Chapter 416: Snow Mountain (16) “Dancing and Singing with a God-Faced Mask”

Zhang Yiyu squatted in a corner of the tent, looking at Zhou Ke lying in the center of the tent, unsure whether to lie down or continue sitting.

Even if Zhou Ke were a normal person, being alone with a man in such a confined space would make her uncomfortable, let alone with a humanoid whose actions were unpredictable… Zhang Yiyu was afraid that if she closed her eyes, when she opened them again, she would see something terrifying, like in Jiangcheng, where she was surrounded by flesh and severed limbs.

Fortunately, having been a ghost for many years, she was accustomed to sleeplessness. Although she had regained her human physique, staying awake for a whole night was still manageable.

She stared uneasily at Zhou Ke’s figure, lost in thought, when she saw a faint cluster of crimson light glowing in the darkness, flickering on and off, exceptionally alluring.

Upon closer inspection, how could that be light? It was clearly Zhou Ke opening his eyes, looking at her with a half-smile, his gaze filled with a probing curiosity.

Staring at each other, Zhang Yiyu felt a bit awkward. She quickly made conversation, saying, “Dong Xiwen went out.”

Only after speaking did she remember that Dong Xiwen had asked Zhou Ke before leaving the tent and received Zhou Ke’s permission. This was a pointless remark that only made her sound guilty.

“I know,” Zhou Ke said casually, rustling as he sat up. “I’m going for a walk too. If you’re bored, you can come with me.”

“Not bored, not bored!” Zhang Yiyu quickly pulled the felt blanket over her head and pretended to be dead with her eyes closed. “You go ahead, Big Boss, I won’t hold you back!”

Zhou Ke chuckled softly, lifted the curtain, and stepped out of the tent, into the vast wind and snow. Zaxi and the yak herd were gone, and looking around, he couldn’t see Dong Xiwen or Lin Jue either.

Zhou Ke raised an eyebrow slightly, knowing that these two had most likely teamed up.

An idealist with a Messiah complex, always ready to sacrifice himself, and an arrogant, indecisive fool—truly a perfect match.

Zhou Ke didn’t harbor much excessive malice towards Lin Jue. He merely found it strange that such people hadn’t gone extinct from this world yet, and also thought… he was quite useful.

Only moral people can be morally blackmailed. Compared to those overtly selfish individuals, good people are easier to manipulate.

As for how far Lin Jue and Dong Xiwen would conspire, or what methods they would use against him, he didn’t care much.

Those who adhere to their bottom line are destined to struggle in post-game gambits. The moment Lin Jue activated the effect of 【Dark Judge】, the outcome was already sealed—the evil side of human nature never disappoints.

Zhou Ke fiddled with the recorder, walking aimlessly, as leisurely as if taking a stroll, as if he wasn’t in the final dungeon of a bizarre game, but rather a tourist visiting the snow mountain.

Not far away, a goat stood on a snowdrift, its neck pierced, blood gushing from the wound, staining the fur on its chest, and forming a small patch of pale pink snow under its hooves.

Even so, it was still alive, its horizontally pupils coldly observing Zhou Ke, with an emotionless gaze, as if looking at a dead person.

Zhou Ke suddenly felt that the goat resembled a human, making him suspect if it was a vengeful spirit of someone he had killed, coming to claim his life. Combining the known clues, it might even be a goat that another version of him had killed in a different timeline.

He casually walked over, but halfway there, he felt something was off, so he looked back. The tent and the Ark Guild’s camp behind him were gone, leaving only a vast expanse of white snow. Besides him, there was no other figure between heaven and earth.

“Did I trigger some mechanism? Or… did I enter another dimension?” Zhou Ke guessed with interest, continuing towards the goat.

The goat consistently stood not far ahead of him, tilting its head to watch him. As he approached, it turned and walked, continuing deeper into the snow mountain, like a patient guide leading him to some hidden place.

Several hazy shadows suddenly appeared on the ridge at the end of his vision, looking like another group of travelers. Zhou Ke stopped and stood still. The figures slowly approached, and he saw familiar faces—people he had once killed.

Villagers from Qijia Village and the deceased from Jiangcheng climbed out from under the ice one after another, standing all over the mountain without him noticing. Each deceased was covered in blood, bearing the fatal wounds from their death, staring at him with resentment and hatred.

