HTCYH Ch 11

Chapter 11: The End (Part One)

Returning indoors, Tu Si resumed the same actions as before—except this time, after hanging the protective talisman on the door, he did not close it. He also did not wrap himself up inside a cocoon of tentacles; instead, he wove several hanging chairs for himself and lazily swayed in them, gazing at the scenery outside the door.

After today’s conversations with the others and his own probing, Tu Si had a hypothesis he needed to confirm.

As night deepened, the scenery beyond the door glitched like a frozen computer screen—blackness for an instant, and then it switched in a blink. A peach grove, petals dancing in the wind. The blossoms twirled in the air, the soft rustling sounding like whispers, maddeningly luring people deeper inside.

But perhaps because of the talisman, Tu Si didn’t fall into an illusion as he had during the day. Instead, he remained calm—almost cold—as he gazed at the darkness at the heart of the grove.

Cold, because Tu Si saw that familiar black silhouette deep among the peach trees: Wu Chenghui, the headless female ghost. She floated slowly out of the darkness, bathed in the pale moonlight, clutching her severed head in her arms. Behind her, following like a knight, was Wei Zhuang, his tall figure upright despite his disemboweled form.

Looking closely, one could see that the gaping wound in Wei Zhuang’s stomach bore traces of stitching—threads unmistakably from Tu Si’s own tentacles. The string of attacks Tu Si had endured these past days all originated from this ghostly couple—or more precisely, from Wu Chenghui. And what shocked him further was the sight before him: Wu Chenghui raised both hands, golden tentacles sprouting from her fingertips, connecting her head to Wei Zhuang. She manipulated him like a puppeteer, directing him toward Tu Si’s door.

Tu Si now understood why Wu Chenghui had been trying to seize his tentacles and realized what creature had attacked his tentacle cocoon that night.

Wei Zhuang stopped in front of Tu Si’s door as if blocked by an invisible wall, left to march in place mechanically.

Wu Chenghui simply stood there, hands raised in command, controlling Wei Zhuang forward. The two of them—no, the two ghosts—performed the same glitch-like motions on loop, like NPCs stuck in a bug.

Tu Si swung gently in his hanging chair, watching the two ghostly automatons until dawn.

When the first red line of morning appeared on the horizon, the peach grove flashed white and vanished, the scene cutting abruptly back to the courtyard garden as if edited in a video. Wu Chenghui finally moved—she lowered her hands, cradled her head, floated to Wei Zhuang, knelt down, and smashed her head against the ground until it bled. Then she rose, slung an arm around Wei Zhuang’s neck, and affectionately rubbed her headless face against his cheek.

After this bizarre display, Wei Zhuang mechanically raised his arms, embraced Wu Chenghui, and carried her away, vanishing from Tu Si’s sight.

Watching the ghosts disappear, Tu Si muttered to himself, “Forgiveness through kowtowing—any creature could become an extreme ‘god.’ Did I just witness the birth of a new proto-‘god’?”

After this dull performance, Tu Si felt he had gained a new understanding of the so-called “god” who had created this game, and of the game’s bosses—the proto-gods. He decided it was no longer worth wasting time on this ridiculous game.

Retracting his tentacles from the room, Tu Si freshened himself briefly, stepped outside, and approached the charred trunk of the peach tree. Placing his hand on the bark, he closed his eyes and absorbed the shattered memories of the tree.

A lavish red bridal sedan. A younger brother who never came home. That brother bound and stuffed into the bridal sedan as the “bride.” Parents beaten to death by the burly servants. Flames engulfing their thatched home.

A despairing boy forced to watch his sister burned alive. The same boy hacked to pieces beneath the tree.

Resentment. The tree’s spirit merging with the girl’s spirit. The girl’s rage, pain, unwillingness.

The matchmaker sent away with a slap-sized red envelope.

That little red packet—the price of her entire family’s lives.

The girl swung a tree branch, stabbing the matchmaker to death. The branch absorbed her blood, and the girl seemed to discover a new source of power.

A matchmaker… A matchmaker who could force matches together at will. No consent required—only money.

Gradually, she became revered in the county, honored as “Lady Yue Lao,” the goddess of matchmaking. A temple was built for her, an image of Guanyin* sculpted in her likeness.

(*Guanyin: a Buddhist bodhisattva associated with compassion, often worshipped in Chinese folk beliefs.)

The more she was worshipped, the stronger her power grew. Regardless of gender, regardless of life or death, regardless of human or beast—one tug of the red thread bound them inseparably in life and death. So this was power? To control the lives of others so easily?

The girl reveled in it—until people began to fear her. They burned the peach tree, destroyed the matchmaking temple. But the terrifying pairings did not cease.

