Doomsday Wonderland - Vol 9 Chapter 2390

Chapter 2390 The Boy Who Hasn’t Changed His Voice

“Would you like to see it now?”

Fuxiluo’s voice was different from the ones he had heard before, hoarse and soft like smoke.

It’s as if…was scratched by something rough, and the hallucinatory forbearance for the pain that has disappeared still remains in the voice; it seems that because of extreme fatigue, he has become indifferent and indifferent to the world, and even the voice is no longer like a worldly thing.

Lin Sanjiu was surrounded by the mist-like voice, and he couldn’t see anyone, so he didn’t think it was strange.

“Yeah…I want to see it,” she responded, “Can I see it?”

She didn’t answer through her lips and teeth, Lin Sanjiu realized.

Fuxiluo’s question aroused the pure curiosity and longing in her heart; reason, thinking, logic… all disappeared, she wanted to see it, so she answered it truthfully – even though her rational thinking had long ebbed at the moment, she couldn’t remember what she wanted to see.

To find out about the eight-headed virtue and the like is so far away that it seems like a dream I had a few years ago.

“…Well,” Fushiro said in a low voice, “isn’t it a bit early?”

What does “early” mean?

It is strange that although the communication between the two is still carried out in the form of “voice”, she seems to be able to more directly and clearly perceive all the subtle or majestic emotions that exist outside Fuxiluo’s language.

The content and logic of the literal expression become unimportant, what is important is the undulating tide beyond the literal, like the sea.

“It’s okay, it’s me,” Lin Sanjiu comforted him softly, “Are you scared?”

Fu Xiluo let out an “um”, and his nasal voice suddenly became a little heavy.

He didn’t say anything, but Lin Sanjiu could feel him as if he felt his own mood and state.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, right?” Lin Sanjiu unknowingly said in a tone like treating a child, “I will protect you. Whatever you want, as long as I can, I will give it to you.”

If it was heard by outsiders, her words must be very ridiculous; but she felt that this was her answer to Fu Xiluo’s current mood.

It seemed that after a while, Fu Xiluo sighed slowly.

“…well,” he murmured, his voice almost trembling with anticipation and fear. “Then, let me show you.”

It wasn’t until this moment that Lin Sanjiu suddenly realized that she didn’t know where she was.

There is no “environment” around her, and there is no earth or sky above her feet—only at the same time when Fushiro finally nodded, the emptiness surrounding her ebbed suddenly, and countless colors, smells, sounds and touches rushed in like a flood; a rapidly formed strange space swallowed her in the blink of an eye, wrapping her in another layer of reality.

“… Fushiro?”

no respond.

Lin Sanjiu blinked blankly, but didn’t feel his own eyes.

Next to her was a desk, which was neatly filled with various paper and pen teaching materials, reference books, and staves… She stretched out her hand, trying to touch the things on the table, but no hand appeared in her field of vision.

Lowering her head, she only saw a piece of whitish wooden floor.

She is no stranger to the feeling at the moment.

In Ah Quan’s dungeon, when she experienced Wu Yiliu’s memoir, she also temporarily “lost” her body. But the difference is that at that time she seemed to be possessed by Wu Yiliu, floating on Wu Yiliu’s body, following him, seeing what he saw; now she is a scattered lonely soul, standing alone in a strange room.

The desk is next to the window, and the outside is a grassy backyard; there is a single bed in the corner of the room, and the sheets and quilts are tightly spread.

There are no posters of teams, stars or superheroes on the walls, just empty, clean white walls. A cello case leans in the corner, and two small trophies sit on the bookcase. Traces of life can be seen everywhere: T-shirts that have been taken off, thrown casually on the bed without a trace of wrinkles; a suit of student uniform, neatly ironed, hanging on the doorknob of the closet.

The books in the room were quite unfamiliar to her, and they seemed to contain the contents of another human world; she wanted to take out a book to take a closer look, but her hand passed straight through the bookshelf, like a real ghost.