“Why did you kill us? We had no grievances with you, why did you kill us?” The deceased questioned in unison.

Zhou Ke tilted his head in thought for a moment, then suddenly smiled: “Reason, you ask… I simply wanted to kill you, and happened to have the ability to, so I did.”

The corpses all over the mountain let out angry roars, and bloodied arms waved and clawed at him, leaving more gore on his already blood-stained white shirt.

He walked straight ahead as if oblivious, even quickening his pace, reaching the center of the corpse crowd. He raised the recorder high in his hand and turned it on.

A bizarre hymn resounded through the mountains: “You see Luodapin covered in blood, the so-called mandala colorful, the so-called dance with bone beads, the so-called envoy’s body bright and shining, dancing and singing with a god-faced mask…”

The sound wasn’t loud, but it was extremely penetrating, echoing heedlessly through the mountains, traveling far, far away, as if reaching deep into the soul, stirring all senses.

The deceased lowered their arms, turning their heads stiffly and eagerly, searching for the source of the sound. The accusing gaze they had earlier transformed into a longing when it fell upon the recorder, as if it were the most beautiful Sanskrit chant in the world, symbolizing salvation and hope.

“It even works on these ghosts?” Zhou Ke’s smile widened at the sight before him. He bent down with an exaggerated flourish, like performing a magic trick, a theatrical bow at first glance.

He placed the recorder on the snow and retreated step by step, a clear sign of caution, yet he appeared composed and elegant.

The menacing ghosts completely ignored his departure. In their world, only the hymn-playing recorder existed. They surrounded the recorder in layers, quietly and obediently bowing their heads, listening intently.

Zhou Ke casually pushed aside the corpses on both sides and continued deeper into the snow mountain. The scale of time stretched out, making it increasingly difficult to discern his whereabouts.

Ice walls rose abruptly ahead, towering between heaven and earth, chaotically obstructing his path.

He saw his own reflection in the foremost ice wall, or more precisely, Qi Si, the him from another timeline.

“Hello, Zhou Ke,” Qi Si said.

Zhou Ke tilted his head, and seeing that the person in the ice didn’t move with his actions, his smile grew joyful: “Hello, other me. I didn’t expect to have a chance to talk to myself after the ‘Dialectic Game’ dungeon. It’s quite interesting, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think so,” Qi Si said, looking at him with pity. As Zhou Ke approached, he extended his hand. “I’m curious if you truly know who you are. If you do, how will you view that answer?”

“What if I know? What if I don’t? At least now, I have independent ways of thinking and making choices. Sometimes I can even take your place in the game,” Zhou Ke said with a smile. “Every identity card corresponds to a choice at a crossroads. Some choose rationality, some choose madness.

At the last crossroads, as the rational you, upon seeing the negative effects of 【Foolish Trickster】, you decisively gave it up. But a version of you from another timeline—or rather, me—found the feeling of dancing on a knife’s edge particularly interesting, so I bound it. It’s that simple.”

“Yes, you are my madness.” Qi Si in the ice wall sighed, seemingly helpless. “I’ve heard a little about your actions. Destroying a city merely out of preference, antagonizing Jiuzhou and even Ark without any plan… With all due respect, you are destined to push things to an irreversible point.

You are impulsive, arrogant, reckless, and unrepentant. Such a foolish you will eventually ruin my billions of years of planning and scheming. From a practical standpoint, you are a mistake that shouldn’t exist.”

Zhou Ke sat cross-legged in front of the ice wall, resting his chin on his hand, listening patiently for a while, then asked, “And then what?”

Qi Si stared at him coldly and continued, “You have no desires. People without desires should not exist in this world.

Thirty-six years ago, I created the bizarre game. Twenty-two years ago, I cast you into the world to make you develop desires and become complete. But you failed.

Only a god who has experienced desire can bestow desire upon all beings, can slumber in the apocalypse and awaken in a new era, can exist as the ancestral god who created all things in the world… The current you is no different from the insignificant creatures destined to die in the apocalypse. You greatly disappoint me.”

It was a familiar gaslighting tactic. Zhou Ke nodded sagely: “Coincidentally, I don’t have such a strong obsession with living, nor do I think desire is that important. Knowing your plan is ruined, I actually want to laugh three times in celebration.”

