Chapter 114: Shuangxi Town (8) The Chain Curse

In the nightmare, Shang Qingbei lost track of how many loops he had experienced.

Every time he thought he was awake—whether he dashed out the door or huddled under the covers to feign sleep—the surrounding scene would always collapse after a while.

He opened his eyes time and again, seeing the exact same ceiling and Xier’s terrifying face on the adjacent bed every single time.

He mechanically ran out the door over and over, repeating the process of encountering the ghost disguised as Qi Si, escaping, and waking up. His fear grew more lush with each iteration.

【”Zhang Sheng was trapped in a nightmare, his body wasted away, in a daze, not knowing where he came from.”】

Tales of the strange and supernatural had long foreshadowed the mechanics of this crisis, yet they never told players the specific solution… “Shang Siyuan.” Waking up once more, Shang Qingbei heard a neutral voice whispering in his ear, speaking his real name.

He hadn’t heard that name in the game for a long time… Who was it? Why did they know it?

Shang Qingbei jerked his head toward the source of the sound, but saw nothing.

“You were destined to sleep forever in an endless dream, but perhaps I can help you wake from this nightmare,” the voice whispered enticingly.

Shang Qingbei asked, “Who are you? You say you want to help me—what price must I pay?”

The voice continued as if talking to itself, “I will provide assistance within the rules; in exchange, you must do one thing for me.”

On the system interface, two lines of notification text refreshed.

【side quest refreshed】

【side quest (Optional): Sabotage Xier’s wedding】

A side quest had actually been triggered? It seemed these loops weren’t just bad luck, but an important plot point where danger and opportunity coexisted.

Shang Qingbei knew that completing side quests often yielded vital clues and boosted performance scores; it was all gain and no pain.

—Especially since it was an optional task he could choose to do or not.

Hoping to fish for more clues, he feigned hesitation: “Why sabotage Xier’s wedding? She’s just an orphan girl. Isn’t it good for her to have someone to take care of her after she marries?”

The voice replied, “After Xier marries, she will be pushed into a well. Her resentment will merge into the water to nourish the God of Joy. This is the rule that has sustained Shuangxi Town until now.”

As expected, a grand celebration held once every forty-nine years was nothing good.

The voice’s explanation matched the usual tropes of ghost stories and fit his subconscious expectations; Shang Qingbei believed it without suspicion.

“Fine, I agree,” he said. “Shuangxi Town holds a sacrifice every forty-nine years, right? Why was this set of rules established?”

Shang Qingbei had systematically studied strategy posts on the game Forum and had a faint premonition that he might become the first player to crack the world-building.

That self-righteous “Qi Wen” always looked down on him, not knowing that the timing, location, and circumstances were all on his side… At the thought of the black-haired youth’s condescending face, a hint of anticipation rose in Shang Qingbei’s heart, like a student who had solved the final big math problem on an exam and was eager to run out and tell the whole class.

He waited solemnly, and the voice behind his ear said coldly, in the tone of a chief judge announcing a statute: “rules are simply rules.”

This was clearly a brush-off. Shang Qingbei wanted to press further, but felt something strike the back of his head hard.

Unable to react in time, he tumbled forward.

The world spun before his eyes as he felt himself falling into a bottomless vortex, down and down… After an unknown amount of time, his back hit something solid. A soft mattress lay over hard boards; it should be the bed in the eastern wing.

His eyelids were heavy, and he could only vaguely sense a bit of dim light, but his consciousness was awake, and he could hear voices nearby.

First was Li Yao’s voice, carrying the lingering fear of a survivor: “I had a dream last night. I dreamed I was wearing wedding clothes, sitting in a bridal chamber, and there was a well outside the door. I walked out and saw a woman sitting by the well. She was in white clothes, clearly not human, and she asked me to save her. Somehow I agreed, and then I found myself lying at the bottom of the well, surrounded by corpses…”

“The fact that you could wake up means it wasn’t a death point; it was probably just trying to tell you something through a dream.” It was Qi Si’s voice, calm and gentle. “By the way, I also had a dream last night. I dreamed you became a ghost and asked me if you were dead or alive.”

Li Yao asked, “How did you answer?”

