Chapter 25 Part 3

With that, she strode forward.

Elfa didn’t hesitate. He tied on his black cloth right away and followed her into the Outdoor Art Exhibition.

The remaining five stood in place, watching their retreating backs.

Kelly and Elfa approached the Small Plaza. At first, everything was calm and uneventful. But as they passed a certain easel, a skeletal, bloodless ghost hand suddenly stretched out from it, jabbing straight toward Kelly’s eyes.

Ling Ge clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a gasp, and squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch any longer.

In reality, though, the ghost hand had no substance. The moment it touched Kelly, it crumbled to ash and dissipated into nothing. Kelly, meanwhile, noticed nothing at all. She moved with calm poise and steady steps.

That ghost hand seemed to trigger some kind of mechanism. From then on, every few easels, another illusion sprang up—sometimes a devil warped by madness, its maw shifting to devour human flesh; other times, a naked beauty with pale skin, stunning features, ample breasts, and long legs stepping out…

But with their eyes covered, Elfa and Kelly remained fearless. Even if a butcher’s blade fell toward their necks, they showed no sign of being affected.

Ling Ge opened her eyes. “It’s… fake?”

Ming Yi chuckled beside her. “So that’s how it works.”

He leaned down to remind Tong Yuwu. “It’s a common illusion trick. If you don’t believe in them, they don’t exist. But the moment you let them capture your mind, they’ll seize you and drag you into the painting—trapped there forever.”

Ling Ge shot him a glare, annoyed by his smug know-it-all attitude. “Tch. Like anyone didn’t know that.”

Ming Yi was itching to try. “I’ll go take a look.”

With that, he casually tossed his black cloth aside and walked into the Small Plaza with his eyes wide open.

Ling Ge sidled up to her brother, aghast. “Is he nuts?”

Ming Yi had already reached the first easel. He paused to admire the painting.

He must have overheard her, because he glanced over with a wry smile. “Tch, don’t I have any good qualities in your eyes?”

Ling Ge didn’t give him an inch. “Pfft!”

Behind Ming Yi, a blue-faced monster with fangs abruptly appeared. It swung a massive spiked club down at his head. He glanced up at it, utterly unfazed, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “All right, you saw through me.”

The spiked club shattered into dust the instant it brushed his hair. Ming Yi patted himself down, brushing away nonexistent dirt. “But I’m not crazy. I just think it’s fun, that’s all.” He beckoned invitingly. “Hm? Want to give it a try?”

Ling Ge rolled her eyes at him. She grabbed her black cloth strip to tie it on, but Ling Ze stopped her.

He gave her a gentle push forward. “It’s a rare chance to train. Don’t pass it up.”

Ling Ge scrunched up her face. “Bro…”

Ling Ze turned his head slightly. “I’m right here by your side. What do you have to be afraid of?”

Ling Ge stuck out her tongue. “It’s not that I’m afraid…” She took a deep breath, then turned back to grab Meng Yiran’s hand. “Come on, let’s go together this time. No going off alone.”

Meng Yiran stumbled as Ling Ge yanked her forward, leaving her no chance to say that she planned to obediently follow instructions before they plunged into the Small Plaza.

From the corner of her eye, Meng Yiran caught sight of Tong Yuwu tossing aside the black cloth and following them in. She quickly straightened up, schooling her expression in a desperate bid to salvage her last shred of dignity.

Walking through the art exhibition in person felt utterly different from merely observing it from afar. Even as Meng Yiran silently repeated to herself, “It’s all fake, it’s all fake,” her heart still raced wildly when a half-rotten corpse sprawled at her feet.

The illusions fed on her fear. In an instant, the corpse’s head snapped toward her. When Meng Yiran locked eyes with those hollow black sockets—writhing with pale maggots—she realized with horror that this was her own body from her previous life, the one that had dropped dead at her computer desk. The onesie pajama she had been wearing was blackened and reeking, her body half-rotten with bones gleaming white amid the decay. Worms gnawed relentlessly at every remaining chunk of red flesh…

In that frozen moment, a flood of information surged into her mind: headlines about a young office worker who had collapsed at home from overwork, her body undiscovered for months until it had rotted beyond recognition. The words exploded in her brain like a nuclear blast.

All the color drained from Meng Yiran’s face. She could hold back no longer and let out a piercing scream. At that exact instant, a grotesque smile twisted across the corpse’s face as its hand lunged for her ankle.

Bang—

The easel shattered, and the corpse it had spawned vanished on the spot.

Ling Ze stowed his weapon. Ling Ge, panting for breath, wiped the sweat from her brow and grumbled, “Damn it! It looked like just an ordinary wooden frame, but it was harder to smash than refined steel.” She turned to Meng Yiran. “Snap out of it. Don’t be scared—it’s all fake.”

Meng Yiran’s stomach churned violently from the fright, forcing her to squat down and dry-heave. Once she recovered, the dregs of her courage propelled her forward. She barreled through recklessly and finally crossed the Small Plaza without further incident.

