Author: 颜凉雨 / Yan Liang Yu

Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/

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Chapter 132: Siheyuan

The frenzied memories finally shattered. Xu Wang saw the face of his deceased mother. It was the only clear image in the whole process.

His mother was smiling. Time had captured her at her most beautiful moment.

Xu Wang woke up.

The darkroom had already been retracted. All he could see was the pure white ceiling.

He sat up somewhat blankly, took off his helmet, and suddenly felt his cheeks were cool. Touching them, they were wet.

Had he… cried?

“Did you have a nightmare too?” Qian Ai’s voice came from the next compartment.

Xu Wang turned his head. His teammate, like himself, had also sat up from the darkroom and was now resting his hands on the edge of it, as if he had been “waiting for a long time”.

“I didn’t have a nightmare,” Xu Wang said truthfully, not wanting to startle with his first words. His voice was hoarse.

“Come on, your eyes are so red. What’s there to be embarrassed to admit?” Qian Ai wiped his face and sighed. “I dreamed too.”

Xu Wang asked, “What did you dream about?”

Qian Ai said, “About when my dad’s business failed, and we lost everything. Creditors came to our house every day. I didn’t dare to go home after school and just wandered the streets aimlessly.”

Xu Wang knew Qian Ai feared poverty and was stingy. His reputation for “loving money” had been established since high school. But whether in the past or now, Qian Ai never mentioned these underlying issues.

“And you?” As if eager to end his own story, Qian Ai quickly asked, “What did you dream about?”

Xu Wang didn’t hide it and confessed. “My mom.”

Qian Ai was stunned, cursing himself in his heart, regretting asking the question.

Xu Wang didn’t know about his family’s situation because, when it happened, he was still in elementary school. By the time he was in high school, things had changed. But he was aware of Xu Wang’s mother’s death.

Seeing the expression on Qian Ai’s face, as if he wanted to slap himself, Xu Wang knew what he was thinking and quickly reassured his teammate. “I’m fine, really. I’m not lying to you. It wasn’t a nightmare. I just saw my mom.”

Although Xu Wang believed he was telling the truth, his red eyes and hoarse voice significantly weakened his persuasiveness.

The atmosphere became a bit awkward, but fortunately, Wu Sheng’s darkroom on the opposite wall opened.

Like Xu Wang and Qian Ai, he also sat up blankly and slowly took off his helmet, but soon his gaze became clear again.

Facing two pairs of questioning eyes, Wu Sheng frowned and said uncertainly, “I think… I had a dream.”

Xu Wang and Qian Ai nodded in agreement, affirming his statement. “We all had dreams.”

It was said to be a dream, but it felt more like memories being violently invaded and destroyed. The pain of the brain being violated was even more intense than what the dream brought.

“Is it deliberately making us dream about the most painful things?” Having learned from his recent experience, Qian Ai didn’t continue to inquire about Wu Sheng’s dream but speculated in a murmur. “Is this the content of this level?”

“Hard to say.” Wu Sheng raised his arm. There were no new prompt messages in the owl head.

Xu Wang looked towards the wall next to Wu Sheng. There were two darkrooms with Kuang Jinxin and Chi Yingxue inside, but at this moment, no one had come out.

Doubts slowly rose in his heart.

If it was, as Qian Ai said, that the darkroom made people dream of their most painful past, it could explain why Chi Yingxue hadn’t come out for a long time. His past might be too complicated and his wounds too numerous, unlike them who could easily wake up. But what about Kuang Jinxin? Xu Wang couldn’t imagine what kind of painful memories the sunny Kuang Jinxin could have that would keep him trapped.

“Buzz—”

In the low-frequency vibration, Kuang Jinxin’s compartment popped open.

He slowly sat up but didn’t take off his helmet immediately. He sat there blankly, as if his body had woken up, but his soul was still in the dream.

“Xiao Kuang?” Xu Wang called out worriedly.

No response.

Wu Sheng, in the compartment next to Kuang Jinxin, reached out, gently placed his hand on his shoulder, and just left it there.

Kuang Jinxin’s body trembled slightly, and finally, he took off his helmet.

“I dreamed of my parents.” Without anyone asking, he spoke, his voice even hoarser than Xu Wang’s. His eyelashes were wet with tears, and a tear still hung on his chin.

Xu Wang, Qian Ai, and Wu Sheng were stunned, not knowing how to continue the conversation.

“I never told you guys; my parents died when I was very young.” He lowered his head, seemingly a bit apologetic about these “secrets”. “It was a car accident, my grandparents told me…”

“But just now, I dreamed of the accident scene.” He suddenly raised his head, his eyes still holding the sadness of the past but more focused on the present confusion. “It wasn’t the real accident scene, but what I had always imagined.”

“Imagined?” Wu Sheng felt like he was onto something.

“Yes.” Kuang Jinxin nodded. “In the few years after I learned about my parents, I often couldn’t help but imagine the scene. What I dreamed of just now was those imaginations.”

Wu Sheng thought for a moment. “Could it be that these are actually your memories…” He chose his words carefully, trying not to mention the event itself. “You were just too young at the time and forgot?”

