Author: 年终 / Nian Zhong

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

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Chapter 100: The Game of Gods

Drip.

A bead of blood hit the floor and vanished.

Along with it, all the whiteness disappeared. Everything sank into darkness, and countless colors reemerged from the shadows.

Meng Xiaomeng opened her eyes and saw the ceiling lamp of the cheap motel. The air was filled with a metallic, unplaceable stench, and her headache worsened.

…Was that just now another dream? Or a hallucination?

Her stomach spasmed. She rolled over and vomited at the edge of the bed. But after days of unconsciousness, only sour bile came up. Her chapped lips cracked from the motion, adding the taste of blood and a sharp sting.

She had awoken from the dream, she realized, belatedly.

As her blurry vision refocused, she saw there was no four heads on the table—only two, belonging to unfamiliar men. Blood dripped steadily from the wounds, nearly forming continuous red lines.

Beside the heads lay a pile of strange, glowing objects.

They resembled white orbs of light, streaked with odd black mist. The mass pulsated like internal organs looking viscerally familiar.

A goth girl lay next to a heap of wigs. Two insect-like, hunched figures crouched in the corner. A man and woman struggled on the floor in a chaotic scuffle. At the center of it all stood a man in white, silently watching her.

In his arms wasn’t the gray tabby cat from before, but a slender young man in red. The man in red curled up slightly, his cheek pressed against the chest of the man in white.

Meng Xiaomeng: “…”

The scene was surreal. Was she really awake?

But the moment she saw the man in red, a wave of tension and dread swept down her back. Her strength gave out and she collapsed back onto the bed.

Just before her vision faded again, she saw them—huge butterflies fluttering around the bed. But instead of insect bodies, their wings were attached to human heads.

They perched on the corners of the bed, the nightstand, the ceiling. Vivid wings folded tight, and bloodshot eyes locked onto her.

She tried to look closer, but they vanished. Her stomach convulsed again, the nausea lingering.

Before she lost consciousness, she struggled to look once more at the man in red. That color seemed to have a strange pull.

So strange. The rest of the dream matched reality fairly closely, except that one person… why was that person a cat?

Wait.

In the dream, she had instinctively assumed the “gray tabby” was… what, again?

…Was that thing really a cat?

……

Bai Shuangying had lost interest in Meng Xiaomeng.

Her soul was severely damaged and irreparable.

Just as the scent of blood from a wound attracts predators, she would easily draw evil spirits. And now, with her metaphysical aptitude completely destroyed, if she wanted to live decently, she’d need to rely on talismans and divine rituals or join the Underworld.

…Well, that wasn’t his concern.

He’d spared her life and even left her with a clear mind.

Bai Shuangying considered himself the most reasonable evil spirit in the world. As he quietly praised his own fairness, he turned to the table of souls to finish his work.

He mashed the souls of Zhuang Pengdao’s two disciples together with one hand, compressing them into flat disks.

Meng Xiaomeng’s twisted, corrupted soul he chopped into fine filling with a spell. It still contained fragments of the “high school Meng Xiaomeng” and “white-collar Hu Die”, a richly layered flavor.

Cradling Fang Xiu with one arm, Bai Shuangying split open the soul patties and filled them with the minced mixture. Soon, two freshly made soul-filled “burgers” were ready.

Amid the drifting karmic threads, he took a bite and sighed.

After tasting Fang Xiu’s soul, everything else failed to excite him.

Eating these now was nothing more than changing flavors.

If Fang Xiu’s soul was dragon liver and phoenix marrow, then these souls could be regarded as junk food; novel at first but sickening after a few bites.

He glanced down at Fang Xiu’s slightly parted lips. Imagining the taste of his soul again, he finished the burgers with disinterest.

Full and content, Bai Shuangying yawned.

Jiao Jiao and Yan Yan, thinking Fang Xiu had destroyed the Immortal E, slept soundly. The two in the corner were safe for now. Zhuang Pengdao and Mei Lan…

…Wait, why were Zhuang Pengdao and Mei Lan still fighting?

Zhuang Pengdao’s neck was covered in yellow protective charms. His hands trembled as he held talismans. Mei Lan’s scarf shimmered with blue light, and her body was covered in wounds.

Both were at their physical limit. Since the bodies weren’t their own, they fought recklessly. Zhuang Pengdao’s spellcasting was stronger, but Mei Lan had struck first, and that scarf of hers carried an unusual aura…

“This was a weapon gifted by my father…” Zhuang Pengdao growled, glaring at her with bloodshot eyes. “If I die, neither the Underworld nor the living world will let it slide…”

“Your dad probably has hundreds of kids,” Mei Lan said hoarsely. Her face was gaunt, hair disheveled. She looked more like a ghost than a human.

“…You’re not Cen Ling. If you die, Zhuang Chongyue won’t care.”

At the name “Cen Ling”, Zhuang Pengdao’s teeth ground audibly. His face turned a mottled purple-red, his eyes full of fear and loathing.

Seeing that familiar look, Bai Shuangying twitched a finger.

Ah, right.

To him, this room was a little world of its own.

There was the human he liked. The humans he didn’t care about. And… those who stirred his hatred.

His eyes shifted.