Only after leaving all the easels behind did a wave of post-disaster relief wash over her. She began to understand why people in her previous life would brave haunted houses and escape rooms despite their terror. The masochistic fear gave way to an exquisite, full-body release that felt more exhilarating than anything else.

But when Meng Yiran glanced back at the Small Plaza, she vowed she’d rather die than go through it again.

That was when she noticed something odd: Tong Yuwu, who had led the way through the first two trials, now lagged at the rear.

Just two or three meters from the exit, she had been drawn to a painting and halted before a plain easel.

Meng Yiran called out her name. “Tong Yuwu—hurry up and get out!”

Ling Ge looked puzzled. “How do you know her name?”

Meng Yiran froze for a split second, then recovered quickly. “Uh… we exchanged names back in the miasma. She knows mine, too.”

Ling Ge leaned in close and whispered, “I don’t know it yet. What’s your name?”

Meng Yiran cleared her throat lightly. “Meng Yiran.”

“Meng Yiran… Yiran.” Ling Ge repeated it a few times, then nodded. “Pretty name.”

Meng Yiran returned a polite smile.

Distracted by the exchange, she looked up again—only to see Tong Yuwu still rooted to the spot before that easel, utterly motionless.

The painting hadn’t spawned any bizarre illusions, and Meng Yiran had no idea what it depicted, but Tong Yuwu stared at it with rapt fascination.

Anxious now, Meng Yiran kept calling out. Ling Ze seemed to sense her worry and spoke up. “There’s a woman on the canvas, talking to her.”

Meng Yiran and Ling Ge both whipped their heads around. “What woman?” Meng Yiran demanded, while Ling Ge asked curiously, “What is she saying?”

Ling Ze shook his head. “I can’t make out her face clearly, but there’s a scar across it—from here…” His finger traced a line from his left temple all the way to his right jawbone. “Right down to the jaw. As for what she’s saying, only Tong Yuwu can hear it.”

He concluded flatly, “She’s entranced.”

Meng Yiran’s mouth fell open. “Entranced? Doesn’t that mean…”

She recalled how Ling Ge had helped her earlier and wanted to charge back in to kick over the easel, but an invisible wall blocked the way.

Beside her, Ling Ze shook his head. “No going back.”

Meng Yiran pounded frantically at the unseen barrier. “No!” She turned pleadingly to Ling Ge and Ling Ze. “We have to do something! Help her!”

“Calm down,” Ling Ze said, grabbing her arm. “You need to trust her. If she could lead you out of that miasma—a trial even I wasn’t sure I could pass—how could a single painting trap her?”

“How can you lump all these things together?” Meng Yiran gritted her teeth.

She shouted at the top of her lungs. “Tong Yuwu—snap out of it! Can you hear me?”

In the plaza, Tong Yuwu paused for a moment and turned her head to glance at Meng Yiran.

Meng Yiran saw a glimmer of hope and redoubled her efforts, yelling even louder.

But soon enough, Tong Yuwu shifted her gaze back to the painting.

On the canvas, the woman whose face was crawling with ferocious scars began to shed tears. She reached out toward Tong Yuwu. “Child, my good child, come to Mommy. Mommy can’t live without you…”

“Don’t cry,” Tong Yuwu said. The words sounded like comfort, but her tone was utterly flat and emotionless.

She pointed out the mistake. “She wouldn’t cry. And she certainly wouldn’t say things like that to me.”

The woman’s expression froze on her face inside the canvas. Then she blinked away her tears and forced herself into a dignified pose. “Ahem, Mommy just misses you so much. I couldn’t help myself…”

“Mm,” Tong Yuwu replied.

She blinked, her beautiful purple pupils staring unblinkingly at the figure. “Do you really want to be with me forever?”

The woman nodded vigorously. “Of course. Mommy can’t live without you.”

Tong Yuwu nodded.

The woman thought she’d hooked her. A sly smile curled at the corners of her mouth.

Her upper body emerged from the two-dimensional canvas, and she stretched both arms straight out toward Tong Yuwu in an embrace. “Come here, my good child. Come to Mommy.”

“We have to wait a little longer,” Tong Yuwu said without moving an inch. “I haven’t learned magic yet. And besides…”

She lowered her eyes. “I have to bring my cat along.”

The woman’s hand was already perilously close—just a few centimeters shy of brushing against Tong Yuwu.

Certain of her victory, she dropped all pretense. “My good child, that’s not up to you. Come obediently into the picture frame and stay with Mommy forever.”

It wasn’t just her. Every easel across the entire plaza spawned terrifying illusions. Having struck out against those up front, they now set their sights on the last remaining target. From outside the plaza, Meng Yiran and the others watched in horror. The scenes unfolding behind Tong Yuwu were even more nightmarish than a spectral parade of a hundred ghosts. Every illusion reached out for her, eager to rip this fragile soul to shreds so they could all claim a piece.

Just as the scarred woman’s fingertip was about to graze Tong Yuwu’s arm, Tong Yuwu turned to look at her.