Chapter 16: Frozen in the position of hanging his head.

“Is it… raining?” Gu Ziyan mumbled groggily. She was too weak to lift herself up and see outside.

Her condition was deteriorating. It had taken her this long to even say a single sentence, and after speaking, she nearly lost the ability to breathe again.

Mao Ziyu said, “Yeah. But it’s blood-red rain… If… if Xiangyang Town is a world built from his fear, then everything here must have meaning. Blood-red rain… what does it symbolize?”

The town was always shrouded in gray mist, as if his world was forever overcast, devoid of sunlight. The thinning air represented his suffocating fear, making it harder and harder to breathe.

If the rain was his tears, then why was it red?

Mao Ziyu’s brain was struggling to function. Instinctively, he turned to look at Sang Chen. Sang Chen held up a piece of paper. On it, he had written: “Go to the bakery in the mall.”

The only things in this town that were clear and vivid—aside from the harsh voices and piercing noises—were the rich, buttery scent of the bakery. If it existed in this fear-formed world, it meant it was something he truly loved, something important. Perhaps the only place where fear didn’t exist, where he wouldn’t feel like he was suffocating.

Getting four people from the house to the mall wouldn’t be easy. But staying here meant they’d never find a way out—they’d just die, choking on their own breath.

Mao Ziyu nodded. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Sang Chen was a new player. This was also their first time clearing a game together. Mao Ziyu didn’t know why, but for some reason, he trusted him completely.

Without hesitation, he crouched beside Gu Ziyan’s bed. “Get on. I’ll carry you.”

Then, he turned to Yan Mo, who was tall, broad-shouldered, and still in relatively good shape. “Yan Mo, you carry Sang Chen?”

Yan Mo, mid-yawn: “…”

Mao Ziyu glanced at Sang Chen, then unconsciously let his gaze shift down to his stomach. He fell silent.

–

The thick gray mist blanketed Xiangyang Town, reducing visibility to near zero. As they moved through it, fine dust-like particles settled on their skin—less tangible than the blood rain, but always there, ever-present.

Yan Mo and Mao Ziyu carried their weakened companions, trudging toward the mall.

Sang Chen, wrapped in a disposable raincoat, rested against Yan Mo’s shoulder. He reached out, caught two drops of the blood-red rain in his palm, and brought them to his nose. After a moment, he tilted his head back, looking around.

Not long after, as if drained of all strength, his head slumped onto Yan Mo’s shoulder, his gaze naturally falling downward.

Yan Mo wore black leather boots. Each step he took pressed into the muddy, red-tinged ground. He walked lazily, but steady.

The blood rain splashed onto his boots, leaving only faint stains before sliding off into the dirt—one drop, then another, each heavier than the last.

“It’s not tears,” Sang Chen murmured, his voice so quiet that it was almost drowned out by Mao Ziyu’s heavy breathing. Maybe only Yan Mo could hear him. “It’s blood… It’s his blood. He might be committing suicide… or being killed. He’s dying…”

Or maybe… he was already dead. And this world of fear was nothing more than his death playing on an endless loop.

–

“Beast. A beast’s fate. Having a child like this means falling into the beast’s fate… A beast’s fate… A beast’s fate…”

That voice—it had been so clear, so unforgettable. But was it really just something an old man had muttered in passing at the entrance of the maternity clinic?

If words like that could come from an indifferent stranger, then they could just as easily be the accumulated resentment and sorrow of a parent.

Having a child like this means falling into the beast’s fate.

What would someone filled with that kind of despair think? And what would the child, who had to hear it, think?

–

The blood rain came down harder. Mao Ziyu spat a mouthful out. “Shit, it’s getting heavier.”

“No.” Sang Chen had been watching the blood droplets closely. “Some places are heavier than others… The biggest blood flow… find it… It might be the exit.”

The source of the blood.

The place where this world connected to reality.

They had to find it before all the blood drained away.

This time, Sang Chen’s voice was loud—he had been saving his strength just to say this. Mao Ziyu heard him clearly. He stepped back a few paces and focused. It was true—if he walked in the opposite direction, the blood droplets became smaller.

