Chapter 100 Party 2 Snake
Tamara gave you a strange smile, and just as you were about to call out to her, something snagged on you from behind.
A cool, slippery sensation spread from your neck throughout your body. Ignoring Tamara, you turned around and flailed your arms wildly, managing to rip the thing off.
Is this... a snake's molted skin?
Through the gaps between your fingers, those local men and women who were originally "human-shaped," whether lying or sitting on the sofa, or standing on the side drinking and flirting, began to collapse, swell, and twist.
Scales and muscles writhed beneath their skin, bursting and flying everywhere as their skin tore open, and from the cracks emerged wet, pale pink veins—snake bodies—slid outwards along their spines.
It's as if they were snakes in the first place, just wearing human skin.
"hiss…"
The sound of giant snakes flicking their tongues rose and fell.
You stand in the center of the living room, your black hair tangled in your hands, your knuckles white from the effort.
The shock and profound impact on my mind far outweighed the fear.
Suddenly, a smaller snake hangs down from the ceiling and wraps around your neck without warning, like a tight membrane as tight as a plastic bag, constricting you so tightly that you can barely breathe.
So slippery, I can't get a grip—cough cough!
You had no choice but to look away and use your elbow to strike the rest of its body that was still hanging there. However, its scales were almost like soft gelatin, which deflected some of the impact, and it remained unharmed.
You desperately stretched out one hand, and Qing Si sensed your change of heart, so it stood up abruptly and stabbed at the snake's body.
Click!
The black hair cut into the snake's scales, and the thing instantly writhed and twisted in agony as if it were being burned, falling off your neck to the ground and into the spilled wine, creating a cold, sticky mess.
Ignoring your cough, you stagger back to the wall, only to discover that there is more than one small snake.
The shadow of a snake's body glides beneath the carpet, in the cracks of the sofa, and even in your own shadow.
They crawl as slowly as mercury, but you know that once you fall in, you'll lose all room to struggle.
You swing your black hair, each cut like a razor blade sweeping across. But the more you swing, the more frantically they rush at you from all directions, as if consciously trying to "swallow" you.
And the giant snakes that the humans transformed into surged towards you like waves.
Some of these large snakes even had remnants of lipstick and earrings still on their faces, which, combined with their grayish-white, pupil-less reptile eyes, was both comical and terrifying.
"Haa...ha..."
You practically stepped on those writhing, slippery snakes as you rushed out.
The ghost bride's black hair trembled violently between your fingers, as if pulled tight by some resentment. The fine strands flew, swirled, and cut, temporarily forcing the approaching snakes back.
The pain did not stop them from continuing to hiss and whisper.
It wasn't real language, but it carried a mix of emotions—pain, temptation, hunger—that were transmitted into your senses without any hindrance.
Damn, is this living room really that big?
You cursed inwardly, but the distance of a few steps took you tens of seconds to run.
Panting heavily, you fought the snake while trying to find Tamara, but she was nowhere to be found—she had vanished in the short time you were distracted by the snake.
We finally arrived at the door.
You quickly grabbed the doorknob and pressed down with all your might.
—Still motionless
The door was no longer an ordinary door the moment the party started.
You vaguely recall that when you stepped into this house, the dilapidated building was still filled with snow, but the interior was warm and humid like an aquarium.
And now, this smell is engulfing the entire space—not just snake scales and dung, but something older and more deeply rooted, seeping from the floor and ceiling of the house.
This place has long been a sealed environment; you have to break through this environment to succeed.
You take a few steps back, and you hear a wet, sliding sound at your feet. A snake has pounced on your feet while you're distracted. Luckily, Qing Si is more focused than you, and with just a flick of her wrist, the snake twists and twitches away.
Qing Si is still holding on, but you know it won't last long.
Clearly, Qing Si can only help you knock the snakes away, but it has never been able to truly kill them.
You take a deep breath and force yourself to calmly analyze the situation: This is Tamara's home ground.
She was clearly not in a controlling or controlled relationship with these snakes—if she could handle such a big situation on her own, why would she need to hide now?
So, if it's not some kind of prop unique to her, then she must have borrowed from the rules or "local culture".
You catch a glimpse of a few bottles of vodka scattered in the corner.
liquor.
Yes, this is a party, and no matter what these snakes are all about, the alcohol is definitely the key ingredient.
You charged forward, smashing several unopened bottles of vodka onto the ground.
