Chapter 102 Soul Knot (New Update Complete) Escaping the Underground and Learning the Arts...
Before you could even catch your breath, Tamara had already charged back toward the projector.
"It's not over yet!" she shouted, crouching down to examine the tapes. "These are all fake. We have to recover the videotapes and restore the real content completely so everyone can see it!"
Her expression was no longer the biting malice that always seemed to hide something sinister, but rather a kind of excited fervor.
It was as if she had been reborn as some kind of "fighter for justice".
—It's somewhat similar to the situation where you used the wooden badge upstairs.
You stepped forward and grabbed her arm: "Calm down."
Tamara was stunned for a moment as you grabbed her, then shook her head, still looking completely absorbed.
Seeing this, you simply tied her up with your hair and left her aside.
You go back to the pile of cables and squat down.
You've thought of a problem.
After delving deeper, you expect to find the inside of a damaged television so you can "fix" it or something, but instead you discover a VCR and videotapes.
If your "fall" was only for this purpose—did it actively attract you in, or did the television act as a container to "suck" you in?
Looking again at Tamara, who was still struggling, I wondered what made her want to "restore" the original content, as if everything would be alright if the video was corrected.
You gently rub your temples and begin to break down your thought process: "How can a broken television set hold a video that can still be played?"
Unless, you're not playing it, but have already entered it.
Thinking about it this way, it means that the existence of a television itself is not that of a "player".
It looks like a door.
A multi-layered door—a triple barrier created by the actual television structure—projects a “space bubble” that is both enclosed and real.
You close your eyes and savor the experience you just had.
Who says the party scenes in the basement and upstairs are unrelated?
The young people who can turn into snakes are NPCs existing within the party scene. The old wooden badges can restrain them.
You can't remember the specifics clearly, but it's precisely because you can't remember them clearly that it shows that all of this is "the forgotten past".
The scenes in this building are all connected. People partying upstairs can quietly escape through the ventilation ducts; and isn't the other end of the ventilation ducts the basement?
What was recorded—the underground level—was altered; what wasn't recorded—the upper level—is where past events are being reenacted. But you only remember the fleeting moments of revelry, which, in essence, are no different from the joy depicted on the videotape.
“Nobody cares about the truth,” you mutter to yourself. “The pursuit of the truth leads to getting lost.” This explains Tamara’s current state.
Leaving aside the underlying truth, the logic here is—
It's just a formality.
As long as we find a breakthrough in terms of form, that's enough.
The videotape may be the 'substance', but if you think about it carefully—it's more of a 'medium', just like a curtain that blocks out the sunlight, but you can't dwell on whether the curtain is torn or not forever.
Television, videotapes, wires, projectors—all of these seem to be surface manifestations of the same spatial system.
“Hey, the ‘video’ we see is determined by both the videotape and the logic of the television screen—and the ‘space’ we are in now, the places you’ve encountered time and time again while being lost in the maze, is the ‘spatial dimension’ simulated by the television playback structure.”
"And the television is the 'player' that the videotape chooses to load. Whether it is damaged or not is not a big problem."
You paused for a moment, ignoring Tamara's continued squeaking, and continued to elaborate on your thoughts as you spoke: "In short, the videotape is the operating logic, and the television is our space of existence."
"We have fallen into the 'broadcast logic' manufactured by television."
“We became part of the videotape, presented on television, we are… ‘pixels’?” You thought for a moment and found the most suitable word.
How can pixels escape?
"Then we have to become pixels that are not recorded—become 'bad pixels'."
You suddenly look up at the corner of the space that was originally playing dance footage, but is now flashing with irregular white dots.
A dead pixel is a point of failure.
You walk over, bite your finger hard, and smear the blood on that spot.
As soon as I swiped it up—
That space began to tremble violently.
—In your joy, you created a bloodstain, which became "an unresolvable new pixel".
A malfunction has occurred.
Tamara exclaimed in surprise, "What... why are you tying me up??" This guy woke up in time.
Once her hair was back in your hands, Tamara didn't bother arguing with you anymore. Her skirt began to ripple and twist like the reflection of a stone thrown into water, eventually revealing the clothes she was actually wearing.
You laughed, pointing to the ever-growing "dead pixel": "Hurry up! Let's squeeze us all into the 'pixel dead zone'!"
Tamara rushed over and ran alongside you in that area where the image was out of order.
Hey, this scene looks familiar.
This time, however, you are two people.
It flexibly jumps, crouches, rotates, and dodges, inch by inch avoiding the gravel-like noise caused by the destruction of space and the decrease in image stability.
The pixel has officially collapsed.
