Chapter 89, Chapter Thirty-Six: The Fantasy Mansion
Wen Ting opened her eyes from the bed.
It was already bright daylight. She had slept before sunset, probably for fourteen hours, but her mind was still foggy.
At first, Wen Ting thought she had slept for too long and had fallen into a drunken sleep.
She tried to adjust her schedule, limiting her sleep to less than eight hours a day, but even standing up, she could fall asleep instantly.
I'm so sleepy.
Wen Ting barely opened her eyes, maintained consciousness for two minutes, and then couldn't help but want to sleep again.
Before falling asleep, she heard footsteps.
Someone sat down next to her and pried open her mouth.
A cold finger was inserted into her mouth, as cold as an icicle.
Wen Ting was jolted awake by the cold, and regained some consciousness.
A faint salty, fishy smell wafted in.
She saw the man sitting on the edge of the bed; he had long, loose hair and was wearing a red dress he had made for himself.
Wen Ting tried to pull his fingers out, but feeling her resistance, he pushed them in even harder. "Blood, drink blood."
The index finger was poking straight into her throat. Wen Ting struggled and kicked Gong Baidie in the waist.
He groaned in pain, but a smile crept onto his face.
Only after the smell of blood had faded did the finger withdraw from Wen Ting's mouth.
The bleeding from her fingertip stopped, leaving only a small red dot. Gong Baidie put it in her mouth, sat on the bed sucking her thumb, and smiled tremblingly at Wen Ting.
Wen Ting took a breath and, after calming herself down, kicked Gong Baidie again.
"Cook."
Gong Baidie rose gracefully, dragging her red dress and long hair, and swayed like a ghost towards the kitchen.
After his antics, Wen Ting wasn't so sleepy anymore. She propped herself up and sat up, rubbing her throbbing temples.
After coughing up the caterpillar, she stubbornly went to several hospitals in the city to see a doctor.
There's not much hope in healthcare these days; the cause can't be found, but the money's all gone.
Wen Ting had no choice but to give up.
She went away to seek medical treatment for a month, and when she returned, half of the villagers had died, but Gong Baidie, the madwoman, was doing quite well.
She stepped into the house, where two dishes and a soup were laid out on the table, as if timed perfectly.
This person is crazy; he cooks better than her.
Upon seeing Wen Ting, he happily took out scissors and stabbed himself, wanting to feed her his blood.
"Will you die if you don't drink?" Wen Ting asked.
Gong Baidie nodded, "Die."
Will drinking it make me better?
"You'll die if you don't drink it."
He didn't say whether it could be cured, but if you don't drink the blood of the white butterfly within a week, worms will fall out.
At first, Wen Ting was scared, afraid that Gong Baidie would run away and stop her from drinking blood; gradually, she became more and more sleepy, and the time she spent sleeping each day became longer and longer.
She began to realize that this was like drinking poison to quench her thirst.
She will never recover; she will be bound to Gong Baidie for the rest of her life, dragging along this worm-eaten body.
All the villagers who drank the blood of the white butterfly died. Insects crawled out one by one, and gray cocoons hung from the eaves and treetops, hatching into countless red butterflies.
The newly hatched red butterflies, along with those on the plum tree, all settled on the roof of Wenting's house, making it their nest.
The two bungalows, along with the lawn where the chickens and ducks roamed, were covered in red.
Man-eating insects filled her house, yet she gained even greater reverence, with every villager stopping to pay their respects before passing by.
Wen Ting felt they were all crazy, and she was almost crazy too.
Realizing she was beyond saving, she grabbed Gong Baidie by the hair and shoved him into the water vat.
"Either cure me completely, or find me a new body." She pressed him down, her eyes cold. "Otherwise, I'll smash your temple."
He didn't answer, unable to speak as he was held underwater, and this silence enraged Wen Ting.
It's all his fault! This madman, this monster, this beast who ruined her life!
"Speak! Did you do it?!" Wen Ting roared, slamming him down like a madwoman. "What did I ever do to you? Why did you try to hurt me?! Tell me! Tell me! What are you trying to do? What do you want?!"
The water vat made a splashing sound, and Gong Baidie, gripping the edge of the vat, choked on a bellyful of water.
He didn't drown; he fell down soaking wet, from head to toe. His red clothes, soaked through, lay sprawled on the ground like a rotten flower.
He coughed and spat out water, while Wen Ting squatted beside him, hugging her knees and crying.
As she cried, Gong Baidie started to laugh.
