"Oh, you chose this yourself. Don't regret it."
"How could I possibly regret it? Never!"
Once, an opportunity to walk away had been placed right before his eyes, and he hadn't cherished it.
Now, Tan Wenbin truly regretted it.
He had realized by now that if they wanted Zhou Yong to "open up" and talk, and if they wanted to get to the truth behind all this, they had to drink this meal through to satisfaction, or nothing would work.
Tan Wenbin looked at Li Zhuiyuan again. Little Brother Xiao Yuan was holding his chopsticks, head lowered, lightly tapping the rim of his bowl, looking for all the world like an innocent, playful child.
He looked toward Runsheng next. This time, Runsheng didn't look away; instead, he took the initiative to meet his eyes.
A warm current instantly surged through Tan Wenbin's heart. These were the roommates he shared a makeshift bed with at night, after all.
*Brother Xiao Yuan, Runsheng, if anything happens to me after I drink this, remember to tell my dad I didn't die a coward.*
With his resolve built up, Tan Wenbin reached out with both hands to grab the wine bowl.
Right then, Runsheng stood up, reached over, and pulled the bowl of wine from in front of Tan Wenbin.
Then, holding the bowl, he gave it a slight wave in front of Zhou Yong, tipped his head back, and downed it in a single gulp.
He didn't stop there. One by one, Runsheng took the two remaining wine bowls before Zhou Yong and drained every drop.
Tears welled in Tan Wenbin's eyes from sheer gratitude.
Li Zhuiyuan merely tilted his head to glance at them, then lowered his gaze again to keep tapping his chopsticks against his bowl.
He wasn't surprised by Runsheng's actions.
Still, it was hard on Brother Runsheng. He knew that given the choice, Runsheng preferred proper meat that had been "thoroughly marinated." The food on this table and the wine in these bowls were foul, but they weren't thoroughly rotten. In Brother Runsheng's eyes, a dead-flipper was just like pork, beef, or mutton, but having a taste for meat didn't mean he enjoyed eating offal.
Runsheng's bold gusto quickly pleased Zhou Yong, who began incessantly pouring more wine and gesturing for toasts.
During the rounds, Zhou Yong pointed at the dishes on the table, reminding Runsheng not to forget to take some bites to settle the alcohol.
Runsheng cast all hesitation aside as well. He picked up food straight from the dishes and shoveled it into his mouth, chewing with loud, crunching snaps.
Wiping his mouth, he raised his bowl again to clink it against Zhou Yong's.
That was just how it went at a banquet. Once the drinkers sat together and got into the groove, everyone else ceased to exist.
Because of that, Li Zhuiyuan and Tan Wenbin faced no further pressure, leaving the two of them to sit quietly and act like invisible air.
At long last, little remained of the food on the table, and they had drunk their fill.
Li Zhuiyuan stuck the pair of chopsticks in his hand upright into his bowl of rice.
Runsheng put down his wine bowl and knocked against the tabletop.
Zhou Yong set his bowl down too, reverting to the posture he had held at the very beginning.
His mouth began opening and closing rapidly, producing sounds like those of a funeral performance troupe chanting scriptures during a zhaishi memorial service—there was a melodic cadence to it, but the enunciation was utterly garbled.
The cadence made Li Zhuiyuan feel rather drowsy.
He couldn't help yawning, forcing away the sleepiness, and glanced toward Zhou Yong with a hint of dissatisfaction, feeling the man wasn't communicating in good faith.
Yet when he turned to look at the others, he discovered that Runsheng and Tan Wenbin on his left and right had both closed their eyes, their bodies swaying slightly from side to side. They had entered a dream.
Evidently, Zhou Yong was communicating with them.
The drowsiness he had felt moments ago had actually been Zhou Yong's "invitation."
An invitation that his own instincts had rejected.
Li Zhuiyuan wondered if walking the yin path so frequently lately had built up some kind of resistance in him.
Yet at times, a vicious cycle was unavoidable, just like right now.
Propping his left elbow on the table and resting his chin in his left hand, Li Zhuiyuan let his eyelids half-close. He took a chopstick in his right hand and gave the rim of the bowl a light tap.
*Ding!*
He entered the yin path successfully.
He was inside, yet also seemingly not.
