HTCYH Ch 34

Chapter 34: Brat

“Hehehehe! Imitating another’s demeanor? That wretched woman, is she even worth imitating? Other than her pretty face, what does she have? In the end, wasn’t she only fit to become a cheap whore!” A shrill, grating voice came from the rooftop.

Soon after, a puff of white smoke dispersed from the old lightbulb, and the child bride—no, Li Chun’er—appeared in front of Tu Si, her face twisted with venom.

Tu Si stared at the ghostly figure before him, plastered in heavy makeup. The double eyelids, clearly the botched handiwork of some unprofessional plastic surgeon. The scarlet lips twisted into a grotesque smile. Without Wuming’s reminder, Tu Si would never have connected this vengeful ghost to the naïve girl ghost he had seen just the day before.

With his whip in his left hand and a dagger in his right, Tu Si fixed a wary gaze on Li Chun’er.

She laughed incessantly, her movements like a writhing centipede, twisting and floating in midair. Before long, dense smoke filled the room, the dust so choking that Tu Si coughed violently, clutching his mouth.

As Tu Si coughed lightly into his hand, Li Chun’er extended sharp, crimson clawed nails toward his face. Tu Si twisted his body to dodge, then lashed out with his whip. Li Chun’er, however, did not shy away—physical attacks clearly meant nothing to her.

Yet, just as the whip was about to pass through half of her spectral body, white flames suddenly erupted along its length, wrapping around it instantly. The whip, now ignited, struck Li Chun’er’s spiritual body. Flames engulfed her form, and she let out a piercing scream before dispersing into the smoky haze.

Tu Si was startled at the flames dancing along his whip, momentarily stunned. But in that instant, a cluster of grayish fog slammed toward him. His collar was suddenly grabbed, and, like a mother cat carrying her kitten by the scruff, he was lifted and dragged out of the smoke-filled house.

Standing still in the courtyard, Tu Si hadn’t yet come to his senses. He stared dumbly at the whip in his hands, still burning with white fire.

From behind him came Wuming’s stern, chiding voice: “That daydreaming habit of yours needs to change—it’s lethal in critical moments!”

Tu Si blinked at him, then raised the whip and protested: “Captain! You should also change your habit of not speaking up. Designers aren’t supposed to act like mutes!”

Wuming chuckled: “If I had told you, then wouldn’t Li Chun’er have found out as well? Would you still have been able to injure her?”

Tu Si pouted: “Captain! Being your teammate is way too hard—it’s easy to lose step with your pace.”

Wuming smiled faintly: “That’s why only you are qualified. Otherwise, given your bundle of flaws, do you think I would tolerate you like this?”

Giggling, Tu Si nodded: “That’s right! Didn’t you yourself say it before—leaders are always especially tolerant toward capable subordinates? Hehehe, thanks for the compliment, Captain. You’re a good captain, so please keep being tolerant with me. Otherwise, if I throw a tantrum, you’ll be the one crying.”

Wuming ruffled Tu Si’s hair and said helplessly: “Always stirring up mischief! Come on, let’s head back into the cave and rest. Today’s trial is over.”

As Wuming turned to leave, Tu Si dashed forward, then leapt, latching himself onto Wuming’s back with a smug grin: “Captain~ My feet hurt~ Carry me~”

Wuming adjusted Tu Si properly on his back, gave a low grunt, and carried him into the forest toward the cave.

“Captain, tell me, how did you pick me out of all the players to partner with you?” Tu Si, perhaps elated by the small gift Wuming had given him or by Wuming’s indulgence, dangled his legs and swung them, eager to spark conversation, wanting to hear that familiar mix of helplessness and affection in Wuming’s voice.

With a sigh, Wuming, with gentlemanly composure, tapped Tu Si’s dangling leg: “Quit squirming, if you fall, I’m not responsible. And besides, when did I ever pick you? Weren’t you the one who stuck to me like glue? I should be the one asking—why didn’t you join the player organizations, but instead clung onto me?”

Tu Si leaned closer to Wuming’s neck, inhaling deeply: “Because Captain looks good and smells nice. The others are ugly. Captain won me over with his looks~”

Wuming’s neck shivered as he felt Tu Si’s breath: “Is this harassment? Molesting your superior? Careful, or your superior will make you write a self-criticism!”

