Chapter 70: Zhou Mu is Dead

Those words made Lin Kuo pause mid-step. He deliberately avoided looking at Zhang Yi but confirmed once more—Zhang Yi was indeed still trailing behind him on tiptoe.

Zhang Yi’s face was twisted in pain, his voice trembling. It was likely the “Rain Woman” was still invading his mind. His words came out broken, jumbled:

“Sir… may I share your umbrella? Lin… Lin Kuo, I don’t need points… Sir, look at me… Lin Kuo!”

Lin Kuo pressed his lips together. Zhang Yi, in this state, was both eerie and heartbreaking. Lin Kuo suspected that Zhang Yi truly cared about Zhou Mu. His obsession must have been so strong that even under the Rain Woman’s control, a part of him was still conscious.

Grabbing Zhang Yi by the collar, Lin Kuo dragged him back to his own room. He switched on the water heater and shoved Zhang Yi straight into the bathroom.

He didn’t know for sure whether this would drive out the Rain Woman, but since Sheng Wen had insisted he take a hot shower earlier, there had to be a reason. Perhaps hot water was the key to expelling her.

Thinking this, Lin Kuo turned the water up to its hottest setting. The moment the spray hit Zhang Yi, he let out a shrill, inhuman scream—high and piercing. Clearly, it was the Rain Woman’s voice.

Still, she struggled through Zhang Yi’s body, trying to rise. Lin Kuo pushed him back down and, when the struggle became too fierce, yanked the showerhead free and doused him without mercy.

Steam rose from Zhang Yi’s skin where the hot water hit. He looked at Lin Kuo in agony, his throat unable to form a sound. His mouth moved instead, silently shaping the words:

Diary… Mu Mu’s diary…

Lin Kuo’s gaze darkened. He bent down, reached into Zhang Yi’s pocket, and pulled out the diary. At that moment, Zhang Yi seemed to exhale a breath of relief, his body finally relaxing a little.

Lin Kuo kept pouring hot water over him, nearly an hour passing before the steam subsided. Testing, he called softly:

“Zhang Yi.”

“…Mm.”

Hearing Zhang Yi’s response, Lin Kuo didn’t let his guard down. His voice was cold, commanding:

“Stand up.”

Zhang Yi panted for breath, then slowly pushed himself up against the wall. He couldn’t straighten fully—clearly hurt somewhere—but he managed to stand.

Only when Zhang Yi’s feet were firmly on the ground did Lin Kuo turn off the water. Leaving the bathroom, he waited for Zhang Yi to follow.

True to his word, Zhang Yi placed the “Valley Echo’s” eye on the table. He stood silently for a long time.

“I…” He faltered. Asking about Zhou Mu’s fate seemed impossible in this heavy silence. Instead, he said quietly, “This is the Valley Echo’s eye.”

Lin Kuo understood—Zhang Yi didn’t like owing favors. Even now, he’d rather trade something valuable than simply ask if Zhou Mu was alive.

Lin Kuo picked up one of the two eyes.

Zhang Yi’s face went pale.

Both men were smart. Zhang Yi immediately grasped the meaning. The Valley Echo ranked third among the Hundred Ghosts—a treasure of immense value in this dungeon. But if he was willing to trade it for an answer, it was because if Zhou Mu was alive, the trade would be worth it; if Zhou Mu was dead, the exchange would be a bitter waste.

Lin Kuo pocketed one eye.

The meaning was obvious.

Zhang Yi clenched his fists. He needed a clear, definite answer, even if it hurt. His voice was harsh:

“Well? Zhou Mu—is he alive or dead?”

Lin Kuo’s reply was cold:

“Dead.”

Zhang Yi went silent. Even his breathing stopped.

The room fell into a deathly quiet. After what felt like an eternity, Zhang Yi spoke again, voice low:

“Take the other eye. Tell me… how he died.”

Lin Kuo said evenly, “Deadly Mountain Villa, three-star dungeon. The rule was: only one participant could survive.”

Zhang Yi’s voice trembled. “You and him… both participants.”

“Yes.”

Zhang Yi’s fists tightened. He had clawed his way into Area A, enduring countless dungeons. Zhou Mu had entrusted his diary to Lin Kuo, so Zhang Yi reasoned Lin Kuo must have at least spared him a painful death.

“I’ll enter the scroll again,” Zhang Yi murmured, turning to leave.

Lin Kuo stopped him. “Ask me what you want. You won’t owe me anything. I owe Zhou Mu.”

Zhang Yi froze, back still turned. “Did he… leave me any message?”

“No.”

Zhang Yi said nothing more. Lin Kuo watched his back, saw his shoulders trembling—silently crying. But no sob escaped him. After a long time, Zhang Yi’s voice suddenly burst out, brittle and wild:

“Hahahahaha…”
“Ahahahahahahaha…”
“Hahahahahaha… ahaha… ahaha…”

Lin Kuo frowned, wanting to speak, but swallowed his words. The bitter laughter grated on him.

“If you’re done, leave,” he said coldly.

The laughter stopped. Zhang Yi’s next words were bleak:

“If I were him… I wouldn’t hate Zhang Yi.”

Lin Kuo found the phrasing strange—using his own name rather than “I,” as if a stranger were speaking through him.

Lin Kuo’s tone sharpened. “Who are you?”

“Zhang Yi.”

“What was Zhou Mu to you?”

Zhang Yi answered without hesitation: “A neighbor… and someone I liked.”

This exchange only deepened Lin Kuo’s suspicions. The puzzle pieces he and Sheng Wen had discussed earlier now weighed heavily on him.

He could understand Zhang Yi leaving the Lower District early for someone he loved. But he couldn’t understand how Zhang Yi had never reached out, never checked Zhou Mu’s streams, and couldn’t even recognize his handwriting or diary.

Testing him, Lin Kuo said casually, “Zhou Mu had a scar on his left side. You gave him that when you were kids, didn’t you—”

“He didn’t have a scar,” Zhang Yi cut in. He turned to face Lin Kuo. “Unless it appeared after I left, I’d have known. He told me everything. He couldn’t hide a thing from me.”

Lin Kuo’s suspicions eased a little. He sneered, “You seem to know him well. If that’s the case, how could you not recognize his diary or handwriting?”

Zhang Yi stayed silent.

Lin Kuo studied his reaction. So he truly hadn’t recognized them.

“You risked everything to earn points for him, didn’t you?” Lin Kuo pressed.

Zhang Yi chuckled bitterly. “Now it’s pointless.”

He snatched the diary off the table, cradling it like a treasure as he tucked it into his jacket. He strode toward the door but paused, turning back with a cold gaze.

“You’re the ones who investigated me before, right? I’ll repay the eyes I owe. But let me make this clear: whatever happened between me and Zhou Mu is none of your business. I don’t care how many questions you have. Stay out of it.”

Thinking of Sheng Wen, he added, “Especially that guy who stole the Great Tengu’s eye. I’ve got no way to spend points now. If he bothers me again, I’ll kill him.”

Lin Kuo’s face darkened, voice equally sharp. “And I can guarantee you’ll die first.”

Zhang Yi didn’t respond. He opened the door, diary in hand, and disappeared from sight.

Once alone, he looked down at the tattered journal. It had been soaked in rain yesterday, when the Rain Woman had possessed him. Now it was fragile, barely holding together.

Softly, he murmured, “Mu Mu…”