“Impossible.” Kuang Jinxin shook his head without any hesitation. “My parents had the accident out of town. By the time our relatives got there, it was two days later. And no one took me there. I stayed at home with my grandparents.”

“See, just like I said. Whether it’s true or false, it just grabs the most painful part of your heart!” Qian Ai angrily slammed his fist on the edge of the compartment, making a loud pounding sound.

[Owl: Builder, confirmed!]

Suddenly, a prompt sounded in the ears of the four companions, almost seamlessly connected to Qian Ai’s slam.

Qian Ai reflexively looked down at the edge of the compartment, wondering if he had accidentally pressed some voice button.

Wu Sheng, Xu Wang, and Kuang Jinxin, however, simultaneously looked towards the only compartment that hadn’t opened yet—Chi Yingxue.

What builder? How was it confirmed?

[Owl: In everyone’s heart, there is a darkroom…]

The voice in their ears suddenly softened, as if it wanted to coax them and tell them a sweet bedtime story.

[Owl: That’s where the most feared things of a person are hidden—their deepest fears. After being filtered through the helmet, the person with the most exciting, splendid, and fun darkroom automatically becomes the builder. Everything you encounter next will be the amusement park they built for you…]

[Owl: Dears, welcome to the hell of the mind.]

The prompt sound disappeared, and the world suddenly darkened, as if all the lights were turned off at once.

The air also quieted down—so quiet that they could hear the breathing of their teammates.

The hell of the mind.

Xu Wang rolled these words in his mind, finally picking up the lost fragment—the last image in his mind was of his mother smiling, but beneath her was a hospital bed.

Suddenly, the support beneath him disappeared, and Xu Wang, caught off guard, fell to the ground.

There were three more “thuds” by his ear, evident his companions had met the same fate.

Light gradually seeped into his field of vision.

Faint, bright, with a slight chill.

Xu Wang raised his head. It was the moon, obscured by dark clouds, leaving only a narrow edge, struggling to cast a faint light.

What space capsule, what secret compartment—all were gone. Now they were under a gloomy night sky.

Qian Ai, not as poetic as the captain, first looked around as soon as there was a bit of light. Upon looking, he was stunned. “Is this… Xiao Xue’s mind?”

A red courtyard with high walls stood quietly in front of the four companions, in the midst of this wilderness.

There were no alleys, no streets, no paths, no flowers or willows planted; the courtyard seemed to have been moved from the busiest part of Beijing right into this wilderness, like an illusion created by a ghostly woman for a scholar.

The courtyard gate was new, with red paint shining under the weak moonlight.

In front of the gate were a pair of stone drums, too dark to see the carvings, but the drums showed no signs of weathering, still with clear patterns and clean colors.

Wu Sheng was the first to approach the gate, intending to take a closer look. Accidentally looking up, he was stunned. “There’s a surveillance camera…”

The three immediately gathered around. Indeed, a highly defensive camera was installed in a corner of the eaves, facing the gate, leaving no visitor unseen.

A courtyard with a camera?

“What on earth is Xiao Xue thinking about every day…” Qian Ai was completely baffled.

Wu Sheng pursed his lips, contemplating whether to knock or break in, when the gate opened by itself.

Qian Ai decisively shut up, and the others also held their breath, making no sound.

Inside the gate, a brick-carved shadow wall came into view, depicting cranes standing on pine branches—symbolizing longevity.

In old Beijing courtyards, one first encounters a screen wall upon entering, for feng shui purposes and to block spirits, as it’s said that ghosts can’t turn corners and only travel straight.

Past the left-hand side of the gate was the real front courtyard.

Entering the front courtyard, the anachronistic feeling finally disappeared.

This was a modern, renovated siheyuan*. The front yard was clean and simply decorated, maintaining the old courtyard’s original look, but the doors, windows, and details were modern.

*A historical type of residence that was commonly found throughout China, most famously in Beijing and rural Shanxi. Throughout Chinese history, the siheyuan composition was the basic pattern used for residences, palaces, temples, monasteries, family businesses, and government offices.

Despite everything looking new and clean under the night, the entire courtyard still felt eerie.

In the front yard, there was a row of servant rooms facing north. Two middle-aged men were playing chess in front of the rooms. One was jangling his car keys, while the other was holding pruning shears, using their free hands to play chess.

The companions tiptoed into the courtyard, not daring to move forward, and stood still about six or seven meters away, quietly observing the two men.

As if feeling their gaze, both men turned their heads simultaneously.

The man with the pruning shears frowned first, asking unpleasantly, “Who are you?”

As soon as he spoke, all four companions simultaneously received a “ding”.

[Cheat Sheet]: Find Chi Yingxue.

The companions, whose hearts were scattered in all directions, finally caught a direction.

Although still confused, they at least knew what their task was.

Seeing the men getting more impatient, Xu Wang quickly said, “We’re here to find someone.”

“Find someone?” The other also stood up, the car keys on his finger still spinning. “Who?”

Not knowing what the situation was or how to proceed, Xu Wang decided to get straight to the point. Maybe he could blast out some clues. “Chi Yingxue. We’re looking for Chi Yingxue.”

The car keys and pruning shears both paused. “Looking for the young master?”

The companions, caught off guard, were also stunned.

Young master?

Is this… Chi Yingxue’s home?!

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