Chapter 128: The Human Skin Drum (32)

It seems this ninth painting was indeed created by the "Mother."

Having surveyed the Mother’s lair, Tang Mu concluded that the key to clearing this dungeon did not lie in killing Sister Ying at all. Instead, it was about dispelling the hatred within her. But if tormenting these villagers were a form of release, Sister Ying would have long since healed herself. Therefore... she knew how to clear the level.

Tang Mu gathered the red thread and looped it around her own neck. Was she intending to take her own life?

"Watch out! There’s an illusion in here that compels people to commit suicide. Everyone, be careful!"

Someone shouted suddenly, causing everyone to shudder in alarm. Tang Mu was startled too, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she cursed at the player who had screamed, rolled her eyes, and retorted, "Open your eyes and look clearly. I’m committing suicide because I choose to, not because of some illusion."

The player who was scolded looked bewildered. "...What’s the difference?"

"Uh, that’s just how our member Tang Mu is," Lu Zhengqing explained on her behalf. "She doesn’t consult anyone before doing things. You’ll get used to it."

This explanation did nothing to resolve the player’s confusion. "No, she’s ridiculous... What normal person just kills themselves for no reason? Besides, if she acts without communicating, what happens if we all wipe because of her erratic behavior? There’s no player limit in Class A games... 'Save who you can' has already become an unwritten rule. If she messes around like this, won't her teammates be the ones who end up terrified?"

While this player grumbled, the members of the Ayu Association all wore expressions that suggested he should keep going if he had more to say. They hoped he would "teach" Tang Mu a lesson for always acting on her own without considering the team, and they hoped he would say it loud enough for her to hear, fearing she might miss it.

However, facts proved that someone accustomed to going their own way wouldn't care about others' opinions. There are people whose self-importance and narcissism are so extreme that they view themselves as the pinnacle while everyone else is mere trash, looking down on the masses with disdain.

"Don't think I didn't hear you whispering and being snide over there," Tang Mu said, glancing at them calmly. "I’m committing suicide because I need to transform into a specter to absorb the spectral power in this lair. Once I gain the power to reshape this nest, you all need to restrain Sister Ying. Do you understand?"

*Transform into a specter?*

"But if you become a specter, you’ll be dead," everyone exclaimed. "We’re different from the dungeon NPCs. They can absorb spectral power, but we..."

Tang Mu completely ignored the fellow trying to stop her. She continued to loop the red thread around her neck as she pleased. Just as she was about to act, Xingwen grabbed her sleeve.

"I am a specter. I should be able to absorb the spectral power here."

"You can't," Tang Mu stated firmly. "If you could, you wouldn't have waited until now."

"Then... how can you be sure that you can?"

"Because the dungeon exists to ensure players don't receive rewards." To put it more simply, the dungeon existed to kill. Thus, at this stage, the Queen of Spades would certainly not allow an NPC to help the players clear the level. And among this group, Tang Mu was the one least concerned with her own life.

"How certain are you?" Qiao Yuan was also disapproving of her reckless actions; after all, Tang Mu’s mental capacity was quite important to the Ayu Association. The association had already lost two people. If Tang Mu were to... the rewards he could obtain from this dungeon would be far outweighed by the losses.

"Fifty-fifty," Tang Mu replied coldly. "Don't worry, even if I die, I won't need you to handle my funeral arrangements."

"And you don't need to feel any guilt," she added. "I like experiencing new things. Becoming a specter is, to me, a fairly novel experience. Besides, even if I die, it doesn't necessarily mean I’m truly dead."

As long as she wasn't eliminated by a specter or the game mechanics, it was a bug. Whether it was a real "out" or a fake "out" when the game ended remained to be seen.

Tang Mu, long accustomed to her own way, spoke with an air of indifference. Ignoring the tense looks of those around her, she tightened the red thread around her neck.

She pulled it taut.

Breathing became difficult instantly. Suffocation and oxygen deprivation washed over her brain. Outside of a dungeon, this method of self-strangulation wouldn't actually kill a person. Even with the intent to commit suicide, it is difficult not to struggle; eventually, one's innate survival instinct would cause them to give up. But in the game, things weren't so complicated. If you truly wanted to die, not even the heavens could stop you.

Two or three minutes later, Tang Mu successfully died and her vision returned.

Everything was in black, white, and gray. The black was the invisible void. The gray consisted of the stone walls and the players. As for the white, it was the spectral power wandering through the lair! The boss could freely absorb this power to bolster itself, but ordinary specters could only watch it drift by without being able to consume it—much like a penniless passerby looking at a feast in a five-star restaurant, drooling against the glass. The temptation could kill you, but you couldn't eat it, for your fragile body would explode upon a single inhalation, sending you straight to reincarnation instead of allowing you to linger in the mortal realm.

But for Tang Mu, this spectral power was not something she could not touch. Those with strong mental faculties are more formidable than others, even as specters.

She opened her mouth and drew a breath.

The white phantom flames that were circling the lair poured into Tang Mu’s body, expanding through her internal organs.

It was at the moment Tang Mu absorbed the power belonging to Sister Ying that a new figure suddenly appeared in the lair.

Everyone was startled. When they saw it was only a hunched old man with no apparent offensive power, they patted their chests and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Who are you?"

"An NPC, a specter, or a player?"

It was no wonder they couldn't distinguish who was who among the players. There were over fifty people, and they had only known each other for two or three days. Even with a roster, they couldn't memorize it, let alone match every face to a name.

"My name is Shi San. You may call me Uncle Shi," the old man said, his body hunched. The white beard on his chin reached almost to his chest, a testament to his great age.