The No. 1 Hunfen King in the Entire Server [Interstellar] Chapter 11

Lin Jing was stunned for a second, then asked directly: “Are you alive or dead?”

Someone had cracked his skull open, his blood and brain matter had spilled out, and yet—he was still alive? That strong?

But his question seemed to strike a nerve. The old man’s expression twisted with fury.

“Of course I’m alive!”

Lin Jing studied him for a long moment, then suddenly smiled, warm and friendly. Sitting cross-legged across from him, he said, “Old Man, how about we make a deal?”

The old man stiffened, eyes wary. “What do you want?”

Lin Jing: “Do you want to get out of here?”

The old man remained silent.

Lin Jing: “I’ll help you escape. In return, you tell me everything you know about the curse.”

The old man fell into a strange silence, then let out a cold snort.

“So you know about the curse too?”

Lin Jing lowered his voice. “It’s real, then?”

The old man instantly exploded with rage. “Real, my *ss! It’s just some bullsh*t Xu Zhengwen and his cousin made up to fool people! Those two brothers—one as strong as an ox, the other dabbling in sinister practices—have been terrorizing this village for years. They kill whoever they want like beasts!” He spat in disgust. “Curse, my foot! I’ve lived seventy years, and I’ve never seen any damned curse!”

Lin Jing was momentarily stunned.

Xu Zhengwen? That’s the village chief’s name. He’s also a Xu?

The old man grew increasingly agitated as he spoke. “I raised a beast! After all the trouble I went through to hide and survive, who would’ve thought my own son would be the one to deliver me here! Cough, cough—” His anger flared so intensely that he nearly choked, erupting into a fit of harsh, violent coughing.

The old man was frail, his bent figure nearly doubled over to the ground as he coughed. When he finally spat something out, the blood he expelled was black. He quickly wiped it away with his sleeve.

Lin Jing pretended not to notice the black blood and offered a hollow consolation. “Don’t get worked up. Bad for your health. What’s the point of making yourself sick over it?”

The old man wiped his mouth. His dirt-encrusted eyes were cloudy as he glanced at Lin Jing. “There may not be a curse, but I can tell you something else in exchange.”

Lin Jing: “Oh?”

The old man’s tone turned sardonic. “You outsiders didn’t come all this way for no reason. You’re after the secret of Spirit Mountain, aren’t you? I can tell you all about it.”

Lin Jing was baffled. What? So, we’re not just random tourists killing time in this remote, desolate village? We actually have a purpose here?

He straightened up and replied seriously, “Deal. What do you need me to do for you?”

The old man suddenly pointed at his feet. Squatting as he had been, Lin Jing hadn’t noticed until now that the old man’s ankles were bound tightly together with a strip of red cloth.

“Go outside and find a pair of scissors. Help me cut this off.”

“Alright.”

Lin Jing recalled spotting a pair of scissors in a basket near the entrance to the second floor.

The second floor was eerily silent. The straw men on the walls seemed more densely packed than before. Lin Jing grabbed the scissors quickly and returned.

When the old man saw the scissors, his eyes gleamed with greedy excitement. “Quick, quick! If he comes back, we won’t get another chance to escape!”

Lin Jing sat down. “He’s out tending the cattle. He won’t be back anytime soon. We’re not in a rush. Tell me about Spirit Mountain first.”

The old man’s face twisted with fury. “Cut the cloth first!”

Lin Jing smiled casually. “Old man, do you understand the situation? You’re the one asking for my help here.”

The old man’s face contorted in rage, on the brink of exploding, but he eventually forced himself to calm down.

He glared venomously at Lin Jing before beginning, his tone filled with malice. “Every year, a few groups of young people like you come to the village, all looking for the secret of immortality tied to Spirit Mountain. But Spirit Mountain is where we honor our ancestors. How could we let you desecrate it? The villagers are cautious and tight-lipped—they won’t say a word to you.”

The secret of immortality in Qinghe Village. As the old man spoke, Lin Jing tried to recall his in-game background and the information he had been given. It only mentioned his name and age—nothing about the purpose of his visit or the village’s mysteries.

If not for this old man, Lin Jing wouldn’t have known that he was here for the “secret of immortality.” He had genuinely thought his goal was to “find the final resting place for his soul.”

Still, Lin Jing maintained a calm demeanor, smiling faintly as he listened to the old man.

The old man snorted derisively. “Outside, they talk about this like it’s some mystical wonder. But it’s just an old village legend. They say a god once lived on Spirit Mountain, and when the god returned to the heavens, the cave they lived in was left behind. Inside the cave, there are mystical flowers, herbs, and a spring imbued with divine energy. For mortals, consuming them grants immortality. The secret you’re looking for lies in that cave. All you need to do is find it.”

The old man’s tone grew mocking, as if ridiculing Lin Jing’s naivety.