Tu Si ignored him and eagerly sniffed from the other side too, growing more shameless, boldly unrestrained. Even Worm-head No.7 wrapped itself around Wuming’s neck, mimicking Tu Si by sniffing exaggeratedly.

Wuming tossed Tu Si unceremoniously into the cave, pinching No.7 instead, smiling yet scolding: “Up to the roof! Raising hell! Completely overstepping bounds!”

Tu Si theatrically collapsed to the ground, but quickly numerous tendrils unfurled to seize Wuming’s wrist, tugging him into the cave. The tendrils enwove them both into a cocoon, and Tu Si nestled into Wuming’s arms. He patted the squirming No.7, whispered, “Goodnight!” and instantly fell fast asleep.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the deep forest, a muscular man clad in knight’s armor, wearing a mask, with a gag in his mouth, appeared at the spot where Tu Si had once been injured.

The man half-knelt, lifting a severed leg wrapped in polluted tendrils—the same leg Tu Si had discarded.

Suddenly—crack. The leg exploded—not loudly, more like the sound of a glass bottle hitting the ground and shattering. But as it burst, so too did the armored man instantly erupt apart.

His body fragmented, flesh breaking into chunks. Yet no blood spilled—he resembled a puppet with synthetic skin, smashed violently into pieces.

Soon, from the treetops, drifted down a woman. Her neck was grotesquely empty, but in her arms, she carried a head. Looking closely at its features, one would be astonished—it bore nearly eighty percent resemblance to Wu Chenghui from the game Marriage, and twenty percent resemblance to Tu Si.

The woman floated toward the ruined remains. She raised her hand, golden tendrils sprouting from her fingertips, her whole arm twisting into a pulsing tentacle. She picked up the flesh fragments and devoured them piece by piece. After cleaning the scene, her gaze fell onto the place where the severed leg had exploded. There, quietly lying, was a wooden carving of a right hand, the middle finger raised in defiance.

Noticing the hand, the head cradled in her arms split its mouth wide, rasping laughter bubbled out—dry, creepy, cackling. Then, the woman knelt down and smashed the head against the ground. Thud after thud, the delicate face was reduced to pulp.

After venting her fury, she slammed the head down again. The wooden middle finger of the carving jammed straight into the head’s right eye.

Yet the mouth of the head continued moving, endlessly murmuring confessions: “My fault, I’m sorry… hehe… begging God for forgiveness… sorry… sorry…”

The woman’s head muttered incoherently as her body trembled on the ground. The tendril-arm writhed violently, seizing the head, yanking the wooden hand free, crushing it into powder. Countless fine tendrils burrowed into the head. It screamed in unbearable agony. Before long, the mangled face knit itself back together. But this time, its recovery bore a resemblance—forty percent of Tu Si’s features were now etched onto it.

Back in the cave, the moment that anguished cry pierced the forest, Wuming covered the ears of the sleeping Tu Si. Disturbed by the sudden touch, Tu Si shifted and muttered softly, then settled into a more comfortable position, sinking once more into deep sleep.

Wuming lowered his gaze to the golden head of the wriggling tendril-creature, his face soft with tender warmth, though his eyes carried a dark, unfathomable whirlpool. Drawing out the mischievous No.7 from behind his ear, he placed it into his palm. From within his robes he retrieved a finely carved, ornate wooden box. Nestled inside were six withered tendrils, each no thicker than a pinky finger.

Wuming set No.7 onto the lid of the box and pointed at the dried limbs inside: “Don’t become like this, alright? Your father secretly gave birth to No.8 without telling you. Let’s make sure we don’t end up with a No.9, okay?”

No.7 caressed each of the shriveled tendrils in turn, then wrapped itself around Wuming’s index finger, rubbing as though comforting him.

Wuming stroked its tiny tendril-tip and repeated in a hushed tone: “Alright?”

This time, No.7 seemed not to grasp his words. It began squirming playfully, weaving between his hands, urging Wuming to play with it instead.

With a helpless bitter smile, Wuming put the box away and indulged the lively little creature. No.7, worm-like, darted to and fro through his fingers with delight.

At length, Wuming bit out a curse under his breath: “As expected of the brat’s spawn! Exactly the same damned character!”

Footnotes:

1. East Shi Imitating West Shi (東施效颦) – An old Chinese idiom meaning “a foolish imitation.” From a story where a woman named Dong Shi tried to imitate the frown of the beautiful Xi Shi, but since she lacked her grace, she looked ridiculous. Used here as mockery.