Chapter 313: The Saint Gelia Shooting Incident

Crimson blood dripped steadily, filling the air with a thick stench of blood. The crowd, barely calmed by Fasolos, erupted in panic—collective terror spread too fast to contain, as women’s screams and sobs merged with men’s shouts; everyone scrambled in all directions, crawling over chairs to flee.

A dense tide of people surged forward and scattered like boiling water flung in every direction, nearly triggering a stampede.

Xia Yubing was shoved off-balance and barely steadied herself by gripping the handrail; when she looked up, Ning Zhe was still there, his expression unchanged. He paid no heed to the chaos around him, one arm cradling the blood-soaked corpse of the girl, unmoving.

As the surrounding people had mostly fled, Ning Zhe silently reached into his chest and pulled out four copper coins.

Fan Daike had seen Ji Bochang before; this was the third time he had bought his life from the God of Wealth in this identity.

“Show yourself, God of Wealth.”

Ding—was the sound of copper coins hitting the ground.

Fasolos, crouched on the floor, gripped the handrail and struggled to his feet; he snapped his head up—and there, in the empty audience seats, stood a gaunt, waxen-skinned, headless ghost draped in a loose Confucian robe.

Fasolos’s face turned deathly pale: “...God of Wealth?”

As the young master of the Milicato family, he had heard rumors of a strange deity on the distant Jiuzhou Continent who could revive the dead and restore flesh to bone—but he knew no details. He was not a marquis of the Dai family and had neither the status nor the means to obtain Europe’s precious coins of life.

But that did not stop him from making a judgment now.

The audience seats were empty. Ning Zhe placed Shalishali on the seat and placed the four copper coins into the God of Wealth’s gaunt palm.

“I buy her life,” Ning Zhe said.

Before the words had fully left his mouth, Fasolos turned and ran, not uttering another word.

The four copper coins clinked into the God of Wealth’s pocket. The bloodstains on Ning Zhe’s clothes vanished; the damp carpet dried as if never soaked in blood. The blood-splattered skull fragments scattered across the seats also disappeared. In their place, the blood-filled hole in the girl’s skull began to heal on its own.

Her hollow, unfocused violet eyes regained their luster; her gaze locked into focus—and the face of a man with no expression came into view.

“Father?”

An inappropriate word slipped out unconsciously; Shalishali quickly covered her mouth with both hands, wide-eyed with terror, staring at the man before her—and at her shattered life.

First surprise, then confusion, then fear—emotions unfolded on the girl’s face in clear layers. The theater was utterly empty; only Ning Zhe, Xia Yubing, and Shalishali remained on the ruined audience seats, alongside the headless, ancient demon.

Having accepted Ning Zhe’s coins, the God of Wealth stepped beside Xia Yubing and extended a gaunt hand toward her.

This was the rule of Wu Tong: forced buying, forced selling.

All beings of Yunlai are guests; summoning the god is easy, sending him away is hard. Whoever meets the God of Wealth must trade with Him—even if Xia Yubing had just purchased her life from Him mere minutes ago.

This was the first time in Zuanju Town, the second time on the upper balcony, and now the third time Xia Yubing had traded with the God of Wealth.

The purchase price for this third transaction: four copper coins for one life.

The selling price: four lives for one copper coin. This too was Wu Tong’s rule: price gouging.

“Listen,” Ning Zhe looked down at Shalishali, his voice calm but unyielding. “I need to know what happened to you just now. Tell me everything you know.”

Shalishali’s body jerked violently; she sprang up from the seat in reflex—but Ning Zhe crushed her back down with absolute force, the tendons on his broad hand bulging as if ready to snap her slender bones.

Ning Zhe pressed both hands on her shoulders, pinning her to the seat: “I’ll say it again. Tell me everything you experienced. Otherwise, you can die right now.”

Fear deepened in Shalishali’s eyes; she looked up and saw the face of her ‘father’—so familiar, yet the cold detachment in his eyes was utterly alien.

Is this what my father truly looks like?

Thinking of her past sixteen years—real yet illusory as a bubble—and of her present, reduced to a commodity on an auction block, Shalishali’s lips turned white; she trembled and nodded: “I’ll tell you. I’ll obey you, Father...”

“Good.” Ning Zhe released her and stood, pulling out four copper coins and handing them to Xia Yubing. He turned to Shalishali. “First—how did you get the gunshot wound on your head? Were you shot?”

“Mm...” Shalishali nodded.

“Who shot you? Do you remember?”

“Yes, yes.” She nodded frantically, voice trembling. “It was the makeup artist sitting next to me.”

Not a single error in content! One shot, one detail, one truth!

“Makeup artist?” Ning Zhe raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Which one? Anna or Mary?”

“Mary. Miss Mary.”

“Mary...” Ning Zhe clicked his tongue, his expression thoughtful.

Beside him, Xia Yubing had completed her third transaction with the God of Wealth. The God of Wealth, having received the coins, slowly faded into the audience seats—presumably to seek out the fleeing staff members. Some had been too slow to escape the hall and had now ‘met’ the God of Wealth.

Watching the God of Wealth’s shadow vanish into darkness, Xia Yubing turned and stood beside Ning Zhe, gazing at the trembling girl on the chair—seeing, perhaps, her own trembling self in Zuanju Town.

“The killer this time wasn’t a ghost... but someone who vanished with Shalishali...” Xia Yubing murmured.

“Tell me more,” Ning Zhe pressed. “From your perspective—how did the others suddenly disappear? From that moment until Mary shot you, describe everything you saw, everything you experienced. Leave nothing out.”

How did he know others had vanished from my view? Shalishali was startled—but nodded obediently: “Yes, Father.”

She took a deep breath, gathered her thoughts, and spoke: “I... was sitting in the audience, head down, lost in thought. When I looked up, suddenly—everyone around me was gone. Everything was empty. Only me, the two makeup artists beside me, and two men in the same row remained. Nothing else. As if everyone in the world except these five of us had vanished...”

“It was utterly silent. But soon, Miss Anna noticed a sixth person—up ahead in the audience. Tall and thin, a man, dressed in tattered clothes, with a worn burlap sack over his head—like a beggar.”

Shalishali had never seen a real beggar, but she had read about them in books... though now, she might be worse than a beggar—beggars and vagrants were at least free.

“The beggar said nothing and walked toward us. Mr. George stood up sharply, demanding loudly, ‘Where did you come from?’—after all, how could a beggar possibly be in the Saint Gelia Opera House?”

(End of Chapter)