In his vision, a scene appeared of Runsheng and Tan Wenbin speaking with Zhou Yong, but between that scene and himself hung a layer of shifting, viscous gelatin.
Li Zhuiyuan reached out to touch it and felt a distinct resistance. When he exerted more force to part it and step inside, Runsheng and Tan Wenbin in the warped image both displayed looks of agony.
Seeing this, Li Zhuiyuan had no choice but to give up.
Although he was already quite proficient at walking the yin path, he didn't know how to force his way into a dream that had already formed around others.
Ah Li knew how.
That had led Li Zhuiyuan to assume he ought to know as well—or rather, he had never even thought of it as a potential obstacle.
He could only blame it on the flaws of being self-taught.
Even so, Li Zhuiyuan didn't choose to wake up. Since this situation had arisen and he couldn't take part in the conversation, he might as well use the opportunity to observe carefully.
He stood from his seat. The table now formed a self-contained domain, the invisible gelatin wrapping the three of them together. Li Zhuiyuan walked around the table in a circle.
He believed there had to be a specific method to merge into it.
For instance, the second step for controlling a dead-flipper in Wei Zhengdao's black book required tuning one's conscious vibrations to the same frequency as the dead-flipper, which would grant entry.
Inside this dream, however, there wasn't just Zhou Yong; there were also Runsheng and Tan Wenbin. How was he supposed to match the combined frequency of one dead-flipper and two living humans?
Or had they already blended into a single frequency right now?
Li Zhuiyuan raised a hand and patted the gelatin before him.
Within the distorted image, Runsheng and Tan Wenbin once again looked distressed.
Forget it. Now wasn't the right time to conduct detailed experiments.
Suddenly, Li Zhuiyuan felt a hand gently tugging at him.
He looked down and saw the girl.
The little girl was crouched on the floor, her shoulders heaving as she wept.
He had walked the yin path once when he first sat down in the house, but at the time, the girl and her mother were in the kitchen, not the parlor.
From his current perspective, the white rice grains on the girl's body began to squirm.
No, those weren't grains of rice at all—they were dense clusters of white maggots burrowing in and out of her flesh.
The girl lifted her head and looked at Li Zhuiyuan.
She opened her mouth, seemingly letting out a soundless scream. The white maggots covering her eye sockets rapidly scattered, and tears of blood seeped from the pitch-black hollows.
She was telling him that she was in agony, that she was suffering torment, that she wanted release.
The black cat had once told Li Zhuiyuan that for a dead-flipper, the greater its capacity for thought, the heavier the torment it had to endure.
A dead-flipper was itself a manifestation of grievance, and what sustained it against the suffering was an even deeper grievance.
What about someone who possessed no such grievance to begin with? Especially if they still had to maintain clear thought?
That was equivalent to casting oneself straight into a sea of fire, enduring pure, searing torture.
From the girl, the boy sensed no grievance at all—only overwhelming, excruciating pain.
Li Zhuiyuan couldn't help turning his head to look at Zhou Yong, who was enclosed within the gelatin.
Some things, even without spoken communication, could be deduced with one's eyes.
The girl had clearly been forced to stay behind, and the only one with the obsession to keep her—or the one whose grievance had exploded because of her passing—had to be Zhou Yong.
Inside the kitchen, firelight still flickered. According to dining customs, the final dish ought to be soup.
Li Zhuiyuan walked into the kitchen, but saw no sign of the woman.
He walked over to the wok and saw black soup boiling within.
Just then, the bellows creaked to life again.
Li Zhuiyuan glanced down and saw a hand reaching out from behind the stove, gripping the handle of the bellows and pulling it back and forth.
He walked further around behind the stove, following the arm, yet saw no woman sitting there.
The arm was reaching out from inside the stove itself.
Li Zhuiyuan crouched down, level with the opening of the stove.
The woman inside lifted her head as well and smiled at Li Zhuiyuan.
What this stove burned was not firewood, but the woman herself.
She had squeezed inside the cramped interior. Flames burned across her body, keeping the soup in the wok boiling continuously.
Yet a look of comfort rested upon her face.
Most likely, being incinerated this way offered relief from the horrific pain that already plagued her.
Not long ago, Li Zhuiyuan had engaged in self-harm himself; he understood that feeling all too well.
Zhou Yong wanted to keep this family whole, so... he had dragged his wife and daughter down into hell with him.