He rolled over and crawled toward her, water droplets from his hair and clothes dripping onto the ground and seeping in, leaving the area he crawled over damp and dark.
"Love me, love me." He pounced on Wen Ting with the icy water, dug her face up, and planted a loud kiss on her cheek, beaming, "Love me, mwah~"
Wen Ting suddenly stood up and roared and screamed, "I'll kill you, you worthless bastard!"
Gong Baidie was pushed down by her and stared at her in a daze.
Shock flashed in his dazed eyes. Wen Ting wiped the water from her face and sneered, "What are you looking at! You think I can't swear?"
Gong Baidie really hadn't expected this.
He had never heard Wen Ting swear in his life; he could have sex with her for two days and she wouldn't utter a single swear word.
After a brief moment of surprise, he burst out laughing.
"That sounds great!" He sat on the ground clapping his hands, his eyes curving into crescents, praising in a sticky, affectionate tone, "So good! Again, I like it when you scold me!"
Wen Ting turned and left, slamming the door shut. Regardless of whether he would freeze to death in his wet clothes or whether he would run away, she sat down on the kang (a heated brick bed) and cried blankly.
Was the mistake made by Ajake?
Being alone in another world, what's wrong with wanting to avoid someone who intends to kill you? It's not like she killed him—even if her actions at Ajia Ke were slightly inappropriate, what did she do wrong before? The worst thing she did was steal her colleague's project, so why was she transported to this kind of place?
My throat, nasal cavity, and eyeballs feel burning and itchy.
Wen Ting lay on the bed in despair, but was pulled back to sleep by drowsiness.
She didn't know how long she had slept when she was awakened by a series of tapping sounds.
After her tears dried, they clung to her eyelashes. Wen Ting rubbed her eyes, and through her blurry vision, she suddenly saw a white hand outside the window by the bed!
"Ah!" She woke up instantly in fright.
In the pitch-black night, a pale, thin hand tapped on the window repeatedly.
Tap tap tap, tap tap tap.
Hearing her scream, the hand withdrew.
After a while, he picked up a butterfly and placed it on the windowsill.
This red butterfly is big and bright.
It flapped its wings on the windowsill. The wings were not a dull, lifeless dark red, but a bright, eye-catching red, which was striking even in the dark village night.
The butterfly's wings slowly open and close, forming the shape of a heart.
Wen Ting opened the window expressionlessly.
She clenched her fist and smashed the butterfly to pieces, turning it into a bright red sauce.
She closed the window and lay back down on the bed.
After a moment of silence, the window was knocked on again.
Tap tap tap, tap tap tap.
Wen Ting sat up impatiently, intending to take a knife and chop off Gong Baidie's hand, when she saw a bowl of noodles with lard placed outside the glass window.
The noodles steamed in the early spring night, topped with two golden fried eggs.
Wen Ting paused for a moment, opened the window, and brought the noodles in.
She took a bite, then another.
After finishing her meal, she didn't let Gong Baidie in and went back to sleep.
After that, Gong Baidie did most of the housework.
The same thing happened that day. He forced Wen Ting to drink a finger's worth of blood, and then kicked her out of bed to cook.
Wen Ting ate her rice with a blank expression.
She didn't care where the ingredients came from or how much was left at home. It was already like this; whether she lived or died didn't matter.
She even harbored a secret longing for death, hoping it would take her back to her original world.
She longed for it, but she didn't have the courage to face death willingly, so she could only live on, taking each day as it came.
After finishing her meal, Wen Ting put down her bowl and chopsticks and started to feel sleepy again.
She really didn't want to sleep anymore, and watched as Gong Baidie tidied the table.
Gong Baidie's clothes and hair were in the way, and she swept them around while working without tying them up.
As he passed by Wen Ting with his bowl in hand, Wen Ting stuck out one of her feet.
Gong Baidie saw this, walked around her, and giggled, happy that she was playing with him like this.
Wen Ting raised an eyebrow. "With all your abilities, why are you staying here as my maid?"
Her voice is gentle, even when she says something harsh, she does so softly.
Gong Baidie said, "I like my life now."
"What do you like? Do you like having someone give you attitude all the time, or do you like being someone's slave?"
He glared at Wen Ting, annoyed by her harsh words.
“This is life,” the madwoman said gently and happily. “This is how life is lived.”
Wen Ting nodded, confirming that he was truly insane.
She didn't last two hours before falling back into a dark sleep.
After cleaning the house, Gong Baidie sat on the warm bed and took a needle and thread to make clothes for her.