Lin Sanjiu looked around for a few minutes, but couldn’t tell how old the owner of the room was—it was a student’s room, not a child’s.

“Fuxiluo?” She asked in a low voice, “Is this your home?”

Still no response, as if he had disappeared.

The door of the room was closed; but since her hand could pass through the bookshelf, her body should be able to pass through the door, right?

Lin Sanjiu thought for a while, and walked to the door, ready to give it a try. But what she didn’t expect was that she had just raised her “foot”, and before she could reach into the door, the door was pushed open heavily—she jumped back hastily out of fighting instinct, only then did she realize that the door couldn’t hit herself.

“Go and change out of your uniform,” said a middle-aged woman with delicate and fluffy hair, standing at the door with a sullen face, staring at the other side of the door. She was tall and tall, with a straight back, and every word was like a nail hammered into the air: “In five minutes, go to the gate and wait!”

Lin Sanjiu stared blankly at the woman at the door; following the sound of footsteps behind the outer wall, she turned her eyes and saw the person who just walked out.

She had already expected it, but still couldn’t help taking a breath.

…It’s Fushiro who is still young.

How old are you now? Maybe eleven or twelve?

Lin Sanjiu couldn’t figure it out—at this time, Fu Xiluo was not as tall as the middle-aged woman’s chest.

His hair, which was originally neat and tidy, seemed to be messed up by himself. The soft and curly hair was scattered on his forehead, half covering his eyebrows and eyes; on that thin and delicate young face, he could vaguely see his adult appearance.

It’s just that Lin Sanjiu never imagined that there would be such an expression on that face that belonged to Fu Xiluo—he tightly pursed his lips into a line, his eyes were astonishingly bright in the lake-like water; the skin under his eyes trembled slightly, as if he was desperately enduring the urge to cry.

“…I don’t want to go.” His voice was clear and young, not yet at the age of voice change.

Just when the middle-aged woman was about to get angry, she lowered her head and glanced at him; she seemed to realize that Fu Xiluo was holding back tears, and her eyebrows and eyes, which were faintly similar to Fu Xiluo’s, softened a little imperceptibly.

“You have no room not to go,” she reminded again, “five minutes, don’t make your dad angry.”

Fu Xiluo, who seemed to be between a child and a teenager, with a rigid face, suddenly pulled off the student uniform jacket on his body, raised his hand and threw it forcefully on the floor of the room.

“It’s over,” he said firmly, tugging at his shirt.

The middle-aged woman’s face froze, as if every inch of her skin was tightly pressed by something cold.

“It’s only ten degrees today,” she reminded. “Also, don’t expect me to iron your uniform.”

“I’m not cold,” Fu Xiluo refused to look at his mother. “Uniforms are none of your business.”

The middle-aged woman seemed to have failed to hold back her anger, and finally pushed his shoulder and shouted: “Then leave immediately, don’t cry with me when you’re cold!”

When the mother and son left the room, Lin Sanjiu immediately followed her – this place should be Fu Xiluo’s memory, and the people in the memory would not be aware of her existence.

She followed the mother and son down the stairs, and when the middle-aged woman opened the entrance door, Lin Sanjiu couldn’t help reaching out and gently touching the young Fu Xiluo’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to go because I instinctively feel something is wrong.”

Lin Sanjiu was startled suddenly, and for a moment he couldn’t tell whether what he heard was Fu Xiluo’s adult voice or his youthful voice.

“If you want to punish me for playing truant, why don’t you teach me at home instead of taking me out?” Fushiro murmured, “Of course, I never thought they would beat and scold me…because my mother doesn’t believe that violence can educate ideal offspring, and will stop my father when he gets angry occasionally. Now that I think about it, they are just ordinary people with flaws and limitations…but she has a child who is too sensitive and has an unusual ending.”

It’s great that it’s finally Saturday, and I can rest until 12 o’clock on Sunday night (it’s me if I don’t see the Yellow River)! What are you doing on weekends? I’m going to see Barbie.