Chapter 268: Wraith (15) Meeting Like Ghosts

After Qi Si pried open the door on the second floor of the Residence, it was left ajar; one push and it swung wide.

Tang Yu and Lin Chen stepped into Luo Haihua and her husband’s room, and after reading the paper covered in writing on the bedside table, both looked grim.

Qi Si stood by, unperturbed. ‘Tang Yu, Lin Ya, what did you figure out?’ he asked, already knowing the answer.

Tang Yu said, ‘According to this, the two old military dispatches and the Travelogue in our room now line up.’

He paused, recalling: ‘An Alien Tribe invaded; the army fell back to Yanghua Town. After losing it, they drove out the people and burned the town’s supplies.’

‘The grievance of the dead became the town’s illusion, a soul-stealing “Peach-Blossom Spring.” That’s probably the copy’s world background.’

He stopped, and Lin Chen continued: ‘The current Master Meng of Yanghua Town must be the General Meng who held the city back then… He burned the town and accidentally killed its people while alive, and after death he still rules them, bargaining with tigers—definitely no saint.’

He voiced his opinion, then pointed at a line on the page. ‘By the way, Brother Tang, the person talking with Teacher Luo and the others here claims to be you—what’s up with that?’

‘That really is my handwriting, and the phrasing habits match mine,’ Tang Yu said, frowning at the spot Lin Chen indicated. ‘If I didn’t lack any memory of it, I’d swear I wrote it myself…’

‘Maybe you did.’ Qi Si flexed his fingers calmly. ‘Suppose this copy has two timelines. In ours, Luo Haihua and her husband became Nothingness; in the other, it’s the opposite.’

‘You and Lin Ya became Nothingness, while Luo Haihua and her husband survived. Not impossible: before gathering every clue, who knows the right choice in the lantern dilemma?’

Tang Yu shook his head. ‘Impossible. Parallel copies exist, but the system is unique. One player has only one panel; you can’t control two identities at once.’

‘I can see my system panel, and so can you. That means the perspective and identity we control is the absolute “main body.”’

This arcane point about multi-identity “main-body” status sounds obscure, yet it isn’t hard to grasp on reflection.

In Qi Si’s experience, Dialectical Game had ten of him including the original, yet only one system interface, anchored to his main body; the same held true in the Shuangxi Town copy.

Tang Yu lifted the paper, staring at the writing. ‘Since we’re the main body, what on earth contacted Teacher Luo? I haven’t touched a pen since yesterday, let alone written all this…’

‘Different timelines, maybe?’ Lin Chen raised a hand and offered, ‘Like the page says, Teacher Luo and the others lived through the great fire and went to the “real” future of Yanghua Town.’

‘Because we held the lantern, we stayed in Yanghua Town’s past, and on some future day we’ll realize it and intersect with their timeline…’

Tang Yu pondered, still shaking his head. ‘Still wrong. If that were true, we’d have a paradox: seeing this info now means we know the future in advance and would change it.’

‘Yet the words on the paper haven’t changed.’

He pinched the sheet, flipped it back and forth in the air, then set it back.

The black characters on white paper were neither more nor fewer, the message unchanged.

Lin Chen picked up another sheet and read carefully. ‘Could it be stuck because we’re all staring? Maybe once we turn away and look again, it’ll change?’

‘I’m curious how you’ve survived this long—treating it like Schrödinger’s Cat?’ Tang Yu cracked, yet followed suit: together they replaced the papers, turned away in step, then spun back.

The black-on-white sheets lay there perfectly still, still unchanged.

Qi Si stood quietly nearby, head lowered, studying his fingers.

In the stumped silence he suddenly smiled oddly. ‘Back to the first question: how do you know those unseen beings are tied to players, rather than NPCs that were always in the copy?’

‘And how do you know Teacher Luo and the others aren’t fabricated images instead of the real them? Until our new questions are answered, everything is unknown, right?’

Tang Yu looked up, frowning. ‘You mean an NPC forged those words pretending to be us? But I’ve never written anything in this copy—how would it know my phrasing habits?’

‘Have you written in other copies?’ Qi Si lowered his gaze without looking at him. ‘Even if not, you’ve written in real life. Teacher Luo and the others see you in the guild every day—of course they know your handwriting.’

‘Anything that exists leaves traces. Real-world AI can already mimic someone from the slightest online footprint—why would the Eerie Game that drags our souls into copies be unable to do the same?’

