Chapter Eleven: Mai Minghe · Rock, Paper, Scissors

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In truth, Mai Minghe never truly believed that the red-haired man would immediately stop and refuse to step outside just because she shouted at him.

With the hope of escape right before their eyes, who would willingly hold back that crucial step?

What happened next far exceeded her expectations: the red-haired man hurriedly retracted the foot he had just planted in the corridor. His movement was so abrupt that he nearly lost his balance. He steadied himself with one hand against the wall, took two steps back on one foot, and stopped between the doorway and the round-headed figure, cursing under his breath.

“How do you know?” His gaze swept past the round-headed figure and landed on Mai Minghe.

Though the room was crowded with residents ready to strike at them, at this moment there was a narrow gap, a fleeting chance to exchange a few words on the razor’s edge.

Mai Minghe quickly replied, “I don’t know what’s going on. I only know I can’t go outside. What did you see? You didn’t decide not to go out just because of some old tale, did you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” the red-haired man said irritably, wiping his face. “There’s a resident at the door.”

The ward door stood wide open, revealing an empty, brightly lit corridor; in the corridor’s light, even a shadow could not be seen on the tiled floor.

“Really? That’s incredible. Could it be some kind of invisibility technique?” Mai Minghe exclaimed in surprise. “Have they actually mastered that technology? I remember back in ’75 or ’79, some scientists said they could use electromagnetic waves...”

“Stop rambling nonsense,” the red-haired man interrupted, his expression darkening. “How do you know you can’t go out?”

Mai Minghe glanced at the slender patient.

When she was younger, she stood 1.72 meters tall, but even so, she could only see up to the slender patient’s navel; the hospital gown was far too short, hanging above his chest, revealing a black hollow hole on his abdomen—she didn’t dare look longer and quickly averted her eyes.

Mai Minghe hadn’t forgotten the inexplicable step she had taken outside.

The slender patient remained unwilling to give up, but as the round-headed figure had said, as long as she was surrounded by them, the slender patient seemed reluctant to come inside.

She had a moment to catch her breath, though how long it would last was uncertain.

“These things are all here to harm people, aren’t they?” Mai Minghe explained. “If they’re so eager to help me get out, then it must be that I can’t go out.”

The red-haired man paused, as if Mai Minghe’s words had gagged him like a handkerchief. “...Is that all?”

“There are two other reasons,” Mai Minghe said, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I don’t know if you’ll agree. You seem familiar with the nest — look, don’t those round-headed ones have a lot of lines on their faces?”

The red-haired man nodded—only half his attention was on Mai Minghe, the other half constantly alert between the round-headed figure, the slender patient, and the open doorway.

“They’re like stretch marks,” he whispered, “but they’ve grown on their faces.”

Seeing the red-haired man’s knowledge on this, it struck Mai Minghe that in the past, for a man to understand these matters about women was almost shameful.

Nowadays, it seemed young men were different—though she wasn’t sure how many had changed.

“Yes, their heads are stretched like a woman in her tenth month, so it’s not strange for their faces to have stretch marks. But that means it’s living skin stretched until the fibers tear, or those lines wouldn’t appear.

“I think, the nest residents aren’t human, so why bother growing stretch marks? If these round-headed ones were once human... then what turned them into this?”

A bubble-like eyeball rolled toward her.

The red-haired man stared at the doorway, then nodded. “Makes sense. That means whatever turned people into these residents hasn’t shown itself yet, but is lurking there.”

Though invisible, that thing was right at the door; thinking this through, it was no wonder the round-headed figures stood in the center of the room but left the doorway clear, not blocking the entrance.

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If Mai Minghe hadn’t pressed the buzzer four times, if the thing hiding at the door was the only resident she had called, she would have surely avoided the shadows inside and dashed straight for the door—such a situation would almost certainly mean crashing headlong into that creature’s grasp.

From beneath the ceiling came the voice of the slender patient: “Enough of this guessing game?”

His voice slid into her ears with a slimy, sticky quality, and Mai Minghe felt dizzy and nauseous again—biological instinct to expel invading bacteria and toxins from the body.

The slender patient slowly bent down, his face about to emerge from the dimness into the light at the door.

Suddenly, the red-haired man shouted, “Don’t look at it!” Mai Minghe immediately turned her gaze away and slipped behind a round-headed figure, her heart pounding wildly. Her mouth felt dry and bitter—she had lost track of time.

“Give me,”

The slender patient bent over, his head hovering above Mai Minghe, his voice echoing with a wet, dripping sound that almost seemed to carry slime and bits of flesh.

His hand circled over the crowd several times, as if trying to grab Mai Minghe, but never reaching down, only howling, “Give me! Give me, give me, give me!!”

