Chapter 405 Snow Mountain (V) “What is a Gabala?”

Dong Xiwen arrived at the inn at the foot of the Snow Mountain in the evening.

Under the dim sky, the Snow Mountain appeared in shades of gray and white, looking desolate and ominous like a grave.

He could have arrived earlier, but Qi Si seemed interested in everything, stubbornly dragging them from one shop to the next, ignoring the increasingly dangerous look in the messenger’s eyes.

As an indentured servant with no personal freedom, Dong Xiwen could only follow along blankly with another indentured servant named “Zhang Yiyu,” occasionally guessing whether they would be unlucky enough to trigger a death point.

The young man wearing the clown mask and blood-stained white shirt, however, seemed entirely unconcerned about impending death. He sauntered out of the last shop, holding a recorder he had produced from somewhere, and stood in the middle of the street, pressing the play button.

The strange chant, “What is a Gabala?” followed by “Om Mani Padme Hum Om Mani Padme Hum,” solemnly rang out. The young man noticed their odd glances and chuckled: “I heard almost every shop playing this song, and it’s quite catchy, so I recorded it.”

Catchy? What kind of taste is that? Dong Xiwen clicked his tongue, about to complain, when he heard footsteps within the song.

The light footsteps sounded, masked by the static, growing closer, right behind him. It sounded like… something had been attracted by the song.

Dong Xiwen’s heart tightened. He looked back and saw a devotee completely wrapped in sackcloth, kneeling in a strange posture, approaching him step by step.

The devotee’s limbs were stiff. With every kowtow, its neck twisted to a degree impossible for a normal person, making a grating “kaka” sound that instilled an unsettling feeling of being haunted by a vengeful ghost.

This definitely looked like a triggered death point, being targeted by a ghost… Dong Xiwen grabbed his item, ready to smash it over, but the young man beside him calmly turned off the recorder and said leisurely, “It seems this chant also has the effect of attracting ghosts. Interesting. I wonder if the effect is distance-dependent, and if we can play it on the Snow Mountain.”

Dong Xiwen: “…”

He felt that Qi Si truly had some mental issues; he didn’t care about others’ lives, and he seemed equally unconcerned about his own.

By now, twilight had deepened. The devotee, drawn by the song, lost its target when the music stopped. It changed direction and continued along the path it had been following.

The mountain wind, carrying the chill of the Snow Mountain, lashed fiercely against the inn’s doors and windows, causing the panes to rattle loudly and the wind chimes hanging on the door to clang.

At the young man’s gesture, Dong Xiwen took the lead and entered the inn, hearing a lively discussion coming from the lobby.

“Old Lin, I knew you wouldn’t die so easily. You have no idea what I’ve been through these past years…” A dramatic male voice rambled quickly. “This unworthy one endured hardships, bore humiliation, and painstakingly managed to enter the Tower of Babylon… Damn it, if I had known the Tower was like this, I would have brought a cotton coat.”

Another clear voice calmly stated, “Xiao Xiao, from your words, I can deduce two pieces of information: first, I am generally believed to be dead in the outside world; second, we have been missing for a long time. Is that correct? Is ‘Tower of Babylon’ the name you gave the tower in the Ruins of the Setting Sun?”

“Yes, yes. Back then, when you all swore your vows in the Ruins of the Setting Sun, fire suddenly rained down from the sky, and the earth overturned—this was later called the ‘Twilight of the Gods.’ Later, everyone else’s bodies were gradually found, but yours and Sister Chu’s bodies vanished into thin air in reality. I knew right away there must be a story there.”

“How many died?”

“Many, too many to count. In short, the Ark is completely gone. I was appointed during a time of crisis, and despite the hardship, I temporarily set up a guild…”

“I generally understand. Because of a divergence in ideology, you took half the survivors and established your own faction.” The clear male voice changed tack. “Let’s return to this instance. If my deduction is correct, this is the final instance mentioned by the Main God. As long as we clear it, we can rewrite the rules.

“I only arrived ten minutes earlier than you. It seems the span of real-world time has been compressed to the maximum extent within the instance. Also, I need to know the year of your timeline.”

“My side is July 11, 2025… Speaking of which, this final instance opened too suddenly. When I entered the Tower, I saw that the system interface and the live broadcast icon hadn’t even refreshed. I thought it was a bug.”

“So, eleven years have passed? That really is quite a while…”

Dong Xiwen listened behind the screen, his expression growing serious.

Judging by the conversation, these players came from different timelines, including many relics from decades ago. Whether there were people from the future was unknown, but they were certainly many legendary figures.

Furthermore, the person who swore the oath in the Ruins of the Setting Sun eleven years ago should, logically, have died 100% during the Twilight of the Gods—a disaster of that magnitude offered no chance of survival.

So, were the “players” gathered in the lobby truly living people? Could they be the ghosts or phantoms left behind by players who had already died? And if so—what about him, encountering these dead people?