Perhaps in the beginning, Zhou Yong hadn't known things would turn out like this.
By now, however, claiming he was ignorant would be absurd.
He knew, but he had selfishly chosen self-deception.
Even so, one thing was certain: the person who taught Zhou Yong this method had definitely known the consequences. What had been that person's motive?
At first, one might have assumed it was someone kind-hearted who pitied Zhou Yong for losing his wife and child, using this method to "help" him.
Now it seemed that assumption was entirely groundless. Anyone capable of doing this had nothing to do with kindness at their core.
Walking to the kitchen doorway, Li Zhuiyuan saw that the conversation over at the table hadn't ended yet. His gaze settled on the girl once more, and he beckoned to her.
The girl crawled over.
During the meal earlier, she had been forced to play the role of the "daughter," just as the woman had been forced to play the role of the "wife."
Strictly speaking, they were Zhou Yong's chang ghosts.
Only, Zhou Yong lacked that kind of true power; he was entirely incomparable to the taisui dead-flipper Li Zhuiyuan had encountered in the graveyard.
That copper coin remained buried in the cemetery to this day, and Li Zhuiyuan still didn't dare go retrieve it.
The girl crawled before Li Zhuiyuan. Trapped here, she had endured non-stop torture, and the boy before her was the only outsider to have appeared "here" recently.
What drove her to seek closeness with the boy was the primal instinct to seek death.
Li Zhuiyuan placed his hand on the girl's head. Beneath her hair, he felt a dense, crawling squirm, and he knew what lay underneath.
For now, he had to ignore it.
Following the method in the black book, he began adjusting his conscious frequency.
He wanted to borrow the girl's perspective to see what the person who helped Zhou Yong arrange all this actually looked like.
It succeeded with great ease, because not only did the girl offer no resistance, she actively cooperated.
A blue mosquito net appeared in Li Zhuiyuan's vision. He was lying on a small bed, barely able to turn his head weakly, lacking the strength even to sit up.
Someone was crying. She turned her head to look; the person slumped against the edge of the large bed, weeping, was Zhou Yong.
A woman lay on the large bed, already dead.
Zhou Yong clutched his wife's hand, weeping with utter heartbreak.
After crying for a while, he began pounding the floor and cursing, mostly shouting about why life and fate had to treat him like this, why they had to be so cruel to him.
Right then, a voice came through:
"I can reunite your family."
The speaker wasn't inside the room, but outside, conveying their voice through the window.
To Li Zhuiyuan's shock, the tone and cadence felt intimately familiar—as if it belonged to someone right beside him.
Yet for a moment, even after reviewing every person in his circle, he couldn't match the voice to anyone.
Zhou Yong looked up in confusion and lunged toward the window, seemingly wanting to ask who was speaking.
There should have been further exchanges and developments after that, such as how the voice's owner convinced Zhou Yong, and how he directed him to donate the bridge and make the arrangements.
Li Zhuiyuan never got to see the rest, however, because the girl was too frail; she closed her eyes.
If not for her father's weeping being so loud earlier, she wouldn't even have woken up.
A long stretch of darkness followed.
Li Zhuiyuan waited patiently. He had a premonition that there would be more scenes before the girl died.
Sure enough, the darkness began to loosen.
Light filtered back in.
When the girl opened her eyes again, Zhou Yong was standing by the bed.
By now, all traces of anguish had vanished from his face, replaced by a joy that came from the depths of his heart.
"Don't be afraid, Lingling. Daddy has found a way for our family to keep living together. Don't be afraid, Lingling. Daddy and Mommy will stay with you forever."
The girl closed her eyes.
There shouldn't be anything after this; she was about to die.
Yet just as Li Zhuiyuan prepared to disengage, he suddenly felt unable to breathe, followed immediately by a searing burn through his lungs.
What was happening?
If she had died of illness while lying in bed, such violent symptoms shouldn't have occurred.
Li Zhuiyuan felt a terrifying suffocation. He had experienced that sensation when he first fell into the water and met Little Oriole, and he had no desire to feel it a second time.
He broke off contact.
Yet even after disengaging, the girl's agony lingered, surging with growing intensity as though he were gradually turning into her, absorbing every emotion she felt.
It was, in the most literal sense, empathy.
