Chapter 158 "Home" - Punching Old Deng
Jinglian did indeed have an accident. Her body was found in the basement, bent at a horribly angle inside a jar. Meiling called the police, and soon, the "parents" of the three of you naturally arrived.
After a night of commotion, amidst the wailing of Jinglian's family, Huimin's family was the first to take her away.
Meiling, her face pale, told you that you played a psychic game, and then... this is how things turned out. She looked at you and only said that she was the "mastermind," without saying anything more about your role in it.
This case is probably just that special. After a brief investigation of the scene, the police chose to believe Mei-ling's account and hastily closed the case.
"Are you going to wait for your family to pick you up?" Meiling asked. "Or I can take you home."
You look at the message you sent on your phone ten minutes ago, and there's still no reply. You shake your head and say, "No need. You're tired too. Go home and rest."
Sigh, you still have to wait for someone to pick you up. Who knew that after all this fuss, it turned out to be just a scene.
—You realized this belatedly.
From the moment you open your eyes, you're immediately transported to a classroom scene. It seems there's some taboo or legend surrounding the classroom after school, something even Meiling and the others are unaware of, which explains why everything unfolds so naturally.
You think your abilities are real, it's just that everything is amplified in this classroom.
Then you can't help but wonder: if you had chosen to slam the door and leave, how would things have unfolded? Would you have been forcibly trapped in that classroom, forced by those three girls to play the games they wanted to play? Would the story still have unfolded like this—you all enter a dream world leading to your home, and there, you break the dream world and directly obtain the rules?
Yes, that's really strange.
You've never obtained rules directly from the instance like this before; you usually get relevant information through student association groups or other friendly outsiders.
But this time, you just killed a "monster" and then obtained a whole 12 rules??
No, not 12. Rule number 12 is actually just a vague concept, seemingly inviting you to explore and discover it for yourself.
You don't understand.
This dungeon is far too dangerous.
Even if you are very confident in your abilities, there is still a chance that you will fail in this scenario; most likely, you will not embark on this path of fighting monsters, which means you will not be able to obtain the rules.
Perhaps... just like Meiling said, this is just a small city, and there are very few Flower Descendants in the entire school, so finding another outsider here might be very difficult; so maybe... this is the game's balanced mode? A hellish start, so they're giving you a break: as long as you survive the scenario, you can directly see the rules? But it's not really trying to make things easy for you, so it's still hiding things, looking like it's preparing to give you a big surprise at the end?
Hmm, that makes sense. You've convinced yourself.
Your stomach started rumbling.
The food you eat in the illusion doesn't count, and your face turns into a big bitter gourd.
A very long time passed before your "mother" finally replied, saying she would be there soon. That "soon" meant another 20 minutes had passed.
The person who arrived was a somewhat timid-looking middle-aged woman, very thin and frail. She resembled your real mother somewhat, but had distinct facial features typical of people from southwestern China.
This feels a bit strange, but you've encountered the "auntie" in the dungeon before, so you're already mentally prepared for this strange yet familiar feeling of incongruity.
She didn't say a word the whole way, just held your hand and walked quickly home. The journey was similar to what you saw in the illusion, only the route was different.
Soon, you arrived home. Unlike the illusion, this place looked like an ordinary house.
As soon as the iron gate was pushed open, a smell mixed with sandalwood, cooking fumes, and mosquito repellent hit my face.
The long, narrow living room was dimly lit, the ceiling fan clicked slowly, and the walls were covered in peeling light blue paint. To be honest, it was very dilapidated.
My gaze shifted again, and a Taiwanese drama was playing on TV. The actors were making exaggerated expressions and various movements, looking very emotional, but unfortunately, the screen was muted.
The entire glass cabinet by the window is filled with Buddhist amulets, talismans, and small gold-edged cards, with labels that read "Prosperous Business" and "Turning Misfortune into Good Fortune" in floral language. Below, there is a cash register that is half-open, with coins jingling.
Looking down, the floor mat under my feet was covered in mud and dust, and the shoe rack was crammed with slippers, but it looked clean.
When you look up again and look into the room, the legendary "father" is sitting on the sofa.
The good thing is that he looks like a normal person; the bad thing is that, while he bears some resemblance to your own father, he looks like a bad person.
He spread his legs wide apart, his beer belly bulging out of his old T-shirt, his eyes were dark-rimmed, and there was a stubble around his mouth. He was holding a calculator in his hand, pressing down one key after another.
