Chapter 30

【It is said that Zhaohua Mansion has been burdened with a curse for generations】

【Under the influence of the curse, every descendant of the Huo Family will ultimately meet a tragic end. Unless they sacrifice their own flesh and blood to the evil spirit, the entire clan will suffer calamity】

【However, the master of the mansion, Huo Jieqi, scoffed at such notions. He spent much of his time away on business voyages, amassing wealth that rivaled entire nations. His body was robust, and he had raised three sons】

【But just as the rumors of the curse began to fade away, Master Huo suddenly passed away. They said his death was utterly horrifying, something no mortal hand could have wrought】

【Instance analysis in progress…】

【Analysis complete】

【Instance Level: B】

【Player Objective: Break the curse】

【Note: C-level and higher instances are fully immersive. Players will completely assume their assigned roles. Please stay discerning, Host】

~~~

The deep autumn in Jinzhou City dawned with the sky just barely lightening. The streets were as cold as an ice cellar. A group of five burly men rubbed their hands together and huffed out breaths of air, their teeth chattering nonstop.

“Damn it, why pick today of all days for the funeral…”

This year’s weather seemed cursed itself. The first snow had already fallen in early October. Last night’s blizzard had collapsed the spirit shed, and with such an ill omen, the three sons of the Huo Family still refused to postpone.

Now the heavy snow had blocked the roads, leaving the funeral procession stranded and waiting. Everyone was starving, and the weaker ones could hardly stand any longer.

At the tail end of the procession, a boy clutched a stack of paper money and tugged at his snow-white mourning clothes. He let out a small sneeze and accidentally bumped into the man ahead of him.

“You blind bastard?!”

The man swung his fist to strike.

But the punch halted midair. The figure before him wore an ill-fitting set of mourning clothes that draped like a robe, long enough to cover his ankles.

A glimpse of pale neck flesh gleamed dazzlingly white, with a sharp little chin and slender, tender fingers—like those of a girl.

These were hard times, and plenty of starving kids lied about their age to sneak into wealthy families’ funerals and weddings, doing odd jobs for a few copper coins.

So the man wasn’t surprised. But if this was a little girl, landing that punch would cost him his dignity.

He pulled back his fist, spat on the ground, and ignored the boy.

The youth stayed put, exhaling a sigh of relief.

These were the pallbearers hired by the Huo Family. Funerals always drew a motley crowd of all sorts, but given Zhaohua Mansion’s wealth, they shouldn’t have settled for such a shabby bunch. It felt almost like they were in a rush to get Master Huo in the ground…

The snow wouldn’t melt anytime soon, and the crowd’s grumbles grew louder as they threatened to walk off the job.

“Dong—”

A gong sounded up ahead. It was time to eat.

Everyone dropped their loads in a hurry and rushed over. The boy, jostled by the surge, nearly lost his footing but didn’t bother shoving for position. He ended up alone.

A steaming iron pot bubbled with vegetable porridge, and each person got two corn buns on top. It wasn’t much, but it would shut them up.

The man ladling out the porridge towered a head above the rest, bare-chested against the biting wind. His arms were like forged iron, and his bronze-skinned frame was imposingly massive.

The scars crisscrossing his face only added to his menacing air, making him look every bit the outlaw bandit.

Before anyone took their porridge, they all bowed respectfully and called out to Big Brother Chu. No one dared meet his eyes. Everyone in Jinzhou knew that for any of the city’s low-end gigs, you needed to give him face—or you wouldn’t earn a dime.

Chu Jing handed the ladle to one of his underlings. He grabbed four corn buns and filled two bowls to the brim with porridge before heading toward the back of the line.

The young boy was off doing who-knows-what. His hood had been blown off by the wind, his long hair framing his small face as he sat forlornly by the roadside.

Chu Jing thrust a bowl at him. “You don’t even know when to eat?”

The boy looked up. His pale little hands reached out hesitantly to take the bowl.

But the instant his palm touched the rim, he flinched back from the heat.

“…Useless.”

Chu Jing swore under his breath. He ended up holding the bowl himself and shoved the buns into the boy’s hands.

“Don’t know what good you’re even for.”

This boy was Luo Li.

It was his third day in this instance, where his role was that of an unremarkable little beggar from Jinzhou City.

The man before him was his boss—or more precisely, the kingpin over hundreds of beggars in the city. Rumor had it he’d once been an officer in the Northern Expedition Army, only to be discharged for various reasons and turn to banditry.

The corn buns were cold and tough. Luo Li chewed them with difficulty.

Chu Jing watched him for a moment, then snatched them back. He broke them into pieces and soaked them in the porridge to soften. “Can you eat them now? Damn, always so much fuss.”

Luo Li wiped at his eyes pitifully. “Spoon…”

Chu Jing scowled. “What?”

“No spoon… how am I supposed to eat…?”

Fuck.

He’d never seen anyone so delicate. Strangers might mistake him for some fallen young miss.

Chu Jing stared at the boy’s palm-sized face. Damn right he could pass for one. Those big eyes with their long lashes, the soft pink lips glistening with moisture, and that crisp, tender voice.

At first, he’d even thought about snatching him up to make a wife of him. But then he’d learned the boy was a guy! Chu Jing hated himself for it, but you couldn’t just kidnap someone and let them go after. So he’d put Luo Li to work under him instead.

In the end, it was all his own fault for not looking closer.

The man stepped away for a moment and actually came back with a small spoon.

“Open up.”

Luo Li parted his lips obediently.

Chu Jing scooped up some porridge, blew it cool, and fed it in bit by bit. The boy’s mouth was small, and he ate slowly—one softened piece of bun took ages to chew. He was a real hassle to deal with.

Chu Jing had zero patience for this sort of thing normally. But watching those full, moist lips wrap around the spoon, the pink tongue curling to lap it up, and then the boy opening his mouth again to let out a puff of warm mist right onto his fingers… somehow made him content to keep going.

The soft sounds of swallowing followed, the delicate throat bobbing faintly. Unbidden, a sheen of sweat broke out along the man’s spine.

For a beggar, this was already a feast. Luo Li wasn’t fond of the food, but he didn’t dare complain—who here didn’t have to obey the boss?

Luckily, he had a small appetite and filled up quickly. He turned to grab his paper money and rejoin the group, but Chu Jing blocked his path.

“Hey, hold it.”

“This snow hasn’t melted yet. We’re not going anywhere, so don’t crowd in and make things worse.”

No sooner had he spoken than one of his underlings hurried over.

“Big Bro, some folks from the mansion just came by. They want us to reroute—take the coffin down to the foot of the Back Mountain. The hour’s up, so we cry there first and send off Master Huo’s soul before anything else.”

It was an unheard-of practice, and just hearing it made Chu Jing uneasy. But they’d been paid, so whatever the employer wanted. “Fine, that’s what we’ll do.”

Then he turned and grabbed Luo Li.

“Here’s the deal—you go with them and cry at the funeral. You can manage that, right? Once you’re at the mountain foot, just kneel by the coffin and wail a bit.”

Luo Li nodded in a daze and followed the messenger.

