On a blood-red night, the gentlest child killed everyone.
In that house invisible to adults, on that test bench repeating personality tests, inside that box imprisoning the devil.
Sometimes, those who survive are the ones who suffer the most.
Think carefully, which requires more courage: dying or surviving?
Enduring all the misunderstandings and slanders, swallowing the pain, and embracing despair with open arms, the gentlest child became the most hysterical madman.
He kept laughing, incessantly laughing, but all the children he killed knew that from that night onward, he was never truly happy again.
Number Two placed the final piece of the puzzle in his hand, piecing together a face that resembled Han Fei, but it was certain the person in the puzzle wasn’t Han Fei, because that face bore a genuinely gentle smile.
"No need for sympathy or other useless emotions, let’s paint the night of the Shrine World red."
Unlike other children, Number Two’s brain was preserved, allowing him to survive and become the living unspeakable. While other children hesitated, his hand had already reached into the river of fate.
"Number Three, accompany me into the city."
From the shadows in the corner of the room emerged a child with low presence, his appearance ordinary and featureless.
Upon seeing that child, Number Four instinctively stepped back and cleared the way.
Number Three hoisted Number Two onto his back and pushed open the door of the small house, walking onto the streets of Hope New City.
The crowd buzzed, neon lights reflecting on faces, advertisements playing in shops by the roadside, resembling the real Xinhu, Xinhu before disaster struck.
To those merely observing the night market, Hope New City indeed appeared to be the hope for all survivors, but beneath the bustling facade, the city hid another unknown side.
The end of revelry and noise led to another district, as Number Three carried Number Two through the main road and into the adjacent alleyway.
This was the middle region of Hope New City, free from fears of ghost and monster attacks like the Outer City District, yet denied the privileges of the Inner City District; it was a confluence of the lower and upper levels, where various survivors struggled.
The surrounding buildings gradually changed, no longer bright and neat, with walls becoming dilapidated, covered in filth and disorderly graffiti.
Garbage on the road increased, and a faint stench of decay lingered in the air, as if bodies had been stored for too long and begun to rot.
In the same city, the disparity between two districts seemed as if they were worlds apart, which might also be a hallmark of humanity.
A wooden door burst open, and an emaciated old man was thrown out crudely. Ignoring the mud and bleeding wounds all over him, he quickly scrambled up and clung to another person’s leg like a dog.
"Don’t drive me away. I’ll find a way to get money. Just let me stay one more night! If I return to the Outer City District, I, I’ll die!"
Tears streamed from the old man’s eyes, his expression twisted and somewhat terrifying.
With a hard kick, a boot sent him flying, and then the wooden door was shut.
The old man pounded on the door and cried out for a while, his body extremely weak, with needle marks on his arms, his stomach wrapped with blackened bandages, and intense movement caused bloody water to seep out.
It seemed part of his organs had been removed, and he didn’t have long to live.
"You can’t treat me ! I’ve given you everything! You have to save me! Let me stay one more night!"
Number Three carried Number Two past the old man, ignoring his cries, and the old man seemed completely oblivious to them.
The deeper they went into the alley, the more dark scenes emerged. People lived in a city called Hope, yet they seemed accustomed to the darkness, long used to staying in the shadows of unwritten rules.
Waving away the flying bugs, Number Three and Number Two stopped at the corner of an alley in front of a shop.
Dim red light shone on the street, casting an eerie glow on the shop’s signboard.
"Hope Pharmaceutical..."
This is a pharmacy, but there are no doctors inside, nor are there shelves lined with medications. The drugs here don’t seem to be the kind people usually imagine, but rather refer to something else.
Number Three rang the bell on the counter, and a few seconds later, the dark curtain was lifted, revealing a shiny, greasy face peeking out.
It was a middle-aged man wearing an eye patch; his body seemed somewhat unbalanced. His left shoulder was high and his right shoulder low, and his stomach was uneven, with some parts protruding while others caved in, as if his organs had been rearranged in the wrong order.
Seeing the two children coming in, the man’s eyes immediately lit up. When he noticed that Number Two had no legs, he grew even more excited.
