Chapter Eighty-One: The Mysterious Voice

Zhou Yi shuddered and hurriedly opened his eyes, glancing around, unable to discern the direction of the voice. The surroundings, once shrouded in gloom, now seemed to brighten as if at dawn, and in the dim yellow light, he could make out faint shapes.

“Who’s there? Who are you?” he called.

No answer came. Apart from the sound of the waves, silence reigned. Zhou Yi turned his head slightly, confirming behind him a cliff—yet he could not smell the salty tang of the sea, nor see any boundaries. It appeared infinite, endless.

He turned back, and the rows upon rows of mound-like shapes ahead were now illuminated by the yellowish light. Zhou Yi narrowed his eyes to look more closely, and when at last he saw clearly, he drew in a sharp breath.

These were no mountains. Rather, they were thousands upon thousands of statues, piled one atop another. Each statue bore a different expression: some clutched their own necks as if struggling to free themselves from some invisible restraint, some appeared to kneel and weep, others reached desperate hands toward his direction, as if pleading for rescue.

Zhou Yi had witnessed life and death before; though these were only statues, they gave him a disturbingly real sensation. It was as if all that these figures had endured, he too had experienced; as if he was one of them, and the thought made his hair stand on end.

One of them,
Similar,
Of the same kind,
One among many...

These words lingered in Zhou Yi’s mind, no wonder he’d felt that place was calling him before—perhaps it truly was an attempt to lure him over.

No, he must not go. If he did, would he not become one of those statues himself?

Zhou Yi dared not imagine further. He did not know where this place was, but he was certain that his current predicament was the result of his recent grave injuries—perhaps the gravekeeper had trapped him here? Had he used his own life to imprison Zhou Yi in this place?

That didn’t seem likely. The gravekeeper was formidable, yes, but he was reclusive—a simpleton with brute strength, lacking cunning or subtlety. He could never have orchestrated something so elaborate.

Who, then, had drawn his consciousness here? Was it someone from the City of Time and Space?

As a Chosen One, Zhou Yi was merely level one—not a prominent figure, but perfectly expendable, unlike those lords of the bases with names and reputations, each ruling over several mission worlds.

If there was anything special about him, as Sophia had once noted, it was his rare possession of both psychic and spatial abilities, just like the Master of the City of Time and Space. He was a rare kind of Chosen One, marked with a six-pointed star, yet even this shouldn’t make him a target—after all, these things could not be stolen.

The Hunters? That was even less likely. He’d captured two Hunters, but they were low-level individuals. If revenge had been on their minds, they would have sent someone after him in the last world, not waited until now.

So the question returned—who was that voice, brimming with possessive authority, almost as if it belonged to the master of this very world?

Could it be that he had alarmed the Central Intelligence, or even the Main Brain?

At that moment, the voice spoke again.

“Oh? Quite a lot on your mind, aren’t there?”

Zhou Yi started. Clearly, the speaker could read his thoughts. It seemed there was nothing in his mind that remained secret to this presence.

This realization, paradoxically, calmed Zhou Yi. They were not on the same level. The other party understood him completely, could even read his thoughts.

How could he possibly resist? If this being wanted to kill him, it would have done so already. The fact that he was still alive meant there was some purpose in keeping him here.

Zhou Yi sat down cross-legged, lifted his head slightly, and asked in a low voice, “What is it you want from me? Clearly, I still have some value to you. If there’s something you wish me to do, just say it outright—there’s no point in these guessing games. I’m exhausted.”

A cold chuckle. “You? What could you possibly do?”

Zhou Yi shook his head. “I don’t know either. I’m only a newly minted level-one Chosen One, marked with a special seal but otherwise wholly unremarkable. I don’t know why you’ve gone to such lengths to confine me here. If I were of no use, surely you wouldn’t waste your time talking to me.”

Silence.

