Chapter 95: A Head Boiling in Hot Water.

Chapter 95 A Head Steeping in Boiling Water.

After a brief conversation, Eurus and the scholar headed toward the campsite, intending to make thorough preparations for their first night in the instance.

They had only taken two steps when the scholar suddenly froze. His expression turned wary as he swiftly turned his head, his gaze locking onto the spot where they had just stood—a small piece of gravel, encased in snow and ice, had rolled to the ground.

In the scholar's vision, the tiny stone rolled halfway around before sinking into the soft snow. The sound was as faint as a falling needle, yet it had still caught the scholar's attention.

"What's wrong?" Eurus followed his gaze but couldn't discern anything unusual about the ordinary-looking pebble. She asked curiously, "What are you looking at?"

"It suddenly struck me," the scholar said, his eyes shifting upward to scan the towering rocks and cliffs above the stone. He spoke slowly, "Could there have been... a third being here besides the two of us?"

After a pause, he added methodically, "Of course, it might not have been human."

Eurus looked up as well, then reassured him, "Don't overthink it. If there really was another presence, where could 'it' hide? There's nothing but a blanket of white here, with scarcely any signs of life—it'd be difficult to conceal anything."

"Perhaps I am overthinking it," the scholar said, disinclined to elaborate further. He cast one last searching look behind him, confirming there was no evidence of anything unusual, before turning to walk toward the campsite.

After the two left, the area fell into complete silence. Only the wind swirled snowflakes in the air, and fresh snow sifted down, covering the footprints left behind by Zhang Ming and the others.

After a while, some slender creature stirred beneath the deep snow, forming a slight mound on the surface. Then came a rustling sound as a snake, no wider than a finger, emerged from beneath the snow. Its silver-white scales pressed lightly against the snow, blending near-perfectly with the icy landscape, making it nearly invisible to the naked eye.

The snake wound its way across the snow, sometimes moving swiftly atop it, other times burrowing beneath the surface. Eventually, it escaped all notice and slipped into the tent Yi Fengchu had set up himself.

Yi Fengchu had just finished reading the intelligence brought by the paper airplane. All the information he currently knew had woven into a coherent thread in his mind:

The snowy mountain that granted luck to the devout, the climbing team members who witnessed multiple "selves" appearing simultaneously, the mysterious appearance of a fourth peak roughly two decades ago...

He could now state with absolute certainty that all the mountain's power and anomalies originated entirely from himself—from the scepter of fate and time—and had nothing to do with any other entity.

Perhaps after this trip, he could completely eliminate the mountain's anomalies, restoring it to an ordinary tourist destination...

Now that I think about it, did that make him the final boss of this instance?

Yi Fengchu belatedly realized that his behavior of quietly blending in with the players had certain similarities to the enigmatic villains in suspense films—those who concealed their true nature and took pleasure in observing others' reactions up close.

He wondered what the players' clearance objectives were.

As he pondered, the small snake slipped unnoticed into the tent, climbing up Yi Fengchu's pant leg before merging—or more accurately, melting—into the depths of his pupils.

Like snow melting in warm water, the snake's body turned transparent the moment it entered his eye, then dispersed, becoming part of Yi Fengchu once more.

This was one of Yi Fengchu's recently acquired abilities. His hair, nails, and blood could all transform into small snakes after leaving his body, serving as his faithful spies.

The only drawback was that these snakes were, strictly speaking, merely minuscule offshoots of himself rather than true independent entities. As such, their intelligence was limited, capable of only relatively simple tasks.

Still, they were more than sufficient for gathering intelligence.

Once the snake had fully merged with him, Yi Fengchu blinked, and a series of heat-map-like scenes immediately surfaced in his mind.

These included Zhang Ming's interactions with the two players, the notes he had shown them, and the players' private exchanges.

"So, Uncle Zhang and I shared such history..."

His phone asked, "Do you really not remember any of it?"

"For instance, the constant feeling of being watched by Zhang's father, the irrigation ditch shielded by the infinity symbol, the fish trapped in an endless cycle..."

"I do remember the surveillance part," Yi Fengchu answered offhandedly. "But isn't it possible that I was too young back then to even understand the concept of 'peeping'?"

"For a long time, I genuinely thought Uncle Zhang next door simply liked me. He would persistently greet me, accompany me, and quietly watch me play—at times even more patiently than my schoolteachers."

"From what I know, after falling ill, Zhang's father became volatile in temperament. He never showed such kindness or patience toward his own son, Zhang Ming."

"Though he feared and resented me, it's amusing how, in some ways, his attention toward me was even more intense than that toward his own flesh and blood."

The phone responded, "...Even though I'm not human, I still think your childhood thought process was somewhat abnormal."

Zhang's father likely never dreamed that the source of his nightmares, the monstrous entity he had fearfully spied on, the only possible lifeline that could save him, had viewed him in such a way.

A... somewhat adequate caretaker?

Except this so-called "companionship" was carried out through unilateral observation...

"I was indeed a bit withdrawn as a child," Yi Fengchu emphasized. "I just hadn't learned better yet."

"Children need a gradual process of learning and growth... Look at me now—I've developed quite normally."

Yi Fengchu said this matter-of-factly.

As for the special abilities Zhang's father mentioned in his notes—predicting disasters, manipulating time—Yi Fengchu truly had scant memory.

But was that really so strange?

Who could possibly remember every casual greeting they uttered or every toy they played with in passing during childhood?

In the end, what had seemed baffling and arcane to Zhang's father had simply been part of Xiaoyi Fengchu's ordinary "daily life."

And as for Zhang's father's neurotic, legally dubious behavior, it had presented no danger to Yi Fengchu whatsoever.