“Alive.” A hint of a smile entered Qi Si’s voice. “Combining the boatman’s words with the clues we obtained later, it can be determined that ‘Ghosts and humans take different paths; yin and yang follow separate ways’ is the core rule of this instance.”

“If I had said the ghost pretending to be you was dead, I, standing with her, probably wouldn’t have survived either. Besides, what if my words became reality and you actually died?”

The last sentence was joking in nature, yet it contained a hint of concern.

Shang Qingbei listened with his eyes closed, memorizing Qi Si’s analysis.

—So it wasn’t just him; others had encountered Ghosts pretending to be players too?

—No, this was all just “Qi Wen’s” side of the story. The situation Li Yao encountered was different from his!

His thoughts touched upon a certain inconsistency, and Shang Qingbei finally sat bolt upright with a sharp rustle.

The morning light pierced through the window lattice, casting a cluster of white silk shadows at the foot of the bed. Dust and fibers floating in the air refracted the path of the light.

The others had long since awakened and had been discussing for some time. Hearing the noise Shang Qingbei made, they all turned their gazes toward him.

Qi Si watched Shang Qingbei with interest, his finger tapping rhythmically against the edge of the bed.

Shang Qingbei looked back at him, cleared his throat, and said word by word: “Qi Wen, I dreamed last night that you became a ghost.”

Seeing the youth adopt an attentive expression, he continued: “I was suspicious of you from the very beginning, so I asked if you were human or ghost. You told me the words ‘Eerie Game,’ and only then did I believe you were a player… If the one in the dream was really a ghost, how could it know about the existence of the Eerie Game?”

A ghost being able to say the words “Eerie Game” was even weirder than the Eerie Game itself. Established rules being broken was like waking up one morning to see the sun had turned into a red eye.

Qi Si raised an eyebrow slightly: “From the sound of it, you’ve already preset an answer in your heart and decided that I’m the problem?”

“After encountering something like that, it’s hard for me not to suspect you, isn’t it?” Shang Qingbei’s tone was stiff. “I just want a reasonable explanation.”

He gave a simplified account of his experience the previous night, emphasizing the loops within the dream while omitting the voice at the end and the side quest.

Even he didn’t understand why he wanted to hide information that was very likely to be important clues.

“Dreams have no logic. What you think about by day, you dream of by night. The specific explanation depends on you.”

Qi Si made his judgment with a straight face, casting a suspicious look back at Shang Qingbei.

Observing the latter’s flustered and angry expression, he rested his chin on his hand and patiently spun a lie: “The dreams we had are said to be a mechanism of the instance itself, but their essence is still images generated by the human brain. The development and direction are influenced by our own thoughts.”

“Initially, you believed the ‘me’ in the dream was human, which is why you could hear the words ‘Eerie Game’ from my mouth.”

“Based on what happened later, I suspect you had already decided in your heart that I was a problem. Is that so?”

A lie shouldn’t be too rigid; it needed to be both logically self-consistent and leave plenty of room for imagination.

According to the effect of closure, when people perceive things, if the object of perception is incomplete, they will naturally use association to mentally complete the incomplete object.

Once a victim has been led to believe a lie, even if they find flaws or loopholes, they will use their own associations to fill them in, leaving a deep impression and internal conviction.

Qi Si lowered his eyes, showing an appropriate amount of worry and difficulty: “Shang Qingbei, I don’t know why you have such a big problem with me, but I still hope you can set aside your prejudices, at least until we clear this instance safely.”

“Speaking of which, this instance is very strange. It gives me a bad premonition. The last time I felt this way was during my third instance…”

He didn’t continue.

Every player’s third instance might differ in content, but the significance was the same: it was a trial of narrow escapes and hanging by a thread, hardly different from dying once.

Du Xiaoyu quickly spoke up to comfort him: “Brother Qi, don’t mind that kid! You’re more experienced than any of us; you’ll definitely be fine!”

Liu Bingding also said, “Exactly. If a veteran player like you runs into trouble, none of us will likely survive!”

A strong person’s moderate display of weakness often effectively stirred the concern and sympathy of others. People were happy to seize the opportunity to show their empathy and sense of justice.