Seeing you standing in the doorway, he slammed the calculator on the coffee table, seemingly enraged.
"So you finally decided to come back?" The Mandarin had a southern accent and sounded a bit flat. "What time is it? Why did the police have to be called in? Are you even going to school?"
You're standing at the door changing your shoes. You've been walking for a while and you're sweating quite a bit. Now, the indoor breeze is blowing and you feel a chill.
As you sit doing your own thing, you politely glance at him as he speaks, watching his mouth open and close. Suddenly, you feel like you're sitting in front of an unfamiliar stage, watching a comical stranger struggling to recite his lines.
Your mom and dad are respectable people. They may not be the most exemplary family, but they would never yell at their child like this without even knowing the facts.
"Where's your mother?" He suddenly turned his attention to what was behind you. "Look at this floor! Oil stains everywhere! What has she been doing all afternoon? She hasn't washed the pots or prepared any food. What kind of behavior is this?!"
The mother didn't say anything, but quickly changed her shoes, then lowered her head and went into the inner room. She took out cleaning agents and a rag, squatted down and began to wipe.
"All you do all day is housework!" The woman's obedience didn't bring the man satisfaction. He slammed his hand on the coffee table, pointing his other finger at your nose. "Look at your kid! He didn't study properly back home, always causing trouble! What good will it do him here? He can't speak Thai, and he keeps insisting on going to an international high school. Where am I supposed to get that much money for his education? What good has he done in regular high school? With your abilities, you could just study casually, find a university in Southeast Asia and get a degree, wouldn't that be enough? I think you're just..."
The man who identified himself as "father" had an unusually large mouth, like a [redacted]. He talked on and on for ages, while you just scratched your head, put down your schoolbag, went to the kitchen, brought out the meal your mother had prepared, placed it on the table, and started eating.
Your gaze remained fixed on the man, but your mind drifted to your parents—those middle-aged and elderly faces who still listened to your company gossip and worried about you working too late. They may not be perfect, but their love was real. As you've grown older, the conflicts between you and them have softened—they've become more gentle, and you've become stronger and more independent. You no longer view your parents, like most children, solely as a "victim of the Dongya family," judging them as a pair with their own limitations. You know you're now in control of your own life.
Looking at the enraged man before you, you find it somewhat laughable. It's a condescending gaze from a mature adult looking at a completely immature, overgrown-child adult. Of course, you only actually glanced at him once.
But that one look was like water droplets falling into a hot oil pan; he jumped up, shaking the coffee table and spilling tea from his glass onto the edge. He reached for the wooden ruler on the table, his face flushed red: "What kind of attitude is this?! I've raised you all these years, and you give me attitude?!"
The woman, still squatting on the ground, cried out, "No—don't do it! She just got back—" She was flustered, but when she saw the man's posture, she fell silent again.
The moment the wooden ruler came crashing down on your shoulder, you sidestepped, your wrist naturally rising to grasp his hand. The strength in his hand was incredibly weak; it dissipated as soon as you pressed down. You took a half-step forward, pressing down on his elbow with your other hand, and lowered your body weight.
Your movements were restrained yet effective; you immediately "pressed" him back several steps until he reached the edge of the sofa, his lumbar spine pressed against the sofa back. He was like a noisy rooster suddenly having its neck pressed down, mouth open but unable to speak, just frozen in place.
"Let go of your father!" The woman suddenly found her strength and lunged at you, frantically slapping your arm with unusual force. "What a terrible thing to do—don't do this, let go, let go!"
You didn't look at her, you just stared at the man's flushed face.
Up close, the two dark bruises under his eyes looked like plastered ash; his skin was loose with large pores; his beer belly was protruding; his arms were thin with white knuckles; and his breath smelled terrible. It seemed he had been smoking and drinking quite a bit, and even other things that were forbidden in this country. He tried to struggle a couple of times but couldn't break free, and his breath became even shorter.
"Mind your own business from now on, understand?" you said in a flat tone.
Well, you wouldn't say you're invincible—hehe, you can think of it that way, of course—the physique and fighting skills you've honed by battling monsters in five dungeons make it a piece of cake for you to subdue a man who's all bark and no bite.
You continue to apply force with your hand, as if you're about to break his bones.
He glared at you, making a "heh—" sound in his throat, as if he was about to utter a harsh word through gritted teeth, but in the end, he didn't.
His eyes showed fear, so you let go. His arm went limp, and the wooden ruler fell to the ground with a "clatter".
