Chapter 56: Fire and Trap

Earlier, when the lights went out, Zheng Haiyang assumed it was just a routine power outage or tripped circuit—something not uncommon in rural areas these days.

Tan Wenbin felt a cold thud in his chest. His last dinner at the Dead Sinker’s house had left a shadow in his heart, though he tried to convince himself that his trembling chopsticks were simply from overthinking.

Runsheng calmly held his chopsticks in his right hand and was still chewing when the lights went out. But his left hand had already gripped the handle of the Yellow River Spade resting against the bench.

The moment the lights came back on, Runsheng glanced at the cauldron on the table, then immediately locked eyes with Li Zhuiyuan across from him.

Just one signal from Little Yuan, and he’d swing that spade without hesitation, smashing in the heads of the two elderly folks beside him.

In fact, when the lights went out, Li Zhuiyuan had already detected a subtle quiver in the voices of the grandparents. The clink of the serving bowl being set down struck him as off too—who props up a bowl with long, pointed supports?

This was a family dinner, not a banquet hall. Who uses a metal rack and solid alcohol to keep food warm at home?

Had he not been able to continually track the exact positions of Zheng Haiyang’s grandparents by their voices, he would’ve feared that once the lights returned, their heads would be sitting inside that newly brought cauldron.

And since it was called a "head dish," stuffing a real head in there wasn’t out of the question.

Being blind once had left his hearing razor-sharp.

But even though he sensed the danger early, he couldn’t act prematurely.

If this were unfamiliar territory, he might’ve shouted for Runsheng to flip the table before the lights even returned.

But no matter what, this was still Zheng Haiyang’s home, and Zheng Haiyang was his classmate, Tan Wenbin’s close buddy. He’d just lost his parents. He was pitiful.

The moment the lights turned on and he saw that cauldron, Li Zhuiyuan felt a surge of revulsion. What was the use of such sentimental attachments? Utterly foolish.

Thankfully, he snapped out of it in time, pushing down that instinctive emotion and avoiding a meltdown at a critical moment.

With his right hand, the boy pinched and twisted the skin on the back of his left hand.

The pain was secondary. What mattered was the confirmation: this wasn’t walking the shade, wasn’t a dream, wasn’t hypnosis.

It was real.

And with that, the choice reappeared: the fact that Zheng Haiyang’s grandparents could serve food in a cauldron showed they were no longer normal.

Dreams end. But changes in reality often can’t be undone.

A similar dilemma. Again.

But this time, Li Zhuiyuan didn’t hesitate. He looked up and gave a signal to Runsheng across the table.

Runsheng raised the spade immediately.

Crack!

The lights went out again.

All the yellow talismans stuck from the bedroom door to the courtyard fell, blackened.

Everything happened too fast. And then came the spatial distortion—folding, warping around each person.

Though he hadn’t moved, still seated, it felt like he was on a roller coaster, but backward, his body rapidly hurtling in reverse.

Thump!

Three thuds followed.

Different distances. One nearby—five meters. Another far—over twenty.

They must’ve all jumped up in shock and lost balance, crashing to the ground.

Only Li Zhuiyuan, still on the bench, remained steady.

“Ah!”

Tan Wenbin’s scream.

It moved from far to near, then faded again, echoing as if in a ravine.

Next, footsteps behind Li Zhuiyuan. Cloth shoes. Light tread.

Only Runsheng wore cloth shoes. But he stomped heavy, especially now. He wouldn’t be creeping.

Li Zhuiyuan pushed off the bench, letting himself slide down.

Whoosh!

A sharp cut of air zipped just above him—a knife?

Though it was pitch dark, he could picture an old man or woman behind him, swinging a cleaver at where he'd just been sitting.

He turned, planted his feet, dropped into a horse stance, and shoved the bench forward hard.

He trained daily under Uncle Qin—horse stance, breathing techniques. It was paying off. His base was solid, his force steady and sustained.

Still a high schooler, smaller than his fully grown peers. But among kids his age, he’d dominate.

The bench struck something—probably knees. That’d take anyone down.

But before he could follow up, another wave of disorientation hit. He shut his eyes, trying to block his senses. Then realized that was foolish.

He opened them again, activating every sense—only to spiral, rolling endlessly as he lost all orientation.

And again, he heard frenzied chopping. The old person he’d knocked down was hacking madly at where he had been.

A chilling thought: were they simply slow to react—or blind as well?

Snap!Snap!

Two flares lit up. One near, one far.

Runsheng and Tan Wenbin both had matches. They were signaling to each other.

But why strike them at the same time?

Even if the room was dark, there should’ve been moonlight outside. Yet now, not a shred of ambient light remained.

So why allow fire now?

The matches burned on.

Runsheng’s voice rang out: “Little Yuan! Little Yuan!”

It was truly his voice, but fluctuating wildly in distance—impossible to tell which light was his.

“Little Yuan-ge! Little Yuan-ge!”

Tan Wenbin too. Equally indistinct.

Li Zhuiyuan got up and ran—away from the closer flame, toward the far one.

One of these had to be a trap.

Because even if both boys had struck matches simultaneously, the moment one saw the other’s light, he wouldn’t just stand there.

Runsheng might stay put, to attract and wait for him.

But Tan Wenbin had screamed—probably hurt. If he saw Runsheng’s flame, he’d surely head that way for protection.

He knew who the real fighter was. Knew whom to stick close to.

Even if he had to crawl, he’d crawl there.

Sure enough, as Li Zhuiyuan got closer, the fire resolved. He saw Runsheng—and Tan Wenbin, pained, beside him.

They’d lit their match together, waiting for him. The other flame—pure bait.

Suddenly, footsteps again behind him. Light cloth shoes. Still at a distance.

“Little Yuan! Watch out!”

Runsheng shouted, swinging the Yellow River Spade.

He was aiming straight at him.

He’d seen him—but his spatial sense was distorted. That warning, paired with the steps behind him, meant Runsheng saw danger just behind him.

That spade swing wasn’t at him—it was for whoever was behind.

But from his own perspective, it came directly at his face.

It was like solving a test question—had to deduce the examiner’s intent. The trap was for him to dodge—into the attack range.

Classic setup. But not deep.

So, instead of dodging, Li Zhuiyuan charged toward the spade.

Before he got far, he collided into Runsheng.

He was right.

Runsheng was right there. Dodging would’ve gotten him killed.

“Little Yuan!”

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