~~~

By the time he caught up to the procession and reached the front, he finally laid eyes on the coffin itself.

A young man stood nearby, holding Master Huo’s portrait, his expression solemn.

Luo Li stole a glance at the portrait but didn’t get a good look at the face. He only vaguely registered it as some stern, feudal tycoon. Moments later, he knelt down with the others and mimicked their kowtows before the coffin.

He faintly overheard some muttering.

“Shouldn’t the sons be the ones crying at a funeral like this? Master Huo had boys—why hire outsiders?”

“What else? Unfilial sons. Just look at how this whole thing’s being handled.”

“Quit guessing. Let’s cry!”

Luo Li knelt there blankly. The oversized mourning clothes shrouded most of his body, and he buried his face in his palms. He sniffed a little but couldn’t muster any tears.

He wasn’t actually grieving, after all. There was nothing to cry about.

Peeking through his fingers at the others, he saw the young man with the portrait step forward a couple paces. He directed a somewhat younger boy to set Spirit Banners around the coffin.

Judging by their clothes and how the others deferred to them, Luo Li figured these must be two of Master Huo’s three sons.

“…It’s not working.”

The younger one frowned, as if puzzling something out. “Huo Cheng, didn’t you say the Back Mountain has heavy yin energy? That these banners would summon the deceased’s soul?”

Huo Cheng gazed at the portrait. “It’s not the burial site, after all—who knows if it’ll work. A Yin, don’t get too anxious.”

That blizzard had thrown the normal rites into disarray, but this rare auspicious hour only came once.

They had no choice but to take the gamble.

Yet the white candle had already burned down more than halfway. The coffin seemed frozen stiff by the wind and snow, and the yellow papers on the altar showed no hint of change.

Huo Cheng’s brows knitted tightly. “Does that mean you and I have to cry after all?”

“Yin Hour Banners Move, Youngest Son Cries, Yellow Paper Turns Red, Past Wish Appears…”

Huo Yin recited the clue from the Mission Guide. “The ‘youngest son’—it doesn’t say it has to be Huo Jieqi’s actual boy.”

Any young kid would do for the crying, right?

Outside, a sea of people knelt and wailed—mostly old folks, women, and the frail who needed the pay to feed their families.

Suddenly, his gaze halted at an unremarkable corner.

“You. Come with me.”

The kneeling boy jolted. Someone had seized his wrist.

“Go up to the front. Kneel by the casket and cry.”

Huo Yin led him straight through the crowd. The young boy stumbled along unsteadily behind him, clueless about what was happening, and could only kneel obediently in front of the casket.

“Alright. Cry now.”

Luo Li’s fingertips clenched tight. His eyelashes fluttered in panic, his fallen hood shadowing most of his face, but still the tears wouldn’t come.

Huo Yin stood off to the side, eyes on his pocket watch. It was almost time.

He took a step closer. As the young master from a wealthy family, every gesture of his exuded an overpowering arrogance.

Luo Li could only see the tips of his boots and the hem of his trousers.

That arrogant voice drifted down coldly from overhead. “Can’t cry?”

“If you can’t manage it, then get the hell out of the procession. Don’t try to fish in troubled waters.”

No—no!

He couldn’t get kicked out.

If he was sent packing, Big Bro would definitely lose his temper… and then there’d be no more porridge or steamed buns.

The pocket watch kept ticking away. The yin hour drew ever nearer, and with it, hope faded into the distance.

Damn it… Was this instance about to go haywire too?

But right then, a few faint sobs rose up—soft and sweet like a kitten’s, damp with emotion.

Beneath the snow-white mourning robes, the tip of a sharp, pointed chin peeked out, lightly dusted with powder. Two teardrops traced down it, pattering softly onto the ground.

“I-I can cry…”

“Don’t… don’t kick me out…”