Chapter 192: Red Maple Boarding School (29) “Land Without Divine Pity”

Red Maple Boarding School, inside the Graveyard.

Surrounded by shadowy figures, Chen Lidong used White Blade to clear a space, stepping on the mixed pulp of crushed mushrooms and yellow flowers, standing silently before a tomb.

The number carved on the tombstone was, of course, “47.”

After lunch, Chen Lidong went to Ms. Medina, intending to use her to kill someone, but instead found himself with a task.

The side quest, 【Catch 47】, was clearly written on the system interface; the consequences of not completing it within the allotted time were self-evident.

Chen Lidong could only brace himself and drag Zhou Datong to the Graveyard. Regardless of Si Qi’s possible schemes, mandatory quests couldn’t be left undone. At most, he’d use a few more life-saving items and ensure protection.

Beside the grave mound, Chen Lidong and Zhou Datong stood facing each other, each shouldering a shovel, diligently digging away the freshly buried soil that still bore footprints.

Shovel after shovel of soil was piled to the sides, slowly increasing in height; the coffin in the pit gradually revealed its full form, lying heavy and solemn, silent as death.

After digging for half the day, Chen Lidong and Zhou Datong were both out of breath, panting heavily with hands on their hips.

After resting for a while, Chen Lidong instructed Zhou Datong, “Go open the coffin.”

Zhou Datong let out an “oh,” stepped into the pit, bent down to grab the edge of the coffin lid, and with a sudden burst of strength, flung it open.

The dark coffin was empty, not even a single strand of hair.

Perhaps the person inside had left, or perhaps no one had ever been in there.

Zhou Datong asked blankly, “There’s no one in here either, where could Si Qi be?”

Chen Lidong remained silent, staring down at the interior of the coffin, frozen in place like a corpse… “At specific locations, past events can influence the future. In other words, if someone at Red Maple Boarding School dug up a grave mound and forgot to fill it, the grave mound here would also appear to be dug up accordingly.”

Qi Si sat on a chair in the cafeteria, resting his elbows on the table and propping up his chin: “My main quest is to ‘Kill Ms. Medina.’

“In my timeline, Ms. Medina, as a teacher, was an insurmountable presence. Considering that ‘Medina’ is a common name in this family, I tend to believe that killing Ms. Medina, the tour guide, can also complete the quest.”

After Chang Xu dug Qi Si out of the grave, Shuomeng informed Qi Si of the clues they had obtained in the Memorial Hall. In return, Qi Si also told them some important information.

The clues from the two timelines converged here, outlining the full scope of the world view.

Qi Si sat on the hard bench for a while, feeling sore all over. He simply laid his upper body completely on the table and continued weakly: “Two hundred years ago, foreign colonizers brought diseases to this land, causing a plague to break out in the indigenous tribes. The pathogens changed through repeated infections, from originally only infecting indigenous people to later being able to infect outsiders through specific means. This disease was called ‘insomnia syndrome.’

“Due to being infected earlier, or for some other reason, the indigenous people seemed to possess a method to deal with ‘insomnia syndrome,’ which outsiders considered a form of witchcraft, possibly because it was too incredible. ‘insomnia syndrome’ itself was given the infamous name ‘Curse of the Indigenous People’ by outsiders due to its unspeakable mode of transmission.

“Later, the Indigenous Peoples Charity Foundation established the Red Maple Boarding School to house indigenous children, teaching them the language and history of the outsiders, hoping to culturally exterminate their race. Thorson and Ms. Medina belonged to this faction. Among them, Ms. Medina most likely even thought she was a savior enduring humiliation, saving those indigenous children…”

At this point, Qi Si chuckled softly, savoring the ambiguous sentences Chang Xu had found: “‘Survival is paramount at all times,’ ‘Faith, writing, and language are never as important as imagined,’ ‘Witchcraft and gods cannot save us.’ Tsk, who writes a diary seriously? They can’t even figure out if their own tribe has witchcraft. It’s hard to say they aren’t deceiving themselves and being self-aggrandizing.”

Chang Xu listened for a while, then questioned, “If Ms. Medina truly believed she was doing good, why would she treat the indigenous children so cruelly?”

“Who told you there were only two Ms. Medinas? Who said this instance only had two spaces?”

