The World Below Surface - Chapter 60: Religious Madness

On the following day, Chu Xiu found himself unable to shake off the disconcerting feeling that had been gnawing at him since Lu Yan entrusted him with that cryptic message. Although he had committed his fair share of unsavoury deeds in the past, not to mention Lu Yan had been nothing more than a mere NPC to him. Also, there was no telling whether or not he would even cross paths with him again on his next mission. Nevertheless, the nagging sense of guilt lingered with him throughout the day, tormenting him with the thought that he had failed to keep his promise. Finally, when he had some free time to spare, he had someone deliver a statue to him so that he could worship it at home every day, recording the activities both on video and in writing, hoping to alleviate the sense of unease that had taken hold of him.

“Brother Chu, I never thought you believed in this too,” chuckled his friend when he visited and caught a glimpse of the shrine. “I thought you were an atheist.”

Chu Xiu did not argue with him, nor did he wish to. In fact, he longed to return to his former state of disbelief. However, there were simply some things in this world that could not be explained by science alone. After his friend finished laughing, Chu Xiu finally asked, “Did you find out anything about what you were investigating?”

“Of course I did, who do you take me for? Don’t underestimate me!” replied his friend, producing a stack of papers from a folder and handing them over. “It wasn’t easy to unearth his true identity. We nearly had the police breathing down our necks.”

Chu Xiu took the papers and perused them carefully. “Why does it still involve the police?”

“I’m not sure. He appeared to be preparing to cooperate with them, but that never came to fruition. And then he ended up dead.” His friend let out a sigh. “It was an unfortunate turn of events for him. But his death was shrouded in mystery, and the police department is at a loss. I suggest you steer clear of it.”

Chu Xiu had already reached the final page of the documents, and upon hearing this, he closed the folder and said, “I know my limits.”

“Just be careful not to do anything reckless,” his friend said, waving his hand. “By the way, isn’t your sister’s death anniversary coming soon? When are you planning to pay your respects? Take me with you.”

Of course, Chu Xiu had another question burning at the back of his mind, but he refrained from asking it, fearful of the reaction it might elicit. Weary, he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the fleeting glimmer of hope that had sparked within him had already been extinguished. “I’ll be heading back next week.”

He did not dare meet Chu Xian’s gaze, fearful of the disappointment and pain that might be reflected therein, nor did he wish to see the look of disdain that he might see in her eyes upon beholding the person he had become today. But he longed for her all the same and yearned to see her again.

Friend bade his farewell, saying, “I won’t disturb you any longer. Take care of yourself. I’ll keep probing that matter, and I’ll inform you of any progress. You’ll receive the old customer discount.”

Chu Xiu bid him goodbye and observed his friend’s departure.

As his friend was about to shut the door, he rubbed his eyes in disbelief and muttered, “Strange, did I just see the statue smile?”

Chu Xiu returned to his room, arranged the camera as usual, and directed it at the statue. He reverently ignited three incense sticks and bowed.

After the ritual, he examined the video footage and was stunned by the abnormality he witnessed. The initial footage was unremarkable, but the colour tonality of the recording made him uncomfortable. The middle of the video seemed to cave in, and his body bent forward unnaturally. At the same time, the statue appeared to inch closer and closer, almost brushing against him.

However, when he stood up, everything reverted to its original state. The statue returned to its original position, and there was no indication of anything peculiar.

Chu Xiu shuddered as he sensed an icy chill running down his spine and swiftly erased the recording. Only then did the cold start to dissipate.

He didn’t dare to continue and snatched his computer to depart, intending to locate a new workplace. When he arrived at his preferred coffee shop, his nerves finally calmed down.

“What’s happening? Are there ghosts lurking in this world?” he pondered, feeling apprehensive and sensing that things were spiralling out of control.

Chu Xiu pulled his computer open and cautiously logged onto that website.

The Taskers website was a hidden gem of technology and stealth disguised as a mundane gaming domain. It was password-protected, and even those who entered it would only find a chat room for gamers that seemed innocuous. Chu Xiu had just completed his mission and uploaded a detailed report on the forum, hoping for feedback. His post went viral, and he received countless private messages with various analyses.

Chu Xiu noticed that there was even a Level One account. The website was a platform for taskers to assist each other. Anyone could post and review tasks. To avoid information leaks, registration only required a detailed account of their first task, with no personal details needed. After the human moderator approves the account, the user could choose a fixed alias or a random code from the website.

It was customary for everyone to share their experiences after finishing a task, and each successful post would boost their user level. But this Level One account had only done one task. Chu Xiu was puzzled, but the logic behind it was solid. He followed the other person’s suggestion and opened a new document, neatly arranging his thoughts.

**

Meanwhile, Lu Yan returned to his place and did the same thing.

Lu Yan paid his respects at a nearby church after reporting to his superior and then headed again to the Yin and Yang path. However, the cultists had seized control of the Yin and Yang path, making it impossible for him to enter without alarming them. With no other choice, Lu Yan had to abandon his plan.

His pen feverishly scribbled across the page as he sat in the room, weaving a tangled web of thoughts within his mind. After grappling with the intricacies of their previous mission countless times, Lu Yan had finally managed to piece together the elusive rules of the game.

“Separated from the all-knowing ‘god,’ the seven-day game is rather straightforward,” he mused. “Wen Qing was caught in a temporal and spatial vortex caused by the omniscient deity. As a result, they were ensnared, forced to die and respawn ad nauseam.”

Despite the ‘god’s’ supposed ability to resurrect and manipulate time and space, Chu Xiu’s sudden appearance in the same realm as him seemed to contradict this notion entirely. Lu Yan’s pen scratched away, tracing several wavy lines across the page.