Lin Jing thought to himself that this old man was likely the village’s disgrace. The villagers had gone to such lengths to hide their secrets, only for him to spill everything so bluntly.

After finishing his tale, the old man grumbled impatiently, “I’ve told you what you wanted to know. Now cut the cloth!”

“Alright.” Lin Jing leaned down. The scissors were rusty and hard to handle, making the cutting process slow. As he worked, he asked casually, “If the legend is probably fake, have you villagers never thought to check the mountain yourselves? What if it turns out to be true?”

The old man was visibly annoyed. “Check, my *ss! You think divine treasures are so easy to find or take? Fine, since I’m feeling generous today, I’ll tell you the second half of the legend. Where there are gods, there are ghosts. The spirit guarding that cave is the mountain ghost of Spirit Mountain. Whether or not you make it back alive is another question entirely.”

Lin Jing smirked faintly. Oh, how scary. Alright then, I’ll pay a visit to Spirit Mountain tonight.

The rusty scissors gradually worked through the cloth. As the final piece was cut, the old man’s excitement visibly grew. He began to gesture wildly, his movements strange and unsettling. Halfway through raising his arms, he paused and slowly lowered them again.

Lin Jing, focused on cutting, didn’t notice the deep hatred in the old man’s eyes as he stared at Lin Jing’s head.

The scissors finally severed the last bit of cloth.

Lin Jing straightened up. “There, it’s done.”

“Done?” The old man looked down at his now-freed ankles and stood up gleefully.

He jumped a few times, then bent forward and walked a few steps on tiptoe. From Lin Jing’s perspective, every one of the old man’s movements was unsettlingly eerie.

“Done, done! Hahaha!” The old man cackled, his raspy laughter echoing as he spun around the room in glee.

But as he twirled and tiptoed halfway through a circle, he suddenly stopped. After a long silence, the old man slowly turned his head 180 degrees to face Lin Jing, his expression malevolent and voice warped. “Were you threatening me earlier?”

By now, the old man could no longer be considered human. His arm shot out, stretching unnaturally as it reached for Lin Jing’s throat.

“I’ll kill you first, then I’ll kill that b*stard son of mine—”

Before he could finish, his voice abruptly cut off. His vision went dark as something enveloped his head.

Having gained experience binding Xu Ya’s arm last time, Lin Jing found covering the old man’s head with a piece of red cloth relatively simple. He wrapped the cloth tightly and secured it with a knot around the old man’s neck.

“The basket didn’t just have scissors, you know,” Lin Jing said with a faint smile, his tone relaxed and nonchalant.

“You—you—”

The old man with the red cloth draped over his head collapsed to the ground, fumbling to touch the knot of red cloth around his neck. The moment his fingers brushed against it, he let out a piercing cry of pain as black smoke rose from his skin.

Lin Jing, who had bullied a child last time, found himself now bullying an old man. It was almost comical. Was his role in this game simply to oppress the vulnerable?

Ah, forget it. Not his fault, really. Blame the game designers and their weird ideas about horror games. They never made young, strong men into ghosts—NPCs were always women, girls, or old men.

Lin Jing crouched halfway down, studying the black blood oozing from the man—it was identical to Xu Ya’s. “You’ve lived seventy years and never seen a curse? Honestly, it looks to me like you’re the one cursed.”

The old man erupted, shouting angrily, “I’m not cursed! I’m not cursed! It’s Xu Zhengwen messing with me! There’s no curse in this village!”

Lin Jing ignored the man’s rambling and said calmly, “You got smashed by a rock like that and didn’t die. And while you look weird now, you’re breathing, and you have a shadow.” His deep brown eyes grew serious as he slowly added, “I have a feeling… you might just be immortal.”

He spoke the last sentence especially slowly.

“The legend—are you sure no one in your village ever gambled on it?”

When Lin Jing uttered the word “immortal,” the old man froze as if his throat had been seized. He stood there, paralyzed by fear, unwilling to delve into the thought.

Lin Jing whistled lightly and chuckled, “You’re saying the village chief did this to you? Turned you immortal? Looks like he really loves you.”

“I’ll help you come out of the closet today. No point hiding it now; the village chief will find out anyway. Think of it as a gift for him.” Lin Jing stepped back and waved. “See ya!”

The old man, enraged, lunged forward to grab Lin Jing’s foot but tripped and fell, landing awkwardly and swearing loudly.

No point hoping the village chief wouldn’t notice now.

Lin Jing locked the village chief’s bedroom door and picked up his flashlight. Shining it over the row of coffins, he counted. Eight coffins? Were there eight people inside?

As he passed by them again, the air felt colder—perhaps it was his imagination. The flashlight flickered, its light dimming. It seemed about to die. With his innate S-class mental power, Lin Jing sensed danger. His pupils contracted as he turned off the flashlight and bolted. Sure enough, as he reached the stairs, he heard footsteps—more like the sound of something hopping on two legs. Thump, thump, thump.

