Shen Huanhuan was silent for a few seconds.
When she saw the background introduction for Lingren Village and the three options, she didn’t feel much. But when she looked at the mutilated limbs, the fingernails, and the boning knife clearly used to kill, Shang Huanhuan finally felt the reality—
In this energy field, she had been assigned a specific character setting.
And it was far from a delicate or weak one.
With less than two minutes left, Shen Huanhuan quickly knelt to examine the severed limbs.
All three severed hands had obvious slicing marks across the palms—the spots where the meat was thickest were cut cleanly, with smooth edges. This suggested “she” was very skilled at using a boning knife. From the way the fingers were twisted, the owners of the hands were likely still alive at the time, so “she” had cut off those hands while her victims were still living.
Shen Huanhuan checked her own physical condition.
Although her legs felt weary, her stomach had a clear sensation of fullness. This meant she hadn’t really gone hungry on the way—or rather, she’d had plenty to eat these past two days.
As for what she’d been eating—
The answer was obvious.
She and her sister had been eating the flesh of refugees.
Shen Huanhuan picked up the boning knife from the ground. Though she’d never handled such a knife before, her fingers spun it instinctively; the sharp blade whirled so smoothly in her grasp, it almost blurred under the light.
Now Shen Huanhuan was certain.
This knife was hers—not part of the role Shen Xiaoxiao was playing.
With twenty seconds left on the countdown, Shen Huanhuan took a deep breath and looked at the option board again.
She had a character setting, could use a boning knife, and had learned some self-defense. Most importantly, these refugees hadn’t eaten in days and were already weakened; all they had going for them was numbers. She actually could confront them head-on.
With that, Shen Huanhuan stopped hesitating.
Girding herself, she gritted her teeth and tapped her finger on “Option 2.”
The next moment, the people all around her moved again.
Shen Huanhuan gripped the knife, tense and ready to fight for her life, but before she could act, she suddenly felt herself controlled by an outside force—her words and actions no longer her own.
She saw herself toss her hair, shove aside the little boy blocking her, and then charge two steps toward the man who’d been about to smash her skull with a stone.
The man froze, but quickly his eyes lit up with mad glee. He gripped the stone, about to bring it down on the girl’s head.
But Shen Huanhuan’s expression was even madder than his.
She held the boning knife at an angle, kicked hard at the man’s knee, and, catching him as he stumbled, chopped her blade down on his right wrist. A sickening meaty sound echoed; the man screamed like a butchered pig.
The surrounding refugees halted their advance.
But Shen Huanhuan, or rather her puppet-like body, didn’t stop. With precise, fluid movements, she sliced through the man’s flesh; in less than five seconds, his hand was severed at the wrist, the whole blood-soaked thing dropping to the ground.
Blood splattered across Shen Huanhuan’s face; she felt herself smear a hand across her cheek. Blood trickled from her chin into her collar—a ghastly specter.
She looked at the crowd. “Who wants a hand?”
The refugees exchanged glances, hesitating for several seconds, but no one moved.
The man writhed in agony on the ground, clutching his empty wrist. His child ran to him, grinning.
“Papa… thirsty… water…”
The little boy brushed some of his father’s blood onto his lips, dimpling in satisfaction.
Shen Huanhuan felt her heart contract, but she still hadn’t regained control over her body.
She watched herself walk forward, knife in hand. With every step, the refugees’ gazes lowered a little more.
Not until she was pulling the visibly stunned Shen Xiaoxiao toward Lingren Village did she finally regain herself.
Shen Xiaoxiao, having seen it all, couldn’t close her mouth once they’d entered the village. She kept staring at her big sister—
Shocked, and a little awestruck.
After a while, seeing Shen Huanhuan turn pale, she started rationalizing. “It’s okay—he was about to hit you with that sharp rock, Sister. That was pure self-defense!”
“And wow, you’re so awesome with a knife! When did you learn that skill?”
“And here…” Shen Xiaoxiao shook her head, “No one cares about the fate of the refugees.”
“If we die, no one blinks. If they die, no one blinks either. Don’t worry, no one’s coming after us.”
Shen Huanhuan saw Shen Xiaoxiao’s thoughts running wild and tried to explain that it wasn’t really herself acting.
Just then, Jiang Yan and the others walked over.
Seeing her friends, Shen Huanhuan breathed a little easier; the tension from the violence faded a bit.
“We saw it just now,” Jiang Yan said bluntly. “You were being controlled, right?”
Shen Xiaoxiao blinked.
“…” She tapped her chin. “I knew it—my sister would have brought me to class if she’d learned something like that.”
Shen Huanhuan managed a smile, her stiff wrist relaxing.
She slipped the boning knife into her pocket and explained what had happened.
It was simple enough, no more than two or three minutes to tell.
