Chapter 204 – Illness (Revised)

In the early hours of April 5, a news story surfaced on every major platform and spread like a plague of locusts.

#Memorial Hall for Indigenous Victims in Maple Leaf County Catches Fire; No Casualties, Investigation Underway#

Beneath the stark headline, the reporter painted the devastation with pity and sympathy: scorched walls, records reduced to ash, the once-lush Maple Forest now a wasteland of ghosts and ruin.

Whether by intent or accident, the piece also mentioned that the memorial had once been the Red Maple Boarding School, and added a mystic note:

“One cannot help recalling that the old Red Maple Boarding School suffered a similar blaze; fate seems to have come full circle, as though cursed by the gods.”

Two photos accompanied the article: the soot-blackened memorial and the charred, lifeless forest.

Every line of the report felt wrong.

It wasn’t even the dry season, and the forest floor held no thick litter—how could a fire have ignited itself in the rarely visited woods?

If the flames were fierce enough to devour forest and hall, why had no visitor been harmed?

Netizens gossiped with glee: some blamed federal conspiracies, others cried supernatural forces, a few seized the chance to recount the boarding school’s grim history… An unseen hand kept fanning the flames until every gaze settled on the words “Red Maple Boarding School”.

A handful, out of idle curiosity, dug deeper, unearthing half-forgotten scraps of dubious history.

Layer by layer the makeup of denial was scrubbed away, exposing festering sores beneath; the reeking, lurid meat drew carrion-flies who relish the grotesque. Netizens, nursing unspeakable appetites, pulled back the curtain on collective revelry… As the instance “Red Maple Boarding School” ended, players saw no customary epilogue CG.

That missing reel was now playing out in reality, and the final verdict would be written by public and Scholar together.

Qi Si had turned in early, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling while he slept.

He tumbled into a chaotic dream. In it he dug a pit in an abandoned field, half-distracted, irritated: This dirt is filthy.

Dreams defy logic; the pit half-finished, he suddenly found himself lying inside it, looking up at someone wearing his own face, smiling: Want me to dig you out?

After a moment’s thought Qi Si answered, “Bury me. Thanks.”

The other gazed down, calm as the crucified Christ: “Last time you begged me to save you.”

Qi Si raised a finger, studying its pallid near-translucence: “I’ve decided the dirt isn’t that dirty after all.”

The double chuckled and began shoveling earth.

Qi Si lay corpse-still; the cold soil raining onto him made him shiver.

He mused that dying like this might not be so bad.

“Humans must have desire.” The thing wearing his face leaned closer; its scarlet eyes reflected a face of swirling mist. “What is yours?”

The chill earth reached his neck; he felt colder, like a fish packed in ice for market.

After a pause he said, “Maybe I’m not human.”

He supposed he must possess desire, but it was too faint, too alien to be understood—voicing it now felt like sophistry.

For as long as he could remember he had lived without strong joy or sorrow—until ten years ago, when the secret, eager preparations for murder first made his life feel real and fluid.

Warm blood on his fingertips splashed color across the monochrome world, so vivid it seemed ready to spill over.

His tenure as a human ended; excitement and pleasure surged, as though a sudden connection had been soldered to the once-distant world.

People insist evil needs a reason—yet if we waited for others’ malice before repaying in kind, no one would ever begin to do evil.

Who was the first evildoer? Who sparked the wheel of sin? Whose hand brewed all this poison?

Too much time has passed to tell, but Qi Si never shrank from treating others with the utmost malice; should retribution finally strike, he would die having lived wildly, owing nothing.

“Don’t let them learn this,” the creature said, earth now up to Qi Si’s chin.

Qi Si asked, “Does it involve the Door?”

The double offered no answer, only the steady scrape of the shovel.

As the final clump of soil covered his face, Qi Si awoke.

Early-spring chill had soaked his bones; he shivered and groped for the quilt he’d kicked aside.

He usually slept neatly, but the unfamiliar room had left him restless; the quilt now dangled halfway to the floor.

He pulled the covers back and drifted off again. When he next woke, daylight filled the room—11:30 a.m. on his phone.

His bones throbbed in dull waves; gritty fatigue weighted his eyelids, as if soil had lodged beneath them and needles pricked at the rims—open a moment, then sliding shut.

Eyes closed, he sifted the nonsensical dream for meaning and found none.

He pressed a hand to his forehead and felt the scorch of fever.

No doubt about it—he was burning up.

It’s hard to tell whether the illness followed him out of the game, whether he caught a chill after falling asleep last night, or if he and Qijia Village simply have clashing fates.

Whatever the cause, it’s an ill omen.

Qi Si pushed himself up and sat sideways, yanked open the desk drawer and rummaged for ages before remembering he hadn’t brought the thermometer or fever medicine with him.