“Time is like a river – a force that cannot be stopped or reversed,” he scrawled. “Those who follow its current are mere bubbles on the surface of its rushing waters. Rather than rewinding these fragile bubbles, the ‘god’ merely transports them from one space to another.”

A sudden thought gave him pause, and he grew increasingly curious. “Are there alternate versions of myself in other worlds? Ones who never left the elevator and yet still managed to survive? Or perhaps versions who successfully avoided certain death nodes?”

The idea of such parallel universes captivated him, leaving him pondering the implications of his existence. “When the task takers leave, do they disappear along with the realm’s inevitable refresh? What is the connection between my world and theirs?”

As the moon rose high in the sky, his thoughts turned to the bizarre state of the world at large. “People may be going insane, but technological advancements continue to march on – keeping pace with their realm. It’s all so unbelievable,” he muttered, his pen dancing across the page.

Despite his best efforts to piece together the puzzle, Lu Yan remained uncertain. “No matter how long I calculate, I’m groping blindly in the dark. I always seem to hit a dead end and give up,” he lamented.

The full moon outside the window bathed the world in an eerie glow, casting long shadows across the room.

The tranquillity that once permeated the air was shattered by the shrill screams from upstairs. Lu Yan’s mind raced as he recalled a film he had watched with a group of taskers called “The Truman Show.” The notion that he could be the protagonist of a manipulative entity’s entertainment lingered in his thoughts. Suppose there was indeed an unseen force controlling everything. Why not make him succumb to madness and let go of all inhibitions?

The following day, Lu Yan was invited to attend a gathering hosted by the cult. The venue was on a deserted mountain outside the city, far from where he resided. Upon arrival, he noted that most cult members had already congregated. Dressed in a red and white robe akin to the others, he was an unenthusiastic participant in the cult’s ceremonial activities. He stood at the crowd’s periphery, observing as they danced, cheered, and subsequently prostrated themselves, convinced of their unworthiness to receive God’s grace.

The cultist crying the most fervently had already brandished a knife, determined to expunge his sins by shedding his own blood. Lu Yan kept a safe distance from the frenzied individual to avoid getting bloodstains on his robe. Others followed suit as soon as the first person began to hurt themselves. Soon, a group of individuals stood in a peculiar formation, lying in pools of blood. The cult leader was overcome with a sense of sacred elation, holding up a head and muttering incoherent words. As she spoke, she danced amongst the crowd, singing a song whose lyrics were unintelligible to Lu Yan.

After listening carefully, Lu Yan realized that the head belonged to the cult leader’s lover. She was bidding him a final farewell. She sang for an extended period before stopping abruptly, throwing the head she held into a nearby pool, which caused it to sink noiselessly. “God will surely receive our respect…” she exclaimed, tears of joy streaming down her face as she spoke.

Only a handful of the faithful remained, a mere shadow of the forty who had attended. Lu Yan had been hovering at the edge of the gathering, poised to depart unnoticed, when the priest snagged him by the arm.

“Next month, you’re headed to this spot.” The priest slipped a photograph into his hand, its edges curling like the fingers of the dead. “Spread the good word of God to those blasphemers. It’s His command.”

Lu Yan took the photo.

At first glance, it appeared to be an ordinary family portrait with five happy faces beaming at the camera. But there was something queer about them, a sense of unease that crept beneath the skin. Their faces were sickly and bloated, the visages of those not among the living. Their smiles were odd, fox-like and sly, with pointed chins, slanted eyes, and downturned mouths.

“If they resist, use the flames to cleanse them. Let them bask in the mercy of God in the cool river water…”

Lu Yan didn’t bat an eye.

“How many?” he asked.

The priest’s grin widened, each word rolling from her tongue like a curse. “All. Every last one of them.”

“I’ll see to it.” Lu Yan’s voice was calm as he accepted the task, nodding to the dwindling crowd as he slipped away, the vivid red of his robe drawing their eyes like a beacon.

He didn’t look back or see the carnage left in his wake: the blood, the limbs, the viscera melting into the soil. By the time he turned his gaze to the photograph once more, the evidence of the slaughter had vanished as though it had never existed.

“XX Village, X Town, X City, XX Province.”

**

“Why are you so late tonight? Where’ve you been?”

An Xing Yu stepped inside his home, only to be met with his father’s unwavering interrogation. He bent down to put on his shoes and explained as he walked, “I completed some homework with some classmates.”

Still clutching several test papers, An Xing Yu’s assertion seemed authentic. An Ru’s keen eyes scanned his son’s figure, but An Xing Yu no longer cowered like a child under his father’s glare. He stood calmly and allowed An Ru to inspect him.

“Did you really just do homework?” An Ru’s expression darkened. “Be truthful with me, where did you really go?”

“I genuinely went to do homework,” An Xing Yu replied, his tone even.

An Ru remained silent. Yet, when An Xing Yu sat beside him and poured himself a glass of water, An Ru’s hand abruptly grabbed the hem of An Xing Yu’s pants and lifted it, revealing a mark on his calf.

“What’s this?” An Ru pointed at the scar and tried to suppress his anger. “You’re believing in that absurdity, aren’t you? Let me tell you…”

“It’s not absurdity!” An Xing Yu suddenly shook off his father’s hand, his previously timid face now fierce. “How can you be so disrespectful to God? Aren’t you afraid of eternal damnation?”

An Ru was entirely taken aback by his son’s baseless defiance. Before he could react, An Xing Yu shoved him away harshly before he could react and disappeared out the door.

An Ru pursued him, but An Xing Yu had already vanished. There was no trace of An Xing Yu for an extended period after that. An Ru took an extended absence from work, posting small daily advertisements, hoping to find his son.

Despite his extensive efforts, there was no news of his son.

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