The No. 1 Hunfen King in the Entire Server [Interstellar] Chapter 13

The old woman had said the mountain was cloaked in thick mist, the paths were narrow, and it was easy for an ordinary person to lose their way. A cow was needed to lead the path and pull coffins uphill. Lin Jing patted the sturdy black cow’s side. “I brought you downhill earlier; now it’s your turn to lead me uphill.”

The treacherous paths of Spirit Mountain didn’t faze the black cow. It seemed to possess an innate sense of direction. Its large, dark eyes glanced at Lin Jing before it swished its tail and began to slowly move forward. The thick mist surrounding them dimmed the glow of the torchlight, reducing its utility considerably.

The moment Lin Jing stepped into the mountain, he could sense something unusual. The air here was particularly cold and heavy. Moonlight struggled to pierce the dense fog, leaving only the faint reddish glow of the torch flickering against the damp, gray mist.

Lin Jing, prone to muttering when uneasy, ignored Xu Wanzhi’s presence and murmured to himself, “With mist this thick, it’s impossible to figure out the exact location without the village chief’s guidance. We need to get more out of him.”

Xu Wanzhi, walking alongside, suddenly asked, “You’re certain that the Door of Life and Death is tied to that legend?”

Lin Jing replied, “What else could it be? That immortality legend is the closest thing we have to a lead.”

Xu Wanzhi chuckled lightly, seemingly in good spirits despite being dragged out in the middle of the night. “The Door of Life and Death—crossing the threshold of immortality to find life. That does make sense, in a way.”

The heavy clomping of the cow’s hooves broke the silence of the mountain, where even insects were conspicuously absent, adding to the eerie stillness.

“Not dying equals life right?” Lin Jing mused. “Here, not dying feels more like a curse.”

Xu Wanzhi’s tone was indifferent. “A curse? More like people inviting trouble upon themselves, chasing what they shouldn’t.”

Lin Jing was mildly surprised to hear Xu Wanzhi voicing an opinion for once, and he chuckled. “Wow, didn’t think you’d have any deep thoughts about this game.”

Lin Jing had long felt Xu Wanzhi was out of place among them, and now he understood why. While everyone else was focused on clearing the game and earning points, Xu Wanzhi behaved like an outsider. He slept when tired, watched everyone else analyze clues or interact with NPCs, and simply observed everything with a detached, aloof demeanor—be it the ghost in the forest, the scarred chief, or the whole game itself.

“Watching the show” was perhaps the most apt way to describe Xu Wanzhi’s approach.

At first, Lin Jing had been suspicious of Xu Wanzhi’s identity, but the thought faded over time. Xu Wanzhi never displayed hostility toward them. His “watching” was pure, almost apathetic, devoid of any discernible emotion—even when mocked by Feng Haozhong or annoyed by Blondie’s chatter.

Lin Jing asked, “So, have you learned anything from watching?”

“Not yet,” Xu Wanzhi replied nonchalantly. “Whoever put me in this game probably wants me to learn something.” He paused briefly, his tone carrying a faint trace of weariness. “Pointless.”

Lin Jing sighed internally, starting to get a sense of Xu Wanzhi’s perspective. Raising the torch higher to illuminate the winding path, he said, “Want to chat?”

Xu Wanzhi had already followed him up the mountain, so he didn’t mind. “Sure.”

The tranquil, desolate environment of the mountain made for an oddly fitting backdrop to their conversation.

Lin Jing began, “My father worked at the research institute, specializing in mental power studies. He once told me that Survivors was like a massively watered-down form of brain development. But later, they realized that for people in the interstellar era, it wasn’t just about enhancing mental abilities—it was more about learning to respect certain boundaries.”

Xu Wanzhi chuckled lightly and nodded. “Makes sense. When technology advances too far, human arrogance follows.”

Lin Jing felt an odd sense of camaraderie. “I was one of the earliest players before my car accident. My dad shoved me in to learn for the same reason.”

He laughed self-deprecatingly. “Honestly, it’s pointless. All those lessons, morals, and things we’re supposed to respect have been drilled into us through books a thousand times. Who wants to reflect on those clichés while gaming?”

Raising the torch to better see the path ahead and the cow’s silhouette, he continued, “Take this round, for instance. The villagers sought immortality and got it, only for it to turn their home into this ghostly village. The game’s theme is probably about respecting death. But then they make us dig up graves and crack open coffins. Really ironic.”

It was something he’d wanted to vent about for a long time. Whenever he brought it up before, his dad would just snap and call him immature.

Xu Wanzhi’s half-lidded eyes were deep and distant as he echoed Lin Jing’s words. “Respecting death, huh?”

Lin Jing: “More or less. But who cares? I just want to clear the game and leave.”

The black cow navigated the path with remarkable familiarity. After countless twists and turns, they finally reached the mountaintop. The mist dissipated entirely, and the moon, a murky yellow, hung low in the pitch-black sky, seemingly close enough to touch.

At the summit was a small grove. The black cow halted at its edge, unwilling to take another step forward.

“Hey, keep moving.” Lin Jing tugged at the rope, trying to lead the cow in, but it snorted angrily and turned its back to him. Defeated, Lin Jing tied the cow to a tree outside the grove, muttering, “Coward.”

Beyond the grove lay the cliff he had seen on the first day, the one lined with suspended coffins.