This instance was probably even stranger than he imagined. No wonder he hadn’t encountered the legendary “Lin Crow” on the way; heaven knows where he’d been sent this time… Dong Xiwen thought wildly, quickly realizing an even worse possibility.

To him, players from past timelines were the deceased lingering in the world without realizing it, because the bizarre game was still continuing, meaning they hadn’t successfully cleared the final instance.

But what if a player from a timeline after his appeared, telling him that he, too, had failed to clear the final instance, and the bizarre game would continue for decades, perhaps endlessly?

No, there wouldn’t be that much time. Yuan had told him in the Dream Space that the rules were about to reboot the world, and if they couldn’t rewrite them, everyone would die in the apocalypse… Dong Xiwen wasn’t afraid of death. When Qi Si handed him the small card and said he would pull him into the final instance, he actually felt honored to be able to contribute to the future of the world instead of idly waiting for death.

But what if he knew the destined outcome of death from the start? Putting himself in their shoes, anyone would find it hard to accept at first… Dong Xiwen slightly lowered his gaze and walked slowly into the lobby, planning what to say as an opening. Unexpectedly, the first glance revealed several familiar figures among the crowd.

The young man sitting in the center wore a white suit and frameless glasses, his expression slightly solemn, his fingers trembling slightly.

The man with a long ponytail, dressed in a gray coat, appearing quite artistic, paced back and forth, perhaps too excited or too nervous.

A long-haired girl in a beige hoodie sat in a wheelchair, holding a notebook and writing furiously.

Dong Xiwen had only vaguely heard of these people and wasn’t sure if they were the originals, but there was one person he could never mistake.

The middle-aged man standing in the corner had gray-blue eyes, light golden hair, a rigid profile, and fine stubble on his chin. He was none other than Yuan, the leader of the Scales Church, who had recently spoken with him!

“Brother, is that him? You know him well, help confirm it,” Dong Xiwen silently asked in his mind.

Dong Ziwen’s voice sounded: “Yes.”

“Our boss sure hides things deep. Which card does he have?”

“I don’t know,” Dong Ziwen said coldly. “He didn’t tell me.”

“Well, what should we do next? Pretend we don’t know him?”

Before the two could reach a conclusion, the young man beside them stepped forward and smiled at the early arrivals: “Good morning, everyone. My name is Zhou Ke, and I’m from May 5, 2035.”

“And just to be clear, ‘Zhou Ke’ is a pseudonym. I hope you don’t mind.”

Dong Xiwen understood the young man’s intention.

From a timeline perspective, they were the latest group of travelers to enter this final instance. No matter what names they gave, these people would never have heard of them, making it easy for the others to judge their background—

Either they were completely unknown, or they joined the game late and lacked experience.

It was better to state directly that they were using pseudonyms and let the others guess their true identity and strength.

“No way, brother? Using a pseudonym as a precaution even at this point—that’s a very Xila move.” The long-ponytail youth scoffed, then introduced himself: “My real name is Xiao Fengchao. I am currently the president of the Listening Wind Guild, yes, the one ranked second on the power list.”

Dong Xiwen listened and mentally exclaimed, “Holy crap!” So his initial impression wasn’t wrong; it really was this guy.

This person was quite famous, having been missing for ten years, with various rumors about his whereabouts circulating on the forums. He never expected him to also be in the final instance.

Thinking about it in reverse, since so many illustrious predecessors had died here, a small fry like him probably wouldn’t escape the fate of getting killed off… The other travelers also introduced themselves one after another. Some names he had heard of, others were less famous, failing to register in his mind.

Dong Xiwen and Zhang Yiyu gave their real names but, like Zhou Ke, claimed they were pseudonyms. After all, this group was, strictly speaking, “ancients,” and they wouldn’t discover the deception.

The young man in the white suit was clearly the leader of the travelers. After everyone had introduced themselves, he extended his hand to Zhou Ke and smiled slightly: “Hello, I am Lin Jue, president of the Ark Guild. I entered the final instance on January 1, 2014.”

“I am both happy and regretful to meet you all here, but I believe that as long as we work together, we will definitely clear this instance.”

Lin Jue—although this name had been buried by time for too long, no one present would find it unfamiliar.

A legendary figure, a tragic failure, a sacrificed savior of the old days… Countless old-timers on the forums recited his name and reminisced about that era filled with hope.

Zhou Ke smiled and shook Lin Jue’s hand: “So it’s Chairman Lin!, I’ve long admired your name.”

…On the other side, Sang Ji stood at the stairwell and asked without turning back, “Which room are you staying in? I’ll take you there.”

His tone carried a trace of barely concealed urgency, seeming very serious about the answer, perhaps overly enthusiastic.

Lin Chen recalled Sang Ji’s previous zeal for the human skin thangka, and vaguely suspected that this NPC might try to peel the players’ skin off in the middle of the night.

