Translator: Cinder Translations
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"Pa!"
A hand rested on Fatty's shoulder. Wearing a paper effigy's head, Fatty tried to look down at the hand, but his vision was too restricted to see it.
The next moment, he felt someone climb onto his back.
Even though he had mentally prepared himself, when it actually happened, he still shuddered instinctively. The face beneath the paper effigy was already drained of all color.
The person climbing onto his back was incredibly light—too light. He estimated that they might not even weigh 80 pounds.
It had to be the bride.
After a brief hesitation, Fatty mustered his courage and began walking with the bride on his back. His only thought was to move quickly—faster—so he could pass the bride to the next person as soon as possible. Then… then he would be safe.
As for who the next unlucky person was, that wasn't his concern.
As long as it wasn't the doctor, he didn't care.
With this in mind, Fatty gritted his teeth and picked up his pace.
To reach the next person faster, he walked as close to the lakeshore as possible—but not too close. He kept a steady five-meter distance from the water.
The lake remained shrouded in mist, a white haze that seemed to conceal monsters and ghosts. Fatty took only one glance before quickly looking away, refusing to let his gaze linger on the eerie water.
The only thing that reassured him was that the bride on his back remained completely silent. She seemed uninterested in him, making no unsettling moves throughout the journey.
Fatty was so relieved he almost cried. For the first time in his life, he felt grateful that women didn't find him attractive.
At the same time, he couldn't help but worry about the doctor.
Just as he was lost in thought, a sudden splash echoed beneath him.
Snapping back to reality, he glanced down—only to realize, with a jolt of horror, that at some point, he had stepped into the lake. The water had already swallowed his ankles.
His heart clenched. He had been so careful, deliberately keeping his distance from the lake. How…?
Instinctively, he looked toward the water.
In the next second, his vision seemed to be struck by a hammer, narrowing into a thin slit.
Reflected in the water, he saw the bride on his back—her face hidden beneath a red veil. Her neck was twice the length of a normal person's, grotesquely twisted, her waist bending so far backward it looked as though she was about to snap in half.
And at that moment, an eerie, rhythmic sound filled his ears.
"Clack... Clack..."
It was as if someone was grinning, repeatedly clicking their upper and lower teeth together.
The mental image this sound conjured nearly scared Fatty's soul out of his body. He instinctively turned sideways, ready to hurl the thing on his back into the lake.
But at the last moment, he forced himself to stop.
Not only would that break the rules, but judging by the creature's appearance, it was undoubtedly a water ghost. And since he was already standing in the water, throwing it in would only seal his own fate.
Even though the shore was only a few steps away, humans could never outrun ghosts.
Taking a deep breath, he endured the overwhelming terror and slowly stepped out of the water. Then, he picked up his pace, walking faster and faster.
A tingling sensation crept up his neck, like strands of hair brushing against his skin. A wet, rough, textured object slowly dragged along his throat.
Moist. Coarse. Sticky in an inexplicable way.
Fatty immediately realized what it was.
A tongue.
The ghost on his back... was licking him!
A wave of goosebumps erupted across his skin. His teeth chattered so violently that the sound almost drowned out the clicking behind him. If he weren't biting down on a tree branch, his reaction would've been even more exaggerated.
Just when he thought he couldn't endure it any longer, he finally saw someone up ahead—not far away.
With the speed of a hundred-meter sprinter, he rushed forward.
"Pa!"
Fatty slapped the person's shoulder in excitement. Maybe he used too much force, or maybe it was too sudden, but the person's legs buckled, nearly making them collapse.
The sight of the oversized red opera costume, stretched to its limit, along with the trembling figure inside it, confirmed Fatty's guess—this had to be You Qi.
After all, in this scenario, he was the only one with a similar build to Fatty.
The ghost on his back was unexpectedly obedient. As soon as they reached the destination, it climbed down on its own, without any coaxing, and immediately clambered onto You Qi's back.
Fatty followed the game's rules to the letter, keeping his eyes shut. He didn't dare look until he heard the sound of footsteps fading into the distance.
Only then did he open his eyes.
By then, the figure had already disappeared.
"Whew—"
Fatty let out a long breath. Now, he just had to wait for the drum signal to retreat.
He glanced around at the endless night and swallowed hard.
"Doctor, please be safe."
—
"Plop."
"Plop."
"Plop."
After a series of light footsteps, the only sound left was water splashing.
Zuo Jing stretched her stiff neck and glanced at the lake beside her.
In the reflection, the thing on her back had become increasingly restless.
In just ten minutes, it had changed positions multiple times. At one point, Zuo Jing even thought it would bite her.
But her mental resilience and control over the situation were far beyond Fatty's.
She had her own understanding of this "bridal procession" game.
Time was the most critical factor.
If she had to make an analogy, this game was like a military training exercise with live explosives.
A group of soldiers would form a circle, passing around an explosive with a lit fuse. Only when the fuse was about to burn out could the final person throw it away.
The ghost on her back was that explosive.
It was bound to detonate. And one of them would inevitably die.
Her goal was simple—make sure the explosion didn't happen while she was holding it.
And if she could make it explode in someone else's hands instead... even better.
A handsome yet often shameless face surfaced in her mind.
Everyone connected to Deep Crimson... deserved to die.
The father who loved her the most—her father—had died at the hands of those vile people.
Her forehead tensed as blue veins surfaced, memories of her most painful past surfacing. She quickened her pace, determined to reach the next transfer point as soon as possible.
—
When the long-awaited drum signal finally sounded, the scattered players quickly returned to their rooms.
In Jiangcheng's room—
Fatty rushed inside.
The moment he saw the doctor sitting at the table, leisurely sipping water, his tense heart finally settled.
Although the doctor was incredibly cunning, his chances of getting into trouble were slim. But still—he had caught the butler's attention. And after failing to recognize Liao Zhi as a ghost, Fatty realized that even the doctor wasn't omnipotent. He could make mistakes.
Half an hour after the drum signal ended, all the players had returned—except for one.
"Where's Zuo Jing?"
Xia Meng frowned, glancing at the empty doorway.
"Why hasn't she come back?"
An Xuan's face darkened.
Realizing that Zuo Jing was still missing, he wasted no time, immediately striding toward the next room.
Moments later, he returned.
After a brief pause, he looked up and spoke:
"The woman in the painting... is gone."
(End of the Chapter)
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