"Oh dear, look how you treat your father like this! You're so unfilial!" The woman cried, and then grabbed you.
The man was startled by her voice and turned to look at her abruptly, his anger finding an outlet again: "Look at her! It's all your fault for spoiling her! All she does all day is protect her!" He raised his hand to hit her again.
You hook your fingers around his T-shirt by the back of the collar and pull him back and forth from the woman's side. He stumbles, and you kick him in the back of the knee, sending him sprawling to his knees.
His angry curses were swallowed back. He raised his hand to pry your hand away, but couldn't budge it. He met your gaze, and a cold sweat broke out on his brow. You saw his hairline recede slightly; now, he looked at you as if you were a monster.
"You..." He pointed at you, his finger trembling, "You just wait!"
"I'll wait." You raised your chin.
The man, seemingly flustered and almost afraid, grabbed the keys from the table, kicked off his slippers, rushed to the door, and flung open the iron gate. The night breeze that blew in was hot and sticky. The motorcycle roared past on the path. He turned and glared at you—no, he glared at "Mother" over you—before slamming the gate shut with a bang and driving away.
The room finally quieted down, and the mother seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, but then immediately collapsed, squatting by the door and sobbing softly, her shoulders shaking with each sob. She cried quietly, as if afraid of bothering anyone, her hands unconsciously tidying the floor as she muttered, "How could it have come to this? Just try to live a good life. Your father is just a gossip; he works hard to support the family. Don't argue with him… It's all my fault, I didn't take good care of you…"
Looking at her thin back and her straw-like hair shining in the light, you were speechless for a moment.
You know this is just the "mother" in the game, her timidity, her pleading, and the humility worn down by daily life are completely different from the always vibrant mother in reality. But from a certain angle, their shadows overlap, causing a momentary, indescribable pang in your heart.
Damn dungeon settings. You think so.
"Mom, I'm going back to my room," you said casually, turning around.
"Eat something else... I'll make you some soup. It's so late, don't go to sleep on an empty stomach..." She looked up from her sobs, a hint of cautious pleading in her eyes. You didn't respond, but simply followed her gaze to your room and closed the door.
You leaned against the door, slowly exhaling. You really hadn't expected to witness such a chaotic scene firsthand.
You look around the room. It's small, with a handmade wooden bed covered only by a thin plastic mat. A cheap pink lamp sits by the bedside, its shade still covered with dead insects. On the wall hangs a small sticker for warding off evil, and a rather ordinary-looking Buddhist amulet is tied to it with a red string. Next to it are your mother's neatly folded clothes.
You start searching the room. You've beaten the guy into submission, but you still need to know more about this family. You feel that the existence of this "family of origin" will inevitably lead to other crises. Just like the roommate you were assigned in the Los Kingdom instance, one day they'll definitely cause a scene.
You locked the door from the inside and dismantled the entire room. Finally, under the bed, your fingers touched the edge of a hard object—a notebook with its edges wrapped in tape and a small brass lock fastened to its cover.
I used a hairpin to pry it open a few times, and the lock clicked open. This is "your" diary.
Tucked inside were several printed instruction manuals for Buddhist amulets and a "tourism route price list" with floral meanings. You frowned and flipped through it for a while, quickly understanding the "father's" true "job".
What Meiling and the others knew were all rumors; this person wasn't an Ajarn at all. He was just a "sales guide" who did business with Thai people and mingled between temples and travel agencies.
During the day, he would take orders from the group for "one-day ritual experience: temple + consecration + luck enhancement", then go to the temple gate to find a familiar stall owner to get "amulets with talisman cloth", then ask the real monks next to him to take photos and videos, and edit a "consecration video" to send to the customer.
At night, he would act like a director, connecting drivers, small shops, and even "paranormal experience centers" to film things like "haunted houses" and "black magic displays" in a mysterious and enigmatic way, and then post them on their special websites.
As for why he chose to do business in such a small place instead of going to a big city, at least the high school student's assessment is: he has no ambition, he only dares to make small profits through shady means, and he is afraid of really getting involved in big trouble.
As you flip further in, the teenager's thoughts reveal more of his anger and helplessness towards his family.
The young girl cursed her father with the harshest and most vicious words; in her writing, there wasn't even a mention of her mother. In this family, there was only a struggle between her and her father, yet because she was still unable to be independent, she could only vent her hatred in her diary.
You read for a long time, finally laying the notebook open on your lap, motionless for a long time. The childlike stubbornness on the pages revealed an incredibly real "her".
