retribution
The year drew to a close with ease, and the New Year's Eve fireworks burst across the night sky like scattered stars.
The live stream didn't end until the early hours of the morning. Wen Dai rubbed her stomach, which had been growling since noon. Standing in front of the refrigerator, she looked at the frozen food inside that she needed to cook herself, and silently closed the refrigerator door again. Then she turned around and stared at the kitchen cabinet, where she found noodles that also needed to be cooked by herself.
A sigh escaped her lips; she'd rather go to the convenience store than wash the pot.
The poor soundproofing of the old house made it impossible for her to block out the sound of fireworks exploding in the sky. Wen Dai rubbed her ears, which had been bothered for a long time, went back to her bedroom, grabbed a down jacket and put it on. With the mindset that she could not be disturbed by the external spirit again, she took out a talisman from her bag containing talismans and other items. Her fingers unintentionally picked up two more, but she didn't pay them any attention.
Take two if you want.
As she descended the stairs, a gust of wind whipped her hair around, scattering it and then covering her face like a spiderweb. Wen Dai walked along, brushing the stray strands of hair from her face. After gathering her hair behind her ear, she immediately pulled up the hood of her down jacket, the large hood obscuring most of her face.
The moment she stepped out of the building, a hand reached out from the side and pulled her several times, causing her to stumble. The streetlights in the old neighborhood were dimly lit, and the enveloping shadows enveloped her.
"You must be Wen Dai? I've finally waited for you. You've been squatting downstairs every day." The man in the lead had a somewhat familiar voice. Wen Dai pulled her hat back and, in the dim light, she could see the man standing in front of her clearly—wasn't this the gourd man she had encountered before?
The drop in temperature forced him to put on a down jacket, and he no longer looked as gourd-like as when we first met; now he was a complete sphere.
Wen Dai raised her hand and patted the spot where he had pulled her. Even surrounded by a group of burly men he had brought, she showed no fear. She raised her chin, her imposing manner undiminished, and sneered, "It's you. I was wondering if you were even coming. You've been so quiet for so long, I really thought you were just talking big. But... you brought so many people just to ambush me. Looks like I'm pretty strong in your eyes."
Her lips parted in a wide, upturned smile, revealing dimples and prominent canine teeth that accentuated her sweetness. Yet, the mockery in her captivating eyes made her smile all the more intriguing. "Or perhaps, it's because you're too cowardly."
Her heart was already pounding in her chest, but Wen Dai was certain that she would be alright—if anything happened, the immortals behind her would make her suddenly fall asleep and collapse to the ground when she was about to go out, or they would send her a message directly.
"You bitch, still being stubborn even when you're about to die!" The ball-shaped man raised one hand high, intending to slap Wen Dai across the face, but his hand was immobilized halfway through the air.
He frowned and tried to swing his arm, but his hand seemed to be frozen in mid-air.
The brothers who had followed him were also at a loss when they saw this situation. Several of the more perceptive ones came up and grabbed his arm, trying to pull it away, but of course, it remained motionless.
The biting wind was relentless, seeping into the gaps in their collars and hems, clinging to their skin and creeping deep into their spines. A "drip-drip" sound came from somewhere, and the snow crunched underfoot. The others looked around—but couldn't see a single person.
The henchmen who were still holding onto the gourd-shaped man's arm, trying to pull it back to its original position, let go, their voices trembling: "Brother Yang, could there be something fishy going on?"
None of the henchmen standing nearby uttered a word of rebuttal. Each of them seemed to have their tongues cut out. The gourd-shaped man, who was still raising his arms, swallowed hard, the moisture from his reddened eyes drying in the wind. "What nonsense are you spouting?! You've all become old feudalists, haven't you? What ghosts? If there were ghosts, I would have been dragged to hell by them long ago."
Suddenly, a cold wind swept by, and a hoarse female voice echoed between them: "You were destined for hell—you are going to hell—hehehe..." The eerie laughter pierced their temples and made their eardrums ache.
Several of them had their legs give way. The henchmen moved toward the car parked in front of the flower bed, trembling as they advised, "Brother Yang, this place is weird. Why don't we leave first? We can just drag this woman away with us."