Her torment, her grievance, her despair—all boiled up from the depths of his heart like the lid of a kettle about to be blasted off by boiling water.
Li Zhuiyuan thought of the "it" in the fish pond, whose body had been covered in the faces of dead-flippers.
He hadn't expected the method taught in the black book to produce such severe side effects the very first time he used it successfully.
Li Zhuiyuan couldn't help wondering: *Were you an idiot?*
*Wei Zhengdao taught you this method, and when this happened the very first time you used it, you still kept using it to control dead-flippers?*
*Was your worship and trust in Wei Zhengdao that blind, or was it your own greed and arrogance that made you think you were special enough to find a way to resolve the side effects?*
If the hidden flaws had surfaced gradually after the fact, it would have been explainable and understandable, but with the symptoms so stark and immediate...
Heh.
*You really have no right to hate Wei Zhengdao.*
No matter how large a flame was, if no further fuel was fed into it, it would quickly go out.
The fuel here was one's own emotions.
Unfortunately, Li Zhuiyuan had none.
The fire died.
Yet Li Zhuiyuan felt a faint pang of sorrow and discomfort.
Because this was equivalent to someone ripping open his scar right to his face, pointing at his nose to tell him once again: you are a monster wrapped in human skin.
Yes, that was his side effect.
He wouldn't end up like the "it" in the fish pond, leaving so many faces across his own flesh.
Even so, this opened up a new train of thought for Li Zhuiyuan.
A little girl wouldn't do.
What if he switched to a more powerful dead-flipper?
If controlled and manipulated properly, could he retain genuine, inextinguishable emotions?
Unfortunately, now was not the time to ponder such things; he had to finish the task at hand.
In his sight, the girl remained sprawled on the ground, sobbing in extreme agony.
Li Zhuiyuan withdrew his hand. The girl before him didn't seem to have died of illness, but of... murder.
His gaze fell once more upon Zhou Yong. *Did you kill her?*
Zhou Yong certainly had the motive. Once he obtained the method, letting his daughter die sooner would make it easier to put the plan into action.
Yet another possibility existed.
Unfortunately, the girl's perspective provided too little information; he needed another viewpoint.
Li Zhuiyuan walked behind the stove, crouched down again, and met the eyes of the woman being roasted in the flames.
He knew that person had only made contact with Zhou Yong after the woman died.
The woman's perspective certainly wouldn't show that person.
He merely wanted to see whether the woman had truly died of natural illness.
After meeting her gaze, he began tuning frequencies.
Just like the girl, the woman offered no resistance and actively cooperated instead, which undoubtedly reduced the difficulty considerably.
Li Zhuiyuan's vision shifted once more. It looked very similar to the previous one: a larger bed, a larger blue mosquito net.
Li Zhuiyuan actively skipped past the irrelevant memories, but during the process, a slight doubt arose.
Based on his current sensory experience, the woman seemed to have been a considerable distance from death.
Had her condition suddenly taken a turn for the worse?
Or had the woman's death been abnormal as well?
If something unnatural had occurred here, it certainly had nothing to do with Zhou Yong. At this point in time, Zhou Yong had still been desperately seeking ways to save his wife and daughter's lives.
Just then, Li Zhuiyuan heard a peculiar set of footsteps.
He immediately ceased fast-forwarding and immersed his senses fully.
These footsteps weren't made by cloth shoes; they sounded more like the friction of rubber or plastic soles. The steps were light, and the scuffing sounds were short, meaning the soles couldn't have been very long... A child?
The woman kept her eyes open, seemingly wanting to turn her head to look, but lying there, her limbs simply wouldn't obey her.
Her illness was likely hereditary, the same as her daughter's.
Just like him and Li Lan.
A hand holding a white towel entered his line of sight. It was fair, tender, and very small—indeed the hand of a child.
The towel covered the woman's mouth and nose, and a violent suffocation set in.
Immediately after, a face leaned into view.
Li Zhuiyuan froze entirely. That face belonged to him!
"He" was staring down at the woman with a face of total cold detachment. Because he was viewing from the woman's perspective, it amounted to him locking eyes with "himself."
In an instant, Li Zhuiyuan recalled the voice he had heard from outside the window through the girl's perspective, and why the cadence had felt so intensely familiar.
Most people heard their own voices differently when speaking compared to when played back on a tape recorder.