The glass bottle shattered, and the clear, cool liquor instantly spread around your feet, its intense aroma spreading like an explosion.
The snakes visibly became even more frenzied.
No, no, how could this be? You were thinking that maybe you could get these snakes even more drunk, so they wouldn't be as aggressive as you are, almost going insane from the smell of alcohol. But now they're even more agitated.
Perhaps more alcohol would work, but there isn’t enough alcohol in your sights to go around with.
The snake… perhaps we should start by addressing what the snake itself fears?
"Click—"
You grab a lighter that someone who was smoking indoors earlier has carelessly tossed onto the shoe cabinet, turn it on, and throw it on the ground.
Blue-white flames spread forward along the outline of the liquid, leaping across the cracks in the floor and wandering along the edge of the sofa.
Yes, snakes are afraid of fire!
The snakes began to spasm.
It takes effect.
You cover your mouth and nose—the smell of burning alcohol is awful—and can only cough as you back away, throwing out any bottles you can reach so the flames spread across the entire living room along with the liquid.
Under the firelight, snakes of all sizes wriggled and slithered into the gaps in furniture or the corners of the room, hissing as the tide receded. Moments later, the living room was filled only with the smell of charcoal, the pungent odor of strong liquor, and snakeskins and smudged bloodstains scattered on the floor.
You can finally breathe.
What about now?
You shake the doorknob, but it doesn't budge.
You try to move it left, right, up, and down with all your might, but it seems welded to the door frame, only producing a dull "click," as if someone outside is slowly turning a key and breaking it.
A chill ran down your spine, and you gritted your teeth as you looked at the apartment, which was neither too big nor too small.
There must be something else you've overlooked...
Oh, and the kitchen—that's where the hosts always prepare things.
You half-run and slip inside. The old-fashioned kitchen is crammed full of ingredients, and next to the stove are the fruits, syrups, spices, and rows of unopened bottles of various base spirits that Tamara prepared.
This doesn't look like something prepared for ordinary drinking.
The scene from just now flashes through your mind quickly.
The transformation into snakes began after this group of people drank the wine laced with rose petals.
There's no doubt that Tamara made these drinks; is it possible that she could use these ingredients to create something that would restore the snakes to normal? Everything here looks very messy, suggesting that things have changed so quickly that even Tamara herself hasn't had time to clean everything up.
You're not sure, but there's no harm in trying.
You grab the pot, pour in the vodka, and heat it up.
Just kidding. Let's be honest, you used to be a heavy drinker, and making hangover cures is one of your specialties.
Using ordinary ingredients to sober up might not be effective, but the ingredients here might be.
Cut the lemon open with a knife; the fresh vitamin C can greatly help metabolize alcohol. Then chop the ginger slices and mash them into a paste; this is mainly for staying alert. Syrup and honey are also necessary to protect the stomach lining. Finally, dilute the vodka with soda water—you don't really want to add alcohol, but the absurdity of the current situation makes you feel that the drink needs some alcohol to be effective.
That's about it.
After thinking about it, you prepared another batch and vigorously crushed the dried rose petals and sprinkled them in.
Picking up the tray, you bring the two different hangover drinks back to the living room.
The snakes remained lurking in the corner, ready to attack at any moment if you approached.
Qing Si fiercely swung her braid at those overconfident snakes.
Pick up the glass without the rose petals and pour it down your throat as another snake opens its mouth and flicks its tongue.
Wait a while, nothing changes. Then you take out the one with the rose.
Just as the wine glass approached, the surrounding snakes all stopped moving, and the largest one stuck out its split tongue and licked it.
Then it pounced and snatched the entire glass of liquid away.
Glug glug.
The next second—the snake began to tremble and writhe violently, as if its internal organs were being ruptured by boiling blood bubbles.
You hurriedly backed away, expecting her to explode, but instead—
It is peeling.
Snake scales peeled off like rags, and her pupils gradually returned to normal, the gray and white color fading, and the scales on her body gradually melted into sweat and tears.
She was curled up, panting heavily, as if she had just woken up from a nightmare.
You give yourself a thumbs up in your heart.
You quickly took out all the remaining wine and fed it all to the large snakes.
They all turned back into humans.
He was just drunk, staggering, and filthy, sprawled between the furniture.
You look down at your hands, which are covered in wine and blood, and don't say a word about their condition. You simply walk out.
But.
They have recovered, but you still can't open the door.
Your breath hitches, and suddenly you hear the hands of the vintage wall clock behind you click as it slides down.
