The previous painting could barely be considered a work of art, but the one after it was a product of mad perversion that induced physical revulsion.
Some guests clutched their chests, barely suppressing the urge to vomit, while others widened their eyes even further, their rigid faces twisting into excited, eerie smiles.
Although Coleridge’s imitation painting also writhed and emanated a mysterious glow that stirred the heart, it lacked something essential compared to the original.
“Even after much mental preparation, the first two painters completely broke down upon seeing their own sawn-open skulls and exposed brain matter. They couldn’t even pick up a brush, let alone control their hysterical screams. It wasn’t until the third, a young girl, who finally completed this piece with the aid of anesthetic injected into her brain. That child was exceptionally talented and overcame her inner terror, but I always felt something was missing. Could any of you enlighten me?”
Coleridge extended his arm, framing the painting with his fingers, and frowned at it.
“In my humble opinion, what’s missing is the symphony of fate. The blood-weeping dirge of a destitute painter’s final work and the feeble whimpers of a young girl on the brink of death aren’t the same caliber of emotion…” The media tycoon Dulles eagerly voiced his opinion, speaking at length and demonstrating his eloquence.
Some guests agreed, while others held differing views, leading to a flurry of discussions.
Ashley pondered inwardly that this was merely a crude application of spirituality—the faint spirituality in the brain matter mixed with pigments, catalyzed by intense emotions, to create patterns that resonated with the soul.
The eccentric appreciation session among the social elite ended at some point. Ashley held back, waiting for the Card Court Society to make their move, but they were very patient, seemingly waiting for the right moment. After all, Coleridge’s side had at least numerical superiority among the extraordinaries.
After admiring Plannan’s paintings, the next stop was the Flower House.
Exotic flowers and plants harvested from the fourth major flat layer, the Vortex, were displayed here.
There were lightning-shaped black iron wedge trees, star-shaped sunflowers blooming with bizarre flowers, and vines laden with crystalline fruits… These plants used their roots as feet, possessing the predatory instincts and mobility of fierce beasts. If not chained down and kept at low temperatures to reduce their activity, they would immediately hunt down nearby living creatures.
“The plants from the Vortex aren’t native to this world. All the underground major flat layers are fragments of the shattered sky from the Second Dawn, mixed in the soil and fallen to earth…”
“These are just creatures from the Vortex’s outskirts. It’s said that the closer to the center, the stronger the plants’ vitality. Plants with lifespans of thousands or even tens of thousands of years become highly activated, compressing their lives into a century or even a decade… But without exception, every creature desperately tries to enter the Vortex’s depths, as if some fatal temptation draws them there, while the Vortex’s power constantly flings them outward…”
The guests’ emotions were fully aroused, and they showered praises.
The media tycoon excitedly adjusted his glasses and exclaimed,
“Having so many ‘grand feasts’ on the first day makes me infinitely anticipate the rest of the journey!”
The others chimed in agreement.
“As expected of the rare item collector Mr. Coleridge—incredible!”
“We frogs at the bottom of the well feel like our lives are worth it just to see such rare treasures!”
“Collecting the world’s rare treasures has been my dream since childhood.”
Coleridge spread his arms wide, beaming with a smile, and sighed,
“We’ve gathered here precisely because we share the same dream, haven’t we? Mr. Dulles is right, but also not. What came before weren’t the main courses—they were just appetizers. Next up is today’s real main dish—the Mothmen’s Egg Sheath!”
His words instantly sparked a buzz of discussion.
“Sky Moth People? Do those things really exist?”
“Aren’t they made-up monsters from Crossing the Horizon?”
“If we can really find proof of the Sky Moth People’s existence, doesn’t that mean everything in that travelogue is true?”
“This is a major discovery!”
…
Ashley was startled inwardly. From what Wolf Girl had told her, the Mothmen’s Egg Sheath was another target of the hitman.
So, when the Egg Sheath and Coleridge’s head converged, would the Card Court Society make their bold move?
She immediately grew tense, pondering countermeasures—not to save Coleridge, but to minimize innocent casualties after his death.
Anticipating the discussions, Coleridge explained,
“The Garden of a Hundred Beasts usually follows the Bailuo River downstream into Mikne Lake, then north via the Xidong River for a loop back to the Bailuo River, resupplying along the way. Even without me on board, it follows this cycle, which has lasted fifteen years.
The Bailuo River originates from the place called the Cloud Canal in Polpo’s travelogue, where he discovered the Sky Moth People. Thus, items related to the Sky Moth People could drift here. The Egg Sheath salvaged from the Bailuo River bears the three-spiral pattern and eternal knot emblem that Polpo recorded as revered by the Sky Moth People. While not ironclad proof, it at least advances the possibility significantly.
Moreover, this Egg Sheath has various wondrous properties. We’ve only explored a portion, and it’s already comparable to an A-Grade Relic.”
The guests were then led to a special elevator and descended in batches to the ship’s negative first floor.
There were no open spaces here; a corridor carpeted in red extended underfoot, branching in all directions.
They followed Coleridge to a windowless room sealed by an iron grate, its walls seamless and integrated.
The object sat in the center of the floor, shaped like a bathtub but with a lid on top.
Its material resembled white glutinous jadeite, with raised edges like piping on clothing, allowing it to seal perfectly.
If the Sky Moth People were similar in size to humans, then 20-30 larvae could lie side by side inside, filling it up, with pod-like undulations within for fixation.
Coleridge approached the white jade Egg Sheath and introduced,
“Its most intuitive wonder is the temperature—it maintains a constant 28 degrees, not through heating, but centered on the sheath itself, in a spherical region with a three-meter radius. No matter where you place the thermometer, it’s always 28 degrees…”
At this moment, Ashley was at the peak of tension. The targets had converged—why hadn’t the Card Court Society acted yet?
Another few minutes passed, still no movement.
Ashley was stunned. Could it be that the Egg Sheath had protective properties, and the Card Court Society feared Coleridge entering it would complicate their plan?
Indeed, even until the end of the viewing, neither Grandmother nor the Werewolf among the guests made a move.
Next came dinnertime.
Since the ship resupplied along the route, it was hard to obtain expensive ingredients, so the menu focused on fresh fish dishes sourced from Card Court Town. The high-end items on the table were limited to frozen, dried, or preserved goods.
As the cloches were lifted one by one, steam rose in clouds.
Amidst the toasts and lively conversations, host and guests enjoyed themselves immensely.
With the butler absent on business, Ashley drifted among the servers, switching hosts midway and even being grabbed and tossed into a trash bin.
The autumn breeze had yet to stir, but the cicada sensed it first. In an instant, Ashley keenly detected that some change had quietly occurred…
It had finally come!
Ashley’s heart raced with excitement.
She saw the once-ornate wall coverings become mottled and decayed, fine blood-flesh tendrils emerging from the cracks, curling and stretching as if pulsing in an invisible current.
The paintings on the walls bulged and writhed, transforming into blood-flesh reliefs. The noblewomen in them grew elongated, sharpened nails; their lips split from cheek to ear, revealing stark white fangs as they emitted hideous cackles. Trees became black torrents of countless horsehair worms; the stars and moon in the sky bled like gouged-out eyes…
Earl Drayton was the first to be attacked. The dish before him suddenly exploded into countless vortex worms that enveloped his head!
The worms writhed their brownish-gray soft bodies, extending sharp proboscises from their abdomens to pierce the flesh and suck desperately. His skin rotted rapidly, exposing skull and gums in an instant!