He embroidered butterfly patterns on her cuffs and collar, like chains, in circles and bunches.
He snapped the line in the bite, glanced at the sky, and prepared to make dinner.
There was no smoke coming from outside yet, but their house always started to smoke the earliest.
Gong Baidie packed away the half-finished summer clothes and tucked the blanket around Wen Ting before leaving.
As she leaned down, strands of hair landed on Wen Ting before her lips.
He thought he hated Gong Baidie's identity so much, but he recently realized that it wasn't so bad after all.
Gong Feibai's identity is new and impressive, but he felt less secure on the 12th floor than he does now.
Wen Ting's polite and courteous attitude towards the director was as fleeting and elusive as her affection; he didn't like love, but he was still used to hating her.
Now, both he and she are much more at ease.
Gong Baidie poured a glass of water and kept it warm on the stove while cooking, so that Wen Ting could drink it when she woke up.
The stove is still too small; it's enough for two people, but it's a bit of a stretch to warm milk.
He scooped a spoonful of soup from the pot to taste it, and then added some sugar to enhance the flavor.
Her ribs, which had been kicked by Wen Ting, throbbed with pain, but she didn't hold back at all and showed him no mercy.
Pain is real, more solid and genuine than love.
That's just how life goes.
...
Wen Ting sat on the wooden threshold.
She hugged her knees, while Gong Baidie spun thread in the room behind her.
The spinning wheel creaked and groaned, and the cicadas chirped and groaned.
Under the desolate moonlight, the entire courtyard was filled with red butterflies. They couldn't all land on the higher parts, and those at the edges would easily be pushed off. The scene was like a shower of falling petals.
In just a short while, another red butterfly fell from the roof.
Wen Ting raised her hand and caught the falling butterfly.
“Ah, born at the wrong time—” she sighed, “If I were the empress… even if I were just a captain, your blood would be worth a fortune.”
If you want to get rid of someone or control someone, just feed them a drop.
The butterfly landed in her palm and soon flew away.
Wen Ting watched it fly towards the moon, thinking, "Why am I just a village chief?"
No one answered; only the spinning wheel creaked and groaned.
Wen Ting leaned against the door frame, her eyelids half-closed.
During this period, she could only wake up for two or three hours a day.
The night was quiet and peaceful as spring transitioned into summer. She was sleepy again and too lazy to go to bed, so she leaned against the door frame and fell asleep on the spot.
A gentle night breeze was blowing, and the spinning wheel was still creaking and turning.
Half-asleep, Wen Ting was dressed in summer clothes, and then in autumn clothes.
She had lost track of time. Every time she opened her eyes, she was in Gong Baidie's arms. He was either feeding her porridge, or feeding her blood, and a few times he was on a spittoon.
He held her in the same position as a child being held to urinate, pressed on her lower abdomen, and urged her on with a hissing sound.
After she urinated, he cleaned her up, put her back in bed, covered her with a blanket, and patted her gently to coax her back to sleep.
In a hazy, drowsy state, Wen Ting grabbed his sleeve, "...When will I die?"
Gong Baidie raised her lips and said sweetly, "You love me—we'll die together."
Wen Ting gripped his sleeve tightly, creating wrinkles, and then, unable to keep her eyes open, she fell into a deep sleep.
Gong Baidie lowered her head, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and smiled dreamily.
Initially, he hoped to end his life on the 12th floor with the respectable identity of Gong Feibai, a world that both he and she loved.
The ungrateful woman ignored his pleas and warnings and insisted on going down the aisle, only to suffer the consequences.
Well then, it's not bad to slumber on this level.
They met when they were both humble, and died just like that, having torn away their glamorous facades to expose each other's true, ugly sides. It can be said that they had a beginning and an end.
The wind in the ghost story had picked up again; it was now a severely dilapidated wooden house, leaking air everywhere.
He was exhausted and tired, and couldn't hold on for much longer.
The woman in his arms had sunken cheeks and protruding bones on the back of her hands.
If she had listened to him and stayed on the 12th floor, she wouldn't have suffered so much.
Gong Baidie held her in her arms, unable to do anything, so she leaned against the headboard and hummed softly.
He would sing for a while, then laugh for a while, then sing again.
The village is almost empty, but the number of cocoons and butterflies is increasing.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, head to head.
...
Wen Ting woke up and stared blankly at the ceiling.
She couldn't remember how many times she had woken up, but finally—finally this time when she woke up, she didn't see Gong Baidie.