Afterwards, everyone wore thoughtful looks.
A few moments’ stillness, then Jiang Yan spoke: “I think your guess is right. The quiz was both to clarify your character setting and to stop you from using your power.”
Shen Huanhuan turned to the group. “Did none of you use your abilities on arrival?”
“Yu Renwan and Pingping did,” Jiang Yan answered. “But their situations were different.”
“Even when they used their powers, the others couldn’t realize they’d been influenced by anything supernatural. As long as Pingping and I don’t say, no one will know our bodies recovered a bit. As long as Yu Renwan doesn’t say, that man she helped won’t realize he tripped because of her.”
“But if you’d tied up those refugees, everyone would have noticed. It wouldn’t take much to figure out it was you—and you’d share the same fate if those refugees ended up in Lingren Village. The fact you possess mysterious powers would be held against you, leading to a new story branch.”
“And the field spirit doesn’t want you on that kind of plot, so it blocked your ability.”
So Shen Huanhuan’s ability to bind spirits was now limited, but the one most restricted was Pingping.
As a psychic whose words could directly alter storylines, Pingping could change character arcs or background on a whim. But now, with the spirit curating everyone’s roles so specifically, the moment they tried to deviate, it would interrupt with a question, take over their body, and prevent misuse of powers.
“Let’s not test the field spirit’s authority for now,” Jiang Yan said. “To avoid extra tasks, it seems we need to stay in character and not use our abilities.”
But aside from Shen Huanhuan, no one else knew their character settings.
Their only shared trait: all were refugees who had fled to Lingren Village.
And since they were penniless, their first priority in the village would be to find shelter—some place willing to take them in.
Before seeking shelter, the group took stock of their possessions.
“My backpack’s gone,” Yu Renwan said.
“Me and Jiang Yan’s, too,” Pingping added.
“Ours are gone as well—mine and Sister Huanhuan’s,” said Shen Xiaoxiao. “The ones we have now are just props from the spirit. All disgusting—fingernails, severed hands and feet.”
So they had no money, no food, and no tools.
“Any runes or items left?” Jiang Yan checked.
“All gone. Even clothes have changed; no way to carry anything, anyway.” Shen Xiaoxiao wailed, subconsciously clenching her hands and punching the air in frustration.
Shen Huanhuan pointed at her right eye. “I can still sense I have the precognition rune inside.”
Jiang Yan looked to Pingping and Yu Renwan. Both shook their heads.
Jiang Yan reported her own situation. “I have a time rune left, that’s all.”
“These two runes are probably beyond the field spirit’s theft.”
With only two runes and no paper talismans or cinnabar for new ones, they were dangerously exposed. Shen Huanhuan tried to console everyone. “At least we have two. It’s not like we’re completely empty.”
“And the field spirit doesn’t want us using powers anyway—maybe we’ll never touch these runes.”
They’d already anticipated hardship in Cangnan Funeral Home. Though things were now even tougher, it didn’t exceed expectations, and they soon cheered up.
“Let’s find a place to rest,” Jiang Yan suggested.
Only now did the group really look around Lingren Village—before, they had been too busy exchanging information.
Lingren Village sat high up, two mountains away from the outside world—it was no wonder so many refugees died en route. After the horrors they’d just traversed, the prosperity of Lingren Village stood out all the more.
Not just relatively prosperous, but truly thriving.
Merely a stone gate separated a sea of dying refugees from neat, whitewashed houses, men in tunics, women in qipao and long dresses, children perched on rickshaws, and—just a few dozen meters away—a black car.
The wealthy strolled languidly, living in the chaos as if they were in an age of peace and plenty.
“The owner of that car must be so rich,” Shen Xiaoxiao muttered.
“The very image of privilege.”
There weren’t many refugees in the village; a glance showed just a dozen or so. Remembering the mass outside the stone gate, Jiang Yan realized something was off.
So did the others. Shen Huanhuan approached a fruit vendor auntie for information.
Auntie was testy but answered. “You get half a day’s chance. If you can’t find work, the patrol will kick you out. The village can’t feed freeloaders—see, over there—they’re watching you now. Don’t be picky, just get hired fast.”
Seeing she was about to be shooed off, Jiang Yan quickly asked,
“I’ve never left the village. I heard the plains in the north are peaceful, with big towns—if these people are so rich, why live in a tiny place like this?”
Auntie snorted. “There’s nowhere peaceful anymore!”
“Even the rich get forced into prostitution, good girls in school are bullied by foreign soldiers in public, and those girls are the great-granddaughters of famous people—what’s the point talking about it?”
“Lingren Village’s location is why it survives. The two sides don’t fight here, foreign soldiers come less often. If you can make it inside, consider your ancestors blessed. When I got in, I paid the He family everything I owned—several ancestral antiques! I wouldn’t have gotten in otherwise!”