Qi Si pressed his forehead against the table, drawing a useless coolness, his voice nasal: “The popularization of old-fashioned faucets was in the 1950s, and the Red Maple Boarding School was first built in the 19th century. In the timeline of the earliest Ms. Medina, the row of faucets in the cafeteria was in the style of the 1970s or 80s; the school uniform I put on in the Isolation Room had no school emblem, but after passing through the Maple Forest, a school emblem and number appeared on my chest. This practically implies that I unknowingly fell into a hallucination…”

He glanced at the word “Oblivion” written in black pen on his palm, pulled out his hiking backpack from his inventory, unzipped it, and took out sheets of white paper covered in writing.

While looking at the records on the white paper, he analyzed: “On June 1st, indigenous children were taken out of school and locked in a bathroom to receive a ‘baptism.’ If my judgment at the time was correct, that bathroom was identical to the one I saw in the Red Maple Boarding School, but there was no corresponding place in the Memorial Hall, which was converted from the boarding school.

“Regarding the records of ‘insomnia syndrome,’ there’s a sentence: ‘It’s as if they had an agreement; the content of their individual hallucinations could connect well, and the collective hallucination presented a rigorous logic, constructing a new school within the school grounds.’ From this, it can be inferred that the boarding school I saw was a collective hallucination constructed by the children.

“The timeline in my space began on June 1st, but the Archives contained complete records from June 1st to June 8th, indicating that that timeline was already in the past. Over a hundred years, insomnia syndrome never disappeared, and the boarding school still existed. After the initial deaths, another group of boarding school students—that is, us players—constructed scenes from the past.”

Qi Si took out a blank piece of paper, placed it on the table, and drew three circles, writing “19th Century,” “20th Century,” and “21st Century” inside them respectively.

“The Memorial Hall you are in is on the 21st-century timeline. The initial scene when we first entered the instance was in the 20th century. At that time, the roles we played should have already been afflicted with varying degrees of ‘insomnia syndrome.’ Later, we unknowingly fell into a hallucination, entering the ’19th century’ timeline. Hallucinations are based on imagination, and the performance of Ms. Medina we saw was most likely just a projection of the 20th-century Ms. Medina.”

Shuomeng, with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, frowned deeply: “You mean—why would the content of the hallucination be the Red Maple Boarding School of the past? Normally, those children shouldn’t know things from a hundred years ago…”

“We’re still missing some clues, but I can share my guess.” Qi Si lowered his eyes, his tone candid, “Children naturally lie; with a little guidance, their brains will construct self-consistent logic based on imagination. I suspect that the children we’re playing were induced; someone wanted to see past events through the children’s eyes.

“The Baron faction once tried to find a cure for insomnia syndrome through the indigenous people, but unfortunately, the documents containing indigenous knowledge were burned by Thorson. Although some fragments copied by others remained, due to the unique nature of indigenous language and writing, outsiders couldn’t recreate an identical medium, and naturally couldn’t understand the true meaning of the formulas. What if there was a way to go back before the documents were burned?”

Qi Si put down the white paper in his hand and looked at Shuomeng and Chang Xu sitting across the table: “Over the past century, patients suffering from insomnia syndrome have been trying to find a cure, and your main quest emerged against this backdrop. You just need to take the original written documents to the boarding school in the past, go to the fourth floor, and have the skeleton read the words aloud.”

Rather than advising the two on how to complete the quest, Qi Si actually wanted to shove a poisonous mushroom into each of their mouths, making them contract insomnia syndrome and die together.

But the problem was, Qi Si didn’t want to truly die in this instance.

He had seen the mushrooms left behind by those deceased patients; they were wrinkled and ugly. The thought of turning into such a pile of things himself made him feel uncomfortable all over.

Therefore, he felt it was better to seriously think about how to clear this instance.

In his current state, he couldn’t kill Ms. Medina—not even the tour guide version; so, he had to keep Shuomeng and Chang Xu in good condition and rely on their strength… Qi Si subtly suppressed the gloom in his eyes, squinting with a smile: “If you can’t remember the pronunciation of those words right away, I might be able to lend you a recorder. I believe the Eerie Game also considered this, which is why it put us in the same instance.”

The moment Chang Xu saw Qi Si, he wanted to bring out the basket of old stories he had prepared, and also sincerely apologize for his treacherous actions in the Hopeless Sea instance, but Qi Si’s blunt “Less idle talk” shut him up.