Two mountains faced each other, with the bright moon suspended in the center. If not for the eerie, ghostly wails that occasionally echoed from the cliffs, it would have been a beautiful scene.

For burials, villagers would typically drive stakes into the cliff face, then use ropes to lower the coffins onto the supports. At the cliff’s edge was a large boulder used for securing the ropes.

If his teammates weren’t so unreliable, Lin Jing wouldn’t have turned to Xu Wanzhi. From his bag, he pulled out the rope he’d stolen from the village chief’s house, tying it securely to the boulder. He intended to descend the cliff himself to investigate.

“Help me keep watch from up here.”

There were too many eerie things lurking in this desolate village—who knew if, the moment he climbed down, some ghost would suddenly rush out of the forest and cut his rope?

Xu Wanzhi: “Mm.”

Lin Jing: “Thanks.”

Lin Jing lowered the rope along the edge of the cliff, tugged on it a few times to make sure it was secure, then stood at the edge and glanced down.

At the bottom of the cliff, the wind howled, and the coffins were arranged in perfect rows.

Lin Jing began descending the rope. The path down was barren; not a blade of grass grew, and the cliff face was smooth. If the rope broke, there would be no way back.

The two coffins were relatively close to each other. Lin Jing descended onto the lower one, pressing against the smooth coffin lid as he sat down. He looked up, one hand gripping the coffin for balance while the other attempted to pry it open. However, no matter how much effort he exerted, the coffin remained completely immobile.

Lin Jing frowned. “Won’t open? If this coffin was meant to seal in a living corpse, then it makes sense that it wouldn’t budge.”

But if the coffin couldn’t be opened, there were a lot of things he wouldn’t be able to confirm.

Perhaps Xu Wanzhi got bored of guarding the rope from above, because before Lin Jing even noticed, he had effortlessly climbed down as well.

When Lin Jing turned his head and saw him, he was completely dumbfounded. “Why did you come down? Aren’t you afraid someone might cut the rope and leave us stranded?”

Xu Wanzhi was sitting right next to him on the same coffin. When he turned his head, their breaths almost intertwined.

“They won’t.” Xu Wanzhi smiled slightly. His tone was calm, yet carried an odd certainty.

Lin Jing, unbothered, shrugged. “Alright. Since you’re already down here, help me open this coffin.”

Xu Wanzhi, however, said, “It won’t open.”

Lin Jing: “And how do you know that?”

Xu Wanzhi replied, “Try using both hands. I’ll hold onto you.”

Lin Jing: “Oh.” He still wanted to give it a shot.

Releasing the rope, he turned around and pushed against the coffin lid. A tremendous resistance pushed back against him, preventing it from moving.

“It really won’t open?”

Lin Jing let his hand slide down, and suddenly, he paused. His fingers had brushed against a line of tiny, engraved text—right beneath the white “dian” character.

And it was quite long.

The moonlight was too dim to make it out.

Lin Jing struck a match, but the weak flame flickered out as soon as the wind blew. Just as he was feeling stuck, Xu Wanzhi handed him a tree branch.

Lin Jing was startled. “You just happened to have this?”

Xu Wanzhi met his gaze. “Mm. I was looking for a leaf to play with and picked it up along the way.”

Lin Jing: “Looking for a leaf to play with?” He still had the mood for that?

Xu Wanzhi seemed to be in an unusually good mood, his tone relaxed and lazy. “This whole scene feels a little familiar.”

Lin Jing: “Hmm?”

Xu Wanzhi said, “There was a game once. My role card was a child, and some old man brought me to a graveyard, making me sleep in a coffin with a corpse.”

Lin Jing looked utterly shocked. “That old man was seriously messed up! Weren’t you scared?”

Hearing that, Xu Wanzhi chuckled, his eyes glimmering as if reflecting moonlight. “It was a fully immersive memory mode, so my cognition was that of a child. Of course, I was scared. So, he played a tune by blowing on a leaf to lull me to sleep.”

“And then?”

“Then he lured all the wandering corpses from the mass grave, and we spent the whole night running for our lives.”

How tragic.

Lin Jing: “That old man was… truly one of a kind.” What a menace.

Wait. Lin Jing’s eyes suddenly widened as he turned sharply to Xu Wanzhi. “Do you remember how to play that tune?”

The Immortals was related to metal power. Even though every instance’s storyline and clues were entirely different, certain sound waves and frequencies might still affect non-key NPCs in the same way.

It was a slim chance, but worth trying.

Xu Wanzhi was caught off guard. He toyed with the leaf in his slender fingers and said, somewhat helplessly, “It wasn’t a tune. He just randomly blew into a leaf. It was terrible. I think the corpses came out because they were annoyed.”

Lin Jing: “…”

Twisting the green leaf between his fingers, Xu Wanzhi lowered his gaze. “But he insisted it was a self-composed melody and even gave it a name—Moonlit Kiss of the Wind.”

“What?” This troublemaking old man even had a poetic side?

Xu Wanzhi handed the leaf to Lin Jing and said, “Go ahead. Try it. Just blow.”

Lin Jing stared blankly at the cool, damp leaf in his hand.

Xu Wanzhi continued, “The moon, the wind, and the leaf in your mouth—it’s like a kiss. That’s where the name came from.”

“…” Somehow, the explanation made it seem far less poetic.