Chapter 117: Flee!

As my body involuntarily recoiled, the shadow of a hunched, white-haired old man suddenly appeared within the depths of my mind, and amidst the countless blurred images swirling in my consciousness, one scene snapped into sharp focus.

I remembered who this person before me was!

He… he…

“Wake up. Don’t pretend anymore. At first, I only locked away your life essence, but now that I’ve removed the nail from your life gate, you should awaken.”

The voice of the stooped, white-haired elder was frail and ancient, yet carried a certain resignation, as if the years of captivity had left an indescribable weariness in his heart.

Yet, the “me” standing before us—his face and physique remarkably preserved—remained motionless, devoid of any breath, like a perfectly preserved corpse.

But upon reflection, I felt a strange calm. Sixty years had passed without a single change in this “me.” The body had long surpassed human limits. If it were a ghost or a zombie, that might be plausible. But pinned so rigidly by steel nails onto a wooden board? A corpse would surely have dried up within a few years.

I had encountered many zombies and spirits, even a few monsters, but seeing this version of myself, nailed completely to a wooden plank, sent a chill through me. And just moments ago, when the pale old man removed the steel nail from the life gate, I felt a fragment of memories rapidly stirring in my mind, like an amnesiac suddenly bumping his head and recalling a portion of his past.

While my mind was still lost in a kaleidoscope of flickering images, a voice pierced through.

“Run!”

The voice was as swift and sharp as lightning, but when I looked up, I saw the version of myself, dead for sixty years, suddenly open his eyes and stare blankly at me.

“Heh heh heh, you’re finally awake!”

The old white-haired man’s voice made me shudder all over. In an instant, the images in my mind snapped into crystal clarity. I saw a gaunt man in a dark cave break his own skull with a large stone, then drag his broken body back to the inn. Later, he hammered steel nails one by one into his own body.

That man was none other than the hunched old man before me.

His true identity shook me to my knees.

Piecing together the fragmented memories in my mind, I was stunned to realize this man was the one who had escaped from Shadowless Village alongside me. But the deeper I thought, the more terror gripped me—an abyss of darkness and fear without end.

Cold sweat broke out all over me.

---

“Tell me, where is the entrance?”

The ancient voice in front of me spoke softly, laden with eager expectation, yet he showed no trace of fear or respect toward me, as if I were beneath his notice.

Indeed, at first he wasn’t sure if I had truly lost my memory. After all, I was the worst in Birdsong Village—and its master—so he thought I might know many uncertain secrets within Birdsong Village. But bit by bit, he confirmed my amnesia, which explained my reckless behavior now. The main reason he brought me here was probably because of some prior agreement with the “me” before.

The “me” merely stared blankly at me. Then, as the old voice rose, he suddenly roared and lunged wildly toward me.

The steel nails pinning him no longer restrained him. In that moment, he was like a mad beast breaking free from its cage—a fierce tiger crashing into me without warning. I was thrown backward, and the heavily locked door behind me was smashed open by the impact. I rolled against the edge of the iron bars.

“Damn you!”

The old voice suddenly bellowed as he lunged forward in a single stride.

At that moment, the “me” pressed fully onto me.

“Run! This man wants to kill me. Only by killing me can he regain his original form and return to Shadowless Village!”

“Why—”

“Don’t ask! Run! Stay far away from him! He’s only a fragment of himself—he doesn’t know who he is yet. Take this chance… run! Run as far as you can!”

At these words, the “me” was dragged up from the ground like a zombie. Imagine enduring sixty years without moving, suffering such torment—his reaction now was nothing short of miraculous.

Without hesitation, I seized the chance. A faint silver light gleamed, cold and sharp; I glimpsed an icy, keen axe. That axe was so familiar—it belonged to Feng Hu, one of the two Yin-Yang masters, Feng Yang and Feng Hu.

Why was it now in his hand?

Had Feng Hu already died?

A numbness surged through my skull. I could barely tell if this was a dream or cruel reality. But whether dream or reality, a voice within urged me to flee immediately, to save my life.

I felt a deadly, unprecedented terror—the kind that arises only when life itself is threatened, a black hole devouring one’s very soul.

---

Run!

The “me” charged at the white-haired, hunched old man—the former innkeeper. I clearly saw the blood-red axe rise in his hand, then fall in a swift strike against the “me’s” neck. A chill spread through my own neck.

I was so terrified by the scene that my legs gave way. Even in a dream, I had to run.

Some unknown strength propelled me over the towering iron gate, and despite my trembling legs, I sprinted wildly toward the exit.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Behind me came the sickening sounds of axe strikes and spurts of blood. In the quiet interplay of black and white shadows beneath the cold moonlight, mingled with my pounding heart, the scene felt grim and terrifying.

As I burst out of the inn, I saw Xiyue standing outside in white robes.

At that moment, Xiyue felt like my entire world. I could distrust everyone else, but I had to trust Xiyue.

I embraced her tightly. All the suppressed pain and fear instantly condensed into a single tear that threatened to fall.

“Xiao Dong!”

Just as I prepared to speak, to tell Xiyue of my ordeal, a familiar voice called out from about ten meters away.

I turned, and saw another Xiyue, anxiously waving at me!

Then I realized—the Xiyue I was holding…