HTCYH Ch 6

Chapter 6: Pain

In the deep of night, Tu Si was once again startled awake by the sound of a door opening. He extended his perception through his tendrils, but sensed nothing unusual. Carefully, he opened a small slit in his tendril cocoon and peered out through it—only to be met with a patch of deep red.

The hairs on Tu Si’s body stood on end, because by the sensation transmitted through his tendrils, he now understood what that patch of red was.

It was an eye. Outside, something humanoid was pressing against the tendril cocoon, peering through the slit with its eye. Tu Si immediately clamped the slit shut, then reinforced the cocoon with several additional layers.

The being outside, upon realizing it could no longer see inside, flew into a rage and began to violently assault the cocoon. The outer layers of tendrils were torn apart, and Tu Si felt the pain—but he didn’t retract his perception. At that moment, his perception served as his eyes. The pain helped him precisely locate where the cocoon was being damaged so he could apply reinforcements accordingly.

Tu Si entered a full defensive state. He did have another option—he could use his tendrils to wrap the thing outside and escape. But after weighing the risks, he wondered: where could he even run to? At present, only that one entity outside was attacking. Who knew what else might await beyond the door? In the end, Tu Si decided to patch up the cocoon and simultaneously used a tendril extended to the roof to chart out an escape path—should the cocoon be breached, he would flee through the roof.

The cocoon proved resilient. The thing outside, growing more frustrated with its inability to break in, began to rampage through the room, venting its fury by destroying everything inside. The floor, once covered in a dense weave of tendril carpet, was now shredded. Inside the cocoon, Tu Si felt as though his entire body were being scraped by countless small blades—painful, unbearable—but still within the limits of endurance. In this oppressive, terrifying environment, every second dragged on endlessly.

To distract himself, Tu Si tried to recall the past and ponder clues—but the current atmosphere, combined with everything he had seen and experienced that day, made it impossible to conjure any pleasant memories. Instead, a slideshow of terrifying, dark fragments played relentlessly in his mind.

There were memories of a dark basement, rusty chains, the air thick with the smell of blood and Chinese lilac, and hopeless moans.

There was the burning pain of sulfuric acid thrown on his face, the confusion of betrayal by a friend.

There was the agony of being cut open on a cold, bright-white surgical table, pain like being carved into pieces a thousand times.

From the moment Tu Si had first gained the ability to take human form, he no longer knew how long he’d lived. Plants had remarkable resilience—even if chopped into pieces, as long as one seed, one intact root, or one viable branch remained, Tu Si could be reborn from the ashes. From the era when humans still used bronze tools, Tu Si had begun studying them—then learned from them, was tricked and toyed with by them, then began to toy with them in return. Eventually, he sparred with powerful humans—sometimes winning, sometimes losing. When defeated, he would retreat underground to recuperate, and once recovered, he’d begin again. Sadly, human lifespans were short. By the time Tu Si returned for revenge, those he sought were either buried or, if exceptionally hardy, reduced to withered old shells—offering no satisfaction at all.

Before the Industrial Revolution, life hadn’t been too terrible for Tu Si. Although humanity was inconsistent in nature, their methods of torment were limited. Most of the time, they simply killed and dumped the body in a mass grave. But the pace of human development was terrifying. Their rapid technological progress often caught Tu Si off guard. To this day, the most excruciating experience he’d endured came at the hands of deranged researchers.

In northern Myanmar, Tu Si had been strapped to an operating table and subjected to relentless sampling by men in white coats. Trapped inside a sealed glass chamber with not even the tiniest crack through which to escape, he didn’t know how many years he was imprisoned. In the end, it was a conflict between the researchers and their investors—a full-blown internal war—that finally gave him the chance to flee that hell.

Upon escaping, Tu Si swore he wouldn’t interact with humans for a hundred years. The human world was too terrifying; all Tu Si wanted was to return to the forest. But fate was fickle. His dream of seclusion shattered. His skeletal remains were gone, and he was now trapped in this grotesque, torturous game with no end in sight. He once hated the emergence of those bones—if not for that cursed object, would he even have developed sentience? Perhaps he could’ve remained a carefree weed in nature, evolving or fading away with the natural order.

Lost in these chaotic thoughts, the destroyer outside finally quieted. The pain in Tu Si’s body vanished instantly. He took a deep breath, leaned against the cocoon, and closed his eyes for a brief rest. Then he opened a small window in the cocoon to look outside—and saw that dawn had come. He expected the room to be in shambles, but to his surprise, everything was tidy and pristine. On the tea table was a delicious-looking breakfast of porridge and side dishes.

Staring at the delicate meal, Tu Si almost thought everything he experienced last night had been a nightmare. The sense of stifled frustration, with no outlet, washed over him.