Mai Minghe hunched over, stomach acid uncontrollably rising and spilling onto the floor.

Dizzy and weak, she reached out and grabbed a round-headed figure’s arm; the figure immediately whimpered softly, “Ouch... that hurts...”

A cracked skull wouldn’t even feel pain, yet a mere arm grip caused pain?

Catching her breath, Mai Minghe straightened and let go; the round-headed figure fell silent.

“Damn, this one’s obsessed with illusions,” the red-haired man said, standing against the wall and staring at the slender patient. “Not many residents in the nest want illusions, but you happened to meet a stubborn one.”

Even without looking or approaching, just hearing the slender patient’s continuous howling was unbearable; if Mai Minghe kept vomiting, she would soon become dehydrated and faint, a sitting duck.

The red-haired man seemed experienced and perhaps knew how to handle this. Just as she was about to ask what to do, he spoke again: “...Rock-paper-scissors.”

What?

A rustling sound came from beneath the ceiling, and even the slender patient seemed to turn his head toward him.

“You casting a spell?” Mai Minghe asked with a bitter smile.

“No, I just suddenly thought of this game.” The red-haired man pressed against the wall, standing away from Mai Minghe and the residents. “Think about it—why does the tall one want to grab you but won’t reach out?”

“Is it... taboo?”

“Yes, it doesn’t dare touch the round-headed ones. The round-headed figures said they overpower it. So it doesn’t attack the resident at the door either, because if it turns around, the round-headed figure behind can pounce.” He continued, “Why exactly, I don’t know. But the tall one definitely overpowers you—”

At this, Mai Minghe understood.

“Like rock-paper-scissors, where each beats the other in a cycle,” she said, tentatively reaching out to touch the round-headed figure’s arm. “So next is... I beat the round-headed ones?”

The moment she touched the arm, the round-headed figure immediately hummed and started trembling so much its legs shook.

“I don’t understand why they fear you,” the red-haired man said.

“It’s not fear...”

The slender patient chuckled in segments, as if realizing it could torment Mai Minghe with its voice—and indeed, it had found the right approach.

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“These humans, once caught by that thing at the door, have their bodily fluids injected, turning them into flesh tentacles that stand upright on the ground, used specifically to attack other residents.”

Mai Minghe wanted to hear more, though she wasn’t sure if her insides could withstand any more retching.

As the slender patient spoke, she bent over, feeling as if a great beast churned deep within her abdomen, pressing to burst from her throat; all she could do was curl up like a shrimp, convulsing helplessly.

“To live, a human must remain alive to serve as a flesh tentacle. If another living person stimulates them, the anesthetic effect of their fluids weakens, and the flesh tentacle risks regaining consciousness, detaching from its host, and dying,” the slender patient explained patiently. “Touching them is like awakening them again, forcing them into unimaginable pain.”

“Shut up,” a round-headed figure at the front said calmly.

Mai Minghe shared its sentiment—just shut up already.

“So that explains the stalemate,” the red-haired man breathed a slight sigh of relief. “If the flesh tentacle attacks the tall one, it must move, and moving risks exposing you. If the tall one seizes the opportunity to grab you, it can use you to awaken and detach the flesh tentacle, ending in mutual destruction. But that’s none of my business—it’s unfair to drag me into this.”

Neither humans nor residents paid him any mind.

...He was probably planning to escape while the residents focused on attacking him, right?

Mai Minghe was angry, vomiting, and envious all at once—she wished she could switch places with him.

“We can learn from humans’ spirit of negotiation. You give me a human,” the slender patient said, unconcerned whether Mai Minghe would vomit her guts out. “And I’ll give you the illusion.”

This was bad.

“How do you give it?” a round-headed figure asked.

“You make the flesh tentacle separate,” the slender patient said. “I take off the illusion from her and throw her to the door, tossing her into your mouth.”

“Is that guaranteed?”

“Of course. I’m not interested in her.”

The round-headed figure was silent for a moment, then replied, “Agreed.”

Mai Minghe felt the exact opposite.

Sweat broke out across her back, but she didn’t know how to stop it. Even if she could beat the round-headed figures, so what? Could she really destroy her only protective moat?

As the round-headed figures parted before her, she could only follow behind them, retreating wherever they withdrew—it felt like playing a deadly game of tag.

“If you’d given me the illusion from the start, maybe I’d have kept you as a living old woman,” the slender patient said flatly, unconcerned by her delay and resistance. “But you insisted on acting clever, and that’s what got you into this mess...”

Before he finished, Mai Minghe bent over again, dry heaving. She had already thrown up everything she could, her mind spinning, and she felt the round-headed figures hurriedly pulling back.

No, she had to stay with them—

Before she could straighten up, the slender patient reached out a hand and tightly gripped her calf.