The suggestion was approved by the gourd-shaped man, but just as the other henchmen reached out to Wen Dai, their hands also became immobile.
Having had the same experience as the gourd-shaped man, the men almost burst into tears, their voices cracking: "I can't move either, I can't feel my arm, I can't pull it out!"
Even the most oblivious among them should have realized that the strange thing wasn't the place itself, but the woman they were blocking.
Several terrified gazes focused on Wen Dai. As the person involved, Wen Dai crossed her arms and smiled as she looked at the people surrounding her. She slowly curled her lips and said, "As the saying goes, if you have a clear conscience, you have nothing to fear."
"The moon is so bright tonight, it seems to want to come out and watch the fireworks too—I wonder if it wants to see the fireworks, or if it wants to see you all get punished. You guys had better watch your mouths. I have a pretty good temper, but... some of you have been holding a grudge against me for a long time." After gazing at the moon for a while, Wen Dai lowered her head and gracefully slipped out from between the group.
Looking at the men who couldn't move because their arms were immobilized, she casually glanced at the cowardly men who had huddled by the car and chuckled, "You can just stay here and get some cold wind and a beating. You won't be able to vent all your resentment this time. Don't worry, you'll not only have the chance to be beaten while you're alive, but you'll also suffer endless torment after you die. Bye-bye."
As Wen Dai strolled away, she left only her back view for them to watch. The gourd-shaped man gritted his teeth and endured the pain, struggling to pull his arm away. Just as he leaned back in an attempt to drag his arm, a sharp pain suddenly shot through his groin, so intense that he thought his bladder had been kicked open. His legs gave way and he knelt on the ground. However, the arm hanging in the air was pulling him back, so in addition to the tearing pain in his arm, his lower body felt as if it were being tortured. He couldn't even scream; he could only let out muffled gasps.
Seeing his appearance, the henchmen stopped trying to pull his arm away and cautiously inquired, "Brother Yang, what happened to you?"
The gourd-shaped man, called Brother Yang, had his head almost buried in his chest. He was bending over, hissing, and his anger was being forced out of his mouth: "Call 120... Call 120 now!"
The underling who hadn't gotten involved, standing by the car, finally stirred. Unfortunately, he couldn't even unlock his phone. Every time he pressed the power button and the lock screen appeared, a "face mismatch" system message would pop up. In the freezing cold, the underling was terrified and broke out in a cold sweat. He stammered, his voice almost breaking out in tears, "Brother Yang... Brother Yang, I can't open it! There must be something fishy here. I just turned on my phone and it kept giving me a face matching failure message. Now my phone won't open anymore because it's failed to unlock so many times."
The man in the gourd, writhing in agony, had no time to teach his underling a lesson. Just as the pain in his groin had subsided somewhat, a tremendous force, as if something had kicked him hard, caused him to change his half-kneeling, suspended position in the air. He fell forward, the crisp sound of his arm breaking clearly audible to him.
Fear outweighed the pain, and tears welled up in his eyes, which were swollen and looked like they had conjunctivitis. He cried and apologized, "I don't know who you are, and I don't know what I did to you, but I beg you, please have mercy on me? Or come out and let's talk it out face to face."
On one side was the gourd-shaped man who had abandoned his pride, and his henchmen were naturally not spared either. The pain the gourd-shaped man experienced was replicated on them. The man who was shaking his head from side to side gradually developed black handprints on his face. He couldn't even utter a complete sentence, and could only plead for mercy intermittently: "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I know I was wrong, I'm sorry to you, can you let me go after you've vented?" Apart from the flimsy apology, they seemed to be unable to say anything else—they only wanted to get a result that was beneficial to themselves.
Seeing this bizarre scene, the two remaining unabated henchmen went limp and leaned against the car door. They were both new recruits to the Calabash Man's gang. One of the henchmen stiffly turned his neck and muttered in a daze, "Maybe...maybe I should just go home, go back to my hometown...help my dad farm and chop firewood, I should go home..."
A sinister female voice whispered in his ear, as if her breath brushed against it, "Going home is the right thing to do—go home, leave this place as soon as possible, otherwise—do you two want to experience what it's like to be like them?"
