Chapter 101 – Hopeless Sea (25) Yesterday

The instant the notification 【Contract Established】 appeared, Qi Si pocketed the blade and reached down to haul Chang Xu off the floor.

When the first tug failed, he simply let go, folded his arms, and gave a concise recap of what had happened.

“The three puppets were Hans, Ye Linsheng, and Lu Li. After Hans died by accident, I guessed Lu Li was one of them and confronted him. To keep me from exposing him in public, he shifted the Puppet Threads from Ye Linsheng to me and misled the others into suspecting you.”

Chang Xu propped himself up on an elbow. “Why would Lu Li want people to suspect me? What does he gain?”

“Not bad—you’re finally asking about motive,” Qi Si said approvingly. “Benefits? First, it completes the trio of puppets and clears his own name. Second, it keeps you and me stuck on the island so you can’t compete with him for a survival slot.”

The explanation felt flimsy to Chang Xu, off in a way he couldn’t pin down. “With Lu Li’s skill, he could eliminate me without something this convoluted.”

“So I figure he wants something from you—he admitted as much yesterday. Then he changed his mind, took the NE Route, and sailed off.” While speaking, Qi Si bent to pull Liu Yuhan upright; this time she moved, restoring a shred of his faith in his own strength.

Chang Xu, belatedly, helped steady Liu Yuhan. “What does Lu Li want from me?”

Qi Si gave a soft laugh. “You’d have to ask him. I only know he’s studied you thoroughly—your choices, your thought patterns. Even deciding to move against me factored you in.”

Chang Xu’s frown deepened.

Then the young man added mockingly, “Which is why I hate streamers—harm themselves and everyone around them.”

So that’s what it was.

Chang Xu suddenly understood why Qi Si had pressed a knife to his throat to make him kill the livestream.

The Eerie Game’s broadcast function cuts both ways: it can deter massacre-style players, but it also reveals your cards and those of anyone nearby.

He and many veterans streamed to document instance mechanics so the Investigation Bureau could collate intel; he never expected to catch Sera’s eye after only two broadcasts.

Sera, as the higher-ups predicted, had been quiet all this time precisely to prepare something big… Qi Si didn’t know what Chang Xu was imagining, but the look on his face said he’d bought the story.

Qi Si picked up the pace, leading the way. “Let’s check the altar. If nothing goes wrong, we’ll clear the True End soon.”

Liu Yuhan followed without a word, sticking close as Qi Si returned to the white stone platform ringed by a colossal fish skeleton.

Chang Xu brought up the rear, persistent. “The ghosts obey you because you traded the Idol to Yuna, right? Why could they hurt me while I had plenty of money?”

“Good guess.” Qi Si tapped his chin, sounding pleased. “They can’t hurt you; they only held you down. Tough it out and you could’ve slept on the ground all night.”

After which you’d have killed me, right? Chang Xu finished silently.

Aloud he asked, “The timing’s wrong. You knew that long ago, didn’t you?”

“Not that early—only figured it out last night.” Qi Si lied without missing a beat. “I didn’t sleep, so I counted the chimes: the Clock Tower was skimping. Sleep time was shorter than the twelve hours we assumed.”

Chang Xu flashed back to their second morning in the instance, when he’d asked the young man for the exact time.

The fellow had fiddled with his watch and cheerfully announced “eight A.M.”… Looking back, that twist of the hands had been mighty suspicious.

“You lied,” Chang Xu muttered, a hint of grievance slipping into his voice. “You let me believe the tower chimed twelve times a day, mapping to twenty-four real hours…”

“No, I misread it at the start,” Qi Si replied without changing expression. “The Pocket Watch of Fate shows ‘objective time.’ Island time seems to be subjective, so the moment I set foot here the watch stopped working.”

He slipped his left hand back into his shirt pocket. “At first I agreed with you: if the rules say the bell rings every two hours, then four chimes should equal eight A.M., so I passed that on. Turns out I was wrong.”

Suspicion lingered in Chang Xu’s eyes. “Someone at your level doesn’t make rookie mistakes.”

Qi Si smiled. “You overestimate me, Brother Chang. Everyone slips up; I’m human, not a god.”

It sounded sincere, yet Chang Xu still felt he was being treated like an idiot.

Qi Si had a gift for making lies sound like gospel while looking utterly innocent.