‘Besides, imitating handwriting and wording isn’t hard for certain people.’

Tang Yu fell silent, then switched topics. ‘Have you checked the other two rooms? Let’s look—maybe there’re more clues.’

Qi Si nodded, left the room, and pried open the remaining two doors the same way.

Behind each door was much the same: both stood empty.

Two wooden beds sat in place, one near the door, one by the window; bedding neat, no trace of occupancy.

A bedside table stood between the beds, completely bare—no papers, nothing.

‘No lanterns,’ Lin Chen blurted.

He thought of something and continued quietly, ‘None of the three rooms in the eastern Residence have lanterns. The lanterns we brought from outside are either in our hands or back west in town.’

‘The Underworld Record says lanterns are for guiding the way. Without one, you’ll probably never find the road back—meaning you can’t leave Yanghua Town.’

‘Teacher Luo’s task is to exit Yanghua Town, yet their lanterns were overturned, and there doesn’t seem to be anywhere in town that sells them…’

‘Not necessarily.’ Qi Si stood with folded arms, eyes deep. ‘We have four lanterns—enough for four people to leave. There’s still some time before the copy ends; it’s impossible for everyone to survive. Once two more die, the lanterns will suffice.’

Lin Chen and Tang Yu exchanged glances.

Though factually correct, saying it aloud… sounded exactly like something Slaughter-path players would say.

The atmosphere turned eerie; no one spoke for a long while.

Lin Chen treated it as Qi Si’s dark humor; Tang Yu, however, quickly thought deeper.

If the Underworld Record was right—leaving town required a lantern—then anyone who lost theirs would have to seize another to survive.

Though Luo Haihua and her husband seemed kind and simple, who could serenely face death when life and death hung in the balance?

Struggling to live is human nature; to be the last one standing, anyone might throw scruples aside.

With limited chances of survival, the so-called “team” already existed in name only.

Qi Si watched the expressions of Lin Chen and Tang Yu, his own face calm and composed, as if someone else had uttered those dire, sensational words moments ago.

He flicked the sleeves of his robe, turned, and walked out the door. Standing on the second-floor gallery, he rested his hands on the railing and looked down.

“Gentlemen, we’ve already lingered here for quite a while; it’s time to head back. Otherwise, I’m afraid someone will grow impatient.”

As if to confirm his words, a familiar voice sounded downstairs: “My good sirs, are you upstairs? It’s about time; let me take you to see Master Meng. We mustn’t keep him waiting.”

It was the Scholar, his tone scolding, as though reproaching the players for dawdling.

“All right, we’re coming down!” Tang Yu craned his neck to answer, then led the way down the stairs.

By now the instance had thrown up plenty of questions; perhaps they really did have to meet the rumored Master Meng to get any answers.

The three players descended to the ground floor one after another and followed behind the Scholar. The scene oddly echoed that of the morning, giving an uncanny sense of déjà vu.

The Scholar wore a plain blue gown; a mechanical smile hung on his pallid face, his eyes black and lifeless.

Facing the players, he spoke earnestly: “Before you see Master Meng, please remember the following: first, Master Meng will never harm the townsfolk…”

…’Master Meng will never harm us…’

In the alley at the far end of the lane, a small child in white sat on a bench built from stacked bluestones, two ink-black eyes unblinkingly fixed on Qiu Xin.

Since leaving the Residence, Qiu Xin had never intended to go back.

She searched for a place to stay and finally found an empty house at the alley’s end; rumor had it the widower who lived there had been killed by a Wraith, leaving the place vacant.

Knowing herself to be a Wraith, Qiu Xin had no taboos; after a quick tidy-up she moved right in.

The child next door noticed her and seemed very curious.

She spotted him and, thinking to milk an NPC for information, lured the boy to the alley’s end with a piece of candy.

Mm, a kid this young probably isn’t very strong; even if something went sideways, her inventory could handle it.

“Master Meng serves the country and the people; he will never harm common folk. My grandma told me—it’s a rule,” the child recited solemnly, every inch a little adult.

Qiu Xin had never believed officials could be anything but rotten, yet a smile curved her lips as if she quite trusted the boy’s words. Patiently she asked, “Little brother, can you tell me exactly what this rule says?”

“If you became a Wraith, would Master Meng still not harm you?”