The floor began to turn into a mosaic, the walls began to shake and drop frames, and the colors in the whole room began to go out of order, with color levels disordered and light and dark inverted.
With lightning speed, you grabbed the broken end of the projector tape, yanked it out, and the tape whipped wildly like a snake before snapping apart.
And you stand in the center, surrounded by what looks like overflowing mercury from a television screen, beeping loudly.
"Quickly, eject us..." you murmur, "We are not images, we are glitch."
The next second—the space completely collapsed.
There is no wind.
There was no pain.
It's as if you've been deconstructed, peeled away, and dissected from some layered world.
—Then it fell.
Snap!
You fall onto the cold floor, Tamara lands beside you, and you both let out a muffled groan of pain.
You prop yourself up.
You returned to the ground floor of that building.
Sunlight streamed in through the tattered curtains, and snow dust danced in the air.
You look down at yourself—wearing your own clothes, your backpack still there.
You're finally back.
Tamara was covered in sweat, but she grinned and said, "Wow, thanks to you!"
"Let's leave first." Not wanting to stay any longer, you grabbed Tamara and ran outside.
At the same time, with a creak, the door leading from the first floor to the basement closed by itself.
A faint, intermittent hum of electricity came from the gaps in the door panel.
In places you can't see, fleeting television noise flashes like a pair of eyes, flickering in the darkness.
"Thank you so much." Tamara patted your shoulder with a grin, acting as if nothing had happened.
"Stop pretending, hand over all your props," you said coldly.
Tamara's smile froze.
Muttering to herself, she took out all the things she had promised, her face sour: "Why are you being so fierce? I keep my promises, okay?"
"Now, teach me how to use the Soul Knot to recognize the Purifier." With your palm facing up, show her the Soul Knot.
"Alright, alright, don't rush me, I'll tell you everything." Perhaps because her life was no longer in danger, Tamara immediately couldn't stand the feeling of being "subordinate." She even showed her impatience first.
Fortunately, you were just as disgusted with her. When she ran out of props, you made no attempt to hide your malice by showing off your black hair, and she had no choice but to accept the soul knot from your hand with a rude but sincere attitude.
Gently twirling the knotted rope with her fingernail, she slowly explained, "First, let me explain the principle behind this thing."
"This kind of thing is not uncommon, it just takes different forms. Its essence is actually a 'causal entanglement'."
“Through it, you can see the ‘mark.’ That’s right, what the Soul Knot can see is the imprint left in the soul by the act of murder.”
"But have you ever thought that the relationship between the murderer and the victim is not as simple as 'who killed whom,' but rather an entanglement of cause and effect?"
Listen carefully, holding your breath.
Tamara continued, "But, in the entire dimension of this instance, there is actually no difference between personally killing other outsiders and using the rules to kill others." She gave a strange laugh.
"What do you mean?" This person still likes to add drama to their narrative. Tell her to stop being mysterious and just say it.
"Perhaps the liquidators think that arresting and killing outsiders by changing the rules isn't murder, but in essence, they're no different from a villain like you who directly kills people." Tamara said, not forgetting to make a few sarcastic remarks to you. You tossed your hair at her, only to receive a glare in return.
She continued, "In other words, the hands of the liquidator are not clean either; he 'carries' another kind of mark on him."
"Do you remember what I just said? The so-called marks seen by the Soul Knot are cause and effect, and also traces of the entanglement between souls."
She held the Soul Knot up to her eyes and said in a melodious voice, "It can see the marks on you, and it is also an echo."
"It can not only identify 'who is the werewolf,' but more importantly, it tells you: who is burdened with the debt of the soul."
Just as you guessed.
I found it strange from the moment you heard about the existence of the "liquidators." Why would a copy need to categorize outsiders into different classes? Unless, of course, ordinary outsiders and liquidators are simply equal objects to be used and manipulated from different perspectives.
"Okay, I understand. Now, let's get to the point," you urged helplessly.
Tamara is as dramatic as her pseudonym. The good thing is that she explains everything very clearly; the bad thing is that she tends to ramble on and on.
"Are you a science student?" Tamara suddenly asked.
"No, but what does it matter?" you frowned.
"Ha, it's nothing, but you'd better take a good look at what's coming next." Tamara took the opportunity to mock you, but as a scholar, you always regarded the inexplicable sense of superiority from science students as an itch that apes are about to grow brains, so your expression remained unchanged.
Seeing that her repeated provocations had no effect, Tamara became a little deflated. She sullenly pulled you to a spot to squat down and grabbed your finger to draw on the snow.
"I figured this out myself, and I can vouch for it. It's a unique experience," she said, drawing a few arcs.