She rolled off the kang (a heated brick bed), and only when she touched the warm kang did she realize that it was already the second winter.
Having lay in bed for too long, her legs were weak, and she stumbled a few steps when she got out of bed, almost falling over.
With legs that felt almost unfamiliar, she shuffled out of the house, supporting herself on the tables, chairs, and walls.
As soon as she stepped outside, the scene in the courtyard shocked Wen Ting.
A single glance revealed a blood-red hue.
Red butterflies blanketed the area like snow, obliterating everything from rooftops and treetops to the ground, leaving no place to step.
With nowhere to step, she trod on butterflies, leaving behind rotten insect corpses with each step.
Her movements startled the nearby butterflies, causing them to flutter, but they couldn't fly; they could only surge around the yard like a red tide.
Gong Baidie is finally gone.
Wen Ting had waited too long for this moment, and finally, she was able to wait until he was no longer there.
She stepped over the butterflies, went to the backyard, and carried out bundles of firewood.
For a body that has been bedridden for a year, moving so much firewood is time-consuming and laborious. The longer it takes, the higher the chance that Gong Baidie will return.
She knew it was risky, but she insisted on using fire! She had to do it this way!
After scattering firewood all over the yard, Wen Ting brought out a fire from the kitchen.
Standing in the courtyard filled with butterflies, she surveyed the red courtyard.
Insects crawled everywhere, but the room was spotless and tidy.
After living like a living dead for more than half a year without any dignity, she finally made up her mind.
As she tossed the fire aside, Wen Ting's eyes revealed a vengeful satisfaction.
In the private plot opposite the village chief, Gong Baidie pulled out a string of sweet potatoes.
In the ghost stories, ingredients are limited, and among the limited choices, Wen Ting's favorite food is candied sweet potato.
Such a vicious woman, yet she loves to eat such sweet things—it's a charming contrast.
It's a pity that she can't even eat candied sweet potatoes anymore; she can only drink sweet potato porridge.
Gong Baidie smiled.
Serves them right.
His strength is already very weak, and even something as simple as taking vegetables requires following rules and logic; he can't take things remotely.
Carrying her shopping basket home, she turned around and a wisp of orange firelight caught Gong Baidie's eye.
The magnificent sunset burned the sky with mottled red and purple hues, and on the horizon, the blazing firelight echoed the heavens.
Flames leaped and danced, and countless red butterflies fluttered in the firelight.
Gong Baidie was stunned for a moment, then ran back like a madwoman.
Facing the raging fire, he forgot his abilities, as if he had returned to the twelve-year-old body he was in the game.
That year, the roof tiles were covered with snow, and beneath the snow, flames soared into the sky inside the courtyard walls.
A fire burned the Gong family home to the ground. He was hidden in a box by his father, and through the cracks, the figures of people fleeing in the flames were just like the red butterflies fluttering before his eyes.
That fire became a turning point. Although he didn't go insane like Gong Baidie here, his life was completely different.
He rushed into the inferno. A pale, sickly woman stood in the courtyard, her hair disheveled, holding a bronze statue of a goddess. It was the statue of the Butterfly Fairy.
The courtyard gate was broken open, and she and he looked at each other across the fire wall.
She grinned maliciously, raised the idol high with her withered arms, and slammed it to the ground—
Bang!
The head of the god was smashed apart, and the red butterflies scattered in panic! Their weak wings were burned before they could fly over the courtyard wall, and they fell down like rotten fruit.
Amidst the magnificent waves of fire and butterflies, she stared at him, her gaze filled with vengeful malice and triumphant arrogance.
Wen Ting chose fire from among many ways to die.
She wanted to let the fire that had ruined Gong Baidie's life burn again, fiercely and intensely in front of him.
The high temperature distorted the air, and in that scorching distortion, Wen Ting silently moved her lips towards the man at the door and raised her middle finger.
Gong Baidie read her words aloud:
[Go to hell, you rotten bitch]
She threw her head back and laughed heartily, as if she had finally defeated him.
Gong Baidie stared intently at Wen Ting. If this were a game, this moment would be the most worthy CG animation to be screenshotted and treasured.
He suddenly laughed, laughing more happily, more joyfully, and more excitedly than Wen Ting, who was looking at him with astonishment and confusion.
I never expected to uncover a secret before I died.
Who else but him could see this unknown side of her!
That's wonderful, that's wonderful!
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A note from the author:
Wen Ting: Look at what you wrote in your one-sentence introduction—"sweet treat," is that even appropriate?
Hehe~
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