Looking them up and down, the middle-aged man’s gaze at Number Two and Number Three seemed less like looking at customers and more like assessing the value of goods.
"I sell three kinds of drugs here: one that can bring safety and save lives, another that can help others as an offering, and the last one, a special drug that can bring hope."
Leaning over the counter, the middle-aged man stared down at the two children: "What kind of medicine do you want?"
"Is there a drug that can stop people from suffering and being bullied?" Number Two looked toward the black curtain. He wasn’t here to buy medicine, but to find someone.
"Yes! But it’s quite expensive." Limping, the middle-aged man pulled aside the curtain, gesturing for the two children to go inside.
Once Number Two and Number Three were inside the back room, he quietly came to the entrance of the pharmacy, closed the door, and hung up a sign saying it’s temporarily closed.
Inside the pharmacy was a dirty and messy courtyard. Under the man’s guidance, Number Two and Number Three left through the back door of the small courtyard and entered another windowless room.
This room was lit with many candles made from special oils, and in the middle stood a clay sculpture covered with a black cloth.
"Disaster has struck, bringing many diseases to the world. Everyone lives in fear, constantly uneasy. The silver lining is that you live in Hope New City, where the Big Shots in the Core City District have manufactured a cure-all drug." The middle-aged man stood behind the candlestick, the flickering flames casting an unsettling shadow over his face: "However, drugs here aren’t cheap. You need to exchange them for enough valuable items."
He took out a few dirty cards from beneath the clay sculpture shrouded in black cloth: "Sacrificing your soul to an unknown god can grant temporary protection and heal physical curses; giving your organs to the Big Shots in the Inner City District can earn you money and cure poverty; selling yourself, undergoing dangerous experimental modifications can give you power and stop you from being bullied. These are the drugs sold in my store."
Each card represented a type of drug, also a choice.
"Then let’s sacrifice our souls." Number Two reached out and lifted the black cloth, revealing a faceless clay sculpture.
"Good, that’s definitely the right choice. I’ll get ready now." The middle-aged man looked at the legless Number Two, assuming he had prior "drug" purchasing experience, so he wasn’t suspicious.
Shaking the bell in his hand, the hidden door to the cellar was opened, and a strong stench surged out, accompanied by the sound of chains from below.
Before long, bony arms holding a tray emerged from the cellar, followed by a child who had undergone multiple modifications.
His eyes had been gouged out, his legs wrapped in chains, and his previously normal body had been left permanently disfigured from continuous surgical modifications, turning him into a grotesque deformity.
"Hurry up! Don’t dawdle!" The middle-aged man’s attitude toward the boy was very harsh, and abuse seemed to be the norm.
The boy’s body trembled uncontrollably with fear as he placed the auxiliary sacrificial offerings from the tray onto the candlestick. Just as he was about to flee back into the cellar, the chains binding his legs were stepped on by Number Three.
The unremarkable Number Three stared at the boy’s face, then pulled out a notebook from his pocket. It recorded the names of hundreds of children, more than seventy of whom had their names crossed out.
"Found it." Number Three silently put away the notebook and smiled at Number Two.
"If you’re interested in this child, you can take him with you after the sacrifice." The middle-aged man smirked maliciously: "Alright, let’s begin the sacrifice now. Stretch out your arms and follow my instructions step by step."
The middle-aged man took out a blood-stained knife from behind the clay sculpture, and the boy collapsed to the ground in terror, his eyes filled with fear.
"The past of the pseudo-god is unbearable to look at; no matter how many tragic and desperate fates he collects, he can never find solace." Number Two glanced at the middle-aged man, who seemed possessed by some force. His expression turned grim and cruel before he suddenly stabbed the knife into his own chest!
His hands frantically hacked at his own body, creating a very bizarre scene.
"Who would have thought that the divine spirit would hide a piece of its soul within the lowest level child’s body?" Number Three squatted in front of the boy: "What’s your name? When did you lose your eyes? Where are your family? What’s the thing you regret most?"
Number Two and Number Three knew that a divine spirit’s piece of soul was hidden in one of the children in Hope New City. The questions from Number Three drove the child before him into even greater panic.