Another henchman looked terrified, his eyes wide as he stared at the shoulder of the person next to him…
His raised hand trembled as he pointed to a spot, his teeth chattering, whether from the cold or fear, he said, "You, you, you have a ghost on your shoulder."
The thick black hair gradually turned into dense strands, binding around the neck of the underling who was being held down by the ghost, strangling him until his face turned red from suffocation before finally loosening its grip. The underling, who was pounding his chest and coughing violently, hadn't recovered when the car door suddenly opened, as if there was a suction device inside, abruptly sucking him in.
The man left outside the car trembled involuntarily, and his groin gradually became wet and hot—he had urinated.
The fearful resistance during the struggle was exactly the same whimpering as the gourd-shaped man. Hearing the whimpering from inside the car, the man could no longer hold back and immediately ran out of the residential area.
The farce was not over yet, and Wen Dai, who could only be considered a facilitator, was walking unhurriedly down the street.
Fireworks soared into the sky, accompanying her as she passed under the glow of streetlights. Just as she was waiting for the green light, a Ferrari speeding down the road suddenly slammed on its brakes.
The piercing sound made her eardrums ache slightly. Bored, she turned her gaze over, originally just wanting to see which rich kid had been born into a good family, but unexpectedly, someone she knew all too well got out of the car.
Chen Sizhe's actions seemed to be taking advantage of a loophole—taking advantage of the absence of traffic control, he parked his car on the side of the road and walked over.
He strode up to Wen Dai, his unkempt hair hanging loosely. His usually aggressive fox-like eyes were now filled with tension. He scrutinized Wen Dai carefully, his tone revealing a concern he himself didn't realize: "Are you alright? Did you run into anyone just now?"
Wen Dai blinked twice, a beat behind, and leaned back slightly, raising her face to meet his. After a moment's hesitation, she asked, "You... why did you suddenly come here?"
The man seemed stumped by her question, or perhaps he was awakened by it.
He pulled back his slightly forward-leaning body, turned his head away, and averted his gaze. He raised his hand and kneaded the bridge of his nose. "...I had a bad feeling, so I did a quick divination and it said those people would come looking for you. They're the ones I met at the restaurant before. He should be with some people."
The hand that had been resting on his face fell down, and he put both hands back in his pockets. His chin returned to its previous position, and his gaze fell on Wen Dai's face. "Out of concern for my partner's safety, of course I came to check on you; besides, my parents care about you a lot. If something happens to you, I'll be the one who has to clean up the mess."
"Oh—" Wen Dai drawled softly, slowly pecking her head. Her gaze shifted to the traffic light, which had turned green at some point. Her attention wandered, and she hurriedly tried to rush forward, but after only a couple of steps, the light turned red again.
The person who stopped stomped his foot and smirked, turning his face toward Chen Sizhe, who was wearing an arrogant expression. "It's all your fault! Couldn't you have waited until I crossed the street before you said that?"
Her displeasure filled his eyes, and Chen Sizhe frowned slightly. He glanced at the endless path ahead and asked, "Where are you going?" He tilted his head back and gestured towards the Ferrari. "I'll give you a ride."
The dissatisfied man's expression changed. Wen Dai walked around him toward the Ferrari. After stepping off the sidewalk, she turned to look at him and urged, "What are you daydreaming about? Let's go."
After Chen Sizhe got into the car, he glanced at the person in the passenger seat who was fastening their seatbelt. He wanted to ask the question that hadn't been answered before, but the other person asked the question first. A sweet female voice rang out: "Hey, how did you recognize me in this dark and gloomy place? Especially since I'm wearing a hat."
She tugged at her black down jacket, the faint light reflecting off her face. Her bright eyes stared straight at him, her tone intrigued: "Look at my NPC outfit, how can you recognize me at a glance? How did you do that?"
The car had to move forward to turn around, so Chen Sizhe restarted the engine. He pushed the gear lever with one hand and held the steering wheel with the other, glancing at the woman's curious face with the corner of his eye. "Walking posture. In all my years, I've only ever seen you walk like Sun Wukong's seventy-two transformations. Sometimes it looks like you're about to jump up, and sometimes it looks like you're marching in formation—that's what you were doing just now."
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
