Chapter 46: The Weasel’s Affectionate Performance

Lin Kuo’s anxious heart finally eased in that moment.
The weasels circled his feet, and after confirming that he had read the words scratched on the ground, they huffed and squeaked out another line:

[Sheng Wen:
Don’t worry about me.
Raise your Gu well.
I already know how to leave.
Oh, by the way, do you have a message for me?]

After reading this, the weasels squeaked again, urging Lin Kuo to pass a reply back.
Lin Kuo thought for a moment, then said stiffly:

“I’m doing fine here too. You don’t have to worry about me.”

The weasels remembered his words and prepared to scurry back.

“Wait.”
Lin Kuo stopped them.
“There’s one more thing…”

The weasels looked up at him, waiting. The rims of Lin Kuo’s ears flushed red.

“You too… take care.”

The weasels squeaked loudly in reply.

Standing atop the massive stone called the Great Immortal Rock, Lin Kuo watched them disappear back into their world. Perhaps because he now carried a Gu inside him, he could no longer see what lay beyond the stone. No matter how far he looked, all he saw was vast, empty whiteness.

He lingered on the rock for a long while. Only when the sun sank did he start back toward Zhuo Village.

Before he even reached the gates, he saw two new participants standing there, conversing with the clouded-eyed Granny Wang.

Granny Wang said:
“If you want to find someone or find Gu, you’ll have to search inside the village.”

The two seemed to have the same thought Lin Kuo once had. Instead of dealing with Granny Wang, they turned, planning to look elsewhere first.

When they saw Lin Kuo, they were about to greet him. But Granny Wang suddenly called out:

“Outsider, your companions came looking for you. It seems they had something important. Why don’t you go and see?”

Lin Kuo caught Granny Wang’s intent. She wanted to use him to lower the newcomers’ guard—while at the same time warning him not to say anything unnecessary.

Silent under their stares, he walked into the village.

The worlds of Zhuo Village and the weasels had always been a matter of choice. He had no right to interfere in others’ decisions.

He made his way back to their stilt house. When he arrived, he saw Ah Qi and He Yuting pale-faced, while Ma An was nowhere to be found.

The moment they saw Lin Kuo, He Yuting couldn’t hold back—she burst into tears.

Lin Kuo felt a sinking dread. Sure enough, Ah Qi said stiffly:
“Ma An is gone.”

Lin Kuo pressed his lips together. He had already guessed.

The fetus Gu inside the house seemed to sense it too. It reached out, opened Ma An’s Gu clock, plucked out the ‘grain’ from within, and began to eat.

Knowing Lin Kuo wasn’t much good at explaining, Ah Qi forced himself to speak:
“Not long after you left, A Yun came again. He said he had to settle things with you. But since you weren’t here, he dragged Ma An into it instead…”

Lin Kuo’s brows furrowed sharply. He knew exactly how much time had passed. At most, his trip out and back couldn’t have been more than two hours. And he had already explained the gambling trick thoroughly to them.

For Ma An to die in such a short time… there could only be one reason.

Zhuo Village had changed the game.

After a pause, Lin Kuo asked:
“What is it?”

Ah Qi pulled out three bone tiles. He Yuting did the same. Ah Qi’s face was grim as he explained:
“The whole village is gambling. The bone tiles are numbered 1–3. It’s like rock-paper-scissors. ‘1’ loses to ‘2’, ‘2’ loses to ‘3’, and ‘3’ loses to ‘1’.

Anyone in Zhuo Village can challenge us to a match. Of course, we can also choose to challenge them.”

Lin Kuo thought for a moment.
“What’s the penalty?”

Ah Qi said:
“The loser hands over their tile to the winner. If we run out of tiles, then we have to sacrifice our Gu.”

“And if it’s a draw?”

Ah Qi gave a short, bitter laugh.
“In a draw, both sides’ tiles are given to Granny Chen.”

Lin Kuo nodded lightly.
“I see.”

He Yuting didn’t understand why he was reacting so calmly. Her voice trembled as she said:
“Lin Kuo-ge, maybe you don’t realize… with this game, unless we win, no matter if it’s a loss or a draw, we’ll end up with fewer tiles. We only have three in total. If they’re gone, we die.”

Lin Kuo didn’t answer.

Ah Qi glanced at her. How could he not know? They even knew the villagers definitely had more than three tiles each. This game was the same as writing I want you dead out in the open.

Despair seeped through the room. He Yuting dared not add more grief to it. She ran into the bedroom to cry.

Once she was gone, Ah Qi couldn’t help but sigh:
“Is this really just a one-star dungeon?”

Lin Kuo, who had been silent all along, finally spoke:
“Yes.”

Ah Qi froze. Then realization struck, and he looked at him in surprise.
“You’ve thought of a way?”

“Mm.”

Ah Qi was about to ask what it was when a sharp knock, knock, knock came at the door.

A Yun’s voice rang out from outside.

Ah Qi’s face went pale. Every time A Yun knocked, it was never good news. The first time, he delivered human flesh for the Gu. The second, he came to challenge Lin Kuo to a duel. The third… they didn’t even need to guess.

It had to be flesh again—and this time, it was Ma An’s.

Lin Kuo went to open the door. Sure enough, just as Ah Qi had feared, A Yun stood there with a wooden basin. Inside lay Ma An’s dismembered body.

A Yun wore a smug expression.
“Outsider, give me a hand?”

This time, Lin Kuo didn’t hesitate. He reached out and took the basin.

After that, A Yun pulled a brocade pouch from his pocket and tossed it to him.
“These are your three bone tiles. I assume your companions have already explained the rules. Tomorrow morning, I’ll come challenge you myself. You’d better not think of running.”

“Got it,” Lin Kuo said impatiently. “Now get lost.”

