Chapter 46.4: The Empty Bench

It was the sound of pus dripping from the corner of his eye.

Because the muddy ground was full of dips and hollows, it quickly pooled into little puddles, and soon, a crisper "drip-drop" echoed below.

Li Zhuiyuan extended his hand toward Runsheng, who understood and grasped it.

Li Zhuiyuan bowed his head and attempted "walking the shade" once more.

Liu Yumei had warned him that doing it too often was harmful—it could lead to losing oneself. He knew this well, but couldn’t stop, like a smoker or a drinker who’s heard the advice but keeps lighting up or pouring another glass.

He succeeded. When he lifted his head again, Runsheng and Tan Wenbin, who had been sitting beside him, had vanished.

Only Zhou Yong remained, head bowed, utterly motionless, silent, unresponsive.

The only thing that had changed was the kitchen—now flickering with firelight and steam, and the sizzle of stir-frying oil audible.

The mundane trappings of the Underworld—that was what chilled the hearts of the living.

Li Zhuiyuan had a vague premonition. Something very unpleasant was about to happen.

He waited a bit longer. Zhou Yong still didn’t speak. That meant he had no intention of communicating—at least not yet.

He seemed to be waiting for a procedure, an old-fashioned custom born from hospitality:

Before you talk business, you must eat.

A sharp pain stabbed his palm—Runsheng was pinching him. Li Zhuiyuan closed his eyes, searched for the sensation of rising, and when he opened them again, he had returned to reality.

He pulled his hand from Runsheng's, gently rubbing the pain away—a signal to let him know he was back.

He glanced at Tan Wenbin, who sat ramrod straight—probably straighter than he ever sat in class.

Then, the expected development occurred.

A woman emerged carrying two dishes.

Both were meat, though it was unclear what kind. The shapes were familiar, but Li Zhuiyuan couldn’t match them to any known dish.

She returned to the kitchen and brought out two more plates—vegetables, though not green, but resembling sautéed young bamboo shoots. Upon closer inspection, you could see branching strands.

Most people have had the experience of finding one of their mother’s long hairs in a home-cooked dish.

But here, it was cotton fluff from the woman’s own body, drifting into the food and frying into these strange forms.

Li Zhuiyuan suddenly missed the birthday banquet at the Cat-faced Granny’s. As awful as that food tasted, at least it had looked nice.

These four dishes were terrifying just to look at.

Even Runsheng frowned—and his standards for food were famously low. But still, he had limits.

Tan Wenbin stared with wide eyes, his gaze flitting nervously between the four dishes.

The woman set down rice bowls—four large, four small—and four pairs of chopsticks.

The large bowls were heaped with raw rice, clearly scooped straight from a grain jar.

The small ones were for liquor—but each bowl held a black liquid, with a wormlike creature squirming inside.

After distributing the bowls and chopsticks, the woman returned to the kitchen—there was more "delicacy" to come.

The girl remained, putting her fingers in her mouth.

Zhou Yong lowered his head to look at his daughter.

She raised her head to look at her father.

Runsheng was confused. Tan Wenbin looked lost. He couldn’t tell what the father and daughter were communicating.

But Li Zhuiyuan understood.

He stood and said with a smile, “Let the child eat with us. It’s alright.”

Runsheng caught on instantly. “Yes, come eat with us.”

Tan Wenbin: “Yeah, yeah, join us.”

Still sucking her fingers, the girl walked toward the table.

The boy noticed—she seemed to be heading toward him.

Li Zhuiyuan quickly pointed to the bench beside Tan Wenbin. “Here, little sister, sit with this handsome big brother.”

Tan Wenbin: “…”

The girl paused, then sat down beside him.

Tan Wenbin felt a chill from the base of his skull to his tailbone.

Zhou Yong raised his chopsticks and pointed at a dish.

Li Zhuiyuan, Runsheng, and Tan Wenbin followed suit, each pointing at the food with their chopsticks.

A silent play, like a mime—yet each gesture seemed to carry an imagined line of dialogue.

Zhou Yong picked up a bite and chewed it, then pointed at the dish again.

Li Zhuiyuan took a bite and placed it in Tan Wenbin’s bowl.

Tan Wenbin picked it up and fed it to the girl beside him. She opened her mouth and ate.

He thought he was being clever—what a smart move.

But then Zhou Yong picked up another bite and placed it directly into Tan Wenbin’s bowl. The girl lowered her head, as if scolded for being impolite.

Tan Wenbin looked at Li Zhuiyuan and Runsheng for help. They both avoided his gaze.

He had no choice—Zhou Yong’s expectant “look” was a heavy, oppressive force.

Tan Wenbin lifted his chopsticks and grabbed the bite. Just as he was about to eat, he realized—these were the same chopsticks he’d used to feed the girl. They were covered in her saliva.

Normally, he wouldn’t care.

But this girl’s appearance... and now he had to use the same chopsticks?

Zhou Yong opened his palm, raising it slightly.

Tan Wenbin forced a smile more bitter than tears, and ate.

Zhou Yong was satisfied.

The four liquor bowls sat in front of him. He passed one to Li Zhuiyuan first.

Li Zhuiyuan stood and gestured to himself, then held his hand flat to indicate height. “Uncle, I’m still a kid. I can’t drink.”

Zhou Yong nodded and passed the bowl to Tan Wenbin.

Tan Wenbin accepted it, setting it down. He had no intention of drinking this stuff.

But then—

Zhou Yong clinked his own bowl against Tan Wenbin’s, then downed it in one gulp.

He flipped his bowl upside down and pointed.

Tan Wenbin inhaled deeply, grasped the bowl, and subtly pinched the long worm inside, flinging it out.

Fine. He’d drink. Whatever it took.

Just as he raised it to chug, Zhou Yong snatched the bowl away.

Tan Wenbin was thrilled—right, he was still a kid, a high school senior, and needed his brain intact.

But then Zhou Yong flipped the bowl over, shook it, and when he lifted his hand, a dozen squirming worms wriggled in the bowl.

He pushed it back in front of Tan Wenbin, then patted his own chest.

Tan Wenbin: “…”

• Please take a moment to rate this novel at Novelupdate.

Next Chapter >>>