Mao Ziyu and Yan Mo followed the heaviest blood flow, tracking it step by step. In the end, they arrived at the town’s shopping mall. Here, the blood poured down like a torrential flood, pooling into streams across the open space in front of the entrance.

On Yan Mo’s back, Sang Chen struggled to lift his head, staring at the mall before them.

This mall—they had seen it the moment they arrived in town. And now that they were looking at it closely… its shape was a little strange. An elongated oval, tinged with fleshy brown, with a pale, rectangular doorway in the center—tall as the fourth floor, as tall as the entire mall itself.

Back when they first arrived, everything about this town had felt subtly off. But the whole place was so strange that even though the mall’s architecture was unusual, they hadn’t given it much thought.

“It… it looks like a band-aid…” Sang Chen murmured.

Mao Ziyu blinked. “What? A band-aid? That’s what band-aids look like these days?”

Sang Chen gave a weak nod and pressed his temples hard, trying to clear his sluggish mind. His lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. “You guys… You guys are feeling weak too, aren’t you?”

He thought he knew where the exit was now.

It was right in front of them—the band-aid shaped mall.

This was the place where the blood raged the strongest. The place that connected to the outside world. If they wanted to leave, they had to rip the band-aid off.

But… who had the strength to tear down an entire shopping mall?

“Doesn’t matter. Someone’s got the strength. Just tell us what you need to do.” Mao Ziyu wiped the blood from his face and, using the last of his energy, shouted, “Lao Zhang! Time for your entrance!”

Moments later, from the blood-drenched rain, a figure in black emerged.

The first time Sang Chen had noticed Zhang Guan on the space-time train, it had been because of something eerie—his black clothes were dripping water, even though they were indoors. The train car had been filled with a faint, briny scent, like the ocean.

Now, that same black clothing was soaked through. The salty smell was unmistakable.

Mao Ziyu, who was stronger than him, was already struggling to breathe, barely holding on. Yet Zhang Guan looked almost the same as when they first arrived in town. No matter how thin the air got, it didn’t seem to affect him—like some kind of aquatic creature.

And in that moment, Sang Chen finally understood.

It was his ability.

“What do you want me to do?” Zhang Guan asked.

Mao Ziyu glanced at Sang Chen. “You tell him.”

Sang Chen took a shaky breath. “Tear the mall apart… along the doorframe… pull it open from both sides.”

He wasn’t even sure how much needed to be torn. The brain fog was getting worse, and his thoughts were slipping away. His head buzzed, drowning out all sound. He slumped against Yan Mo’s shoulder, unmoving.

Zhang Guan frowned at the mall, uncertain.

Mao Ziyu could barely stand. He set the unconscious Gu Ziyan down against a tree, then glanced at Yan Mo, who still carried Sang Chen on his back. Muttering to himself, he turned and grinned at Zhang Guan, who hadn’t moved.

“Sang Chen said it. And you’re hesitating?”

Before Zhang Guan could reply, Mao Ziyu added something under his breath—so soft, yet sharp enough to make Zhang Guan freeze.

“You killed Shi Jinshui and the others to keep him safe. And now you’re hesitating to do some grunt work for him? … Yin Biewen told you to protect him, but not to take orders from him?”

Zhang Guan turned to Mao Ziyu. “You know? You too?”

Mao Ziyu said nothing. He just reached up and tapped the snake-shaped earpiece hooked around his ear. Everyone in the Game City knew that device—it was the exclusive communication system of the most feared squad in the city.

In that squad, no one played more games than Mao Ziyu. Except for one person: their enigmatic captain, Yin Biewen, whose ability remained a mystery to this day.

–

On the time-space train, one car was packed with players about to enter the game. In the adjacent car—thick with the metallic stench of blood—players returning from the game lay battered and broken.

Most were gravely injured, barely clinging to life. But one man stood unscathed. He walked to the doorway between the cars and swept his gaze across the fresh batch of players.

Not only had he ordered his teammates to protect a newcomer, but he’d even assigned an assassin squad to guard him—like he couldn’t afford for this man to suffer so much as a scratch.