Qi Si was not in good spirits, clearly having no leisure to exchange pleasantries with him, so he no longer made himself unwelcome, immediately immersing himself fully in understanding and studying the instance information.

When he reached a point of confusion, he raised an objection: “The original document recording the formula was burned in the fire. Even if the remaining materials are deciphered now, they won’t lead to a cure for insomnia syndrome.”

“Who told you to look for a cure?” Qi Si sighed, rubbing his forehead, “The main quest only says for you to 【decipher the documents in the Memorial Hall】, it doesn’t say the cure is in the documents. Why add unnecessary complications?

“Perhaps the cure was destroyed long ago, or perhaps there was never any ‘formula’ to begin with, who knows? Survival is not easy. If there really was a cure, those indigenous people wouldn’t have died back then…”

On the system interface, the words in the preceding prompt section were cold and merciless.

Disaster repeated itself, generation after generation entangled by “insomnia syndrome,” reliving the same cycle of sin, endlessly.

The curse of a hundred-year cycle, a land without divine pity; many things died, including race, language, and writing.

Survival is an accidental fortune, disappearance is the eternal truth. Too much history has been destroyed, only fragments remain, narrating a cruel fate… Chang Xu was in a frozen state, while Shuomeng thoughtfully stroked his chin.

Qi Si propped his face with his hand, looking listless: “Of course, to be safe, you might need to break the display case and take the original documents inside. From the experiment records you found, after the transcription process, the meaning of the words changes. The Eerie Game might play tricks with the details.”

Seeing their expressions slightly change, he smiled and retorted, “What’s the big deal? Breaking the rules won’t kill you, it’ll just get you kicked out of the Memorial Hall, right?”

As he spoke, the hour hand of the Pocket Watch of Fate pointed to twelve o’clock, and a viscous, mushy mixture of food appeared out of thin air in front of each of the three, presumably their lunch here.

Chang Xu and Shuomeng were seeing these things for the first time, and their expressions were somewhat strange.

Qi Si, however, had already eaten two meals and knew that while the food looked unappetizing, it wouldn’t kill anyone.

However, in the boarding school, these unpalatable items were made by him with ingredients. Who made the food in the Memorial Hall then?

If players could eat identical meals whether he cooked or not, then by analogy, would events that had already happened truly change due to player actions?

His thoughts scattered into fragments, like a poorly exposed negative covered in noise. Qi Si’s head began to ache again, and messy, crude color blocks tumbled before his eyes, blurring his already unclear vision.

The effects of “insomnia syndrome” persisted, unchanged by being in another timeline. He was currently in a state of persistent high fever, his eyelids so heavy he could barely open them. If he weren’t in a instance, he would have found a place to lie down long ago.

But at this moment, he had to force himself to stay awake, to think and analyze.

Seeing Chang Xu and Shuomeng’s hands, holding chopsticks, suspended in the air, still hesitating whether to attack the slop, Qi Si picked up his own chopsticks and, taking the lead, dug a clump of vegetable paste into his mouth.

It must be said, this vegetable paste, from texture to taste, was similar to his own cooking—the kind that would get complaints from workers even in a black factory cafeteria.

Qi Si’s expression remained unchanged as he put a few more mouthfuls of vegetable paste into his mouth, swallowing it calmly.

Chang Xu and Shuomeng watched him calmly finish the unknown substance on his plate, filled with reverence and a faint hope: perhaps this blob wasn’t as unappetizing as it looked?

Both of them extended their chopsticks to the plates in front of them, picked up a small strand of vegetables, and put it into their mouths. Instantly, their eyes, as they looked at Qi Si, were filled with disbelief.

Qi Si put down his chopsticks and offered an innocent smile at the corner of his lips: “The rule in our timeline is that you must finish your meal. Although you don’t have that rule here, I think it’s better not to waste food.”

There was some truth to that; eating on time in a instance was important in many ways.

Chang Xu immediately lowered his head and wolfed down the vegetable paste on his plate.

Shuomeng also made a bitter face and followed suit, clearing his plate.

At the doorway, the black-clad tour guide appeared at the opportune moment, waving her small red flag: “Lunch is over. I’ll take you to visit other places.”

She seemed completely oblivious to the extra “tourist,” a friendly smile still on her face: “If there’s anything you need me to explain, you can tell me.”