“Is that so?” Qi Si’s compassionate expression vanished, replaced by a nearly maniacal laugh. “Since you don’t want to live, why don’t you just die?”

…On the other side, Qi Si opened his eyes and saw the tent canvas above him.

He was clearly lying in the tent, as if he had been sleeping soundly there all along, never having left. But he knew clearly that everything that happened last night was not an illusion.

That was probably a dungeon mechanism; he had unknowingly fallen into a dream and met people he had once killed.

His cousin, uncle and aunt, Liu Yuhan, Chang Xu… Add those unlucky individuals from ‘Holy City’ and it’s a complete set. Well, those people might also be attributed to Fu Jue.

What concerned Qi Si more was what Zhou Ke said to him at the end of the dream.

That Zhou Ke, wearing his face, was far more insane than the version of himself he remembered, almost as if he had stripped away all pretense and disguise, revealing his inner desires.

Zhou Ke said he had desires, wanted to live, and wasn’t worthy of being “Qi Si.” He seriously considered it and thought this was likely a trap by the Ancestral God, especially since he had just tested it in Baima’s mirror not long ago and was sure he was still missing a part.

Even if he had desires, it wouldn’t matter. People change, and perhaps he would become more complete because of it, able to open the temple of the Sunset Ruins?

More than the abstract concept, he valued the information behind Zhou Ke’s message: Zhou Ke harbored significant malice towards him and had the ability to locate him across time and space. This was indeed troublesome.

Outside the tent, the day had fully dawned. Milky white morning light filtered through the gaps onto Qi Si’s face, casting his complexion in half-light, half-shadow. He sat up, draped his Tibetan robe, and walked out of the tent, seeing Baima sitting among the sheep.

“Did you find your goat?” Qi Si counted the number of goats in the flock, asking knowingly.

Baima shook her head: “I didn’t find it, but I know where it is now. I don’t need to look for it today.”

“Oh? Where is it?”

“In a place that can never be reached without a mirror,” Baima said vaguely. “It has its mission, and each of us, coming into this world, has our mission.”

Mirrors, again mirrors… Qi Si noticed that the goat’s corpse, whose throat he had slit last night and which had fallen to the ground, was gone. No trace of its former existence remained in the snow.

Newly fallen snow buried the evidence of the past, including footprints and bloodstains. Or perhaps they never existed, already vanished into some bizarre time and space.

Baima suddenly pulled out a mirror from her satchel and offered it to Qi Si with both hands: “It’s a new day. Please look at your destiny again.”

Qi Si did not reach out to take it, but merely stared at the woman with a half-smile: “I already looked yesterday. I don’t think there’s any need to repeatedly check something like destiny.”

Baima smiled and said, “People change. Today’s you might be very different from yesterday’s you. If you’ve grown up or shrunk, your destiny might also change.”

Different? Like a person without desires suddenly gaining them?

Qi Si remembered last night’s dream, raised an eyebrow slightly, took the mirror, and looked into the surface compliantly.

The same mist as on the first day spread from the edges, covering the entire mirror surface before gradually dissipating. The scene showed the foot of the mountain, with colorful prayer flags as bright and vibrant as oil paint.

Qi Si saw himself in a red suit, holding the Sea God’s Scepter, standing amidst a sea of people, a genuine smile on his lips, seemingly very satisfied with this outcome.

What does this mean? Does it mean he successfully left the snow mountain?

“Qi Si, admit it, you want to live,” Zhou Ke’s voice echoed in his ear, whether a memory replayed or a hallucination reappearing.

Qi Si returned the mirror to Baima without changing his expression, saying faintly, “I’ve seen it. Nothing has changed.”

Behind him, the rustling sound of boots stepping into snow came. Lin Chen had finally woken up and walked out of the tent.

Upon seeing Qi Si, he seemed to have discovered something incomprehensible, his eyes wide with horror. He pointed at the ground, unable to speak for a long time.

“Lin Chen, what’s wrong?” Qi Si asked casually, his gaze following the direction of Lin Chen’s finger.

“I… I…” Lin Chen gasped for a while, then stammered out a complete sentence, “Brother Qi, I saw you… you have two shadows.”

Qi Si had also more or less seen it: on the pristine white snow, two figures extended from beneath his feet. One matched his appearance, while the other twisted wildly, as if trying to devour the first…