But you suddenly stopped: Your ability to make your words come true doesn't seem to come from your identity.
If she possessed such bizarre abilities, she would probably have cursed the person she hated without considering the consequences during one of her struggles long ago.
So, this is something the copy "gives you separately"??
If so, what kind of conspiracy does He intend to carry out?
You act impulsively, then quickly cool down. You don't even speak Cantonese. If it weren't absolutely necessary, you could simply remain silent, like in a dungeon, minimizing the risk of "everything you say coming true." So, with this ability, what treacherous challenges would it actually bring you?
Your life consists of going to school from Monday to Friday; with your parents around, you won't be easily stripped of your child-rearing status. Unable to understand, you turn your attention back to your notebook.
You've never seen yourself in such detail before. Besides the complaints, there are countless little details: convenience store receipts tucked in your backpack, your name sewn under the collar of your school uniform, and so on.
Is this kind of "closeness" something that every outsider who becomes a "little overseas student" experiences?
You look away, and the mirror reflects your image.
You froze. Do you really look like this? Not that you've become someone else, but those subtle lines—the junction of the bridge of your nose and cheekbones, the curve of the corners of your eyes, the contours of your forehead—you, yes, you really have changed! You're becoming more like a local!
By the way, there's an unspoken rule about dungeons: you need to immerse yourself, but not too much, or you'll "get lost."
"I have to do something." You stand in front of the mirror and straighten your back. You're not afraid of this, after all, you've had similar experiences before and successfully overcome them.
"I've been run over by a tank, but no one else has... I can't understand what the black guys are saying... Demon Orbs and Spirit Orbs are the best to consume... Real dragon healers eat takeout..." You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes, trying to convince yourself with your declaration. But this time, looking in the mirror, you realized that even after talking yourself hoarse, it didn't seem to be working.
"It's not a matter of cultural identity." You pondered, and suddenly realized. The problem wasn't about being an outsider, but about self-identity.
You've been reading her diary for too long; the child's grievances, anger, longing to leave, and helplessness have pulled you into her shoes. You unconsciously empathize with her, but this excessive empathy has made you lose your own perception and gradually become eroded by her emotions.
"Then let's bring back my own 'version'." You coughed, changed the subject, and started reciting classic lines from the corporate slave: "I love going to work, I hate taking holidays, and I'll keep everything in order today..."
The more you talk, the more comfortable you feel, and that familiar feeling of being trapped in a cubicle by reality creeps out from your bones: the 8 pm takeout, the midnight enter key, the group messages you receive half-asleep on Friday nights, and the performance review at the beginning of the month.
This is the real you. Not the child I've kept for the past five months, nor the child in this diary. You are a working adult who has been working for many years, and you are about to completely leave this "instantaneous" world and return to the normal, busy reality.
The face in the mirror finally stopped distorting, and your features returned to their proper angles.
You close the diary, fasten the little brass lock again, and tuck it back under the bed.
In any case, you've decided on your goals for the next month.
First of all, this diary is definitely a very useful clue. Your father is probably just as dangerous as the figure in your fantasy; you must be careful and wary of him.
Secondly, school is definitely not a good place, but you can't start faking illness today and then stay home for a whole month until you leave the instance. You know that such passive resistance will inevitably lead to unexpected and terrible events. So you need to make good use of every minute at school, gather as much information as possible about what's happening inside the school, and then—your ultimate goal is still to ask for leave, and find a balance between spending time at school and at home to reduce your own survival risks.
Finally... we still need to learn the language and culture.
Even after what happened today, Meiling and the others won't leave you isolated and helpless in the future, but not knowing the local language will definitely make it difficult for you to get around.
You don't need to learn it fluently, but you must force yourself to quickly learn some simple everyday phrases and understand what constitutes a stop, a request, or a command.
You didn't sleep a wink that night, memorizing 100 commonly used travel phrases. The next day, with huge dark circles under your eyes, you went to school, repeatedly reciting basic syntax in your mind.
-----------------------
Author's Note: I suddenly realized that the second-person perspective has some limitations. When designing "your" family, if I didn't write it well, it felt a bit like cursing someone. But if I wrote it too well, some sensitive readers might think, "Not everyone's family is so harmonious and friendly." Anyway, I compromised in the end, and I hope that regardless of family atmosphere, everyone can grow into a free and happy adult. [Red Heart][Orange Heart][Green Heart][Cyan Heart][Blue Heart][Pink Heart][Yellow Heart]
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com