Chapter 112 Puppet Theater: Puppets

Squeak, squeak.

It's the rhythm of wooden wheels on a cobblestone road.

What followed was a sharp and harsh sound, like the music produced by an old music box being twisted forcefully.

The hairs on my body stood on end, and the premonition of "danger" went straight from my forehead to my toes!

"I deserve it... how could I believe you again and again!" you cursed, grabbing Tamara by the collar, "Hand over the other SIM card you have!"

You're really desperate. You can't understand how someone could be so outrageous, and you don't understand why you always end up getting taken advantage of by this person!

Tamara almost jumped up, grabbed your hands, and for the first time stammered, "What a terrible injustice! I never expected this!"

She gripped your hand tightly, a rare hint of tension flashing in her eyes.

This guy was even wearing sky-high boots! He just kicked off his shoes, grabbed you barefoot, and started running like crazy.

You sensed danger but hadn't seen who it was yet, but Tamara was pulling you along, so even if you were furious, you had no choice but to run with her.

It's no use!

The creaking sound lingered slowly in your ears.

"Stop running," you said coldly. "But your reaction is too quick. Tell me." You stopped first, knowing that you couldn't escape this situation by running away.

"Alright, we really have no choice but to fight him." Tamara, panting heavily, supported you and pointed in that direction. "Don't worry, he's not that hard to deal with."

“I’ve met this guy before. He’s a street performer who does puppet shows. The challenge is to pull you into a puppet box and perform with you. If you can survive until the end of the story, you pass the challenge,” Tamara said, straightening up.

Seeing her serious expression, and the complete loss of her carefree attitude, you began to believe her about 70-80%.

Under the streetlights by the square, an old yet ornate little cart slowly drove by.

A small stage was built on top of the car, and several puppets could be vaguely seen swaying in the shadows behind a red curtain.

The man pushing the cart was a thin, elderly male entertainer. He wore a tall black top hat, and his gray hair fell messily over his shoulders.

His eyes were hidden deep in their sockets, appearing from a distance like nothingness.

Shall we step into a story?

"What kind of story is it?" you ask.

"I don't know! It'd be best if it was always the same..." Tamara muttered. "Anyway, they're all just illogical fairy tales for kids, not difficult at all. Only one thing is a little strange..."

"What?"

"This is the first time I've encountered the same event repeatedly in a dungeon." Tamara frowned, looking quite troubled. "Why am I so unlucky?"

“You only need to know one thing—this is really not me trying to scam you!” Tamara swore, raising her finger.

"Okay, okay, I got it." You sighed, rubbing your forehead.

Suddenly, the sight of the two of them just standing there waiting for each other to come over seemed a little comical...

In the blink of an eye, the male celebrity pushing the cart was already extremely close.

The male celebrity stopped, a sinister smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.

He slowly removed his hat, bowed slightly, and said in a hoarse but sarcastic voice, "Did you two enjoy my puppet show? In that case, how about we enjoy an even more spectacular performance?"

As soon as the words were spoken, the curtain was suddenly lifted, and the poorly made puppet, which looked particularly eerie and terrifying, seemed to come to life. Qiqi turned its head to look at you.

His eyes, blurred with ink, held a chilling edge.

Before you could even try to struggle again, the next second, Tamara seemed to be pulled forward by an invisible force and suddenly took a step forward.

The theater curtain rose as if alive, instantly enveloping Tamara. You gasped and instinctively reached out to grab her, only to watch in vain as her figure turned into a tiny star and fell into the box-sized stage.

And you were left outside.

She looked completely dumbfounded when she made eye contact with a male celebrity.

**

When Tamara opened her eyes again, she found herself in the center of a huge and magnificent puppet stage.

The scenery around the stage was dreamlike, but she keenly sensed something was wrong—her body became unusually heavy and stiff.

Tsk, that's true. She remembered it was the same last time. Looking down, sure enough, her limbs were being controlled by the threads.

When you move your body and limbs, every joint seems to become woody, and the other end of the slender thread disappears into the darkness above.

