Chapter 23: I Ask Only If You Come—Not If You Return

The sun was high, and misty vapor settled over the basin, blurring the scorching sun into a drizzle that drifted down.

Time always flies when one is busy; braving the fine, hair-thin rain, Ning Zhe glanced at his watch—it was already 11:49, close to lunchtime.

He could no longer remember how many meals he had consumed from offerings given to the Snake God; his once bloated stomach no longer ached, as if everything he had eaten had never existed.

“Time’s up,” Ning Zhe said, putting his phone back in his pocket and closing his eyes to take a deep breath.

He had done all he could. Soon, the villagers of He Family Village would begin preparing lunch. Whether his attempt to unravel the village’s rules would yield progress depended on the next decisive minutes.

“Let’s go back to the ancestral hall,” Ning Zhe said, leading the silent Feng Yu through the bustling alleys toward the hall.

If He Family Village at night was empty and suffused with a lonely, deathly silence, then by day it was the opposite: walking along the cobblestone streets, Ning Zhe saw shops opening, lamps lit, selling everything from traditional Chinese medicine herbs to children’s toys—from vegetable vendors pushing carts to taverns ringing with shouts and laughter—the entire village brimmed with lively human energy.

Yet this bustling scene did nothing to dispel Feng Yu’s dread and fear, for every person on the street—man or woman, tall or short, fat or thin—wore a square, withered yellow sheet over their face, obscuring all expression and features.

The names written on each person’s paper differed, but all began with the character “He.”

Every resident of He Family Village had pasted a yellow sheet bearing their own name over their face, covering eyes, ears, mouth, and nose, yet continuing daily life as usual.

These faceless people moved with slow, stiff motions, their joints grinding and jerking, like ancient, unmaintained cars lumbering down the street, turning their heads every few steps, mimicking the once-bustling prosperity of the village. The more normal their scenes appeared, the more unnerving they became.

This feeling was not deadly, but deeply oppressive, as if something were perpetually approaching—yet never arriving.

The fine, hair-thin rain slanted down as the two returned to the ancestral hall through the downpour.

Feng Yu stood at the doorway, gazing inside. The hall was still the same hall, the Snake God still the same statue—but something felt different.

“Did you see it?” Ning Zhe whispered.

“See what?” Feng Yu asked, confused.

“The Snake God,” Ning Zhe said, brushing raindrops from his shoulder and stepping inside, looking up at the statue atop the lotus pedestal: “The Snake God’s appearance has changed.”

Feng Yu studied it closely—indeed, the statue before them was unlike before: its decay and rot had worsened, thick layers of mold clustered at the base of its scales, white mycelium spreading wildly… like a dying old man clinging to the last thread of breath, refusing to let go.

“The Snake God’s illness has grown worse,” Feng Yu said softly, looking at Ning Zhe: “Is it because of you…?”

“Who knows?” Ning Zhe shrugged, leaning lazily against the pillar to the left of the Snake God, glancing at the time on his phone screen.

He could feel it—the decisive moment was coming.

Waiting for results after completing a task is always the longest part, like the score calculation at the end of a game—fast, yet the player always wishes it would hurry up, hurry up even more.

Silent time passed, until wisps of cooking smoke rose from the rooftops of He Family Village.

Ning Zhe knew: “something” had happened.

He raised his head, almost involuntarily, toward the Snake God on the lotus pedestal. The statue still seemed unchanged from minutes ago—but when he stared closely, he noticed: the Snake God’s right eye was gone.

Within mere minutes, the Snake God’s right eye socket had been entirely filled with white mycelium. It was blind.

“Did it… work…?”

The moment this thought formed, Ning Zhe’s vision went black. Without warning, he lost all perception of the world around him.

He felt a thick, ink-like darkness enveloping his mind—no trace of light. He had countless words to describe it: vast, immense, profound, boundless, majestic… yet each word felt utterly inadequate.

In the deep, silent darkness, Ning Zhe heard an unusual sound.

The voice drifted softly, like wind from afar, or the gentle patter of rain outside the hall—each raindrop a clear, crystalline word.

If the villagers’ earlier chants to the Snake God had been strange, meaningless incantations, the voice now echoing in Ning Zhe’s mind resembled a refined courtesan humming a tender tune to her beloved—melodious, lingering, steeped in quiet sorrow: 【I miss you, sighing, sighing, tears filling my eyes.】

【I yearn for you, hoping, hoping, mist fills the window.】

【I think of you, endlessly, fate, fate, flowers fill the room.】

The faint hum drifted into his ears, blurring his vision.

Amid misty, watery clouds, Ning Zhe vaguely saw an open window, outside which fell a light drizzle; inside sat a delicate girl.

She wore a loose, crimson robe that could not conceal her graceful, curvaceous figure, leaning languidly by the window, gazing at the misty rain. Her skin, like congealed fat, gleamed more lustrous than the jade bracelets on her wrists. Her face, featureless, was as pale as snow, with a single crimson plum blossom marking her lips—soft, full, and tinged with a faint, lingering sorrow.

Her bright red lips parted slightly, humming a mournful, tender melody—like a wronged young wife nestling in her husband’s arms, whispering grievances, yet her eyes held only gentle, watery tenderness.

【I ask only if you come—not if you return.】

【For your sake, I hear not your sorrow…】

That gentle gaze settled upon Ning Zhe, sending a chill through him.

How could a faceless being fix such a clear, unmistakable gaze upon him?

Ning Zhe jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat. Before him stood the same dilapidated ancestral hall, the Snake God still on its lotus pedestal, riddled with illness. Feng Yu crouched beside him, face anxious, gripping his shoulders tightly.

“Ning Zhe, what happened?”

“I…,” Ning Zhe closed his eyes and rubbed his temples: “I just saw something… or someone? I’m certain I saw it—but I’ve forgotten. I can’t remember anything.”

Ning Zhe’s mind was still foggy upon waking. He knew he had received vital information—but he could not recall its content. Only a sorrowful melody lingered in his mind, gentle as water, tender yet deadly: 【I ask only if you come—not if you return.】

【For your sake, I hear not your sorrow…】

(End of Chapter)