Arrive on the hour.
The tolling bells seem like a sign indicating the story's progression, or perhaps a urging: if you don't leave soon, you'll be stuck here forever!
The pointer moves slowly, but what you see in the reflection of the glass is not yourself.
It's a snake wearing your skin, standing behind you.
You slowly turn your head, only to find an empty table and floor.
The air was filled with a mixture of strong liquor, roses, and fishy smells, creating a nauseatingly chaotic and intoxicating atmosphere.
Yes, this is a "party," and even if the guests recover from their drunken revelry, the party isn't over yet.
Should we go find the party hostess? Where did Tamara hide—no, where did she run off to?
You are troubled and look at this old house.
This old layout with three bedrooms and one living room looks exactly like the typical "old, dilapidated, and cramped" apartments commonly found in China...
Tamara…
Wait a minute, you clearly noticed this before, how come you forgot it now? In any scenario, there is a rule-maker. When there are no "people," it is the social logic behind the scenario; when there are people, someone will definitely take on this role.
For a party, Tamara, as the "host," should have complete control. But as you analyzed earlier, she couldn't control the situation at all.
She is not the "master" at all; at most, she is just a "user".
Who is the real "owner"? Who can forcefully end this chaotic party?
You slowly and cautiously survey the entire house—the kitchen, bathroom, wine cabinet, basement storage room. It's as if you're dismantling some ancient trap. Fortunately, after the giant snakes transformed back into human form, the smaller snakes, which seemed to be manifestations of some kind of evil, naturally disappeared. Otherwise, you would have to be wary of being ambushed at every step.
How long will it take to find this? The hands of the clock are ticking away like a death knell.
We need to find something very unusual—something unusual that also perfectly reflects the style of the house.
You can't help but shift your gaze to the fireplace.
That old-fashioned, gray-black fireplace had never been extinguished.
Because it was constantly providing heating, you'd been completely oblivious to this place. Come to think of it, despite all the dramatic changes that's happened to the house, it didn't even flicker like a flame. It's as if its very existence is there to tell you that this is an extremely old-fashioned, typical dilapidated house.
You walk over, pick up the fire tongs, and pok at the ashes of the burnt-out firewood below. At the warm bottom, you find a piece of wood blackened by the charcoal fire...
As you pull it, you quickly see its surface clearly—
It is a badge.
Carved from a single piece of old wood, the center features a radiating red pattern surrounded by ancient Roman script, which is both phonetic and pictographic, giving it a solemn appearance.
You don't recognize these words, but you know you've finally found the key.
Afraid of damaging it, you no longer use fire tongs, but instead carefully wrap the edge of the badge with a piece of silk and slowly pull it out from the bottom of the fireplace.
The moment it landed on your hand, you quickly wiped away the surface dust. It was slightly hot, as if it was repelling your touch, but the moment you wiped it clean, you were shocked by a sudden, devastating blow.
The whole world seemed to be jolted by a low-frequency electric current.
Many sounds came from underground, like the figures of people who had struggled, failed, and been swallowed up in this scene, their lingering spiritual energy crying in your ears.
They were arrested, whipped, and eventually became nourishment for this place, leaving only that tiny speck of malice, coiled like a snake.
You open your eyes, drenched in cold sweat, the wooden badge in your hand feeling cold and heavy.
Now you know how to use this wooden badge.
Straighten your back, your steps firm. The wooden badge lies quietly in your palm, silent, as if nothing will happen.
This is not "silence," but a solemn wait—waiting to "execute the order."
You walk out of the kitchen and back into that decadent, absurd living room.
The clock struck half an hour, and the second hand finally stopped moving—you had indeed found the right thing.
Standing among the crowd, looking at those drunkards who were already half-asleep, a sense of almost ruthless justice welled up in my chest.
This is the moment; the perpetrator has been caught red-handed.
You raise the badge with both hands, gently press it against your chest, and close your eyes.
My mind went completely blank.
Then, you speak.
You don't know why you uttered this string of words. It doesn't belong to any language system, and even you think it sounds like the static from an old radio station that's not tuned. But you pronounce each word clearly and passionately: "In an era of hardship and struggle, indulging in pleasure and sensual indulgence is morally reprehensible and makes one a complete social scum! All those who oppose justice in this room are hereby arrested!"
Your voice was strong and resonant, echoing in the room, but the sound was quickly swallowed up again—no, it wasn't just the voice.
The walls are peeling.