Zhang Guan looked at Sang Chen, whose head now rested limply on Yan Mo’s shoulder. Who was this guy? He hadn’t even entered the game yet, hadn’t awakened his ability, and still—still, that man had taken precautions, ensuring two groups would watch over him.

Zhang Guan didn’t dwell on it. He looked away and summoned a bone-white blade into his hand.

The weapon grew, sprouting sharp barbs along its length until it resembled the spine of a massive fish. The long, sinuous bone rippled in his grip like a living thing, gathering momentum before he hurled it at the mall’s doors.

A sharp, grating creak rang out as the bone wedged itself into the gap. Zhang Guan gave a hard yank—

CRASH!

The door tore free. And in that instant, a flood of blood gushed out like a bursting dam, surging forward in violent waves.

“Run!”

Mao Ziyu cursed, gasping for breath as he hoisted Gu Ziyan onto his back and bolted. He turned toward Yan Mo, about to shout for him to carry Sang Chen—

But Yan Mo was already gone.

Mao Ziyu looked up and saw him, sprinting straight for the mall entrance with Sang Chen still on his back. The moment the doors were ripped open, the blood water had rushed in, followed by a blinding light. Without hesitation, Yan Mo dove into the glow.

“…”

“Hey!”

Mao Ziyu didn’t care about danger anymore. He didn’t care what was in there. Gritting his teeth, he carried Gu Ziyan and leapt after them.

–

Cough, cough—!

Sang Chen gasped awake, hacking like a man dragged from deep water, his lungs shocked by the sudden rush of air.

He blinked through the dizziness. The first thing he saw was a massive, blood-soaked fissure in front of him. He was being carried, moving toward it, but before he could react, they landed.

Yan Mo dropped to one knee, one hand braced against the ground, the other steadying Sang Chen. Even so, the impact jolted Sang Chen, making him slide off Yan Mo’s back. He hit the ground, still coughing, and took in his surroundings.

They were in a dark, enclosed room. The air was thick with rot and the sharp scent of blood, yet it was easier to breathe here than in Xiangyang Town.

The room was a mess—bloodstained tissues, broken chopsticks, torn picture books scattered across the floor. The blood came from a frail, skeletal child slumped against the wall. It dripped from his left wrist, where a small pencil sharpener knife was still clutched in his right hand.

His head hung low, thin arms limp at his sides. The bleeding had nearly stopped.

Sang Chen didn’t move. He knew—

Even if there was still warmth left in that body, there was no breath.

They recognized this room. It was part of the house they had stayed in back in Xiangyang Town. But unlike the eerily pristine town, this place was filthy, long abandoned. The bed was stained yellow, the blankets mildewed.

Yan Mo grabbed Sang Chen’s wrist and pulled him back as Mao Ziyu landed, still carrying Gu Ziyan. Zhang Guan followed, nearly crashing into them with Fang Jing on his back.

“We need to get out and find the time-space train,” Zhang Guan said urgently. “More players will be coming through. This place is too small.”

Sang Chen followed the others toward the exit. But just before stepping out, he turned back for one last look at the child.

Frozen in that bowed position. Face hidden in the shadows.

Had he ever known his name?

Had he been called Xiangyang?

Maybe. Maybe this was Xiangyang—

A boy who died in a dark, filthy room.

“Sang Chen, move! The train’s here! It won’t stop! Hurry!”

The distant whistle of a train cut through the air. Sang Chen tore his gaze away and ran. His body still felt sluggish, breath coming in gulps. The train hurtled toward them, and he pushed forward with all his strength—

Only to stumble.

He didn’t fall. Yan Mo caught him.

Yan Mo’s long legs carried him forward in steady strides, not fast, but unshakable. He pulled Sang Chen up and onto the time-space train.

“Be specific,” Yan Mo muttered. “Your fear. What does it look like?”

Sang Chen exhaled. “Missing my train on a business trip.”

As the train doors closed behind them, Sang Chen looked at Yan Mo—who yawned, eyes drooping with exhaustion.

Sang Chen laughed.

The time-space train shot forward. As it sped away, Sang Chen looked back one last time at the strange, crude facsimile of Xiangyang Town. It blurred, faded, and finally vanished into the distance.

[End of ‘Xiangyang Town’]