Zhuang Pengdao and Mei Lan’s karmic threads writhed violently, entangling wildly in the air. Bai Shuangying reached out and casually plucked a few.

He wasn’t yet back to his full power, able to toy with karma freely, but…

A flick of his fingers joined two of their threads. The moment they connected, both froze like insects trapped in amber.

Even the blood dripping from Mei Lan’s chin stopped midair, suspended and gleaming in the dim light.

How long had it been since he’d felt this?

Before, he had to work hard to pick up the relevant karma when he tried glimpsing at Fang Xiu’s memories. But now, he seemed to have returned to when he was a thousand years ago, when humans were as malleable as clay.

He only needed…

Bai Shuangying extended his index finger and tapped Zhuang Pengdao on the brow.

Zhuang Pengdao gurgled. His expression shifted, from ferocity to confusion, then panic. He stared at Mei Lan.

From the bonded karma, their threads twisted into a tangled ball of yarn. Zhuang Pengdao’s eyes rolled back, leaving only white.

“I am… I’m… Mei Lan…”

He murmured, “I’m Zhuang Pengdao… I’m… Mei Lan?”

Drip.

Bai Shuangying withdrew his finger. The blood drop under Mei Lan’s chin landed on Zhuang Pengdao’s skin.

Mei Lan sensed something wrong. She gasped like a beast, her back arching in tension.

“I’m Mei Lan? I’m Zhuang Pengdao? I’m Mei Lan?” Zhuang Pengdao spoke in a chilling, Mei Lan-like tone. “I remember… I remember…”

His hands reached for the scarf around his neck. “My scarf… My scarf… Zhuang Chongyue tricked my dad for it, then gave it to me…”

“He stole my dad’s antique shop… My mom’s artifact… stole from me… stole from me…”

As he spoke, he began to cry.

“Shut up,” Mei Lan rasped, trembling.

She had no idea what was happening. But Zhuang Pengdao’s expression and gaze were terrifyingly familiar, as if she were looking at herself.

It was as horrifying as seeing your reflection in a mirror start moving on its own. A chill ran down her spine.

Rip.

Zhuang Pengdao tore at the protective charms on his neck, letting the scarf constrict.

“I realized too late…”

He spoke dully. “I envy Meng Xiaomeng…”

Rip. Rip.

His eyes were still rolled back, tears streaming down.

“She could wake from her nightmare. Mine is the nightmare…”

Rip. Rip. Rip.

“Lucky her. She got to be two people…”

He shredded the last talisman, a strangely soft smile spreading across his face.

“I don’t have to hold on anymore. I can die in peace. That’s wonderful…”

He stopped resisting. The scarf tightened suddenly. With a click, his neck broke halfway through, and blood sprayed from his carotid artery, staining half the room.

The spray of blood looked like butterfly wings.

Mei Lan trembled. She was sitting atop Zhuang Pengdao’s corpse, seemingly unaware he was dead. She instinctively covered her ears, shaking her head, murmuring, “Shut up, shut up…”

As she whispered, the scarf kept tightening. Zhuang Pengdao’s neck twisted further, yet the scarf remained clean.

Instead, Mei Lan’s hands were torn bloody. Her breathing came in ragged gasps, leaving dark smears on the filthy floor.

Bai Shuangying hugged the human in his arms, a smile finally curling his lips.

…How amusing. It reminded him of happier times.

If not for the Underworld eventually sending someone to inspect the scene, he could have made it even more interesting. But Fang Xiu was smart. He’d understand.

“Long ago, I could make hundreds of humans believe they were the same person.”

He had twisted their karmic threads into one.

They clawed at each other, screamed, searched for a nonexistent self, like frenzied bees.

“…Or made them believe they were a blade of grass. A fly. A rock.”

He’d balled up their karmic threads into a chaotic tangle.

They buried their heads in the dirt, licked rotten corpses, or gleefully flung themselves off cliffs like real stones, shattering on impact.

Back then, he didn’t even need to lift a finger. Just a passing thought.

“You want to understand me. You want to see me create an apocalypse.”

Bai Shuangying tilted his head, his face close to Fang Xiu’s ear. “Well… I’ve done it. Do you like it?”

Fang Xiu didn’t answer. He slept soundly.

Bai Shuangying looked a little disappointed. He pressed down on Fang Xiu’s lower lip but decided not to wake him.

…Fine. Since Mei Lan survived, Fang Xiu would find out sooner or later.

Now, only one task remained…

Bai Shuangying lifted the hem of Fang Xiu’s T-shirt and gazed at the small porcelain pillow. Fang Xiu’s hand gently rested on it, pressing it against his belly.

Meng Xiaomeng wasn’t a practitioner, much less the pillow’s rightful owner. In her hands, the Immortal E barely functioned. But if it fell into the Underworld’s hands…

Just its “dream at night, come true by day” ability could cause endless trouble.

Fang Xiu had retrieved it, but not for personal use. Maybe his human wanted to negotiate with the Underworld… but…

“I’ll make it up to you,” Bai Shuangying said softly.

He took Fang Xiu’s hand and, using it, gently nudged the porcelain pillow.

…Crash!

The pillow slipped from the bed and shattered against the floor. The porcelain child’s skull cracked open, its head flying across the room.

The ritual was over.

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