Chapter 47 – Carnivore (19): Dispute

As the Pocket Watch of Fate’s hand pointed to six, Qi Si woke naturally.

Morning sunlight slanted in listlessly, glazing every surface with a white enamel. Lu Keliang’s skeleton lay quietly in the courtyard, reflecting pale dawn light.

Qi Si pushed the door open and walked straight to the wing-room where Tattooed Woman stayed, rapping twice—neither soft nor loud.

“Coming! What’s the rush so early?” Tattooed Woman’s voice rang shrill, gurgling with phlegm.

A soft, slithering rustle sounded inside, like a mollusk crawling across the floor, closer and closer, until it stopped beside the door.

With a creak the wooden door opened—but no figure appeared, only a flesh-colored tentacle draped over the handle.

Qi Si looked down. Tattooed Woman’s impatient face was embedded in a puddle of fetid slime, its ragged edges aimlessly stretching out tendrils.

Overnight, she had fully mutated into the same sort of creature as the Village Chief.

Qi Si met her gaze and asked evenly, “How do you feel now?”

“Feel about what?” Her face scrunched. “Same as ever—lousy sleep in this cursed place!”

She actually didn’t notice anything wrong with herself?

Qi Si curved his lips in a faint smile. “Yeah, awful place—nowhere even to bathe. I didn’t sleep well either.”

He stepped back imperceptibly and said casually, “Since you’re awake, come out. Breakfast is waiting.”

“So early?” she grumbled, yet suspecting nothing she let Qi Si coax her inch by inch through the doorway.

Qi Si sidestepped; the shadow covering her slid away. Milky sunlight slanted down, exposing the slime to open air.

Like boiling water or searing flame, she opened her mouth in a shrill scream that within seconds dwindled to a mosquito’s whine, then silence.

Her flesh-colored skin turned translucent; golden blood vessels pulsed beneath, then vanished into gel-white flesh—she had become new God Meat.

The stock of God Meat was plentiful again. Qi Si strolled off humming a nursery rhyme, merit and fame safely hidden.

He walked to the dry well and smiled. “Your Excellency, the man you ate last night was driven down by Yin Lina and me together. Now that Yin Lina is dead, kindly pay the reward to me.”

The well: “…”

The woodshed door opened; Zhou Yilin stepped out covered in dust.

Seeing Qi Si, she burst into tears. “Waaah… last night Sister Zhu wanted to eat me, I had to run and sleep in the woodshed… so scary…”

As if to prove her words, Zhu Ling pushed open the wing-room door, her face puzzled and blank.

Spotting Zhou Yilin, she ran over apologetically. “Yilin, I’m so glad you’re all right. I suddenly lost consciousness last night and can’t remember anything afterward… I’m really sorry.”

“Sister Zhu, I know it’s not your fault… it’s all because of the Eerie Game… I want to go home…”

“Yilin, I made the wrong call. If anything had happened to you, I’d regret it forever…”

Qi Si stood to one side, watching their warm scene with interest, eyes narrowing.

Soon two more doors opened; Zhao Feng and Zhang Licai emerged one after another. Zhao Feng walked straight to Qi Si’s side.

“What the hell is that?” Zhang Licai spotted the huge lump of God Meat and the Lu Keliang-brand skeleton in the courtyard, blinking. “Who… who died?”

Qi Si walked over and sighed heavily. “Yin Lina and Lu Keliang. They slept in the same room and triggered the crisis described in the five-line poem.

“I didn’t notice last night, but judging from the scene, Yin Lina ate Lu Keliang, then mutated from whatever happened in the chief’s house; after touching sunlight she turned into God Meat.”

He wasn’t sure how many had seen Lu Keliang’s death, but it didn’t stop him feeding them misinformation.

Zhang Licai swallowed the tale, slapping his chubby cheeks. “She sure cleaned her plate… Good thing I was smart and took an empty room last night.”

Yang Yundong’s door opened last; the stench of blood and a sea of red burst out.

The man was drenched in gore, his left arm torn from the shoulder; the army coat had lost an entire sleeve.

At the mangled stump, white bone glinted through shredded flesh.

“Two nights ago I promised them meat; last night they came to collect,” Yang Yundong said, eyes sunken yet voice calm. “Luckily, injuries don’t leave the instance. Two or three more days and this will end.”

Qi Si studied the grisly wound and said coolly, “Persistent pain and blood loss can send you into shock. Even with strong willpower, endorphins can cloud judgment. In your state you won’t survive until the instance ends.”

“I know.” Yang Yundong looked utterly relieved. “This is my third instance. Surviving is luck; dying is only fair…”

He glanced at the Yin Lina-brand God Meat and Lu Keliang-brand skeleton on the ground, worry knitting his face.

Only the third day and just six players remained—himself injured—death seemed certain. Would this instance really demand the minimum death quota before clearing?

“Food’s ready, come eat!” Granny Su’s shout broke the silence.