"The will of the copy—you've probably heard of this concept—and in real life, there are corresponding hypotheses: Does the universe have consciousness? Does fate exist? Are higher-dimensional beings what are called gods? I don't know these, but since such surreal things as copies exist, perhaps reality is also another copy."
You don't yet understand the connection between what Tamara is saying and the Soul Knot, but the words themselves are certainly chilling.
You don't want to dwell on things that yield no results, because that will only lead you to nihilism. Once you descend into the meaninglessness of nihilism, you fear your resolve will snap, and you'll lose the will to survive that you've always struggled to maintain.
"Say the key points," you said, emphasizing each word.
"In short, if this place can correspond to reality, then the physical logic of reality can also be found here. In reality, matter originates from energy, and energy is born from a 'field.' Here, props are matter, and everything supernatural corresponds to energy. Its breeding ground—that is, these entangled causes and effects—corresponds to the 'field.'" She smiled and helped you draw lines of light and shadow.
“In reality, people can create partial fields and stimulate 'ripples' in larger fields, and they can certainly do the same here. Moreover, a prop is far from reaching the level of a large, unalterable field.”
"Did you understand?" Tamara asked.
You nodded. You roughly understood what she meant, like what you learned in junior high school physics: changing the direction of an electric current changes the direction of a magnetic field.
"Then, what should I do?" you asked solemnly.
Tamara chuckled: "I don't know."
?
You just felt genuine admiration for the person who had helped you and then ruthlessly betrayed you, but now you're tempted to actually slap her.
“I really don’t know,” Tamara said, her eyes clear. “The principle is the same, but it’s too mysterious. I don’t know what medium to use to change it. I can only give you advice—”
She pointed to the strands of hair you were unconsciously clutching in your hand and said seriously, "This prop of yours is obviously not an ordinary prop. It must come from a very supernatural and terrifying ghost. Generally speaking, such things also have a very strong causal field. And since it is so closely bound to you, perhaps you can use it to change the causal direction of the soul knot."
"Well... it's like using a large magnet to demagnetize or change the poles of a small magnet." Tamara explained again, afraid you wouldn't understand.
Okay, she sounded sincere, and she doesn't seem so infuriating anymore.
However, staring at the strand of hair in your palm, you can't help but wonder if it really possesses this ability.
Tamara, however, encouraged you to wrap the soul knot with your hair: "Give it a try, the worst that can happen is that the soul knot won't work." As she spoke, she couldn't help but chuckle to herself.
"Of course, if your hair is even weaker, it might be demagnetized in the opposite direction?"
Tamara's voice was like a demonic whisper. Your heart skipped a beat.
The Soul Knot has been returned to your hand. You look at it, then at your black hair, and are torn between the two.
"Alright, I've taught you these important principles, and I've given you all my tools. We're even now. Let's still be friends when we meet again." Tamara patted your shoulder, flicked two fingers outward from your brow, gave you a cool wink, and then turned to run away.
"Don't go." You stopped her again.
Tamara let out a long, frustrated howl: "What else do we need to do?"
You slowly shifted your gaze from the two props in your hands to Tamara's eyes, and said with a slight hesitation, "You're talking about these mysterious concepts like cause and effect and 'fields.' Is it possible that the user themselves is also a part of cause and effect?"
"Huh?" Tamara was stunned.
“What I mean is, I’m pretty sure that even if you take this strand of hair, you won’t be able to make it work,” you said, shifting your gaze back to the hair, your fingers tightening as you grasped the glossy black lock.
"Huh?" Tamara was completely bewildered. "Huh??"
"Perhaps I don't need to risk wasting another of my brilliant tools just to gamble on a chance to ambush the Licensor." You ignore Tamara, who's standing beside you like a groundhog, and ponder:
The "murderer" himself is entangled with enough cause and effect to leave a mark. What could be more suitable than yourself to be the center point that distorts cause and effect?
If you can shift the starting point of cause and effect, and restore the will of the soul knot to its rightful place, then you may have achieved your goal.
"Back to normal." You repeat the word that comes to mind, turning it into a more concrete plan.
—The murderer is the one who kills personally; the settler is the one who kills by exploiting the rules.
Who else is using the rules to kill people?
Copy and copy.
Instead of guiding cause and effect toward the 'dead,' guide it toward... the copy itself.
When you think of this sentence, you feel as if a heavy hammer has hit your eardrum, making you see stars.
The whole world seemed to crack open with a "crack," as if a beam had split open deep inside.
Shake your head to clear your mind.
He lowered his eyes and looked at the soul knot in his palm.