It's probably attached to the puppeteer's finger.

The gaze shifts from the seemingly endless sky above, and accompanied by eerie yet familiar music, a puppet-like messenger slowly walks onto the stage.

A heavy, wooden voice echoed in Tamara's ears: "A letter from the King: Your Majesty, I have been captured by the emperor of an enemy kingdom. Please send someone to rescue me..."

Huh? What's going on?

This is clearly the same scenario she experienced last time.

Tamara was truly confused now.

Don't even mention that she's already gone through six dungeons—yes, this is actually her last one, but she doesn't care about the principle of "playing it safe in the final leap," and she'll still cause trouble as usual—even from the mouths of other equally experienced outsiders, she's never heard of such a thing:

Not only do they encounter the same event, but even the content remains unchanged.

What's this?

It's totally boring!

Danger is no object, but if she's forced to repeat the same brain-dead plot she already destroyed once, she'll really grit her teeth in anger.

Regardless of Tamara's thoughts, the puppet show began to run.

Tamara is once again forced to disguise herself as "the queen disguised as the flute player" and embark on a journey to rescue the king.

Her limbs were controlled by silk threads, moving involuntarily along a pre-set path. Along the way, puppet villagers, forest spirits, and strange animals constantly repeated the script's lines with mechanical movements and empty eyes.

Tamara was anxious, but she had no choice but to remain still.

After escaping from the puppeteer for the first time, she researched the entire story.

The original work is a folk tale from the Kingdom of Los, telling the story of a queen who, for safety, disguises herself as a boy to rescue a king who is courting death. After rescuing the king, the old man doesn't recognize her and even accuses her of not rescuing him when they return to their homeland. The queen, however, remains silent until everyone believes she is "unfaithful," at which point she appears as a young man playing the flute—telling everyone, "Ha ha, I am the queen."

Surprisingly, the two of them continued to rule the country peacefully and happily.

Tamara felt she had wasted five important minutes of her life.

They felt even more strongly that what they did was right.

After escorting the king back to his homeland as part of the storyline, she killed him with a single sword stroke.

Anyway, the king never recognized her identity along the way, so it seems that's the logic of the script: once you're dressed up, everyone automatically becomes blind.

So Tamara dressed up as a king, enjoying the worship of all people. After a few days of blissful enjoyment, she chose to leave the storyline.

Who would have thought we'd have to go through it all again?!

It can't be that simple.

Tamara carefully observed the workings of this world, searching for any possible flaws.

Along the way, she deliberately tested and deviated from the planned route, but was always forcibly pulled back by the silk threads.

Any obvious resistance will cause the limb threads to become even stiffer!

The freedom of the story has been significantly reduced compared to before.

Could it be...? Tamara had a sudden inspiration.

Following the plot closely, Tamara finally arrived at the enemy kingdom's palace.

When faced with the puppet emperor, the emperor said with an exaggerated and stiff expression, "Flute boy, move me with your music."

The silk thread guided Tamara's hand to lift the flute, but her hands felt unusually heavy, and her fingers seemed frozen and unable to move.

Let alone playing it, it's difficult to even make a sound.

After the first performance failed, the scene was reset.

Tamara was forced to repeat this process again and again, and with each failure, her joints became even stiffer.

Tamara was going crazy. She could remain calm in the face of life and death, but she couldn't stand the repetition of things.

Feeling like she was seeing stars, Tamara could only console herself: It's okay, that powerful guy is trapped here too, if she dies, she'll die with him, so she won't lose out.

Tamara felt much better after reassuring herself like this.

After taking a few deep breaths, she simply cleared her mind, letting the threads guide her body's movements, and began to analyze the scene itself in more detail.

This was her second time entering this scene, but the events were different.

If I had to put it in a way, it's as if my own impulsiveness triggered some kind of self-preservation mechanism within the script.

That's why this time I forced her to follow the plot.

But then again, if the scene can be ended simply by following the plot, what's the point? Is it just to satisfy the male celebrity's obsessive-compulsive disorder?

Obsessive-compulsive disorder…

Tamara's attention was focused on her fingers.

