Chapter 194 – Red Maple Boarding School (31) “Drink More Hot Water”

Red Maple Boarding School, third-floor corridor.

Zhou Datong held Jiang Junjue at knifepoint, pressing White Blade against his throat, and did his best to glare menacingly at the surrounding players: “Let Brother Chen go or I’ll kill him!”

By now the nearby players were all more or less wounded; the worst-off had his right leg severed at the root and lay twitching on the floor, letting out waves of anguished groans.

Two steps in front of Zhou Datong, two Tingfeng Guild members had Chen Lidong’s arms pinned and pressed him to the ground—an outright stand-off.

On the afternoon of 2 June, after searching the entire school without finding a trace of Qi Si, Chen Lidong realized he probably could not finish Ms. Medina’s side quest “Catch 47.”

He resolutely chose to gather the ingredients for the antidote as fast as possible and complete the main quest.

If he cleared the instance before the punishment deadline, he still had a chance to survive.

Afterward, Chen Lidong and Zhou Datong ambushed a lone player, drove him into the bathroom and killed him, obtaining a clump of soil.

The pair quietly harvested some yellow flowers and Yellow Butterflies from several long-dead corpses, then plucked the poisonous mushroom off Philed’s back, collecting enough materials for two antidotes.

Everything seemed to be going smoothly. Chen Lidong’s thinking was simple: since Jiang Junjue was unwilling to do the dirty work, he’d do it himself. He tested the potion on himself first; next he’d kill a man, brew the medicine, and Jiang Junjue would have no room to fuss and posture.

The tacit, almost oblivious approval Jiang Junjue showed along the way felt like encouragement; on some level the two seemed to understand each other without saying a word.

On the morning of 3 June, a small records room on the second floor burst into flames, incinerating every hide that had notes written on it.

Amid the chaos, Chen Lidong never expected Jiang Junjue to strike without warning.

“Chen Lidong, I suspect you’re a Slaughter-path players and a member of the Sera Guild.” After pointing out the murders, Jiang Junjue declared in a low voice, “To finish the main quest you’d kill anyone. You’ve only killed one so far—are you planning to wipe the rest of us out next?”

The words landed like a signal to attack; some players backed away, while others drew weapons and closed in on Chen Lidong and Zhou Datong.

Chen Lidong saw the situation clearly and sneered, “Fine!”

Before anyone could react, he drew White Blade and thrust it into the abdomen of the nearest player.

The man reflexively dodged; the blade kept going and sliced through his thigh like tofu, severing the whole leg.

Blood splashed across nearby faces. A howl shot to the ceiling as Chen Lidong yanked the blade free, twisted his wrist, and slashed at another player’s throat.

That player ducked in panic; the edge smashed into his nose, barely missing half his face.

It was a fine blade, and the wielder was well-practised. Chen Lidong stabbed again and again—fast, precise, vicious—every strike aimed at a vital point.

By now everyone had come to their senses, grabbing whatever they could to shield their vitals while swinging at Chen Lidong and Zhou Datong.

Someone stepped on the first fallen player’s belly; the two tumbled together and, in the scrum, took several kicks, letting out shrill screams.

No one had time for them. Chen Lidong slashed with White Blade while holding his backpack across his body to block, but his arms still took several hits; bits of flesh flew into an eye, instantly dyeing the corner crimson.

Though Tingfeng members were slightly built and lacked martial training, they made up for it with a rich stash of items. Strange skills and tricks flew at Chen Lidong in wild profusion, quickly gaining the upper hand.

Meanwhile, two young office-worker types surrounded Zhou Datong, presumably to pick the soft target. But unlike Chen Lidong’s side, these two were desk-jockeys who rarely exercised; against Zhou Datong, used to physical labour, they gained no advantage after half a day.

Weaponless, Zhou Datong could only swing fists the size of bowls, dazed by the sudden turn yet knowing he could not lose this fight.

Catching sight of Jiang Junjue watching from the sidelines, he formed a plan: while fending off the two in front, he edged the fight until he stood only two steps from Jiang Junjue.

Now! Zhou Datong shoulder-checked one man aside, grabbed the other by the collar and hurled him at Jiang Junjue; as Jiang dodged, Zhou lunged.

In an instant the situation flipped. Chen Lidong spotted the opening, flung White Blade toward Zhou Datong, and the next second was pinned left and right by two Tingfeng members.

Zhou Datong caught the blade, flipped it, and pressed it to Jiang Junjue’s neck as he looked around. “Let Brother Chen go or I’ll kill him!”

The blood-mad players had to stop, panting, every eye fixed on his face.

In the silence Jiang Junjue gave a weak laugh. “Is it worth it?”

“He used you like that, yet you still fight for him—willing to offend our Tingfeng Guild… Do you two realise that once your massacre-style identities are exposed, you’re doomed even outside this instance?”

“Screw you!” Chen Lidong spat blood and sneered. “Whether we live or die is none of your damn business. Even if we die, it won’t be by your filthy hand!”

Jiang Junjue seemed not to hear. Through half-lidded sleepy eyes he went on: “Zhou Datong, when the instance began Chen Lidong dragged you down that corridor so you could be his scapegoat if anything happened.”

“Later he went off to explore while making you stay with us to feed him information, so he could earn higher performance points—all the risk of being discovered as a team fell on you.”

“And now: he triggered the side quest, he’s in a hurry to clear the instance—what’s that to you? You’ve no time limit, yet he drags you into murder with him—clearly up to no good…”

“Bullshit!” Chen Lidong cut in. “Talking about teaming—think I can’t see you came in as a team too? So what about killing? We’re all thousand-year foxes—quit the opera with me. How many formal players haven’t killed? This main quest is practically teaching us to kill. I did your dirty work and now you play saint after reaping the benefits!”

