Chapter Fifty-Two: The Dead and Hypocrisy

He looked at the person before him, about to speak, when the commotion outside seized his attention completely. He glanced at Jiang Wan, sitting motionless on the bed, gritted his teeth, and walked over to the window.

He turned sideways and peered through the lattice window. At the altar in the earthen building, several people were grappling with one another. Their bodies had become grotesquely bloated, their limbs nearly atrophied. Beside them stood a man, holding something in his hands.

He checked his watch, his expression severe. Chen Qing recognized him—it was the man he had glimpsed earlier through the crack in the door.

The man waited for over two minutes. Seeing that the men on the ground remained deadlocked, his expression twisted with disgust.

“How revolting…” he muttered under his breath, raising his left hand and rubbing the fingers of his right against it. Instantly, the five men’s bodies began to levitate.

Their limbs had grown so fragile that even rising a meter off the ground was too much. The man pointed downward, and at his gesture, the five “fatties” plummeted at an unnatural speed, their bodies striking the earth far faster than gravity alone should allow.

The sound of bones snapping was louder than their screams of pain. Their limbs, broken, drove deep into their own bodies, and they burst like balloons pierced by four needles, spraying their viscous innards in all directions.

The material was thick as silk, like dense yogurt, streaked with translucent chunks that occasionally squirmed and bounced.

Seeing this, the man’s face showed satisfaction. He nodded, then glanced toward a nearby room—not at Chen Qing, but toward the direction of the four investigators.

He pulled a file from his belt, scribbled something on it, then produced a lighter and tossed it into the pool of milky fluid. A flash of fire erupted, sending thick smoke billowing through the earthen building, carrying the stench of burning protein and a strange, wailing agony.

As the smoke drifted, an old man on the second floor pushed open his door. He stood on the landing, face ashen, looking down at the man in the center of the square. His fingers crushed the railing in his grip.

“You cannot kill me,” the man said, directing his words at the village chief. “I have broken no rule. You can’t even touch me.”

The old man’s face flushed with anger. “What are you doing? I don’t understand your words!”

The man bowed slightly. “Allow me to take a piece of the Celestial Flesh.”

“The Celestial Flesh belongs to no one!” the old man roared.

Chen Qing hid behind the window as Jiang Wan’s voice sounded from the bed.

She still sat upright. “So this is the reason for my death.”

As her voice faded, Chen Qing did not turn around. When she received no response, Jiang Wan continued, “Because I broke the rule of this floor.”

She watched his back, unconcerned for his feelings. “We were lucky before.”

“Lucky?” he replied this time.

Jiang Wan nodded, a few blackened cubes of tofu falling to the floor from her body, even though she had no head. “We didn’t deduce a single rule. Yet we survived.”

He was silent for a moment before turning to look at her corpse.

“What is it? Was the pleasure from before not enough for you? Even in this state, you’re still willing?”

Her voice continued from where her body lay.

“You.” Chen Qing took a deep breath and closed his eyes as the sounds of fighting behind him grew louder.

“I will bring you back.”

“Then eat more of the Celestial Flesh. That is the rule of this floor.”

She spoke in a flat, emotionless voice. “Didn’t you hear him? If you eat it, I’ll live again.”

Chen Qing shook his head. “No… No. That world…”

“As long as you don’t leave that world—who cares if it’s real? I’m dead! It’s your fault! But I can live there!”

Her scream made Chen Qing’s face pale.

“No… no…” He staggered, shaking his head. “There are still the general rules… there is still a rule that can save you…”

He spoke softly, but somehow Jiang Wan’s corpse seemed to wear a mocking smile.

“You can’t do it.”

“I can… there are still enough chances… to try.” He sounded uncertain.

“Then if you fail…” she went on, “remember to eat two pieces of the Celestial Flesh. I’ll be alive over there. I don’t care what it is, at least I’ll be alive there.”

As her voice faded, the battle on the square reached its end. Severed limbs covered the ground. The man searched for a while, then picked up a watch from among the remains.

“Three minutes left,” he muttered, his expression strange. “Why is there… a donut here?”

He shook his head, glancing up at the old man on the second floor, managing a grim smile.

“You may only take one piece! You must feed it! The Celestial Flesh is a messenger from the heavens! You must care for it!”

The old man howled. The man in the square nodded, agreeing, and pulled out the file again. He wrote something for several seconds, then walked to the Celestial Flesh and tore off a piece.

He gazed at what he held, greed burning in his eyes.

“A treasure… what a fine treasure…”

He murmured to himself, taking out a small, ancient, timeworn box; he placed the piece inside.

“Now… to pursue them.”

He whispered, stepping over the dismembered arms as he left the building.

Only after the man departed did Chen Qing finally relax and prepare to open the door.

“If you’re hurt, if you crave power, if you want to defeat them, if you want revenge for me…”

Just then, Jiang Wan’s voice sounded again behind him.

“Eat two pieces of the Celestial Flesh. Just two. One to bring me back in my most beautiful form, one to avenge me.”

She spoke softly, her headless body still sitting upright.

His hand hovered in midair, not quite touching the door. After a moment’s hesitation, he left in silence.

The square was nearly filled with remains. The old man walked to the altar, his expression tinged with sorrow, and placed a hand on the Celestial Flesh.

He saw the old man, but the elder seemed not to notice him at all, making no move.

“You should have killed me as well,” Chen Qing said, his tone flat, betraying nothing.

“Oh?” The old man sounded distracted, just making a noise and waiting for Chen Qing to go on—as ordinary people do, never leaving a conversation unfinished. The old man stroked the Celestial Flesh, then raised his hand to lick his fingertip.

But Chen Qing was not like other people. He watched the man’s back, hesitated, then chose not to interrupt and instead turned to the room next door.

There, one of the four investigators was lodged.

Chen Qing pushed open the door. The investigator seemed to be emerging from a dream, his hand tracing an empty space on the bed as if someone were sitting there, sketching the outline of a woman’s figure in the air, his eyes filled with unfathomable longing.

Chen Qing sighed, noting the floor showed no sign of vomit. Without a word, he drew a wooden stake from his pocket.

He approached the man, who seemed sluggish, surprised by the presence of another man in this “utopia.”

“You!” The investigator raised his hand and swung at the air, but in one spot his movement was blocked by nothing.

He pointed at Chen Qing, slurring like a drunk, “Who… are you?”

Chen Qing did not answer, nor did he want to.

He moved closer, and the wooden spike in his hand traced a line across the man’s throat.

The investigator’s expression turned bewildered. He felt something stroke his throat—but what?

Frowning, dazed, the man pondered a moment before giving up.

By then, Chen Qing had already retreated to the doorway, casting a last look around the room before moving on to the next.

In the second room, the investigator’s state was far more depraved; he was writhing atop a mound of air, sweat and bodily fluids dripping to the ground.

Chen Qing didn’t linger. He approached, and again the wooden spike drew a line across the man’s neck.

The man merely paused, frowned down at himself, then continued his movements.

Room after room, upstairs and down, each was filled with the excesses of human desire. They gorged themselves, though there was only air and dust; they indulged in lust, their bodies growing gaunt and withered.

After passing through two floors, a bell rang out across the square.

Time was up, exactly matching the interval the investigator had recorded earlier.

Chen Qing glanced outside. A layer of milk-white frosting had already buried the remains.

“So… their strategy for this place was simply to leave before the council convened?” His expression was calm as he watched the twisted human shapes ambling toward the square, only then following after them.