It had been a blind spot. He had tried matching the voice to everyone around him, never once considering it might be his own.
Yet it truly was his usual tone and manner of speaking.
Now,
the "himself" before him spoke as well:
"You're dying too slowly. It's slowing down my practice tempo."
Those words were like a trigger. The moment they landed, a powerful distortion swept over him, and in that instant, his cognition was stripped away, plunging him directly into the lost vortex of *Who am I?*
Yet this sensation was all too familiar to Li Zhuiyuan, because every time his illness flared up, he experienced this very loss of self-identity, his heart flooded with icy detachment.
The only difference was that in the past, the sensation arose from within; this time, it intruded from without, and in terms of potency, it was far too weak.
Having suffered so long he had become his own physician, he didn't even need to repeatedly recite numerous names. He only had to call out Ah Li's name over and over, holding her image in his mind, to counter it.
Of course, during that span, he silently recited "Great-Grandpa" twice as well, just in case.
Soon after, the sensation gradually dissipated.
It had been a remarkably mild episode—so mild that it felt slightly awkward, ending before he could even break a sweat.
His field of vision had gone completely dark, for the woman was dead.
Li Zhuiyuan broke the connection. He remained crouched before the stove, and the woman inside was still burning.
The firelight reflected off Li Zhuiyuan's face, shifting between light and shadow.
In truth, Li Zhuiyuan's expression had turned exceedingly grim.
Because he felt profoundly offended.
He had certainly not killed the girl or the woman, nor had he taught Zhou Yong this method.
He harbored not a shred of self-doubt, much less a trace of confusing internal turmoil.
He knew that hadn't been him, because this was a trap.
The feng shui array on the stone bridge, the mirror-flower-water-moon illusion out on the courtyard... That series of techniques had been executed neatly, yet in Li Zhuiyuan's eyes, they were somewhat crude.
Yet within those crude methods, a pit had been dug.
The sensation was like walking through a briar patch: troublesome, but parting the thorns with a pole wasn't particularly difficult—only to find a landmine planted right near the finish line.
Setting aside the minuscule probability that the mastermind simply had a bizarre sense of humor, it was far more likely that after that person helped Zhou Yong set up the array, an expert with profound methods had intervened to lay a trap.
A trap prepared specifically for peers in the trade.
Though the person hadn't been him, what he said was likely true: he had mentioned a "practice tempo."
Coincidentally, Li Zhuiyuan was currently in an apprentice phase himself.
Someone who had just stepped onto this path was practicing feng shui arrangements, accompanied by an elder or master who, fearing exposure, had left behind a cleanup measure within this homework assignment.
Zhou Yong, who had selfishly ignored the agony of his wife and daughter, was probably still grateful to the person who taught him the method, never realizing his entire family was merely practice material for someone else.
Li Zhuiyuan slowly raised his head and murmured, "Fine. You want to play it like this?"
The next instant, however, his expression changed sharply. The other party couldn't possibly have known the methods from Wei Zhengdao's black book, nor could they have known he would read memories. Therefore, the cognitive distortion from before hadn't been left specifically to target him.
Was it meant for the woman?
No, not her either. She and her daughter were merely chang ghosts; their continued existence depended entirely on Zhou Yong.
Which meant this trap of identity distortion had been set for Zhou Yong.
*Not good. Runsheng and Tan Wenbin are in danger!*
Li Zhuiyuan raised his hand and slapped his own right cheek hard.
*Smack!*
He woke up.
The moment his eyes opened, he saw Runsheng and Tan Wenbin still caught in the dream.
Zhou Yong, however, had long since stood up, his face thrust right in front of Tan Wenbin's, inhaling relentlessly.
Wisps of white vapor seeped from Tan Wenbin's nostrils and mouth, drawn straight into Zhou Yong.
Tan Wenbin's face had already turned an ashen blue from the siphoning.
Li Zhuiyuan's waking movement startled Zhou Yong, who slowly, at an agonizingly sluggish pace, turned his head toward Li Zhuiyuan.
Originally, his eyes had been filled with white slime. Now, the slime was gone, replaced by a streak of bloody red.
The hidden mechanism left by that schemer lay right here!
The Zhou Yong from before had indeed been the real Zhou Yong: selfish, yet not rabid toward outsiders. At the very least, his selfishness was directed toward his obsession with his wife, daughter, and household, not toward slaughtering strangers.