Watch his face, listen to his tone—you’d never tell which words were true.

Realizing he’d get no admission, Chang Xu returned to the key point. “So what’s the correct timing?”

“During mandatory sleep the tower skips three chimes: the 11th, 1st, and 3rd. That’s six hours lost per day. What you think is twenty-four hours is actually eighteen.”

Chang Xu did the math at lightning speed.

The second diary entry stated: “From the moment I set foot on the island, a chance to leave appears every three days.”

Lu Li planned to leave tonight because he believed the third day had arrived.

But with only eighteen hours per day, they’d logged fifty-four at most—two full days plus six hours.

They needed another day to reach seventy-two, i.e., a true third day… Chang Xu rubbed the back of his neck. “What happens if we sail at the wrong time?”

“Who knows? Maybe death.” Qi Si had already pulled Liu Yuhan behind Chang Xu. “Brother Chang, why worry? Who can be sure days are counted in real-world twenty-four-hour blocks? Maybe one eye-open-eye-close equals a day.”

Chang Xu lowered his gaze. “But if the count is strict, then everyone who left early dies.”

Qi Si’s eyes curved in a smile. “Tough luck for them—they bet on the wrong answer in a fifty-fifty.”

Not understanding, Chang Xu asked, “You knew the timing was off—why stay silent?”

“I meant to bring it up at dinner, but Lu Li didn’t give me the chance.” Qi Si lowered his lashes and sighed. “I don’t want to die, and I’m no martyr. I need a way out.”

“Brother Chang, once they realize there are two possible clocks, will they gamble blindly with their lives—or pick a few unlucky ones to test each option?”

The answer was obvious.

Chang Xu knew that, armed with this intel, the players would play it safe: send four scouts first.

The controlled Qi Si and the suspicious Chang Xu would top that list.

“Holding the power to overturn the rules, yet under group scrutiny obeying rules that hurt you… Honestly, I’ll never understand that mindset.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a boring utilitarian who thinks those four lives outweigh our three.” Qi Si joked, halting before a stone stele.

The altar was not as flat as it appeared from the outside; only after stepping onto the stone platform could one see that its interior was split into two levels. A half-step-wide trench encircled a round area that must be the altar’s core.

A stone tablet stood crookedly at the edge of the trench, carved dead center with a line of strange characters:

“The Dead Stop Here.”

The words carried the weight of ancient law, solemn and primal, forcing every visitor to pause, bow reverently, and gaze in hushed awe.

Chang Xu looked up. At the altar’s center rose a tall, alabaster statue: three fish heads pressed cheek-to-cheek, baring rows of sharp, needle-like teeth. Below the fused necks stretched a human torso plated in scales; from its waist countless tentacles unfurled in perfect, eerie symmetry.

“Chang, there should be another tablet in front of the statue with the clearance method. Go over, do exactly what it says, and remember to bring out a white scepter.” Behind him a young man spoke without haste.

A thread of unease coiled in his gut. Chang Xu half-turned, meeting the youth’s eyes: “Why don’t you go?”

“Those who possess more information deserve certain privileges, don’t they?” The voice was familiar, yet the wrongness thickened.

Inspiration caught a fleeting clue; Chang Xu’s pupils shrank. “You can’t cross, can you? ‘The Dead Stop Here’—you’re one of the dead. A Puppeteer’s puppet is judged as dead…”

He paused a beat, then stated with certainty: “You’re not Qi Si.”

“Seems my performance credibility still falls short of what the plan demands, before deep parasitism.” The youth’s tone stayed flat, vacant pupils reflecting no one.

He faced Chang Xu fully, yet his right hand settled on Liu Yuhan’s shoulder, pale fingers tightening around the girl’s throat. “Simple version for your intellect: Chang Xu, bring me the Sea-God Scepter and I’ll release the girl and your friend.”

Chang Xu’s gaze froze; then, for an instant, the youth’s eyes cleared and his voice shifted: “I get it—you seized me just to force Chang Xu to fetch that thing for you.”

“I bet that so-called ‘Sea-God Scepter’ is an instant-use, overpowered item, which is why you dared not send just anyone into the altar but had to scheme… Did it ever occur to you that he and I have only met twice and barely know each other?”

“A moderate deviation stays within tolerance; whether you and Chang Xu are strangers or not, the outcome remains unchanged.” The light in the youth’s eyes dimmed, expression hollowing.