Yes, the rules of the instance are neither right nor wrong. The instance's consciousness simply watches your chaotic battle from a superior position—it only looks at the actions, not the motives; it only cares about the process, not the pain.
Try gently pressing the Soul Knot to your chest and closing your eyes.
You need to get into that position.
that--
"If I were in her position."
The air seemed to be suffocated by thick sand.
You start to recall.
What comes to mind is not a specific death scene, but the deaths you have seen, heard, and experienced in countless instances—the girl being dragged away by boots, the gentle aunt on the double-decker bus, and yourself being killed as soon as you arrived in the instance and said a single sentence.
There are also those moments where one second they are laughing and joking happily with Xiaoming, Xiaofang, and others, and the next second they can only struggle with the pain of "loss".
Even if some of them are of bad character or not very smart, they have never done anything wrong.
You simply survived.
"If I were them..." you whispered.
Your back feels cold.
Tamara heard your incantation and suddenly looked up.
She saw the Soul Knot—trembling slightly.
You open your eyes, calm as still water.
“You’re wrong,” you say softly. “We shouldn’t put cause and effect back in their proper places—we should tilt the ‘field’ itself.”
"Tilted?" Tamara frowned in confusion.
“The ‘judgment field’ in this place,” you say quickly yet calmly, “always assumes that ‘death’ is justified, a price to pay, a necessary expense for the operation of the copy. It sees no indifference and disregards the ‘motives’ of those who arrange death.”
"Location...you mean...?" Tamara's expression changed.
“But copies aren’t a panacea; they also have ‘inertia,’” you said to yourself.
Your voice was even lower, like a fine needle piercing Tamara's heart.
“I advise you not to mess around.” Tamara completely understood what you meant. She took a few steps back in fear, then stood still, curious about what would happen next.
“If I can guide the Soul Knot to think ‘I was destined to die’ when it is in operation, and then concentrate all the ‘pain, resentment, and fear’ onto the copy itself—that would be equivalent to changing the causal field.” You expressed your thoughts clearly and frankly without any reservations.
This time it was Tamara's turn to be taught a lesson, and she held her breath.
“It’s not about finding ‘who killed me,’” you grit your teeth, “but about letting the soul knot start asking: ‘Why did I have to die? Who decided that?’”
Tamara asked softly, "What would happen if...its answer was 'copy'?"
Looking at the Soul Knot, you spoke softly, "It will go and find out who 'used the copy' to replace the person who should have borne the killing intent."
You gently lift the soul knot.
No one made a move; there were no knives or guns.
You simply closed your eyes and took a deep breath into the air.
“If I were her, I would die in this ‘game,’ while you sit on the judge’s seat and watch coldly. I would die.”
The hatred in your heart slowly rises.
You hate the liquidators—even if you can't even say who they are.
But you—
I hate dungeons even more.
That feeling of being forced to participate, with no end in sight, and having one's value and life or death judged.
You didn't shout it out, nor did you explode.
You simply guided the soul knot slowly in an unusually calm manner.
You whispered, "Soul Knot—tell me."
"Who used the guise of a dungeon to kill me?"
"Smack—"
The Soul Knot trembled.
You look up and see faint blood-red patterns seeping from the wall somewhere in front of you. A blurry human figure appears for a moment before disappearing.
You succeeded.
You used the very structure of the Soul Knot to create a biased field of "causal fallacy".
You didn't change the props, nor did you add any extra buffs—you simply changed the logic of their use: from "who killed someone" to "who wants me dead."
Tamara stood there, watching you without moving.
She was stunned by you, and began to stammer, "You know what... I originally thought you were just like everyone else, just a smarter outsider."
“Now I know I really messed with the wrong person.” Tamara grabbed your hand. “Take me with you. I’m going to stay in this instance for another 10 days. Let me see how you do things. As for me, I think you can get something out of me too.”
You didn't answer, but gently tucked the Soul Knot into your chest. It was still as cold as before, but you knew it was no longer the same item.
It can now hear your heartbeat.
"I'll be going now. Thank you for telling me all this today, it was very useful." You waved to Tamara.
Tamara chased after you a few steps, still somewhat unwilling, but seeing your hurried pace, she decided not to bother.
I stood there watching you go for a long time.
Of course, you wouldn't tell her that you have a feeling something strange and unpredictable might happen to you in this instance or the next. It could be good, or it could be unfortunate enough to drag everyone else into it.
Just like today.
Of course, you'll never know that Tamara, that liar, actually lied to you.
She came here to scout the place more than once.
The first time was with a local male firefighter. The second and third times were with outsiders.
But not once did she trigger the same underground predicament as today.
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Author's Note: Hehe (Tiger's brain cells are undergoing emergency rescue)
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