Breakfast time.

After everyone sat, Qi Si smiled at Granny Su. “A-Xi seems to crave meat—yesterday he even ate a piece of my companion’s flesh. Do you usually starve your grandson?”

Granny Su’s face darkened.

She looked at the gaunt boy beside her, exchanged some wordless message, then lifted her gaze, utterly certain: “Our A-Xi does not eat meat.”

Qi Si knew perfectly well that A-Xi didn’t eat meat; he and the others had personally watched A-Xi toss Zhao Feng’s flesh into the well as an offering to the god and gain a reward.

He spouted nonsense on purpose, hoping to trigger Granny Su’s instinct to contradict him—and, ideally, to pry out the exact method of the sacrifice.

He still felt unsettled that after Lu Keliang’s death the well had given nothing but black smoke.

Qi Si’s lips curled in a barbed smile. “Don’t deny it. If he won’t eat the meat, what did he take it for? Not to feed the dogs, surely?”

“No idea, and it’s none of your business.” Granny Su’s tone was hostile; she pulled A-Xi and left the table.

Learning at dawn that two companions were gone, and seeing an NPC visibly angry, the players lost what little appetite they had; after a few bites of steamed buns they rose and drifted away.

Watching the others leave, Qi Si lost interest in finishing and walked toward the door.

Yang Yundong stood alone beside it, silently staring into the distance, thoughts unreadable.

Qi Si strolled over and gave a faint smile. “Brother Yang, let’s cooperate.”

Though he couldn’t fathom why anyone would play the thankless role of a good person, he felt no aversion to a man like Yang Yundong when no interests clashed.

He enjoyed dissecting different human minds and watching how each story ended—the evil, the righteous, the selfish, the selfless… Only the moral ones could be shackled by morality, making them easier to use.

Meeting Yang Yundong’s scrutiny, Qi Si sighed. “You saw it too: only three days left, just six of us remain. Some are probably already planning to kill fellow players to trigger the minimum-death failsafe.”

“As the de-facto leader, you’ll be their first target. Troublemakers will remove whoever keeps order—namely you, and of course the wild card: me.”

“Zhu Ling and Zhou Yilin both look tricky. Zhu’s a third-run veteran; facing an eighty-percent death rate, she may go to extremes. Brother Yang, I don’t want to die…”

Shared plight bred sympathy; a few acknowledged facts, with a touch of exaggeration, easily sounded convincing.

Yang stayed silent two seconds, then countered, “Cooperate—so we wipe the rest first, then you and Zhao Feng pin me down?”

Qi Si beamed. “As expected of Brother Yang; you’re no stranger to schemes.”

“But so what? Team with me, end the instance early, and at least four survive. Survival comes first—does method really matter?”

Yang said coldly, “I can’t read you, yet I sense no reverence for order, no bottom line of being human. If you live, the others are in grave danger.”

Qi Si didn’t argue; he only gave a half-smile. “Brother Yang, quick question: if a terminally ill youth in Eagle County across the ocean needed all your organs to live, would you agree?”

“What are you implying?” Yang’s eyes snapped up, boring into Qi Si’s.

Qi Si kept smiling. “If your answer is no, what right have you to demand I abandon survival for so-called principle? If yes, why not die for me right now?”

“Or are you a dull utilitarian, weighing value by place, age, knowledge, health—then decide who to sacrifice? Or are you just like me, choosing whom to save or kill on a whim?”

Without targeted mental drills, few can untangle a messy skein of issues one by one.

Fallacies of loaded questions, ad hominem attacks, false dilemmas—most people fall for them every time.

Qi Si counted on his fingers like an accountant. “Sure, you’ve written me off as an enemy; facts I state you’ll refuse. So let me offer practical options.”

“One: kill me for the people’s good, then die yourself to procedural justice. Zhao Feng, as my ally, will be erased next.”

“Two: trade yourself for Zhu Ling; outcome’s the same, and I swear her faction will be rooted out. Three survivors might live; if luck’s bad, I live.”

“Three: take the most innocent Zhang Licai. That leaves exactly four—two allied pairs in Nash equilibrium—and we all survive.”

Qi Si tilted his head. “By utilitarian standards, option three has the best ROI—don’t you agree?”

Yang Yundong said icily, “Slaughter-path players who profit by harming others deserve to die.”

“Slaughter-path” is a broad label: such players are antisocial, cling to zero-sum logic, and prefer killing competitors to cooperation.

Qi Si knew names are man-made: kill one man and you’re a criminal; kill a million and you’re a god.

He smiled, voice lilting: “Yet life is precious, no? You’re no god—what qualifies you to judge the right or wrong of choices?”

Yang said, “Killers should pay with their lives; harm-doers should suffer retribution. I saw you lure Yin Lina outside.”

Qi Si acted as if he hadn’t heard, drew the word out: “So—what is your choice?