In an analytical tone he continued: “Chang Xu, you’re an intuitive creature of plain justice. To you, concrete lives outweigh abstract items. You could never abandon a comrade who shared your trials, nor an innocent who knows nothing of this place.”

The next moment the youth refuted himself: “From a utilitarian view, handing a mighty item to someone like you could cause greater casualties—an awful loss. Still, fools seldom consider that, so never mind…”

What unfolded before Chang Xu was grotesque—

The once-delicate youth’s face twitched through expressions, his grin twisting into something hideous, lips muttering rapid, inaudible words like an asylum inmate talking to himself—while his right hand kept choking the girl, tighter and tighter.

Danger, madness, chaos… Coupled with Liu Yuhan’s oxygen-starved, zombie-blue face, it brewed an absurd aura of imminent death.

Submit to the villain, trade the item for two lives, and risk a greater calamity later? Or abandon the pair before his eyes to safeguard countless others?

Refuse, and Qi Si and Liu Yuhan would die for certain; accept, and there might still be a way to fix things later… After two seconds of silence Chang Xu decided. He turned toward the altar’s center: “Let her go. I’ll fetch the Sea-God Scepter.”

As Chang Xu’s silhouette vanished behind the stone tablet, Qi Si seized control of the body once more.

He sighed with a smile: “Do you think Lu Li realizes you’d abandon his life just to create the smokescreen that ‘the Puppeteer’s influence is gone’?”

Within a dark-red mental hall, two figures—one black, one red—stood face-to-face amid surging mist.

The black-robed embodiment of “Lu Li” faced Qi Si, eyes reflecting nothing: “He volunteered to become my puppet. Deceiving all of you, luring Chang Xu to the altar—he died fulfilling his purpose.”

“Is that so?” Qi Si in his scarlet suit sneered. “I can see you fancy yourself a mastermind who can steer hearts, supremely confident in your scheming.”

“Early intel work, thorough study of this instance’s rules; three puppets entered to secure numbers while turning faction info into open cards. A plan built on such vast data, yet it only targeted a rookie who just became a formal player—hilarious.”

“Lu Li” tilted his head, feigning puzzlement: “When a tiger fights a rabbit it still uses full strength; information volume is a parameter of intellect, is it not?”

Qi Si laughed, wild and loud: “Well said. But have you considered you lean on it too much? Once an information gap appears, your layout will be riddled with holes and collapse at a touch.”

“Lu Li” fell silent two seconds, then adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses: “I see. You’re far crazier than I thought—willing to gamble your own body for a slim chance to learn my plan.”

“Took you long enough. Sitting high too long, you assume everyone else is an idiot. Since I’d seen through your identity, how could I walk blindly into your trap?”

Qi Si uncurled the fingers that had gripped Liu Yuhan’s throat, letting his right hand drop casually while his grin stretched ear to ear.

“By the way—can you still be sure your puppet string wrapped around my little finger?”

The mist-wrapped mental hall quaked violently; fog surged and scattered like a storm-tossed sea.

The red-clad youth, as if struck by some fresh joke, doubled over laughing until tears formed.

On the tip of his right little finger, white bone flashed with a fleeting, crystalline gleam.

【Name: Evil God Finger Bone】

【Type: Item】

【Effect: …】

Far beyond any measurable distance, in a pitch-black cubic space, a man in a black suit opened his eyes.

He reclined in a tall-backed chair, an ornate Identity Card in his right hand depicting a white-robed figure nailed upside-down to a black cross.

Before him lay a chessboard of black-and-white squares crowded with eerie idols—Sea-God, Qi, and many whose names were unknown. He flicked the Sea-God piece to the floor; the porcelain shattered, swallowed by black vapors rising from the tiles.

“Intellect tier can be ranked top-tier; high behavioral randomness and unpredictability, willing to shoulder extreme risk for uncertain gain… Qi cheats to secure his victory, yet didn’t hand him the 【Crimson High Priest】 card in the novice pool, nor pull him directly into the game… The situation grows ever more opaque.”

The man’s lips moved; his lenses reflected cold white light.

Pinching a piece carved into a red-clad, red-eyed figure, he advanced it one square and set it down… 【Note】 Intellect formula: Z = Y × L × H, where Z = Intellect, Y = Participant count, L = Cumulative information, H = Intellect tier.