Ignoring the food, Tu Si went to the vanity, braided his hair into an elaborate style, and painted a glamorous, slightly seductive makeup look. With crimson lips, he instantly became the image of a beauty who could bring down empires. Admiring his face in the bronze mirror, Tu Si was satisfied. Makeup was one of his ways of venting—looking at his own flawless face offered a kind of healing.

Once he was done, and seeing that the mirror hadn’t displayed a new task, Tu Si decided to explore the Yue Lao Temple that Wuming had mentioned the day before.

Just as he stepped through the second gate of the compound, he collided head-on with a yellow-haired player returning from who-knows-where. The yellow-hair stared at Tu Si, stunned at first, then recoiled in horror, pointing at Tu Si’s lips and yelling, “F*ck! Y-you—you! You look like that—who the hell are you trying to seduce?! Disgusting! So disgusting!”

Tu Si looked at the flushed yellow-hair. Compared to the over-masculine Wei Zhuang and the lecherous fat man, this foul-mouthed boy suddenly seemed almost cute. If it were any other day, Tu Si might have teased him for fun—an average, clueless virgin. But not today. He only scoffed and brushed past.

Tu Si had no interest in engaging, but the yellow-hair wasn’t done. Seeing that Tu Si was walking away, he ran to catch up and muttered, “Your name’s Tu Si, right? You really shouldn’t look like that—it’s dangerous. If Dong Hong sees you, he might literally f*cking ruin you. That fat bastard eats anything that moves. Hey—hey! Slow down! I mean well, I swear! I’m just trying to help!”

Tu Si slowed his pace, scrutinizing the boy and asked, “That fat guy’s called Dong Hong? What about you? And what’s the name of the girl in your group?”

The yellow-hair, seeing Tu Si was finally listening, walked beside him and replied, “Me? I’m Yang Huahao. The girl’s name is Rui Qiuyue. But she’s no girl, not really—she’s an old player by now. A lot of people have died by her hands. She’s weird, man. All timid and shy on the outside, but don’t be fooled—try to mess with her and you’ll end up dead before you know it. Not that Dong Hong cares. That perv never listens. I honestly don’t know which of them wants the other dead more.”

Tu Si looked at Yang Huahao and raised a brow, amused: Most likely I’ll kill him first.

During group activities, both the yellow-hair and the dark, skinny Rui Qiuyue had been quiet, so Tu Si hadn’t paid them much attention. But now, it was clear this kid was quite the chatterbox. He had the vibe of a good-natured college student with clear eyes—but who knew whether that was genuine innocence or a mask for deeper schemes?

“Oh. Thanks for the warning. I’ll be careful around them,” Tu Si replied politely.

But Yang Huahao didn’t let it go—he kept pestering Tu Si to wipe off his makeup. This kind of self-proclaimed goodwill didn’t help—it only gave off an unpleasant, paternalistic vibe. His incessant chatter finally drove Tu Si to the brink.

Suddenly, a golden whip appeared in Tu Si’s hand—beautiful and ornate, woven from his tendrils. The body of the whip was adorned with pure white dodder flowers, each glistening like pearls, shimmering in gold and dazzling to behold.

With a flick, the whip coiled around Yang Huahao’s neck. A gentle tug from Tu Si, and Yang was yanked off his feet, forced to kneel before him.

Looking down, Tu Si said, “Do you understand? Beauty is a form of capital. Absolute beauty is also a warning. Men shouldn’t think with their lower halves—if you get bitten by beauty and die, you’ve only yourself to blame. And one more thing! Don’t offer unsolicited advice out of fake kindness. Advice is for yourself. Strangers don’t need your help. Mind your own business.”

Watching Yang’s eyes roll back, his face flush red, nearly suffocating—Tu Si finally let go. Without a glance back, he walked off. This time, no yellow-haired chatterbox followed.

Following Wuming’s directions, Tu Si walked along the stone path and soon saw a temple. Entering through the mountain gate, he saw a main hall enclosed by red walls. The plaque bore three large golden characters: Yue Lao Temple. Facing north with the gate to the south, the courtyard layout was perfectly symmetrical—except for the east and west corridors. The east corridor was adorned with red wishing ribbons, while the west bore white ones.

Tu Si took out the bronze mirror and saw the following displayed:

[Mission 3: Free Exploration – Find Map Clues (2/3)

Clue: Yue Lao Temple

“Call out, boys and girls—don’t fear age, don’t fear loneliness.

Tell me who you’ve taken a fancy to, and I’ll tie your thread.”

They say the matchmakers at Yue Lao Temple are highly skilled—

Everyone who wishes here finds their match. Go make your wish!

Tu Si made a lap around the red walls and saw that every ribbon, whether red or white, contained wishes about love. He cursed aloud, “Human traffickers.”