A Yun was extremely displeased with Lin Kuo’s attitude. He shouted something in Miao dialect, his tone and gestures making it obvious he was cursing.

Crash—

Lin Kuo shut the door, keeping both A Yun and his curses firmly outside.

Ah Qi looked at the wooden basin in Lin Kuo’s arms.
“Ma An… this is… too much.”

Lin Kuo didn’t answer. He went downstairs to the hanging-floor corridor. Within two minutes, he found a broom.

A Yun’s voice was no longer at the door. After making sure the coast was clear, Lin Kuo opened the window with the broom and slipped out.

He used the handle to pry open a patch of loose yellow soil.

Ah Qi, watching carefully, quickly guessed his intent. He rummaged around until he found a tool suitable for digging. Together, they dug a shallow pit beneath the hanging corridor and buried Ma An inside.

Ah Qi’s mood had been turbulent all day. After burying Ma An, he sat down heavily on the dirt, legs sprawled out.

“Lin Kuo, to tell you the truth… I’ve been in the City for years, and the longer I stay, the more people like you I see. At first, I thought I was different. But after staying here so long, I’ve realized I’ve started to think like the others.

In the City, if you’re not careful, the people you’re supposed to protect will turn around and push you into a pit. That’s why everyone here only sweeps the snow from their own doorstep, never minding if someone else’s roof collapses under frost.”

Lin Kuo gave him a glance.
“So what?”

Ah Qi smiled bitterly.
“I don’t mean anything else. It’s just a gut feeling. You’re special—different. It reminds me of the instincts I had back when I used to rely only on myself to survive. So if we three are to be seen as one whole unit, then meeting you must be fate.

If we’re destined to fall into a pit, you’d better be the one leading us.”

“Mm.”

Ah Qi gave a sly chuckle, just about to say something, when Lin Kuo cut in:

“It’s not that I’m special. It’s that you all have a problem.”

The smile froze on Ah Qi’s lips.

Lin Kuo continued, “Don’t get it? After the siege, I changed a lot too—for example, I talk way more now. Let me give you a simple example: If an ordinary civilian gets mixed up among murderers, it doesn’t mean that civilian is special for not having killed anyone. The ones with the problem are those murderers.”

With that said, he turned and went back to the stilt house.

Ah Qi stared at his retreating back and blurted,
“Damn, that makes a hell of a lot of sense.”

That night, Lin Kuo lay on his bed. Outside the stilt house, everything was deathly silent, only an occasional night breeze slipping in, carrying a cool breath into the room.

If this weren’t a dungeon instance, this place would really be a perfect holiday destination.

That thought made Lin Kuo a little unhappy—he was supposed to be vacationing with Sheng Wen, yet now he couldn’t even see him, didn’t know how Sheng Wen was doing at all.

Just as he was thinking that, a clatter clatter clatter came from the window.

Lin Kuo: “…”

He turned to look and saw several weasels scurrying about—four or five of them. Two were hopping up and down on his windowsill, while the others seemed to have caught the scent of Ma An buried in the soil, sniffing eagerly at the ground.

With a sharp thud, Lin Kuo hurled his pillow at them, his voice cold:
“Don’t touch that.”

The weasels whined pitifully, kaka, kaka.

Lin Kuo finally asked, “Did Sheng Wen send you with a message for me?”

Two of the weasels began gesturing—one chattered kaka, kaka, while the other pulled it close and kissed it on the forehead.

Lin Kuo: “…”

…That really was Sheng Wen’s style.

Before Lin Kuo could dwell on it, the two gesturing weasels leapt from the windowsill straight onto his bed. In an instant, his neatly made sheets were covered with paw prints.

One of the weasels flopped down exactly where Lin Kuo had just been lying, while the other gently tugged the blanket up over it, murmuring softly, kaka, kaka.

Lin Kuo: “…”

When he didn’t respond, the blanket-tucking weasel grew anxious. Kaka, kaka! Kaka, kaka!

Lin Kuo pressed his lips together and muttered,
“Fine, I get it. I’ll remember to keep the blanket on when I sleep.”

The weasel circled on the ground, then suddenly its eyes flashed with ferocity. With bared fangs, it pounced at the one lying in bed. But as if rehearsed, the “resting” weasel sprang up and kicked it away.

The fierce one crashed to the floor. The weasel on the bed then turned to Lin Kuo: kaka, kaka.

Lin Kuo rubbed his forehead, exhausted.
“Yeah, I’ll be careful.”

The two weasels, satisfied with their dramatic little performance, gave a pleased kaka, kaka. Their round, beady eyes fixed on Lin Kuo as they said in unison, kaka, kaka.

Feeling a bit embarrassed, Lin Kuo hesitated before mumbling:
“…Then tell him… I… I miss him too.”

Kaka, kaka.

Lin Kuo had the faint feeling the weasels were laughing at him. He scratched the back of his head.
“Tell him to be careful too. I—”

He never finished the sentence.

The two messenger weasels immediately burst out with frantic cries: Kaka! Kaka, kaka!

Their voices were sharper, quicker than before. Lin Kuo froze, staring at them. The weasels grew even more agitated, pacing nervously around the room as though they’d spotted something terrifying behind him. Finally, their fur all bristled at once, and they bolted under the bed to hide.

Lin Kuo had no idea what was happening behind him—his mind had gone blank.

Lowering his gaze, he saw a human-shaped shadow appear at his feet. Judging by its width and height, it clearly wasn’t his own.

The shadow seemed to realize he was looking at it. Slowly, it lifted a hand and pointed—urging Lin Kuo to look behind him.

Lin Kuo’s head snapped around.

Outside the window, Ma An was smiling at him—an eerie, twisted grin.