“I say you are matched, and so you are. Refuse, and die.”

This became the county’s nightmare.

Those who could flee fled. Those who couldn’t hid desperately, avoiding her matchmaking at all costs. Eventually, her infamy spread; the county magistrate, at his wit’s end, summoned a Daoist priest. The priest investigated step by step and finally traced everything back to the Chen family. During questioning, the family lied:

“The girl and the young master pledged themselves to each other. After becoming pregnant, she was discovered, forced to abort, and driven from the house. On the young master’s wedding night, she murdered him and then hanged herself on the peach tree.”

The story was “true,” and indeed, there had been a girl who committed suicide after a forced abortion. Much like the fox-spirit tales, a slight shift in timeline transformed the victim into a villain. The young master became the innocent one. The priest believed the story, ordered dolls to be made for ritual appeasement, and even held a mock wedding to marry the girl’s spirit to the young master. By tying the dolls with a red string, they “returned” the child to her, seeking to dispel her grievances and send her peacefully into reincarnation.

But through this accidental ritual, the girl was sealed once more in the manor by the child and the mock wedding. The forced matchmakings ceased. The townsfolk rejoiced. The priest departed.

He did not know: the girl was trapped inside the manor, unable to escape. And so no one in the county could escape her either. She abandoned her role as matchmaker, instead granting everyone the matchmaker’s power—thus was born the “Mole Pen,” a cursed tool marking destinies. She watched gleefully as the entire county fought and slaughtered each other.

“Mark this mole! Whatever I say, goes!”

And so a once-thriving small county vanished from the face of the earth.

The girl’s memories flickered in fragments, yet the events were vividly clear. Tu Si let out a low chuckle. Marriage and children truly could bind a woman—even one with supernatural powers could not escape. Dong Hong was no fool; in fact, he was exceedingly clever. He was, truly, the epitome of “man.”

Tu Si felt something odd at his fingertips and looked down. At some point, Wu Ming had appeared beside him again, untying knots in his hair. Tu Si didn’t understand Wu Ming’s strange fondness for untying hair knots, but that didn’t stop him from pretending to be deep in thought and biting Wu Ming’s finger. Food soothed the mind and eased gloom; indulging himself, Tu Si casually apologized and shifted blame:

“Sorry, Captain. I tend to bite things when I’m thinking. I didn’t know you’d suddenly show up.”

Wu Ming merely smiled faintly at Tu Si’s practiced bandaging and didn’t pursue the matter. Instead, he asked, “You seem troubled. Did you see something unpleasant?”

Tu Si saw no reason to hide it. He relayed the memories he had witnessed and handed Wu Ming the doll, clearly expressing his desire to clear this disgusting game as fast as possible.

Wu Ming chuckled softly. “Come. Let’s head to the final boss. I believe what happens next will cheer you up.”

Taking the doll, Wu Ming led the way. As they neared the main hall, Tu Si heard a hushed exclamation from Yang Huahao, the blond. The sound was quickly muffled—Ah Pao had clapped a hand over his mouth. The one silencing him was none other than the girl Rui Qiuyue, who then kicked Yang Huahao in disgust. Spotting Tu Si and Wu Ming approaching, she silently nodded in greeting.

Tu Si nodded back, then looked past them into the main hall. There stood a bride in ceremonial wedding robes and ornate headpiece—methodically skinning Dong Hong alive. Dong Hong struggled desperately, but the bride’s nails were like sharp blades: a single light stroke carved a clean, symmetrical red line down his body.

Smiling, the bride traced a line from Dong Hong’s neck down to his chest and lower, splitting him open in a perfect, symmetrical cut. Then, like peeling off an overcoat, she ripped away the entire sheet of skin. Red and white flesh beneath quivered as Dong Hong shrieked in agony, convulsing on the floor. The bride merely laughed behind a strip of red silk, watching him writhe and collapse.

When Dong Hong could barely move, the bride wrapped him in red silk. In moments, his body regenerated. Then she dragged him before her again and cooed,

“Husband, this concubine shall change your clothes again.”

And once more—the same routine. Skinning, restoring, skinning, restoring. A bugged game endlessly replaying the scene.

Tu Si couldn’t deny the fleeting satisfaction he felt watching this. When all five people outside finally gathered, the bride slowly raised her head. In unison, they instinctively stepped back, leaving Wu Ming alone in front, as if choreographed.

The bride giggled, her laugh surprisingly clear and sweet. After the final skinning, she no longer wrapped Dong Hong in silk—merely watched him struggle, seize, and fall limp. Then she stepped over his corpse and stopped five paces from Wu Ming, covering her face with red silk in a coy gesture.

“Honored benefactors, have you come… to help this humble girl take her revenge?”