“Just pray for yourselves.”
With this, a sense of urgency pressed in on everyone. If they couldn’t find work in a few hours, they’d be kicked out. This place only kept those most useful.
Either you’re rich enough, or offer enough value to the rich.
After a quick discussion, they started with the shops at the street corner—but whether in preserved fruit, precious metals, tea houses, or hotels, as soon as staff saw they were starving refugees, they were pushed right back out.
There were over twenty shops on the street, and at each, they were gone in under three minutes. After an hour, they exited a print shop looking glum.
Refugees, weak-looking women, and a child.
With all three marks against them, no shop would take them. Not even when Pingping offered to separate from the group did they have any luck.
Especially in famine years, with refugees swarming everywhere, they had no standout talent.
Or rather, they could have stood out—but with their assigned character settings, none of them knew what they should or shouldn’t do; nobody dared use modern knowledge to boost their chances.
Outside the print shop, they found themselves in front of a theater.
The last place to try.
A fancy black car stood at the gate, but with no show running at the moment, the doors were shut; people came and went, many glancing toward the entrance.
“Is there a Xi Jueyun show tonight?” a passerby asked.
“Absolutely! I’m ready—no matter the price, I’ll listen!” A middle-aged man in a grey robe shook his head with wonder. “Ever since Xi Jueyun became the troupe leader, she rarely takes the stage. Catch her while you can.”
“Word is, Master Wang wants to take her as his ninth concubine. Who knows…”
“Disaster comes from the mouth, disaster comes from the mouth!” The man quickly stopped the talk.
His companion covered his mouth, and they hurried off.
Shen Xiaoxiao, who’d listened to it all, concocted a full set of melodramatic plot twists in her mind—she almost laughed, but remembering their own situation, ended up discouraged.
“No one here will want us…”
She kicked a pebble, put her palms together, and muttered to herself, “I don’t even want money, just a place to stay would be enough! No matter how shabby, really, really, I’ll be grateful forever! Once I’m out, I’ll burn incense for you, I can even do missions and change your next-life fortune, please, please…”
At that, she remembered what happened to the field spirit after a successful round, rubbed her face, and didn’t continue.
From the spirit’s perspective, it was eager for them to fail to find work.
They decided to try the same shops again; if that failed, they could only risk their lives testing their character settings. There must be a place willing to hire them—they just needed to figure out which one.
Just as they were about to leave, faint singing drifted from inside the theater.
Yu Renwan came from an opera family. Even banished from her clan, she’d grown up listening to opera sung by her elders—her ear for skill was sharp. She’d been ready to walk away, but at the first lines, she stopped in her tracks.
“Incredible,” she said softly.
“Truly… extraordinary.”
Drawn in, she climbed the steps to peer through a thumb-width gap in the front door. Through it, she could see the performer on stage.
The singer looked about twenty-one or twenty-two, standing alone. Her steps were light, her jet-black hair swept into a high bun, topped by a sapphire ruyi crown. She wore a gold-and-blue fish-scale armor costume. White sleeves snapped as she pointed forward, then drew them back, revealing dramatic brows and eyes painted bold and thick.
Yu Renwan held her breath.
She’d seen many great performers, including her own family at national troupes. But no one had ever made her feel like this before—
Clearly slim and frail, yet just by standing there, she radiated the power of “iron horses and golden spears.”
Yu Renwan didn’t know if this was the woman’s innate charisma or the aura of the Yu Ji she was portraying.
At that moment, the singer drew her Mandarin Duck Sword and stepped back, raising the blade to her neck.
She sang the famous verse from Farewell My Concubine:
“Ever since I followed my lord east and west through many battles, braving the years of wind and hardship, suffering time after time—”
Just then, Yu Renwan heard a “ding” sound by her ear. The song cut off mid-phrase, the theater resonance fading away.
Thanks to Shen Huanhuan’s warning, Yu Renwan reacted quickly.
She lifted her gaze to the sky.
A few lines of black text hovered distinctly before her—
[Your mother was once an apprentice in this very theater. At home, she loved teaching you opera; your talent was good, but in turbulent times opera singers have low status, so your mother cruelly left the stage and started a fabric business.
With this year’s drought, your mother died of illness. You followed your village elders to Lingren Village, but were separated along the way. After entering the village, you made friends with several girls your age—though you didn’t know them long, you felt a special kinship.
But life in Lingren Village wasn’t the paradise you’d imagined. After being thrown out of your twenty-third shop, your group arrived at the theater gate. You pressed your face to the door, watching the singer on stage, listening to those most beloved lyrics.
The theater is your last chance. To earn your place, right now, you will—
1. Applaud the singer on stage and loudly cheer her.
2. Join her song—demonstrate your skills.
3. Quietly watch at the door, staying to hear the entire performance.]