A tall, thin shadow appeared near the coffins, pacing and moving toward him.

When Lin Jing reached the door, he calmed himself, turned abruptly, and flicked the flashlight on, its beam striking the thin shadow’s face.

Finally, he saw what it was.

—A faceless scarecrow.

The scarecrow flew into a rage.

Before it could pounce, Lin Jing slammed the door shut.

He dashed downstairs. Outside, the sky was overcast, and the darkness was oppressive. The staircase had turns, and with his flashlight dead, he navigated purely by memory. Two turns, he recalled. But the second turn didn’t reveal the first-floor ancestral hall as it should have. Instead, it led to another pitch-black corridor. The darkness loomed like a gaping maw.

“Lost in a ghost maze?” Lin Jing muttered, standing still.

Time was tight. He hadn’t locked the second-floor door from the outside, and behind him, he heard the scarecrow’s hopping footsteps, getting closer.

Thump, thump.

Lin Jing’s mind raced.

A ghost maze only trapped him. It was an illusion, but breaking it required external interference.

Gritting his teeth, Lin Jing threw the flashlight down the stairs. Bang! The loud crash echoed sharply.

“Xu Wanzhi!”

The village chief was out tending the cattle, and the rest of the team wasn’t around. In this huge house, was Xu Wanzhi the only living person?

Lin Jing shouted again as he sprinted downward.

He leaped several steps at a time, trying to shake off the clumsy yet persistent scarecrow.

If Xu Wanzhi didn’t wake up, Lin Jing had no idea how long this game of cat and mouse would last.

It’d be hours before anyone else returned.

What kind of nonsense beginner’s level was this?

“Xu Wanzhi!”

Darkness had a way of breaking people, evoking infinite tension, fear, or guilt. But Lin Jing’s mental resilience held firm. Amid the chaos, his thoughts churned.

The scarecrow was placed here by the village chief to patrol? What would scarecrows fear? Fire?

Yes, fire.

An idea flashed in Lin Jing’s mind. He pulled out a box of matches from his pocket.

The lighting above was unreliable, and his flashlight had been running low on battery since he was in the forest. Anticipating this, Lin Jing had made a backup plan—one that was proving useful now.

At the second turn of the staircase, a pile of straw lay scattered. Lin Jing stopped in his tracks. The strawman, though clumsy-looking, had unnaturally long legs and a twisted body. It bounced twice, then slid down the stairs in a jerky, unsteady manner, swaying as it chased after him.

Lin Jing swiftly struck a match. Sizzle— A tiny red spark flared to life in the darkness. He tossed it into the dry straw, and in an instant, white-hot flames roared up.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The twisted form of the strawman appeared behind him.

Without hesitation, Lin Jing flung a handful of burning straw back at it.

Fwoosh— The fire spread instantly, consuming the straw.

The entire dark stairwell was illuminated by a blazing, human-shaped inferno. Waves of heat surged upward.

Lin Jing had barely made it out of the courtyard when he realized his stamina wasn’t what it used to be. The intense flames cast a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

The strawman let out a bizarre crackling sound as its body split apart, sending thick smoke billowing into the air. Ash scattered wildly, but even as it burned, the creature seemed to grow furious—still ablaze, it lunged at Lin Jing in a final, desperate charge.

Endless twists and darkness. Lin Jing took the stairs, turning to the right, leaping three steps at a time. He glanced back at the burning scarecrow, estimating its remaining time. If it couldn’t catch up soon, it would burn out.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. But before he could feel relief, his next step found empty air.

Wait, what? He distinctly remembered this spot being flat ground.

Turning his head, he was met with blinding light.

—The illusion is broken?

After prolonged darkness, even the faintest light stung the eyes.

As his foot missed the step, Lin Jing didn’t fall. A cold hand caught him by the wrist.

“So noisy.”

The voice was lazy and cold.

Behind him was a storm of ashes, darkness, flames, and heat waves.

Looking up, Lin Jing saw Xu Wanzhi’s side profile.

The young man had just woken, his pale face tinged with fatigue. The faint tear mole at the corner of his eye glowed slightly red.

The scarecrow finally burned out, its black and white ashes floating down from the stairs like snowflakes.

Xu Wanzhi tilted his head slightly, glancing at Lin Jing with a hint of curiosity. Slowly, he said, “You woke me up… just to show me how you start fires?”

Lin Jing: “…” What’s the point of you, then?

At that moment, the village chief’s enraged voice rang out, “What are you doing?!”

Standing at the door was the village chief, back from tending the cattle, alongside Feng Haozhong and Liu Cheng, who had failed to gather any useful information from the villagers.

All they saw was Xu Wanzhi holding Lin Jing’s wrist and leading him down the stairs. To an outsider, it looked like a moment of intimacy.