Once more, silence fell. Only the sound of the waves. Zhou Yi did not hurry—he couldn’t escape and knew nothing. Worrying or letting his thoughts run wild would accomplish little. He might as well conserve his strength.

He did not know how much time had passed before the voice came again.

“You are interesting. But... you are far too weak.”

Zhou Yi paused. Was this disdain? It was true that he was weak; this was undeniable. Nothing worth discussing. He stayed silent and simply regarded the statues.

Now the space grew even brighter, and the forms of those statues became clearer still; their faces and expressions were distinct. What startled Zhou Yi most was how much the statues resembled himself.

No—that was not it.

They were identical.

The shock of this realization struck him. So many statues, thousands upon thousands, piled into a mountain—if they all looked exactly like him, then who was he?

A mere product of consciousness?
Or mass-produced, like goods from an assembly line?

He pressed his hand against a stone; the cold, unyielding touch steadied him.

There was no reason to panic. So what if they shared his face? He was still himself. With his own thoughts, his own experiences, he was unique—irreplaceable.

Zhou Yi opened his eyes. The entire space was now much brighter than before. It seemed as if the clarity of the space matched his own state of mind, evolving from chaos to faint light, and then to full clarity.

“No use hiding—come out and meet me. Let’s talk. If you have something to say, say it plainly. These roundabout games are exhausting for us both.”

Zhou Yi gazed up at the sky and waited, but no answer came. Time ticked by, second after second. Zhou Yi scratched his ear, completely unhurried.

The gravekeeper was dead, and the spirit stones were in hand. Even if the dire wolf returned, he was confident that Fatty and the others could protect themselves. The wolf, after all, was just a beast, and fire had worked once—it would work again.

In short, Zhou Yi could afford to wait.

Suddenly, there came two bursts of laughter from the sky, sharp and shrill, utterly different from the voice before.

“Heh heh! Well, you’re so weak, you’re useless anyway. Wake up!”

Before Zhou Yi could react, everything before him went black, the space twisting away into nothingness.

Pain!

Everything hurt, most of all his arms—an ache shot through them, mixed with numbness.

Zhou Yi wanted to curse. He hadn’t felt this before; why did it feel as though he’d just been tortured?

But what had that being meant by its words? Was it letting him go, releasing him from that space?

With that thought, Zhou Yi hurriedly opened his eyes. The flickering firelight greeted him. Looking around, though it was still dim, he could tell he was in a stone chamber—the very first stone chamber.

The fire was warming him, but his hands throbbed with pain.

He tried to lift his arms but couldn’t tell if it was numbness or pain—either way, they wouldn’t move. Just as Zhou Yi turned his head, a plump, round face suddenly blocked his view.

Delight—pure delight filled those eyes!

“Boss, you’re finally awake! Any longer and we’d have starved to death!”

“…”

Zhou Yi paused, then shook his head lightly.

“Help me sit up.”

“Right away!”

Fatty quickly shuffled behind Zhou Yi, carefully supporting his back. With nothing else to lean on in this stone chamber, Fatty simply offered his own shoulder as a prop.

Sitting up eased the discomfort in his back, and Zhou Yi felt a little more alive.

“Where’s Cheng Zhi?” he asked.

“At the entrance. The dire wolf came by a while ago, so he’s guarding there with a torch. Should I call him?”

Zhou Yi shook his head, then looked down at his own hands. After a short rest, the pain seemed to subside. His fingers were swollen, but not as badly as from a fracture.

Gritting his teeth, Zhou Yi tried to wiggle his fingers. The movement was slight, but possible; he sighed in relief. It was just overexertion—he’d recover with rest.

“How long was I unconscious?”

Fatty thought for a moment. “Almost twenty-four hours. It’s still raining outside, but much less now. The entire valley is flooded. This kind of rain—you wouldn’t see this much in a whole year on the Gobi desert. It’s like the sky’s sprung a leak.”

At this, Fatty paused, licking his lips.

“Boss, please take out something to eat. I’m starving here!”