The boy tilted his head, grinning: “Master Meng says any Wraith that sneaks into town must be punished. If we find one, we won’t bother Master Meng.”

“Oh? Then what will you do?” Qiu Xin asked curiously.

“We’ll drag the Wraith to look in the mirror!” the child exclaimed, clapping. “There’s a huge, huge mirror in town. One look and the Wraith is scared to death!”

A mirror? Scared to death? What on earth was he talking about?

Qiu Xin was baffled. Feigning a smile, she asked, “If that mirror’s so powerful, why are Wraiths still mixed in among you?”

“Why not have everyone look in the mirror and kill all the Wraiths at once?”

The boy shook his head repeatedly. “No, only people who can read may look in it. Whenever we catch a Wraith, we hand it to those literate gentlemen and let them take it to the mirror.”

Qiu Xin guessed Master Meng didn’t let every townsfolk face the mirror because he knew most of them weren’t human and didn’t want to alert the enemy.

As for ‘people who can read,’ the first figure who popped into her mind was the Scholar.

In this instance the Scholar was probably special: not only did he receive the players and explain the rules, he likely knew many secrets.

If a chance arose later, she might seek him out again for answers.

Qiu Xin brushed aside her wandering thoughts and asked the child, “Since you townsfolk deal with Wraiths yourselves, what does Master Meng actually do? I can see you all respect him.”

“Of course we must respect Master Meng,” the boy declared, gesturing. “He’s our anchor; without him we’d have died in the war long ago.

“It was Master Meng who led us to this fine place—no war, no bandits. Apart from watching out for Wraiths, we can live in peace.

“As long as a Wraith doesn’t kill us, we can live forever—no injuries, no death.”

“Live forever?” Qiu Xin stared at the boy’s bright smile, momentarily stunned.

Death had accompanied her since childhood: her parents perished in an epidemic; her grandmother raised her a few years then died of illness too, and relatives all claimed she’d brought it on them.

During her hospital internship, endless cycles of life and death passed beside her. Patients abandoned treatment because of poverty; others spent fortunes yet couldn’t stop their bodies failing… Death treats everyone equally, so people’s faces were usually cloaked in gloom.

Yanghua Town, however, seemed utterly abandoned by death; every face brimmed with cheerful smiles, free of worry or sorrow.

Even seeing a companion’s corpse, they showed no sorrow or fear, merely handed it to the undertaker with indifference and calm.

But could any place truly escape death and pain? Even inside an instance, inside eerie Yanghua Town, such a setup sounded absurd.

The boy said proudly, “We have the Mountain God’s protection; He shields us from disaster, and Master Meng led us to this place under His care.”

Wasn’t the Mountain God a tiger? And weren’t Wraiths let in by the tiger?

Qiu Xin listened quietly, and the word ‘deception’ suddenly surfaced in her mind.

Someone had deceived most of the townsfolk—but who? Master Meng?

The boy’s face changed. “You don’t know anything! You’re from outside!”

He spun around to run off, clearly intending to tip someone off.

Qiu Xin grabbed the boy’s collar, pinning him against her and covering his mouth. “I’m a guest invited by your Master Meng, not a bad person; many people know that.”

Yet the child seemed deaf to human speech and bit down hard on the back of her hand.

Pain flared but Qiu Xin didn’t let go.

The boy struggled violently; she almost couldn’t hold him.

On the clean ground there was only one shadow, crouched like a starving tiger about to pounce—and it belonged to the boy.

Qiu Xin stared at the shadow, eyes darkening. “Little brother, why so eager? Look at your shadow—you’re clearly a Wraith, not human…”

The boy’s struggles ceased; head lowered, he stared blankly at the shadow on the ground.

After a long silence he murmured, “I’m a ghost, not a person… I’m a ghost…”

The brat had finally realized his true identity. They were both Wraiths; in theory they could cooperate… Qiu Xin released her hold.

The boy stood still on the ground, then slowly turned around.

When he saw Qiu Xin he let out a piercing shriek: “Ghost!”

Startled, Qiu Xin drew a dagger from her inventory and gripped it tight.

The boy’s eyes bulged; he toppled stiffly backward and hit the ground with a smack.

Qiu Xin stepped closer. Terror still lingered on the boy’s face, his mouth slightly open—already breathless.

It was as though… he’d been literally scared to death.