Chapter 311: Nothing Left to Lose

Beneath the audience seats, the vast majority were male attendants, female maids, chefs, cleaners, and other permanent theater staff who had no idea what had transpired inside but had been ordered by the boss to abandon their duties and gather here. A few guests with displeased expressions spoke with Fosolles at the front, trying to learn why the opera house had been sealed.

Several young girls in white dresses sat at the front of the audience seats, some fearful, others vacant-eyed, most silently weeping with heads bowed—they were not fully recognized human beings, merely valuable, exquisite objects placed here in bulk.

“Nianjun?” Ning Zhe whispered, his gaze sweeping over the crowded audience seats and the empty dance floor—no response came.

The crimson silhouette that had haunted him since leaving Hejiacun had indeed vanished, leaving no trace, no sign.

Had He Nianjun also been chosen by the ghost? If so, why?

Ning Zhe had never regarded the girl in the bridal gown as a “person.” He believed He Nianjun’s existence was more like an extension or projection of the Snake God’s rules—like the animated stone statues in Zanju Town, or the wandering Chang ghosts in Vanessa Castle, and so on.

Now, He Nianjun, holding the yellow almanac, had been chosen by the ghost—like a mad killer stabbing a mirror to kill himself, shards scattering everywhere.

“You—you are…”

On the sofa, the driver Bailer stared at Ning Zhe’s back and suddenly felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity. The identity Ning Zhe had used to save his life moments ago had been a stranger to him, but now he had reverted to Fan Daike’s appearance.

Ning Zhe turned around, returning to his previous face as he stepped before Bailer. His shifts between identities now flowed smoother than Sichuan opera, seamless as water.

“Sir?” Bailer felt something was wrong—this man seemed to have changed again.

“Help me tie him up,” Ning Zhe said in Chinese.

Bailer, bewildered and more panicked than ever, rose to flee—but looked up to see a gun barrel pressed against his forehead, freezing him in place.

Xia Yubing pulled out two pairs of handcuffs, cuffed Bailer’s wrists and ankles behind his back, then secured his forearms and calves with thin leather straps. Finally, she crumpled a handkerchief into a ball and shoved it into his mouth, fastening a gag tightly to prevent any sound from drawing attention.

After finishing, Xia Yubing tossed the bound Bailer behind the sofa. Ning Zhe returned the revolver to her and asked, “Where did you get all these strange things? Why do you carry them on you?”

“...That’s none of your business.”

“Fine.”

Ning Zhe didn’t press further and walked straight back to the sixth balcony where Dieser’s corpse lay. The male attendant still there had pulled up the corridor surveillance footage. Ning Zhe leaned in, scanning it—no new useful information.

From the camera’s perspective, Ning Zhe watched again as Bailer vanished into thin air beside the corridor wall, then reappeared over a dozen seconds later.

According to Bailer’s own account, during those vanished seconds, he encountered a ghost and was killed upon physical contact.

Now He Nianjun had vanished too—along with the yellow almanac carrying the Zhao You rules. Did this mean the ghost in the theater was currently making contact with “Zhao You”?

Would the Snake God be killed by it? Or would the ghost perceive He Nianjun as an independent entity?

Xia Yubing stood beside Ning Zhe, glancing from the replaying surveillance screen to his calm face—then suddenly noticed his expression subtly shift, his eyes filled with surprise and release.

“What’s wrong?” Xia Yubing asked.

“Nothing.” Ning Zhe shook his head. Right in the center of his vision, a crimson figure had silently appeared across the table—it was He Nianjun, long vanished.

Still clad in the red bridal gown embroidered with gold thread, still faceless and blank, her skin pale as paper, her hands still delicate and white as spring onions—only the old yellow almanac was gone from her hands.

The almanac had vanished. “What’s going on?” Ning Zhe frowned slightly.

He had fully prepared himself to be killed here.

In essence, He Nianjun was merely a lingering illusion left after the destruction of Hejiacun, just like the almanac in her hands—a product of the Snake God’s Zhao You rules. What seemed to vanish was He Nianjun, but the true target chosen by the ghost was the Snake God.

Chosen. Vanished. Dead.

This was a complete process.

From the drunkard’s corpse found by the restroom door, to Dieser and Bailer’s consecutive deaths in the opera house—all known victims so far followed this pattern. The Snake God was no exception.

After all—rules were absolute.

But the Snake God named “Zhao You” had already been branded with the mental imprint “I am Ning Zhe.” If the Snake God died, then under the rules of Taiyi, Ning Zhe would take its place and pay the price of death—he had prepared for this.

Yet the reality was different: the Snake God had not died. He Nianjun had reappeared before Ning Zhe—only without the almanac in her hands.

“Why? What went wrong?”

“According to the pattern we observed, those chosen by the ghost see it, then make contact, then die… But why, after being chosen, did He Nianjun not die like the others, but instead lose the almanac?”

No error. No mistake. No flaw in the content!

Could it be that being chosen by the ghost doesn’t necessarily mean death—but rather the loss of something?

Or perhaps, viewed differently, “death” could also mean “losing life”?

—Like the deity known as Caishen, “Wutong.” He has no direct rule of instant death, only forced transactions. Anyone who meets him must trade with him—buy or sell, no third option.

The rich can pay money to buy their lives and send him away; the poor must sell their lives for copper coins and die on the spot—appearing as if killed by Caishen.

So…

Caishen didn’t kill anyone—he merely forced clients to sell their “lives.”

Perhaps the ghost in the theater didn’t kill either—it merely meant the chosen would “lose” something.

Dieser and the others lost their lives. He Nianjun lost the almanac.

“There must be some connection here…”

Ning Zhe’s gaze grew subtle as he pondered: “Both were chosen by the ghost—why did Dieser and Bailer lose their lives, while He Nianjun lost only the almanac carrying Zhao You’s rules? What caused this difference?”

Suddenly, noise erupted from the audience seats, interrupting his thoughts. Ning Zhe hurried with Xia Yubing to the railing and looked down—several rows of seats, once full, now had a clear gap.

“One, two… five?”

Ning Zhe counted again, confirming he hadn’t misread—it was true: just now, five people had vanished simultaneously.

(End of Chapter)