Qi Si seemed oblivious, giving Sang Ji a gentle smile: “Old man, you’ve worked hard enough bringing us here. We’ll walk the rest of the way ourselves.”

Sang Ji shook his head: “That won’t do. The sacred chant has begun. You must use the prayer wheel and recite scriptures to pass their path.”

Qi Si nodded seriously: “In that case, old man, you should go back and rest. Lend us the prayer wheel for the night, and we’ll return it once the sacred chant stops.”

Sang Ji: “…”

After a further stalemate, Sang Ji finally gave up. He descended the stairs with a hunched back, the ancient wooden steps emitting a grating groan.

Using the light of the candle in the stairwell, Qi Si caught a glimpse of the exposed skin on the back of Sang Ji’s neck: deep brown corpse spots were spreading like mold across the wrinkles.

The edges of these patches were ulcerated and blackened, and yellowish viscous fluid seeped from beneath the rotten skin, slowly trickling down the spinal groove. The spots above them mysteriously shifted with Sang Ji’s shuffling steps, as if something alive was moving beneath the skin.

—They were corpse spots, the kind that only appear on the dead.

Only after Sang Ji’s figure disappeared from view did Qi Si use the key to open Room 6. He and Lin Chen entered the room one after the other, and he didn’t forget to lock the wooden door behind them.

This inn had some age to it, and the soundproofing was poor. Even with the door closed, they could still hear the chanting and singing, sometimes near, sometimes far. The gale, mixed with snow and ice shards, howled through the cracks with a mournful, ghost-like cry.

The furnishings in the room were also old-fashioned. There were no electronic devices common in modern hotels, such as electric kettles, landline phones, or televisions. Even the lighting was provided by segments of white candles on a candlestick, the orange-yellow flames burning low and flickering weakly, listlessly.

A large wooden bed stood in the center of the room, flanked by two bedside tables. The one on the left was empty; the one on the right held a wooden sculpture covered in oil paint.

It must have been a Buddha statue, with a face as dark blue as iron, eyes wide with fury. Six arms, twisted and extended like spider legs, were poised in a predatory stance, looking as if they would leap out at any moment.

The middle left arm was wrapped with a rusty chain, at the end of which hung a small skull of a dead person. The carving was lifelike and terrifying, causing an inexplicable panic in one’s heart.

Lin Chen examined the statue for a moment and whispered, “This should be the Six-Armed Mahakala. The front left and right hands hold a sword horizontally, the middle left hand holds a human head, and the right hand holds a ewe. The rear left and right hands hold an elephant skin, and it wears a garland of skulls. It is commonly called the ‘Great Black Deva,’ symbolizing perfection and the savior, and is one of the Dharma protectors in Esoteric Buddhism, as well as a Cemetery Deity, often guarding the tombs of the dead.”

He paused, looking worriedly out the window: “Brother Qi, are we near a cemetery right now? Could Shangri-La itself be a massive grave?”

Qi Si didn’t know much about Esoteric Buddhism. Qi’s memories were too vast, and specific knowledge had been compressed to the point of being difficult to retrieve and distinguish.

He looked toward the window and said flatly, “Possibly. At the very least, the Snow Mountain here is a giant grave.”

The room’s glass window was large, taking up almost half the wall. Outside was the Snow Mountain, the frozen ice wall standing sheer, like a wall rising from the ground.

When viewed from outside the inn, the Snow Mountain seemed far away from the building, but looking now, the crystal-reflective ice and snow were barely a meter away, close enough to touch.

Bas-reliefs of creation myths were carved into the ice wall, content that Qi Si had seen in the murals of the temple. The carving was fluid and beautiful, completely devoid of the stiffness of human craft, appearing instead like the supernatural work of nature.

Through the semi-transparent surface layer of ice, rows of black figures could vaguely be seen deep inside. Based on the known information, those were likely the deceased buried within the Snow Mountain.

Without the concealment of coffins, the bodies stood naked, sealed vertically in the ice layer. At first glance, they looked like a line of figures standing outside the window, coldly observing the players inside the room.

Perhaps to give the travelers an immersive experience, the windows of the inn had no curtains. Standing by the window felt like being immersed in the Snow Mountain itself, with nothing but a vast expanse of white in front.

Snowflakes drifted in with the wind, carrying ancient vastness and sorrow, making one feel even smaller, like a speck of dust submerged in an endless frozen lake, where memory, emotion, and thought became irrelevant, leaving only an invisible, intangible void.

All men must die. The endpoint for everyone is nothing more than a small grave. What difference was there between the people inside the window and the corpses outside? One day, they would lie side by side beneath that ice layer, their joy, anger, sorrow, greed, hatred, and delusion erased by the scale of millennia.

Qi Si suddenly realized that in this instance, he had once again thought about death.