Otherwise, he would have struck at the villagers who saw him long ago, nor would he have accepted Li Zhuiyuan's terms for "communication."
He had genuinely wanted to bring guests into his home and treat them to "good food and wine."
Only by doing so could he manifest the feeling that his family was still whole and reunited; that was what he yearned to display.
When faced with a dead-flipper like this—non-aggressive, easy to talk to, and willing to take you home to explain the situation—most people would feel sympathy and understanding, lowering their guard as a result.
Yet at the crucial moment of his explanation, the trap would trigger. The filth in Zhou Yong's eyes would fade, his cognition would be twisted, and the most primal, instinctive nature of a dead-flipper would be unleashed.
It was an exquisite trap, not only in technique, but in how thoroughly it played upon human nature.
If Li Zhuiyuan had also been successfully pulled into the dream to chat, all three of them would be sitting there like dull statues right now, waiting to be sucked dry one after another.
Of course, most importantly, Zhou Yong was far inferior to that taisui dead-flipper. The bulk of his power had to be devoted to maintaining the dream so Runsheng and Tan Wenbin wouldn't wake, leaving only a meager sliver to drive his physical body in reality to kill.
That was why his movements were so slow, and it was precisely that slowness that gave Li Zhuiyuan time to react.
Li Zhuiyuan moved. Instead of rushing to save Tan Wenbin, who was on the brink of death, he picked up the bowl before him and smashed it straight into Runsheng's face!
*Smash!*
The bowl shattered. Blood welled on Runsheng's forehead, but the blow jarred his eyes open.
Taking in the scene before him in a flash, Runsheng grabbed the Yellow River shovel he had deliberately set by his feet during the meal and swung it straight at Zhou Yong's head!
*Bang!*
Zhou Yong was knocked flat onto the floor.
The dream he had been maintaining collapsed along with the blow.
With a heavy thud, Tan Wenbin's face hit the tabletop.
Li Zhuiyuan stepped over to check on him and breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't dead; he still had breath in him.
When Great-Grandpa agreed to bring Tan Wenbin along, it had been with the thought that an extra pair of hands would help. Fortunately, they had brought him, as it gave Zhou Yong an extra target to drain.
Binbin had effectively entered the fray with his own body, buying everyone precious time.
If Zhou Yong had started siphoning Li Zhuiyuan first, or Runsheng, the situation would have been truly difficult to clean up.
The brawl between Runsheng and Zhou Yong continued.
Normally, dead-flippers possessed immense strength. But Zhou Yong had to rely on diving into the river every day to absorb baleful qi from the feng shui array, returning home to expend his own energy maintaining the illusion of a reunited family. On top of that, he had created a dream today to ensnare two people; although he had siphoned some vitality from Tan Wenbin to replenish himself, he was still running at a severe deficit.
Runsheng, on the other hand, regardless of how foul the meal had been, had actually eaten!
Right now, Runsheng had Zhou Yong pinned beneath him. No matter how Zhou Yong struggled, he couldn't get up.
However, Zhou Yong had both hands clamped onto the Yellow River shovel, preventing Runsheng from using it to strike again. With no other choice, Runsheng held the shovel in place with his left hand, pulled back his right fist, and rained blow after blow onto Zhou Yong's chest.
*Thud! Thud! Thud!*
Every punch landed solid and heavy, and with each strike, a puff of black vapor burst from Zhou Yong's body.
Li Zhuiyuan walked over to the gunny sack, pulled out the black canvas, and reached into his pocket to open the ink paste box. He pressed all five fingertips into it rapidly, withdrew them, and drew five long red streaks across the fabric.
Past experience had proven that among all their tools, the black canvas dealt the greatest damage to dead-flippers.
The piece in his hands now was newly mended and bound to be even more potent, as the wood shavings inside had been carved by Ah Li from her family's ancestral memorial tablets.
Yet just as Li Zhuiyuan was about to step forward and suppress Zhou Yong with the canvas, Zhou Yong suddenly threw his mouth open and let out a shrill screech.
Two shadows, one large and one small, darted out: the woman and the girl. Both lunged at Runsheng. The woman raked her nails across Runsheng's back, carving bloody furrows, while the girl sank her teeth into his neck, hanging her entire weight from him.
