else, to let one person die first and another live later?”

Chang Xu remained silent for a long time, then said, “While ensuring my own survival, I will rescue those I can. I’ll save those I know and am close to first, then strangers and those I’m distant from.

“But no matter what, I will never harm others for survival. There are some things that simply cannot be done; once you cross that line, you’re no different from a demon or a beast.”

“Still a utilitarianism that divides people into different ranks…”

Qi Si picked up a bowl and placed it on the other nightstand, then asked earnestly, “Brother Chang, what if we only got one bowl of soup between us? What would you do?”

Chang Xu answered without hesitation, “We’d each drink half.”

Qi Si chuckled, “If one person drinks it, there’s a 100% chance one person survives; as for half each, there’s a 50% chance both of us die. Considering the dosage issue, plus a bit of Murphy’s Law, choosing the latter will most likely result in both of us dying.”

Chang Xu understood Qi Si’s unspoken meaning and remained silent.

He was accustomed to using force in the struggle for survival and competing for resources, but his seniors at the Investigation Bureau had told him more than once to abide by legal and moral rules and not to actively harm others… Qi Si smiled and said, “Brother Chang, you must have made a decision already, right? Here’s a suggestion: if you really encounter such a situation and want to sleep soundly, you can kill me first, to prevent me from getting bored and stabbing you a few times if I can’t sleep.”

The nonchalant words were extremely jarring to hear, yet they represented the most efficient and correct choice; otherwise, it could very likely lead to the worst outcome of both of them dying.

But for survival, must one truly kill an innocent person?

Chang Xu lowered his eyes and said faintly, “If I had known earlier that the number of rooms booked determined the number of soup bowls, I wouldn’t have chosen to share a room.”

“Unfortunately, there are no ‘ifs’,” Qi Si said, having successfully misled his ‘tool’s’ thoughts. He calmly lay back on the bed, closing his eyes to rest, “And—if you don’t want to drink that bowl of soup, just pour it out. Time’s almost up; it’ll be useless if you don’t drink it soon.”

Chang Xu slowly formed a question mark with his eyes, but no longer dawdled. He reached for the bowl and drank it in one gulp, his attention successfully diverted by the dilemma. In the end, he didn’t check whether Qi Si had also drunk the Calming Soup.

Qi Si heard his teammate’s breathing become long and steady, assuming he had fallen asleep under the effects of the Calming Soup.

He silently opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

The grooves between the wooden planks twisted into scarred, pitted marks, dotted like pathological herpes.

He unfocused his eyes, letting the scene before him dissolve into blurry color blocks, and his mind spontaneously began to review everything that had happened since entering the dungeon.

Disordered time, the beach after the shipwreck, white statues, Yuna, Lu Li… scene after scene and character after character, images and colors, expressions and dialogues, were re-arranged and performed in his mind like a stage play.

Sometimes fast-forwarded, sometimes slowed down, ultimately extracting two plot points.

The discussion about cooperation on the first evening, the speculation about the murderer on the second evening. Others came and went on stage, but one person always remained at the center, playing the protagonist… Qi Si placed the murderer in the protagonist’s position and put himself in their shoes to think.

“If I obtained certain clues about the altar, to verify their authenticity, I would inevitably lure other players to test the waters.

“My obstruction of other players could only mean that I am absolutely certain about the clues and have identified something within them that is beneficial to me, something I am determined to obtain.

“I have an accomplice, whom I’ll assume I can trust; my ability to determine key clues on the first day indicates considerable strength. Under these conditions, to acquire something in the dungeon, the best choice is to seize leadership…”

A bell chimed, interrupting his thoughts. Qi Si felt something and looked towards the window.

Dong, dong, dong… Ten chimes, one after another, echoed in the silent world, then quickly faded into stillness.

Qi Si sat up, picked up his own bowl of soup, and with a flick of his wrist, poured all the liquid onto the floor.

He was already in the game, and being pulled left and right by the strategists was not what he wanted; what he always wanted to do was overturn the chessboard.

Water stains spread across the wooden floor before him, and the light around him suddenly dimmed. Gray mist seeped in through the cracks of the windows and door, carrying the salty smell of seawater, adhering to the walls and condensing into fine droplets, penetrating the decaying wood in a few seconds.

With a “clatter,” the window blew open, revealing a dull yellow sky diagonally opposite the bed.

Clouds rolled, clustered in heaps, uneven like the pus-filled blisters of a burn victim.

Qi Si saw a giant golden eye embedded in the clouds, silently casting its gaze downwards.