The young boy had merely observed quietly as an ant wandered from its trail, quivering in terror, stumbling blindly in circles, before finally plummeting headfirst into the flames.

A tiny ant falling into fire would only produce a momentary flicker before turning to ash—just as Yi Fengchu's impression of Zhang's father had been faint, trivial, and unmemorable, long forgotten over the past decade.

After a moment of contemplation, Yi Fengchu suddenly spoke:

"Thinking back, Zhang's father's decision to come to this mountain must indeed have been related to me."

One day after elementary school, Yi Meishan was held up at work and couldn't pick up Xiaoyi Fengchu on time.

So, when the young boy stepped out of the classroom with his backpack, he was greeted not by his mother's familiar figure but by Zhang's father, whose face was haggard, with dark circles under his eyes.

The teacher, noticing that Zhang's father was unfamiliar, specifically asked Xiaoyi Fengchu if he knew the man, cautioning him not to leave with strangers.

The boy tilted his head up, studying Zhang's father for a moment before nodding slowly. "I know him. He's the uncle from next door. He plays with me every day."

Once outside the school gates, Zhang's father impatiently hit the gas, driving Xiaoyi Fengchu to a rented apartment.

It was an unfinished, bare-walled room. Flickering yellowish light illuminated the narrow room's dusty walls, rough concrete floor, and a few iron cages and a bucket placed in the corner.

Inside the iron cages were a bird with a broken wing, several chirping hamsters, an emaciated kitten, and a dirty-furred rabbit.

The nearby bucket was filled with murky water, crammed with various fish whose slimy scales pressed tightly together, leaving them barely any room to move. Their dull eyes stared blankly as they released strings of bubbles.

Zhang's father roughly opened one of the cages, grabbed the bird with the broken wing, and tore at it violently with both hands.

Instantly, droplets of blood splattered onto his withered, ferocious face. The bird’s sharp wails of pain echoed through the room before gradually fading. The creature lay limp in his grasp, more exhaling than inhaling, its chest barely rising.

Crimson blood dripped down Zhang's father’s face, making him look less like a well-dressed man and more like a blood-drinking jackal—feral and terrifying.

"You have that ability to rewind time, don’t you? Use it now!"

His bloodstained hands pushed the dying bird in front of Xiaoyi Fengchu, urging him frantically, "Hurry—!"

"Show me your power! Let me witness your miracle!"

On the surface, he seemed to be demanding that Yi Fengchu save the bird.

But deep down, what he was screaming with every fiber of his being was—

*Save me!*

*Hurry and save me!*

*Save my life before it burns out completely!*

Xiaoyi Fengchu widened his eyes, looking at the bird with what seemed like pity, but for a moment, he didn’t move.

Zhang's father growled impatiently, "You don’t want to save it, do you? Fine, we’ll try the next one—"

Just as he was about to throw the bird to the ground like garbage, Xiaoyi Fengchu suddenly acted.

He reached out and pressed a finger to the bird’s wound, where bone was visible—and in an instant, time reversed in that small space.

It was as though invisible needle and thread sewed the bird back together. The bone-exposing wounds on its wings rapidly healed. Bones realigned, flesh knitted, feathers regrew—

In mere seconds, the dying bird was restored to its uninjured state.

Face-to-face with this impossible sight, Zhang's father’s hands trembled uncontrollably. He stared at the fully recovered bird, the fire of survival instinct in his eyes flaring violently.

The bird tilted its head, its clear bead-like eyes filled with confusion.

Then, without warning, it pecked Zhang's father’s fingers twice—drawing blood with one strike—before flapping its wings and flying out the window.

Xiaoyi Fengchu said to him, "Let these animals go. The salvation you seek isn’t with them."

The boy’s pitch-black eyes, like a ripple-less dark pool, reflected Zhang's father’s desperate longing. A subtle, inscrutable smile curled at the corners of his lips as he softly instructed,

"Follow my path backward. Go back to where I was first born—there, your wish will be granted."

But Yi Fengchu had never promised *how* that wish would be fulfilled.

He disliked being coerced and threatened, and he would never bestow immortality to someone so cruel and violent.

---

At the center of the campsite, the group had piled up gathered dry branches and lit a fire, setting up a portable pot over the flames.

Eurus sat beside the fire, subtly controlling the surrounding airflow to keep the flames steady.

Zhang Ming, having removed his goggles and thick gloves, said with satisfaction. "Ah, warming up by the fire feels so much better!"

"The water should be about to boil. Let’s drink some hot water first, then maybe cook instant noodles—have them with bread, crackers, and sausages..."

As he spoke, he rubbed his hands in anticipation and lifted the lid off the pot.

Instantly, his eager expression froze. An unspeakable terror spread across his face—

Rolling steam surged from the pot. Through the thick, milky mist, countless bubbles surged and tumbled, carrying a black round object that bobbed to the surface.

The object was covered in coarse black beard-like stubble, beneath which patches of reddened, skin visible with pores and bulging veins were faintly visible.

Streaks of bright red seeped from the flesh, dispersing like drops of red ink in boiling water.

If not for the metallic smell of blood mixed with the steam, assaulting his nostrils with its lingering, meat-like bloody odor, Zhang Ming might have thought this was an illusion from extreme fatigue.

The bubbling water rolled, causing the object to roll over—exposing a frighteningly familiar face.

This… this was—

*A human head, boiling in the pot!*

And not just any head—it was the head of his long-missing father!

Zhang Ming’s face turned ghostly pale. His hands shook, and the lid clattered back onto the pot.

He scrambled backward in the snow, rolled twice in the snow in panic, desperate to get away from the pot. He let out a shrill, terrified scream—