The milky white paint peeled off piece by piece, revealing the old brick wall underneath—mottled, gray-black, and even with faded graffiti and remnants of intricate patterns.
The chandelier went out, and a layer of lights with iron grilles collapsed from the ceiling, emitting a low hum due to unstable electricity.
The entire party house was transformed into an old-fashioned auditorium.
A deep red flag appeared in the air, its golden patterns glaring, the slogans tattered and blurred—but enough to serve as a warning and deterrent.
Under such inviolable justice, the wooden badge also resonated with a low tremor, and you felt your heart surge with emotion, urging you to take immediate action.
You walk to the center of the living room and stand right in the middle of the floor where you spilled the wine.
The scorched marks from the strong liquor now resemble an interrogation circle in the old square.
You hold the badge high.
From every corner of the floor, and from the bodies of those who had passed out drunk, many illusory "figures" slowly rose up.
So this is what they really look like.
You didn't say anything more; just standing there was enough to make you shine.
The eyes of these figures began to waver. Some sobbed softly, some covered their mouths and wept, and some tried to kneel down and beg for something, but they were all suppressed by an invisible order and could not move.
etc--
No, you are neither a judge nor a savior.
You're just someone from another time and space trying to find a way to leave this place. Don't get carried away!
You slam the badge hard onto the ground.
A sharp whistling sound burst forth from the badge, like countless suppressed names being released simultaneously.
The red light exploded, piercing through the boundaries of space.
Countless faces began to appear on the wall—a fusion of snake heads and human faces, an overlap of expressions of pain and indifference, before being burned away like stickers by a layer of transparent flame.
White light began to appear outside the window.
It's reality outside the scene!
And the closed door, the very moment the badge split in two, snapped open with a "snap".
You turn your head and look—the wall clock has started to move, the second hand ticking away like a long-lost heartbeat.
You walk over, hold onto the door frame, and breathe in the cold but at least fresh air.
After waking up for a short while, you no longer clearly understand what just happened.
This short period of memory loss has brought you back to your senses completely.
The corridor was cold and silent, with snow swirling in the wind.
You turn around and look inside.
You did not leave immediately because Tamara had not yet appeared.
Throughout the process, you were somewhat dizzy from the alcohol vapor, and most of the time you relied on your instincts to make judgments.
That said, what was she doing all this for? Was she a purger? That would be too cowardly, and she doesn't seem like it at all.
You're completely baffled. What did you do to offend her? It can't be just because she's a psychopath, can it?
We absolutely have to find her. Even if it's not for revenge, you just want to know what's going on.
To prevent a repeat of this farce, when you enter the house again, deliberately prop the door shut with a stool.
You return to the kitchen. The last time you saw Tamara, she was standing near the kitchen. Unless she also possesses some kind of invisibility device, there must be something more to the kitchen than meets the eye.
It's clear you were indeed "slightly tipsy" before, as you've made the place even more messy. Some things that you could easily spot as wrong were so easily overlooked before: the cabinet door under the sink is half open, and a metallic smell that doesn't belong to cooking or drinking is emanating from it.
And there was a whistling wind.
You parted the pile of cloths and bottles and saw a gray metal grille.
It was covered with a thick layer of dust, but there was a clear mark on the grille that had been unscrewed.
You were stunned.
This is a common ventilation shaft in older buildings, but this type of ventilation shaft can only be opened from the inside, meaning…
Good grief, you were here meticulously working out the solution like a math problem, only to find the answer was right there on the surface—if you can't get out through the main door, just sneak out through another passage. Places like this always seem to have a backup plan…wait, why would I think that?
You ignore these trivial thoughts.
In short, Tamara probably left herself a way out before daring to bring you here.
You carefully pry open the grille with your dagger, revealing a winding, downward-facing ventilation duct, so narrow that only one person can crawl through it.
The pipe walls had a metallic chill, and rust would stick to your palm as soon as you touched them.
Without hesitation, you climbed inside, even though you were already wearing a lot of clothes in winter and couldn't stand the dirt.
The ventilation duct has a simple structure, with exposed iron nails and rough welds that will occasionally prick you.
Along the way, you find several "marks" left by Tamara: a broken metal hairpin, a false eyelash that has been hanging around a corner, etc.
It's possible that she "dropped her gear" because she was rushing to escape and dressed up for the party, but what's the point of this deliberately placed lip print?
You sneered inwardly.
