What meets the eye is paleness.
This was the only, and extremely heavy, thought in Nansong's mind when his consciousness rose and fell again and he regained control of this strange world.
It was not the pure, dazzling white commonly seen in the snowfields, but a sickly, lifeless grayish-white, like a thick shroud, covering everything within sight.
The air was freezing cold, and every breath felt like a knife cutting pain, turning into frost in the lungs.
The snow fell silently, and the fine ice crystals kissed her cheeks with a chill, bringing a slight sting.
She blinked with some effort, and the snowflakes hanging on her long eyelashes fell down, and her vision became a little clearer.
It's interesting to say that when Nan Song made up her mind and raised her head again, Song Wudeng had already appeared and disappeared like a ghost, close to her face.
Just that moment.
An unforgettable image was seared into her retina—countless tiny, wriggling shadows suddenly emerged from beneath the skin of that pale face, like deep-sea fish swimming under the ice.
The corners of his mouth tore towards his ears in an ergonomically unsuitable arc, revealing a second layer of teeth inside that looked like the most precious jewels, sparkling with the most dazzling brilliance, with some tiny mycelium seeping out from between his teeth.
She could even feel the temperature as cold as ice. The chill penetrated into her bones through her pores and condensed into tiny crystals in her blood vessels.
Some low-frequency vibration beyond human comprehension came from his chest, causing her internal organs to resonate sickeningly.
When she was conscious and silent, the other party finally revealed a very strange look, which seemed to be pity, sadness, mockery, and helplessness. There were geometric spots of light flashing in the depths of his pupils, as if he had glimpsed the truth on the other side of the universe.
But Nansong only felt absurd at that moment.
Incredibly ridiculous.
Absurdity that is difficult to understand.
It's very interesting, how could such a thing happen to her?
Ridiculous and unbelievable.
The incredibly slender fingers became soft and covered like tentacles.
Suddenly, a tiny crack appeared at the knuckles, revealing purple pseudopodia covered with suction cups. At the end of each pseudopodia, there was a tiny eyeball, blinking at different frequencies.
Fragments of Nansong's childhood memories appeared on the irises of those eyes, as if simultaneously reading the deepest secrets of her soul.
She subconsciously grasped something, and it felt like damp parchment wrapped around melting bones. Mucus with a star-like glow oozed from between her fingers. The moment the liquid touched her skin, she heard the whispers of an ancient being billions of light years away in her mind.
But consciousness quickly blurred.
Before she fell completely into darkness, the last thing she saw was a crack behind Song Wudeng's head. Countless translucent tentacles were rushing towards him from another dimension, and his body was constantly collapsing and reorganizing between humans and some indescribable thing.
She saw the other person sighing.
But what are you sighing about?
She thought silently in her heart.
I feel like you've been playing tricks on us all this time...
Dead man, I tell you, you will be doomed sooner or later.
Nan Song wanted to curse a few more times, but he lost consciousness the moment he said this in his mind.
And now, before her eyes, was a strange village made up of countless tiny houses, like building blocks scattered randomly by children on a huge white canvas.
They are clustered tightly together, pressing and snuggling against each other, and their roofs are covered with thick snow, outlining round and strange outlines.
There were no chimneys, no windows—or rather, those holes that could barely be called “windows” were just deep, dark, irregular holes in the walls, staring blankly at the dead silence like countless pairs of blind eyes.
The walls of the house were not made of wood or brick, but of an indescribable material that seemed to be a mixture of ice and snow and some pale bone, with a cold glaze luster in the weak sunlight.
Dead silence.
Absolute, suffocating silence.
There was no sound of wind, no birdsong, no sign of any life that should have been in the distance.
There was only the almost imperceptible rustling of falling snow. Yet, deep within this almost frozen silence, every inch of Nansong's skin was screaming.
An intense, sticky, all-pervasive feeling of being watched entangled in her like a physical spider web.
The feeling did not come from one place, but from all directions, seeping out from the depths of the countless dark window holes, from beneath the soft snow underfoot, and even from the leaden sky above, which was so low that it seemed to crush everything.
There was no sound, no entity, only countless cold, probing gazes filled with inhuman curiosity, fixed on her.
A chill ran up her spine, even colder than the frozen ground itself. She subconsciously clenched her hands, feeling a strange, icy, soft sensation with a faint, lifelike energy at her fingertips.
She lowered her head.
In her red, frozen palm lay a soft, arm-long tentacle.
Its color is a rare neem flower color with a faint melancholic purple hue. The surface is not smooth, but covered with extremely fine, curled hairs like newborn ferns. It looks particularly abrupt and even weird in the gray and white world.
The base of the tentacle shrank slightly, as if unconsciously absorbing the warmth from the palm of the hand while sleeping.
It has no eyes and no mouthparts, but Nansong inexplicably feels that this thing itself is a kind of "gaze", the only and equally disturbing connection between her and this strange world.
How did she get it?
It was as if the pale snow had drained all of the color from my memory, leaving only chaotic fragments: falling, tearing light, and indescribable screams...
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