Chapter 65: That’s Mumu’s Diary

A dim black mist, drifting and coiling like thick smoke, parted gradually to reveal two figures standing side by side on the far side of the dark waters. One was tall, the other shorter. The shorter one spoke first:

“If he’s the only one left on that boat, then he’s the bad one.”

The tall man nodded in silence. His lean frame was shrouded in mist, his clear eyes fixed unblinkingly on the small skiff floating on the dark current.

On that boat, Lin Kuo said nothing, simply waiting as the skiff drifted downstream. As before, it didn’t take long for it to stop again. Beneath the surface this time was Zhang Mengnan. Following the same routine, Lin Kuo sacrificed another infant and hauled Zhang Mengnan aboard.

Only one infant remained. From within the mist, the gaze observing him grew sharper, more oppressive.

Unaware of the growing tension deep in the fog, Lin Kuo stayed focused. The skiff floated forward again, then stopped. Peering into the depths, he saw Guan Miao.

Lin Kuo made the final exchange, trading away the last infant to pull Guan Miao up.

The moment that last baby sank into the water, the crows hidden within the fog erupted in harsh cries. Bare branches drooped low over the surface, lashing the water with every icy gust of wind. The current quickened, and the boat, once steady, now rocked and swayed perilously.

The boat was packed with “people.” Despite the rushing waters, their progress slowed to a crawl. Slow enough that when Lin Kuo glanced back, he could see the enormous face—his own twisted reflection—closing in from behind.

Perhaps it was the threat of that monstrous visage, but at last the silent passengers showed fear. Their trembling voices rose:

“…Lin Kuo, it’s going to catch us. Someone has to go overboard!”

Lin Kuo didn’t answer.

“Throw someone in! Now! Don’t hesitate! If you don’t, we’ll all be eaten alive!”

“Shut up!” Lin Kuo barked.

He crouched, snapped a branch, tied several together to fashion a crude oar, and rowed with all his strength.

The boat was already riding the current; with Lin Kuo’s effort, they managed to leave that looming face behind. Exhausted, he slumped onto the boat—only for another figure to rise silently from the depths.

Zhou Mu.

One of the passengers said grimly, “There’s no room. Not unless you throw someone over.”

Panting heavily, Lin Kuo ignored them. He reached for Zhou Mu.

“Don’t!” someone shouted. “The boat will sink! If you pull him up, we’ll all die!”

Lin Kuo didn’t listen. He gripped Zhou Mu’s wrist with one hand, his clothes with the other. The boat tilted dangerously, water lapping over the edge, but Lin Kuo seemed not to notice—or didn’t care. He dragged Zhou Mu aboard, embraced him briefly, and in that same motion toppled backward into the water.

Bubbles roared in his ears. Thankfully, the riverbed was clear of mud and sand; Lin Kuo could see faint shapes underwater. He swam hard for the shore, broke through the surface, and strode purposefully into the heart of the black mist.

After seven or eight minutes of walking, he found what he was searching for—Umi-Bozu.

And beside it…himself.

The two silhouettes hidden in the fog were Umi-Bozu and Lin Kuo—one real, the other a manifestation of his own darkness, stripped from his body and magnified.

Umi-Bozu slung the biwa from its back, fingers plucking gently at the strings. The music drove the mist away bit by bit. He looked at Lin Kuo and asked, “When did you realize it?”

The shadowy Lin Kuo, his entire form pitch black, replied evenly: “Because I know I’m a good person.”

Umi-Bozu’s brows rose. “You dare call yourself good? You personally threw seven innocent lives into the water.”

The dark Lin Kuo shot him a sidelong glance. “Exactly. That’s when I realized it—when I tossed those babies without hesitation. Because I knew… when faced with a choice between innocents and the people I care about, my instinct is to find a way for them all to survive. Only when I’m truly cornered would I choose the ones I love. That’s human nature. It’s not even selfishness.”

“Your test was dull,” he added flatly. “What did you want to see? Whether I’d abandon those I care for when danger came? I wouldn’t. Even stripped of all ‘goodness,’ even if I’m just the ugliness of humanity made flesh, I’d still protect them. Even Zhou Mu…” He paused. “I didn’t kill him. The circumstances did. I do feel guilty about him—not because he died indirectly for my sake, but because I grew so cautious and suspicious that I never hugged him before he died. Thanks to you, I’ve remedied that regret.”

Umi-Bozu chuckled softly. “Even humanity’s so-called ugliness will protect those it loves.” He patted the tall man’s shoulder, and the black mist finally dispersed. The taller figure blinked, as if waking from a dream.