She didn't flee in a panic; she made a prepared evacuation. She probably even planned it out: if you didn't survive, she could get away unscathed; if you did survive, she would have an excuse to "take a step back."
Maybe she just enjoys thrills. Like she said before—she treats dungeons like an amusement park. Only this time, she's using you to get some excitement.
Finally, you climbed out of the ventilation shaft.
This is an abandoned underground warehouse. You can hear the air conditioning and people talking upstairs, but this floor is isolated by heavy iron doors, creating a "dead zone".
Tamara sat in a corner of the warehouse.
She was still wearing an elegant coat, but her makeup was half ruined. She was wiping the wine stains off her face with a tissue, looking pitiful and innocent.
You remained silent, simply standing at the ventilation vent, coldly watching her.
Tamara looked up, paused for a second, then managed a weak smile: "...Oh, what are you doing here? Is the party over?"
You stepped out of the shadows.
"Stop pretending, okay?"
"Explain yourself. Who are you, and what do you want?" you said, Qing Si already poised to attack. "I really have a good temper and am very tolerant. I also believe the general rules you gave me are true, and I am very grateful. But now that things have come to this, I don't know how to convince myself to let you go."
Tamara paused for a moment, then put down the tissue and raised her hands: “I don’t want to make too many excuses for myself. I did set a trap. But not for you—for anyone I can’t judge.”
You sneered: "Speak like a human being."
Tamara lowered her head. Her eyelashes drooped, and after a moment she finally sighed, "I thought you were the liquidator."
ah?
Now you're in an awkward situation.
I considered so many possibilities, but I never expected it to turn out like this.
The air seemed to drop two degrees in an instant.
One is caused by an awkward silence, and the other is caused by your own silence.
“When we first met, you secretly took pictures of me with that thing. Did you think I didn’t see it?” Tamara gestured with her hand.
It is a soul knot.
"I'm not sure either, because the liquidators are all sneaky cockroaches, they wouldn't openly display something like that in front of people..."
"No, were my actions really that obvious?" You feel frustrated.
Tamara glanced at you, saying nothing, yet seemingly saying everything. She continued, "So I wanted to test you. How can you know unless you push someone to the brink?"
“Of course, your behavior is completely like that of an ordinary outsider, so the misunderstanding is cleared up and I apologize to you ^ ^ Okay, come on, let’s make up, okay—” Tamara said, walking towards you affectionately to take your arm.
You sidestepped and, without any hesitation, made her miss her target.
Even if it was all a misunderstanding, she still went too far. And the whole thing was incredibly bizarre. How could you be so foolish as to come to such an obviously abnormal place and actually join a gathering with a group of strange locals?
"Explain everything clearly, what exactly you're trying to do, and how you managed to do all this..." you said in a deep voice, gripping her wrist.
"Hey, you're taking this too seriously." Tamara tried to play dumb, but seeing that you weren't buying it, she finally got serious. "Okay, look, this..." She waved her phone in front of you. "The SIM card in here is my prop. If I use it to make phone calls or use data to chat online, I can influence the other person's perception to some extent through the internet."
"I admit, I was despicable. Oh dear, I was really wrong, I was really wrong. Don't be angry. Look how smart and capable you are, you can crack anything. This time it's like I went to great lengths to create a collaborative copy for you, right? Seeing that your face was still sour, she gritted her teeth, took off the hair clip from her head, and pried out the SIM card. "As an apology, how about I give you this?"
Looking at her like this, you found it a little funny for a moment, but you still asked seriously, "What are you panicking about? What are you still planning?"
Her black hair flew out, wrapped around her neck, and locked tightly: "Anyway, you're dead, so your props are mine."
Upon hearing this, Tamara's eyebrows, which she had been trying to suppress, still shot up to her forehead, and even her usual coquettish smile vanished: "Well, I'll teach you how to turn it into a tool for recognizing the Resolvers in reverse."
Her hand vaguely points to your pocket.
She's still referring to your soul knot.
"If you really know how to do it, tell me now..."
"No way!" Tamara's voice suddenly rose, then her face turned cold, and she clicked her tongue reluctantly, "Please help me, I can't get out of this basement either."
"If you help me get out of here, the phone card is yours, and I'll also teach you how to use that prop in reverse."
"Give me all the props you have," you said.
"Are you a robber?!" Tamara cursed.
"Then I'll kill you now and get out myself."
"Here you go!" Tamara was furious.
You'll feel a little better then.
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Author's note: Hehe
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