Shang Qingbei hadn’t seen much of such manipulation. Hearing these manipulative words only made him feel uncomfortable, and he argued somewhat awkwardly: “What problem could I have with you? I’m just discussing the facts. Anyone who had a dream like that would be suspicious, wouldn’t they?”

“No, according to a normal thought process, you should be suspicious of the instance mechanism, not me.” Qi Si turned his gaze toward Du Xiaoyu beside him.

Du Xiaoyu took the hint and chimed in: “I even dreamed you became a ghost last night, and I didn’t say I suspected you.”

Liu Bingding followed up: “I dreamed of a ghost disguised as Du Xiaoyu. Hey, now that you mention it, it seems like all of our dreams form a chain. Li Yao dreamed of the ghost in the well, Qi Wen dreamed of Li Yao, Shang Qingbei dreamed of Qi Wen, and Du Xiaoyu dreamed of Shang Qingbei…”

Shang Qingbei shut his mouth sheepishly.

Li Yao said hesitantly: “A town holding a wedding, yet the sky is full of joss paper used for funerals. Last night, everyone except me dreamed of a Coffin stopping outside the courtyard. There are two joys in life: one is marriage, and the other is a funeral… What do you all think about the world-building of this instance?”

“A ghost marriage, obviously,” Du Xiaoyu blurted out. “Isn’t it obvious? Out of ten Chinese horror games, six or seven are about ghost marriages.”

“It’s unlikely to be a ghost marriage, right?” Liu Bingding shook his head. “According to the instance themes compiled on the Forum, not a single instance in thirty-six years has been a ghost marriage. There are rumors that this theme violates a certain taboo and isn’t allowed by the rules…”

Of course it couldn’t be a ghost marriage. It was clearly a sacrifice held every forty-nine years, sacrificing a girl to nourish the God of Joy with resentment.

Shang Qingbei silently repeated the conclusion he had drawn from his dream, somewhat hesitant about whether to make this information public as soon as possible.

Firstly, he wasn’t familiar with the others. Sharing clues proactively was a thankless task; unnecessary kindness often hid ulterior motives.

Secondly, without evidence, more talk meant more mistakes. Those people blindly trusted “Qi Wen”; who knew if they would pick apart his words and suspect him of plotting something… With that moment of hesitation, the topic passed by.

Liu Bingding asked, “Are there any new clues on the phone? I remember Xu Wen said she would send some photos every day.”

“I checked first thing this morning. Not a damn thing. Who knows if that NPC is reliable?” Du Xiaoyu tossed the phone onto the bed.

Shang Qingbei was the closest, so he grabbed the phone. As soon as he turned it on, he found half the battery was gone.

It was clearly full yesterday. At this rate, how could it last for seven days?

“Why is the battery draining so fast? Did someone secretly touch the phone?” Shang Qingbei looked at Du Xiaoyu suspiciously.

Just as Du Xiaoyu was about to lose his temper, Qi Si, the culprit, spoke up at the right time: “We discussed this before. The Eerie Game strictly controls electronic products like phones. Even if they appear as items, there are probably usage restrictions.”

“The battery level corresponds to the time limit. Half the battery is lost every day. In other words, this item can only be used for one more day.”

Listening from the side, Liu Bingding’s expression turned grave: “Then what do we do? If the phone runs out of power, how will we contact Xu Wen?”

“So we need to collect clues as quickly as possible to crack the world-building.” Shang Qingbei lowered his head and clicked into the phone’s photo album to browse.

There were only two photos inside: one of the Soul-Suppressing Coffin that was already there, and one of the Soul-Summoning Bell that Qi Si had taken.

—Indeed, there were no new clues.

This was illogical. Why would the instance be designed this way?

Shang Qingbei had a faint feeling that something was wrong, but he couldn’t say exactly what.

“Turn it off for now. Let’s check again later. Maybe Xu Wen hasn’t had the chance to send the photos yet,” Qi Si said calmly from the side.

He had quietly deleted a photo just an hour ago. At this moment, his face showed no sign of it, and his expression and tone were incredibly sincere: “From yesterday’s call, Xu Wen’s situation seems very bad. It’s possible she just hasn’t found a chance to send a photo yet, right?”

Xu Wen, who had worked hard to send a photo only for it to be deleted:…Seriously?