"I really wish I could play the best music to rescue my lover!" Tamara thought.

My fingers became more dexterous.

The reason he couldn't complete the mission was simply because he didn't truly have the will to save the king.

The current logic is actually the so-called "training camp," which trains her emotions and cognition by repeatedly doing a certain set thing.

Until she truly wanted to rescue the king and return all the credit to him.

Tamara sneered and spat, "If I were to succumb to this kind of emotional manipulation, I wouldn't be afraid of dying."

Since she wasn't afraid of death, Tamara boldly tried to violate even more plot details.

Since he couldn't play the flute by hand, he simply stopped playing it and instead tried to sow discord between the emperor and the king puppet.

“You know that one of your prisoners is the king of a neighboring country— um!” His throat seemed to be choked by something.

Clearly, this attempt did not work.

Not only was Tamara unable to speak, but the Emperor Puppet also repeatedly announced her failure with a mechanical smile.

The silk threads above the theater tightened, and Tamara gradually lost sensation in her limbs.

It seems I need to find a real way out of this predicament as soon as possible, otherwise I will be trapped in this puppet theater forever.

They're practically turning into puppets.

whee.

Let's do it again.

As long as she can still see and her brain can still function, she will definitely find a way to leave.

The theater has started up again.

The dialogue returns to its original form. Tamara, tethered by silken threads, stands before the emperor puppet, the flute in her hand almost forced into her lips once more.

She didn't move.

She is waiting.

She recalled the plot structure of the original fairy tale.

The queen must disguise herself as a boy and go through a journey where she cannot be recognized; the king must only realize the truth after she "reveals herself"; and the audience must see the queen suffer all kinds of injustices before they will acknowledge that she "deserves respect".

Tamara stood quietly, rapidly working out a network of logic in her mind.

The script itself doesn't care about these logics, but as a key "actress" in it, she has to give her own interpretation: "She is not the queen until she admits that she is the queen."

But she had already "chopped down the king" outside the script, and even impersonated him to rule the kingdom once—which is why there is this absurd reboot and punishment.

Tamara chuckled softly.

"Okay," she thought, "then I'll just say one sentence."

She straightened up and took a half-step forward before the silk thread tightened.

She stared directly at the emperor puppet and spoke in an extremely slow and calm tone: "If you don't recognize me as the queen, then by what right do you punish me for failing as queen?"

The emperor puppet paused for a second.

Tamara continued, her tone devoid of emotion: "You say I failed in my mission, then you must acknowledge that I am the Queen. But you also say my identity is unclear and should not be revealed, then I have no starting point for fulfilling my duties."

There was a slight stutter in the theater.

She knew it was her destiny.

—The puppeteer has only two hands, and each hand can only focus on manipulating one puppet: at this moment, she is one of them, and the emperor is another.

She was having a direct conversation with a male celebrity.

"This is where your design went wrong: you neither allowed the character to reveal her identity in advance, but also required her to bear the responsibility for that identity."

“Within this framework, the ‘Queen’ must always remain a hypothetical identity. And I do not respond to this hypothesis. So the play cannot continue.”

The emperor puppet's jaw twitched slightly. The line he was about to utter—"Please move me with music"—stuck in his throat, eliciting only a dry, creaking sound.

Tamara took a half step back.

We can't do too much now; let this paradox ferment on its own for a while.

Next, she turned to the sloppy set, to the dark corner where the next scene awaited the unveiling of the "King" sitting in the cage.

It wasn't the king's turn yet, so he could only squat blankly in the corner, with silk threads scattered all over the floor.

Tamara slowly knelt down, looked at his face, and said calmly, "You don't recognize me, do you?"

The king puppet shook his head—it was entirely up to him.

"But you know someone is coming to rescue you, right?"

The king nodded.

"Then what makes you so sure this person isn't me?"

The king did not respond, but just stared at her blankly.

Tamara stared at him and continued to press, "You didn't see my face clearly, you didn't hear my voice clearly, you never recognized me, yet you're trying to drag me back into the script to 'punish' me?"

