Chapter 223: Battle Royale
Cui Yongchun's hands clawed frantically at the air, desperate to grasp something—anything. But it was futile. With a sickening thud, his body slammed onto the ceramic urns below.
Yet the jars didn’t shatter.
The moment he touched them, countless pale, withered hands shot out from the urns. Amid his screams and curses directed at Li Zhi, his body was torn apart by those ghostly hands, each piece dragged into a separate urn.
Blood splattered. Flesh scattered.
Zhu Qianqian, watching, turned deathly pale, her legs trembling uncontrollably.
If not for Li Zhi, that would’ve been me.
But there was no time for fear. Cui Yongchun’s fall had agitated the urns—they began shaking violently. The faint blue glow marking safe paths was fading fast. If they didn’t move now, they’d lose their only guide.
"Quick!" Zhu Qianqian urged. "Left three!"
As Li Zhi stepped onto the third urn to the left, the glow vanished entirely.
Five rows remained to the other side. Zhu Qianqian and Qiao Ya desperately memorized the last five safe spots, managing to guide Li Zhi across just in time. When Zhu Qianqian finally pulled Li Zhi onto solid ground, her legs gave out, and she collapsed, sobbing.
"Why did he want to kill me?!"
They’d been companions, trusting each other all this way.
The shaking urns gradually stilled. The blood from Cui Yongchun’s gruesome death sizzled as it seeped into the ceramic, as if the urns were drinking it in.
Chi Yi hauled Zhu Qianqian up. "That bastard got what he deserved! Let’s go!"
Between sobs, Zhu Qianqian kept thanking Li Zhi, who reassured her gently. After a brief rest in the corridor to steady their nerves, the group pressed on.
This hallway stretched longer than the others. As they neared the end, a bright light spilled from the final room—revealing a chamber filled with mirrors.
Nine mirrors stood in a circle, reflecting their every angle, multiplying their figures into an eerie, endless crowd.
At the center of the room, an altar held a single eternal lamp. Beneath it lay a slip of paper—Li Zhi’s name written clearly on it.
Just as she reached for it, Chi Yi spoke up, puzzled. "Why does this note have my name?"
Li Zhi froze. "Your name?"
Lian Qinglin frowned. "No, it’s mine. Three characters—Lian. Qing. Lin."
Realizing something was wrong, Li Zhi stepped back—but before she could warn the others, their voices vanished.
She turned.
The room was empty. Only she remained.
The eternal lamp flickered wildly, its flame dwindling to a fragile spark. At the same time, Li Zhi felt something leave her body.
She looked at the mirrors.
In each one, a reflection of herself stood with its back turned, walking deeper into the glass until it disappeared entirely.
The dying flame seemed like a warning. Li Zhi approached the altar and pulled out the note.
Her name was written on the front. The back held instructions:
"Two souls departed, seven spirits scattered—only the life soul remains. Carry the eternal lamp to reclaim them. Flame burns, you live. Flame dies, you perish."
Folklore spoke of three souls and seven spirits composing a person. The three souls were the heavenly soul, earthly soul, and life soul. The seven spirits varied by tradition, but all were vital.
The nine reflections she’d seen were her missing souls and spirits. The note implied she had to retrieve them—all while keeping the lamp lit. If it went out, so would she.
The others were likely in the same predicament. Tucking the note away, Li Zhi lifted the lamp and faced the mirrors.
Her reflections now matched her true age. With no way to distinguish which was a soul or spirit, she simply chose the nearest mirror and reached out.
The surface rippled like water at her touch. Beyond the thin glass lay an endless void. Clutching the lamp, Li Zhi stepped through.
The darkness cleared. Reality reshaped around her.
A light rain fell under a moonless sky. Ahead stood a brightly lit building. Li Zhi shielded the lamp with her jacket, wary of the drizzle.
The area was deserted—no cars or pedestrians in sight. The building looked familiar, but her fragmented memory couldn’t place it.
As she approached, the automatic doors slid open. Inside, a bulletin board revealed the truth:
A funeral home.
One of her spirits had come here?
A thought flickered in her mind. She walked deeper.
The night was quiet, amplifying the muffled sobs from within.
Pushing open a wooden door, Li Zhi entered a mourning hall. Wreaths lined the aisle. At the front hung a portrait of a middle-aged man—his gentle smile sending a pang through her chest.
Kneeling before the altar was a girl in a blue-and-white school uniform, her ponytail swaying as she trembled with suppressed cries.
The sound of footsteps made her whirl around.
Li Zhi saw her own face—but younger, barely twelve or thirteen. The girl’s wide, tearful eyes were red-rimmed, her forehead still soft with childhood fuzz.
"Who are you?" The vulnerability in the girl’s expression vanished, replaced by wariness—then confusion. "You… look like me."
Li Zhi knelt beside her and bowed three times to the portrait.
This was her grief spirit—a fragment of herself lingering at her father’s funeral.
In folklore, the seven spirits represented joy, anger, sorrow, fear, love, hate, and desire. This one was sorrow.
The younger Li Zhi watched her cautiously but didn’t protest.
Away from her whole self, the grief spirit was consumed by emotion—her pain amplified beyond reason.
Li Zhi remembered this day.
She hadn’t cried like this.
For her mother’s sake, for her younger sister, she’d swallowed her tears. If she’d broken down, they’d have had to comfort her instead.
So she’d wept silently.
But this version of herself cried freely, though still quietly.
When the sobs eased, Li Zhi spoke. "Come with me."
The girl looked up. "Why?"
"I am you."
Confusion flickered, but the girl shook her head. "I won’t leave Dad."
Li Zhi met her watery gaze. "He isn’t here. And he wouldn’t want you to stay." She knew exactly how to persuade herself. "You’ve already lost someone you love. If you hide here, you’ll lose the others too."
"Mom. Brother. Sister." Li Zhi’s voice was calm. "Do you want to lose them all? To go back to the orphanage—to being alone?"
The girl’s eyes widened in horror. She grabbed Li Zhi’s wrist. "I’ll go!"
Li Zhi smiled, patting her head. "Good."
Viewers watching the live stream erupted:
[Since when does Li Zhi scare herself too?!]
[Baby Li Zhi is so soft and fragile—I just wanna hug her! Li Zhi, stop bullying your own self!!!]
[Tears… she really loves her family so much.]
[Come here, little Li Zhi! Auntie will protect you!]
[The way she handles herself is terrifyingly efficient. Can’t wait to see how she deals with the other fragments.]
Hand in hand, they left the funeral home.
Though just a fragment, the grief spirit retained some of Li Zhi’s sharpness. Without resistance, it followed her outside—then dissolved into her body like smoke.
The eternal lamp in Li Zhi’s hands burned brighter.
Before she could react, the world around her shifted.
Now she stood outside an orphanage—old and weathered, its fences rusted.
On a weed-choked playground, a little girl in overalls sat on a creaky swing. Her pigtails bounced as she swayed, the rusty chains groaning like something out of a horror movie.
A teacher called from across the field. "Zhi Zhi! Stop playing! Kind visitors are here to see you!"