Jiang Junjue ignored him, turning only to Zhou Datong: “Brother, I’ve said my piece. Your Brother Chen is no good; when interests clash he’ll turn on you sooner or later.”

Chen Lidong saw it clearly: from the start Jiang Junjue hadn’t bothered to argue with him; every word was aimed at driving a wedge between him and Zhou Datong so Jiang could break free of the hostage situation.

Chen Lidong naturally knew the most effective way to break free from a hostage situation was to turn the captors against themselves, yet no matter how hard he racked his brain, he couldn’t find a way to get through to the members of the Tingfeng Guild. Jiang Junjue was undoubtedly a seasoned veteran in dealing with people, even more watertight than himself… In the dead-still deadlock, Chen Lidong could only stare fixedly at Zhou Datong’s face, hoping this not-so-clever teammate would see through the ploy and stay on his side.

But how could that happen? Jiang Junjue was actually right—he had been using Zhou Datong from start to finish… In the dim corridor crawling with fungi, a faint smell of blood grew at everyone’s nostrils; the man with the broken leg still wheezed more air out than in, while sweat and blood dripped onto the concrete with a pitter-patter.

“Brother Chen, I know you’re using me,” Zhou Datong suddenly said, his accent still thick but every word clear.

Chen Lidong’s expression froze, and then he heard this simple teammate say earnestly, “But I’m willing to be used! I may not be educated, but I know gratitude—you helped me, so use me however you want!”

Chen Lidong was stunned; in his memory, during the past few instances he had indeed casually taught Zhou Datong a few things, but they were only trivial details, nowhere near the life-and-death stakes of now.

Was Zhou Datong a fool? For such small favors, he would gladly risk his life?

Jiang Junjue drew a deep breath. “Slaughter-path players stand against all humanity. For a so-called favor you paint yourself the target—your Brother Chen might even be laughing at you inside. Killing for a faster clear is selfish at best, outright anti-human at worst…”

Zhou Datong pressed White Blade tighter against Jiang Junjue’s neck, forcing him to swallow the rest: “Any of you can bad-mouth Brother Chen, but not me! He’s never wronged me, and I won’t wrong him!”

In the frozen air, the players’ breathing rose and fell, everyone repressing something, ready to explode.

After a long pause, Jiang Junjue sighed and looked at the two holding Chen Lidong. “Forget it. I’ll count to three; we all let go together—then we stay out of each other’s way.”

“Three, two, one…”

…”Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three…”

At the Memorial Hall for Indigenous Victims, Qi Si stood by the cafeteria sink and thrust his hands under the gurgling water.

Icy water slid down his wrists, stripping away the burning heat, until—after a certain point—it brought a noticeable itch.

Large patches of ashen soil spread over the wetted skin, coating his palms with a rough dead layer, as lifeless as a corpse long buried.

“So cold water doesn’t work…” Qi Si flicked the droplets away and pocketed his hands. “Half a minute after contact, the skin mutates. No wonder those bowls are programmed to be scrubbed clean within thirty seconds…”

It was already five in the evening, an hour before dinner. Qi Si found a seat, took out his notebook again and reviewed.

Moments later, Chang Xu and Shuomeng walked in and sat at the same table they had used at noon.

Chang Xu glanced at the listless Qi Si, hesitated, then asked, “Are you sick? Ever since you climbed out of that coffin you’ve looked drained.”

Qi Si knew his act wasn’t perfect; being seen through by the sharp-eyed was no surprise, so he teased, “Then, since I’m dragging this sick body to hand you clues, killing Ms. Medina is up to you.”

Chang Xu nodded.

Shuomeng, looking at the half-dead Qi Si, managed after a long pause: “Drink more hot water.”

Chang Xu added, “Rest well, take your medicine.”

Qi Si: “…”

He quietly put the notebook away and switched topics. “First help me kill Ms. Medina; then I’ll take the recorder from my inventory and lend it to you. At night, find a way to smash the display case, grab the documents, and lie in the coffin—I’ll even bury the dirt for you.”

Chang Xu thought seriously, then asked, “When we reach Red Maple Boarding School, who digs me up?”

“Dig you up? With your strength you could kick the lid off from inside, couldn’t you?”

Chang Xu did a quick mental calculation and shook his head. “I’m not sure I can push the lid and the earth above it away.”

Qi Si rubbed his forehead. “Well then, just shove those tattered cards into your own throat… A good guy like you, your soul will surely float upward after death…”

Under their pointless banter the light dimmed, cloaking everything in shadow.

The clock struck six, and plates of gray slop appeared before everyone, reeking.

“Tap, tap, tap…”

Footsteps approached; seconds later a Guide in black gauze stood smiling at the cafeteria door, waving a little red flag. “Travelers, these meals follow the old boarding-school recipes—so you can experience the lives of indigenous children firsthand.”

“Why should we experience it?” Qi Si propped his chin, malice flickering in his eyes. “Morally, that’s for the perpetrators. Rationally, fixating on the past is pointless… Of course, humans rarely sort out grievance, guilt, and regret; hatred isn’t always aimed at the real enemy…”

While he spoke, Chang Xu moved.

Clad in black, he melted into the shadows; the pale blue light between his fingers shot toward the Guide like lightning.

His ghost-like form blurred into after-images; in a breath he was behind her, the gleaming Fate Poker slashed forward, flinging a line of blood beads.

No scream, no struggle—the Guide silently pitched forward, light as a deflated ball.

The black corpse hit the gray floor in a puff of dust; blood burst from the wound, painting a bewitching red.

Throughout, Qi Si kept his eyes fixed on the system interface.

The Guide was dead, yet the interface stayed silent; the main quest-completed prompt never came…