Chapter 162: Pledge of Allegiance

That self-directed "accident" yielded astonishingly good results.

When Chen Yu reappeared in the scrapyard afterward, the way all the "consumables" looked at him had completely changed.

It was no longer numbness, but a kind of alienation laced with dread.

They looked as though they were shunning a plague god.

"Damn it, I've practically become a walking jinx now."

Chen Yu cursed inwardly, yet his face retained that cowardly, beaten-to-a-pulp expression as he kept his head down and silently worked.

He could sense that a gaze was constantly locked onto him.

It belonged to the overseer boss, Old Ghost.

Bearing this pressure, Chen Yu continued to play the role of the degenerate gambler "A-Zhe," whose soul had been frightened out of him by a brutal thrashing.

His movements were sluggish, and every part of his body projected messages of "I am in pain" and "I am terrified."

A man like Old Ghost had lived long and seen much; the slightest anomaly could ruin all his previous efforts or even get him "processed" on the spot.

Night fell.

The cold, damp communal dormitory was thick with the stench of sweat.

Lying on the hard wooden bed, Chen Yu listened to the shallow and deep breathing around him as he waited.

He was waiting for the onset of the "Butterfly Dream."

Old Ghost had said that the poison would act up once every day, growing more agonizing each time.

He needed to experience its power firsthand.

Suddenly.

A bizarre sensation arose from his tailbone, instantly shooting through his entire body.

It was not pain.

Nor was it itching.

It felt more like countless ants equipped with microscopic electrodes had burrowed deep into his bone marrow, frantically gnawing and churning.

A tremor originating from the depths of his soul forced his body to tense up uncontrollably.

"Fu—"

Chen Yu let out a muffled groan, his teeth instantly clamping shut.

He could clearly feel his blood growing scalding hot, every nerve ending beneath his skin letting out a piercing wail.

He instinctively raised his arm.

In the dim light, he saw faint red veins slowly emerging beneath his skin.

Those veins grew outward from his blood vessels like the root system of a plant, intersecting and spreading to outline the eerie silhouette of a butterfly's wings.

The image carried a mesmerizing, demonic beauty, yet it also radiated the message of death.

Was this motherfucking thing the beginning of "Metamorphosis"?

[Remaining time: 5 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes, 21 seconds...]

The cold system prompt exploded in his mind, and that ceaselessly ticking crimson countdown, like a sword suspended above his head, mercilessly announced the date of his death.

"Ah—!"

"It itches! So itchy! I'm going to die!"

"Help! Someone save me!"

Inside the dormitory, a chorus of miserable shrieks shattered the silence.

Those "consumables," who during the day had been as numb as walking corpses, were now thrashing wildly on their beds, gouging bloody gasps into their own flesh with their fingernails as if trying to tear their skin and muscles right off.

In an instant, the entire dormitory transformed into a living hell echoing with wails.

Chen Yu bit down hard on the tattered, discolored quilt.

The salty, musty smell of cotton flooded his nasal cavity, but he no longer cared.

He channeled every ounce of willpower into fighting off the madness seeping out from his bones.

Sweat quickly soaked his thin clothes, making him look as though he had just been fished out of water.

His body shook violently, and his muscles emitted groans of unbearable strain.

Then, he, too, began to wail in chorus.

It was not that he could not endure it, but he had to cry out.

Because he knew that hidden eyes were definitely watching this place.

Old Ghost, or someone else.

Any performance that deviated from the character profile of "A-Zhe" would be fatal.

How much time passed, he did not know, before that raging tide of madness slowly receded.

Like a dehydrated fish, Chen Yu lay paralyzed on the bed, lacking even the strength to twitch a finger.

Listening to the groans and sobs gradually subsiding around him, his eyes in the darkness were clearer than ever before.

The next morning.

The atmosphere in the scrapyard was even more oppressive than the day before.

Everyone wore deadpan expressions, mechanically going about their labor.

The torment of the previous night had drained away the very last shred of human vitality within them.

Suddenly, two overseers wielding stun batons walked over, followed by the gloomy Old Ghost.

"Sister Ping, you don't look so good today."

One of the overseers was the Scarface whom Chen Yu had drenched in garbage yesterday.

With a smile that didn't reach his eyes, he walked up to Sister Ping and poked her thin shoulder with the tip of his stun baton.

Sister Ping swayed, her complexion pale and her lips chapped, as if she might collapse at any second.

"If you're sick, you need to go get treated."

Scarface's smile grew increasingly sinister. "Old Ghost, take her to the 'infirmary' to get properly dealt with."

He placed a heavy emphasis on the words "dealt with."

Everyone knew what the "infirmary" was, and what being "dealt with" implied.

It was a synonym for death.

The surrounding laborers lowered their heads in unison, terrified of being implicated.

No one dared to look, no one dared to speak.

Chen Yu's heart sank.

He had not expected the retaliation to come so quickly, and aimed squarely at Sister Ping.

Was it a coincidence, or was Scarface taking his anger out on her?

Or... was this yet another probe from Old Ghost?

Old Ghost nodded expressionlessly and waved a hand.

The two overseers immediately stepped forward, grabbing Sister Ping by either side and dragging her outward like a dead dog.

Sister Ping did not resist; she maintained that vacant, numb expression, allowing herself to be dragged along.

Chen Yu stood in place, keeping his head down as his hands gripped his shovel tightly.

He forced himself not to look up, not to make any superfluous movements.

The overseers dragged Sister Ping right past him.

At the exact moment her body brushed against his, a cold hand flashed across the edge of his trouser pocket with extreme stealth.

A hard little object smoothly slipped into his pocket.

The movement was lightning-fast, drawing almost no one's attention.

Sister Ping's gaze remained fixed forward, empty, as if everything that had just happened had nothing to do with her.

Yet at that very moment, Chen Yu's passive skill, [Causal Resonance], triggered.

He heard no sound, nor did he see any glance.

Instead, he clearly perceived an intent.

An intent distilled to its absolute limit, a consignment.

It was not a plea for help.

It was a silent entrustment.

"Clang!"

The iron gate leading out of the scrapyard slammed shut, cutting off Sister Ping's fate.

Everyone let out a breath of relief, then buried their heads back in their work, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

Only Chen Yu remained standing where he was.

He could sense that Old Ghost's inspecting gaze had landed on him once more, sharper than any time before.

Chen Yu's heartbeat accelerated.

He clutched the hard object in his pocket tightly.

He did not know what it was.

A key? A chip? Or something else entirely?

This object had been bought with Sister Ping's life.

It was her parting pledge of allegiance.

There were no secrets on this island.

Sister Ping had been taken away; would he be next?

Had he been exposed?
What on earth was Old Ghost suspecting?

Countless thoughts churned in his mind.

Lowering his head, he slowly bent down and resumed shoveling the garbage on the ground.

His time was running out.