The king is the main character, and his eyes are not just random dots of ink, but wooden beads inserted into their sockets.

He rolled around dryly, looking like a complete idiot, his head practically burning from Tamara's few words.

She stood up and looked around the entire theater.

"From now on, I will do nothing. None of you can prove who I am—nor can you prove who I am not."

She slowly turned around, returned to the center of the stage, put down the flute in her hand, and closed her eyes.

Just standing there, like an NPC whose design has been ruined.

One second, two seconds.

The emperor puppet wanted to speak, but it got stuck at the "start command" position—because the plot conditions were not met, it could not be restarted.

The king puppet tried to struggle, but it wasn't his turn yet, so he couldn't escape.

The puppet villagers cannot speak, the forest spirits cannot dance; the lines, movements, and lights are all frozen.

This scenario requires both "the queen's identity being recognized" and "the rescue action being completed" to be successfully triggered; however, Tamara neither acknowledges nor denies that she is the queen, nor does she attempt to rescue anyone.

She got stuck on it.

It hits the deepest logical flaw in the story perfectly.

The entire space began to shake violently.

Yes, we cannot punish someone whose identity has not been confirmed for failing to complete a task, nor can we punish someone who has failed to complete a rescue attempt for "failure to rescue."

Tamara's tone was cold and resolute: "If the script can't satisfy me, then I'll tear it up. If this world doesn't set me free, then I'd rather destroy it completely."

As he finished speaking, the male puppeteer seemed to fall into thought, and his sense of control over his puppet weakened considerably.

Tamara seized the opportunity to take several steps forward, and thrust her flute directly into the joint on the emperor puppet's chest—the most vulnerable connection point of all puppets.

The emperor puppet's eyes widened in terror as it looked down at the crack that was gradually opening in its chest.

Unable to speak, until the words shattered into pieces.

Amidst the wood shavings, a pale and terrified face emerged—had the male puppeteer simply stuffed his own photograph into the body of his beloved puppet? What a narcissist!

The person in the photo looks at Tamara in a panic: "How could you treat my art like this?"

Tamara scoffed, “Art? When you force others into your story, it’s no longer art, it’s violence.”

She reached out and grabbed the blurry face, crushing it mercilessly.

The emperor puppet completely collapsed, and the other puppets fell to the ground one after another, causing the stage to shake violently.

Tamara stood calmly in the turbulent world. The threads above her head gradually lost their strength and loosened, and control over her limbs slowly disappeared. She moved her wrists freely and breathed a sigh of relief: "Looks like I won."

However, just as Tamara finished speaking, the entire world suddenly began to shake violently, and the theater's scenery began to rapidly disintegrate. She looked around, slightly bewildered, seemingly surprised by this sudden turn of events—the collapse was beyond her control.

She quickly adjusted her posture, awaiting the impending impact. Suddenly, a huge crack tore open above the theater, and she could vaguely hear your anxious and angry shouts outside.

What's going on?

Yes, you were outside the whole time; only Tamara was dragged inside.

Amidst the chaotic debris, Tamara's body is violently pulled outwards by a tremendous force. In the final moment before the scene completely collapses, she sees you desperately smashing the central device of the theater.

Tamara was truly impressed this time.

No, it's admiration—she thought you were the rational type, but she didn't expect you to be just as crazy as her.

The light became bright and blinding again, and Tamara fell heavily to the ground.

She looked up and saw you standing in the middle of the ruins, half-bent over, holding a heavy steel pipe in your hand.

Tamara slowly stood up, dusted herself off, and said with a playful tone, "Oh dear, I really didn't expect you to be so rough."

You tilt your head slightly: "Enough with the small talk, thank me first."

Upon hearing this, Tamara suddenly burst into a hearty and unrestrained laugh.

"Thank you." As for the fact that she could actually get out on her own, there was no need to mention it.

“Now,” you look at her, your face full of helplessness, “we might need to deal with that angry artist over here first.”

Tamara nodded: "I'd be happy to oblige."

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Author's note: Hehe