The darkness faded from Lin Kuo’s sight. The man opposite him opened his palm to reveal a pair of eyes. The air around them warped, and Lin Kuo turned his back and left this world without looking back.

It had been six hours. By the time he stepped out of the scroll’s outer wall, it was noon in the compound, the sunlight slanting over the mountains.

He glanced back at the wall. Umi-Bozu’s eyes had been placed in their sockets. Next was Nurarihyon—its eyes were shut, meaning Sheng Wen had returned safely.

Circling the wall, Lin Kuo checked on his teammates. Zhang Yi’s scroll, Great Tengu, had been entered; Guan Miao and Jiang Sheng were still inside Ame-Onna. Lin Zhi’s scroll remained open as well.

Satisfied, Lin Kuo headed for the gate.

Noise drifted from the courtyard. He followed it and found the source: his boyfriend.

Who was, yet again, fighting someone.

Lin Kuo: “…”

To be precise, Sheng Wen was single-handedly pummeling Zhang Yi. Zhang Yi must’ve just crawled out of Great Tengu when Sheng Wen caught him. Injured from the scroll, Zhang Yi was no match for Sheng Wen, who’d been lying in wait.

The moment Zhang Yi stepped into the courtyard, Sheng Wen kicked him square in the chest, sending him flying several meters before he slammed into a railing and crumpled to the ground. Before Zhang Yi could rise, Sheng Wen stepped on his chest.

“Brother Yi,” Sheng Wen said coolly, “did you think about who you were threatening?”

Zhang Yi spat blood under his boot.

A cold, mechanical voice announced:

“Warning! Participant Sheng Wen has inflicted a Class-1 injury on Participant Zhang Yi. Deducting 30,000 points…”

A crowd had gathered, drawn by the commotion. Yet seeing Sheng Wen as the aggressor, none dared to intervene. They all remembered his “performance.”

Knowing the power gap, Zhang Yi gave up resisting, sprawling on the ground. “…So what? Kill me if you’ve got the guts.”

Sheng Wen sneered. “No need.” He crouched, studied Zhang Yi’s face, and pried open his right fist finger by finger. Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, he plucked out the Great Tengu’s eye.

“Thanks for the hard work, Brother Yi.”

Zhang Yi roared, blood filling his mouth. “Give it back!”

Sheng Wen smiled thinly. “No.”

He turned to leave. He’d already secured Nurarihyon’s eye, and now Great Tengu’s as well. All that remained was waiting for Lin Kuo.

But Zhang Yi, humiliated and furious, finally snapped. He lunged at Sheng Wen, his height and build almost matching Sheng Wen’s. His momentum actually knocked Sheng Wen down, and he raised a fist to strike.

But at the last second, he froze. A punch would cost him dearly in points.

Sheng Wen, unrestrained by such worries, slammed a fist into Zhang Yi’s face, toppling him. The thought flashed through his mind—if Zhang Yi had landed that blow, Lin Kuo would know he’d been in another fight. His smile vanished. Grabbing Zhang Yi by the throat, Sheng Wen’s gaze darkened.

“Get lost. Understand?”

Lin Kuo stepped into the courtyard just in time to see Sheng Wen strangling Zhang Yi. A grown man, utterly powerless against his boyfriend’s grip. Lin Kuo thought, Why didn’t I notice Sheng Wen was this strong before?

He even imagined fighting Sheng Wen himself—and concluded he’d probably be killed.

Once Zhang Yi lay limp, too weak to speak, Sheng Wen let go. Turning, he spotted Lin Kuo in the crowd. In that moment, he had to admit: his boyfriend looked stunning, a rare gem among pebbles.

“…How long have you been here?” Sheng Wen asked.

“Uh… about ten minutes,” Lin Kuo replied awkwardly.

“And… how long have you been watching?”

“Since you started winning.”

“…”

Trying to ease the tension, Lin Kuo asked, “Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“Let’s eat.”

“Alright.”

As Sheng Wen walked toward him, Lin Kuo’s eyes flicked to Zhang Yi, who was still struggling upright. Afraid Zhang Yi might retaliate, Lin Kuo tugged Sheng Wen closer and stepped in front of him protectively.

Just then, Zhang Yi croaked, blood choking his voice:

“…Do what you want to me, just give me Great Tengu’s eye back.”

Sheng Wen clicked his tongue, regretting not crippling him outright.

Lin Kuo’s voice was cold. “Tell me, Zhang Yi… did Zhou Mu know what a coward you were, throwing his diary on the ground for points? Weren’t you proud of yourself then?”

Zhang Yi froze, mumbling, “…Zhou Mu…”

Then he looked up sharply at Lin Kuo. “That diary… was Mu Mu’s?”