Right now the smartest choice would be to go to the hospital and register for a consultation; the next best would be to leave Qijia Village and find any pharmacy for some pills. Yet the patient collapsed on the bed didn’t want to move a muscle.

So he opted for the worst possible remedy—drink more hot water.

A paper servant carried a cup of hot water upstairs, and Qi Si remembered someone else had used this cup while he… hadn’t brought one of his own.

To be precise, after accidentally breaking his last cup he’d never bought a replacement, making do with pots and bowls to scoop water… Qi Si could only order a new cup online. Then, lifelessly, he flopped back onto the bed and pictured himself as a sun-dried dead fish… That afternoon, after burning paper ingots at the bedroom door, Qi Si once again entered the game space.

The instant he sat on the tall-backed chair in the divine hall, every discomfort vanished; real-world ailments won’t affect a player’s performance in the Eerie Game—good news in a way.

Of course, Qi Si had no wish to start another instance just yet.

He inspected the Soul Leaves of his pawns one by one, gaze finally resting on Liu Yuhan’s leaf.

The scene showed a fantasy-styled small town; crowds of black-clad figures cast a gloomy, eerie atmosphere, declaring this place unreal.

Liu Yuhan, hugging her Bizarre Tales notebook, walked side by side down the street with a likewise bespectacled young man, chatting absent-mindedly.

With Qi Si’s current authority he couldn’t issue decrees to reality through Soul Leaves, but sending a message inside the game was effortless.

He stated bluntly, “Liu Yuhan, tomorrow at two in the afternoon, meet me at the Ruins of the Sunset.”

Hearing the voice fall from the heavens, Liu Yuhan’s steps faltered and her face went white.

The youth on her left was still chattering: “Yuhan, with your skill and reputation, even the big guilds would value you…”

This man was a recently-rising core member of the Jiuzhou Guild, named Tang Yu—sharp, decisive, no slouch in combat, and listed on the comprehensive power rankings.

He claimed that in his rookie days he’d studied many guides Liu Yuhan had produced; he held this low-key theory expert in high regard, and when they happened to meet in a instance, they naturally teamed up.

Throughout the journey he’d repeatedly tried to coax Liu Yuhan into joining Jiuzhou, but she always brushed him off lightly.

Tang Yu’s persuasion was half-spoken when he noticed the girl beside him suddenly turn pale; he couldn’t help asking, “Yuhan, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, thank you.” Liu Yuhan forced a stiff smile, her right hand hidden in her sleeve clenched into a fist… In the divine hall Qi Si watched her resistance, the corner of his mouth lifted in a pleased curve, then he turned to the marketplace.

The daily-goods interface popped up with fever meds, cups and the like—perfect targeted advertising.

Unfortunately, given Qi Si’s current level of trust in the Eerie Game, he couldn’t bring himself to swallow game-made medicine in reality… He entered the video-sales screen, searched a string of names like Chang Xu and Shuomeng, casually bookmarked a few, planning to study them whenever he had time.

Judging by Red Maple Boarding School, party-forming items were already in limited circulation; if he moved directly against such well-connected players it could trigger unimaginable trouble.

If they ever met again he’d need another approach—manipulate and exploit, or have someone else do the dirty work… Whichever method, it required knowing the target’s behaviour and mindset inside out.

When his one-hour stay expired, Qi Si returned to reality and resumed his corpse pose.

He hadn’t lain there long before the phone rang again—the same unknown number from yesterday.

Yesterday he’d glanced and hung up; today he answered.

“Hello, may I speak with Mr Qi Leming?” A young girl’s voice came from the receiver, sounding like a telemarketer.

Lying on his back, Qi Si dredged up the memory that this newly activated SIM was the one his father had left behind.

“Qi Leming is dead; I’m his son.”

“I’m terribly sorry for your loss; please accept my condolences,” she said. “Mr Qi had joined our foundation’s orphanage sponsorship programme. This is the tenth year, and the funds he donated have been exhausted; you may need to top up two hundred thousand Federation dollars.”

“He’s been dead six years,” Qi Si said on speaker, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Half a second of silence, then: “You may not be aware, but Mr Qi had signed a contract; stopping the sponsorship midway could affect the credit of you and your descendants…”

Qi Si ended the call, blacklisted the number, and rolled over.

The bedside window reflected the ghostly pale face of Xu Yao.

“To keep the ghost domain running, it has to devour one living person every month,” Xu Yao said.

Qi Si did some quick math. “There are forty-one living people left in the village; after a few more instances the number will be even lower.”

Xu Yao shook her head slightly. “Everyone in the village is part of the ghost domain—they don’t count as living. We need fresh outsiders.”

“Is that so?” Qi Si narrowed his eyes. “Any way to dump a corpse outside unnoticed and blur the time of death?”

“Within a hundred li and seven days before or after,” Xu Yao replied.

So Qi Si picked up the phone again and dialled the number he’d just blocked.