After a quick stroll around the outer temple, Tu Si entered the main hall. Immediately, he saw a standing statue of Guanyin—standing on bright red peach blossoms, formed of three facets in one body. The central Guanyin held a large red satin flower, the streamers of which dangled from the rafters—one end in her hand, the other divided into countless ribbons. Some fell like waterfalls, while two were tied neatly to a pair of coffins below.

The Guanyin on the right wore a red veil and held a peach wood comb, as if dressing up.

The one on the left held a brush, marking a mole above her lip.

Looking closely at their faces, Tu Si noticed they were vastly different from typical Guanyin statues. The central figure had pink floral adornments on her forehead, bright red blush at the corners of her eyes, making her features enchantingly seductive. Her eyes were half-lidded, brows slightly furrowed, lips curled in a smile that might also be a sob. The mole-marking Guanyin had wide-open eyes and a grotesque, grinning mouth.

Tu Si stepped forward to look at the coffins. On one lay a red wreath with white edges and a bold red “Double Happiness” character. Beside it was a marriage certificate that read:

Marriage Certificate

With joy, we celebrate this union—

A perfect match, a poetic harmony.

Blessings of five generations, virtues of ancient rites.

Joined in heart and mind, home and family,

Respectful and loving, sharing life’s pleasures.

United as mandarin ducks, pledging sincerity forever.

One name was signed: Wu Chenghui.

The other: Wei Zhuang.

Tu Si exclaimed in shock, “Wei Zhuang?”

Wei Zhuang was that hyper-masculine man strung up in the treetop—he was one of the players. Then who was Wu Chenghui? Back in the main hall, there had been eight chairs and eight child guides. Could Wu Chenghui also be a player?

The thought passed through Tu Si’s mind but he didn’t dwell on it. He turned his attention to the surroundings. The main hall had four pillars, each bearing a couplet: Heavenly Match, Growing Old Together, Joyous Union, Paired for Life.

On either side stood closed shrines, their interiors hidden.

There were no light sources inside, only golden sunlight from the open door illuminating the central Guanyin’s face, lending it a divine glow. The other faces, half-lit and shadowed, clashed sharply in crimson and fuchsia—exuding an eerie, seductive aura.

Bang! The main door slammed shut, and the shrine doors on either side flung open. Inside, neat rows of spirit tablets appeared. In front of each stood a red candle, which all ignited simultaneously. Crimson ribbons fluttered with no wind. White mist filled the air. The peach blossom scent thickened. The two coffin lids slowly opened.

Once fully opened, the corpses within slowly sat up. Wei Zhuang wore a bright red official robe and smiled cheerfully, the perfect image of a groom—but there was a massive hole in his abdomen, with viscera spilling out.

Wu Chenghui, shockingly, was the same headless female ghost who had first appeared under the moonlight.

After sitting upright, the two stood, stiff and puppet-like, limbs moving without bending.

As they moved, the candles flickered. Voices echoed from all around:

“So well-matched. So well-matched.”

“Time to tease the newlyweds! Time to tease the newlyweds!”

“Drink the wedding wine! Drink the wedding wine!”

Men, women, old, and young voices mingled into a chaotic din.

The noise, the flickering candles, and the overpowering peach blossom scent made Tu Si dizzy and nauseous.

He reached behind with a tendril to pull open the main hall’s door—but found it had become a seamless wall, not even the thinnest gap. No matter how hard he pushed, it didn’t budge.

The white mist thickened. Tu Si’s mind blanked out for a moment. He felt a chill on his back and spun around—Wu Chenghui’s upside-down face was right in front of him, her lips nearly brushing his nose.

Tu Si bristled instantly, leaping half a meter back. His tendrils wove into a protective net in front of him as he lashed out with his whip—decapitating Wu Chenghui. Her head hit the ground and rolled to his feet.

Tu Si dodged aside. Bang! His waist struck the corner of a coffin. He winced in pain and saw his whip caught—Wei Zhuang, with a giant hole in his gut, was holding it, licking the whip’s length in ecstasy.

The disturbing scene pierced Tu Si’s soul. He felt filthy—his entire body of grass contaminated. He swore aloud and yanked hard, snapping Wei Zhuang’s hand clean off.

Yet the severed hand still clutched the whip. Tu Si lost it. The whip flailed wildly, thrashing everything in reach into pulp.

He looked at the blood-soaked mess he’d created, then at the blood on his whip—disgusted to the point of trembling. With a flick of his hand, he severed the stained whip and dropped it onto the pile of gore.

But Wei Zhuang’s antics had consumed all of Tu Si’s attention, and he failed to notice Wu Chenghui’s severed head rolling behind him. By the time he turned, it was too late. From the neck stump, countless red threads shot out and instantly wrapped Tu Si into a cocoon of red silk.