"Hiss!"
Under this joint assault, Runsheng lost his strength all at once. Not only was he thrown off Zhou Yong, but the mother and daughter pinned him down from both sides.
Zhou Yong scrambled up and immediately pressed himself back down on Runsheng, the swirling crimson in his eyes laying bare his current savagery.
Li Zhuiyuan prepared to move with the black canvas, but Zhou Yong and the mother-daughter pair all lifted their heads simultaneously, locking their eyes onto him.
This brought Li Zhuiyuan to a sudden halt. Potent as the black canvas was, the conditions for using it were quite restrictive; it was generally used for a finishing blow once a dead-flipper was already restrained.
If he simply threw it at them out in the open, first, they would dodge; second, even if it landed, their agonizing thrashing would cause them to cast the canvas aside or even tear it apart.
Though the three of them appeared to be restraining Runsheng together, the moment he dared approach or make any other move, one of them would violently charge at him.
"Xiao Yuan, run! Don't worry about Binbin!"
Fierce as Runsheng was, he couldn't fight three at once. He had already made up his mind to pin the three of them down with everything he had, creating a chance for Xiao Yuan to escape.
Li Zhuiyuan didn't run. Instead, he half-closed his eyes. His eyelashes began trembling rapidly, and his body shook along with them.
"Listen to me. I can relieve your pain."
"Listen to me. I can end your torture."
"Listen to me. I can free you from his shackles!"
Li Zhuiyuan's eyes snapped wide open, and he thrust out his hand, pointing straight at Zhou Yong.
Almost simultaneously, the girl and the woman released Runsheng together, turned, and threw themselves at Zhou Yong, knocking him flat on his back.
Runsheng, who had been on the receiving end of a three-on-one beatdown moments ago, suddenly enjoyed the pleasure of a three-on-one beatdown in his favor.
He didn't waste a second. Leaping up, he snatched the Yellow River shovel and jammed it against Zhou Yong's throat, pinning him down completely.
As he did this, Runsheng's eyes were filled with shock.
No wonder his granddad had kept telling him to listen to Xiao Yuan, even taking care to repeat it again during the day. Xiao Yuan was truly incredible—now even dead-flippers listened to him!
Li Zhuiyuan walked over holding the black canvas. Still maintaining his control, his steps were slightly unsteady, as if he were drunk.
In this regard, he closely resembled Zhou Yong earlier; while maintaining a dream, his physical movements in reality became very slow.
At last, Li Zhuiyuan reached Zhou Yong's side. He crouched down and pressed the black canvas over Zhou Yong's face.
"Aaaarrrgh—!"
A shrill scream rang out, but there was no need to worry about alarming anyone else. First, Zhou Yong's house sat in an isolated corner of the village; second, the mirror-flower-water-moon arrangement outside was still in place.
The power of the black canvas this time was indeed several times stronger than before, the surging mist pouring out like a breached levee.
This forced Li Zhuiyuan to pull the canvas away.
By now, Zhou Yong's aura had withered, and his struggles had weakened to barely a twitch.
Moreover, the blood-red tint in his eyes had faded, replaced once again by the white slime. This meant the trap's effect had been broken; he had reverted to his original self.
Runsheng looked bewildered. Why hadn't Xiao Yuan kept the canvas over him and finished him off for good?
Earlier, they had agreed that as long as they communicated properly and he revealed who was behind the scenes, both sides would go their separate ways in peace.
Yet clearly, this fellow had broken the rules first, which meant they had no reason to hold back—they should just slay him outright.
Soon, Runsheng seemed to come to an understanding, excitement flashing in his eyes:
"Xiao Yuan, thank you. I'll make sure to eat him properly!"
Just as Runsheng opened his mouth to bite down, an icy voice stopped him:
"Brother Runsheng, don't eat him. Since someone saw fit to plot against us first..."
Runsheng looked up. He saw the young boy before him smiling, yet the smile held none of its usual warmth and geniality. Instead, it reminded him of the youth who had crouched by the stream that night after answering the telephone.
Li Zhuiyuan looked down at Zhou Yong beneath him. Reaching out, he gave Zhou Yong's pitted, greasy, disgusting face a gentle pat.
"...then I'll pay him back with something big."
Chapter 46