Deceitful Game

Chapter 174 [Hell Transformation]

At the critical moment, Mingpo pulled her finger away.

He glanced back at Chizuko, and without her permission, he simply lifted the piano lid back up.

Chizuko remained completely silent throughout.

She neither went mad nor offered any explanation. She didn't even stop Mingpo after he lifted the piano lid again.

He simply stared at the piano in silence, his gaze empty and lifeless.

It looked like a dilapidated, motionless doll, exuding a dangerous aura.

Just because of her one thought, the piano almost came to life and attacked Mingpo.

Mingpo blinked, having gained a general understanding of the true mechanics of this dungeon.

Chizuko is indeed gentle.

Her attacks were almost always warnings.

Even that demonic "terrifying menswear model" only wanted to give Mingpo an over-the-shoulder throw—from the perspective of that time, he probably wanted to throw Mingpo directly out of that window full of broken glass.

This level of injury is highly unlikely to be fatal. At most, it will only result in severe bleeding.

This level of injury can generally be healed by completing the game.

This cyclical mechanism, compared to Zhou Zhiqing's level of games, seems far too simple.

Whether it's the dust-free Russian nesting doll, the strand of hair inside the piano, the shattered photograph—and the dissonant notes on the piano—all clearly reveal the rules of this game.

What Mingpo needs to do is probably put the broken photograph he took from the piano back into the frame. He'll likely need the ring afterward—but basically, it's a puzzle even a primary school student could solve.

It suits Chizuko's age perfectly.

Being able to get a spot in a game like this is undoubtedly lucky.

The game's designers and participants all share a tacit understanding: get it done quickly and never see each other again.

This was Chizuko's purpose.

She doesn't want others to get close to her.

I don't want to talk to people, nor do I want to kill anyone.

I'd rather let myself slowly wither away in this paradoxical space where I'm trapped.

"—Chizuko."

Mingpo turned around, tilted her head slightly, and looked earnestly into the girl's eyes: "Is this really okay?"

"Just staying here—all alone. Not talking to anyone, not fighting with anyone. Waiting for someone who may never come back."

Chizuko turned her head slightly and looked at Mingbo.

She remained silent for a moment before finally speaking.

"That's my mission. That's what I have to do."

"It's like my father telling me to practice the piano diligently, and my mother telling me to stay home obediently. If I had done both, those unfortunate things wouldn't have happened."

"You mean—"

Mingbo spoke softly, "Is it the time you hid the ring, causing your parents to argue? Or the time you didn't perform well in an exam or performance because of your injured finger?"

"That's not your fault, Chizuko. It's not your father's or mother's fault either. Nobody is at fault."

"It's just that I'm not capable enough, I'm in a bad mood, and I'm unlucky."

Everything is accidental.

Mingpo answered with absolute certainty.

Every word is true.

Every word was what Chizuko wanted to hear.

Minpak knew she wasn't being honest—despite Chizuko's constant talk of a mission, she deeply loathed this so-called "mission." Yet, she had no choice but to obey, otherwise she couldn't explain why things had taken such a sharp turn for the worse. She also couldn't accept that this was her family's fate—that would seem too cruel, too inevitable.

And coincidence, chance—

This was exactly the explanation she wanted to hear, but couldn't come up with herself.

Chizuko opened her eyes wide and looked at Mingbo.

A flicker of newfound curiosity stirred within her withered heart: "Uncle, are you... a prophet? How do you know everything?"

—Uncle?

Mingpo paused for a moment, then smiled gently.

He still thought he was the "older brother" age, but he didn't expect that he was already considered an uncle.

"No, Uncle."

Mingpo's voice was gentle: "You can think of your uncle as—your teacher."

"----teacher!"

Chizuko's voice became a little clearer: "May I call you that?"

From the dry, hoarse voice that followed crying, it became lively again.

"certainly."

Mingpo said softly.

He patted the seat next to him. Chizuko moved slightly towards Amber, and the two were no longer two body lengths apart—but half a body length apart.

From this distance, Mingbo could clearly see Chizuko's trembling eyelashes. But she couldn't hear her breathing, nor could she feel her body temperature.

"How long have you been a paradox, Chizuko?"

As if in casual conversation, Mingpo asked.

"have no idea----"

Chizuko was also somewhat confused.

She clearly had no idea how much time had passed outside, and was only trying to recall: "I only remember—the year I became a liar, China qualified for the World Cup."

----very good.

If the timeline hasn't changed much, then it should be 2002.

Mingbo pinpointed the time with remarkable precision.

That means—

"It's been more than twenty years."

Mingpo let out a soft breath, her voice becoming even gentler: "It seems—you're living a very happy life outside."

The one who is still alive, Chizuko, should be six or seven years older than Myoha now.

"If that's the case, then maybe I should call you 'older sister'."

Mingbo said gently, "I was born in 1995. What year were you born?"

Even as he tried to comfort her, Chizuko simply lowered her head and remained silent.

pat.

Tears fell onto the piano keys.

The girl did not answer Mingpo's question.

Confused and lost. She clenched her little fists tightly around her skirt.

Her voice trembled slightly as she asked, "Teacher—is she—not coming back?"

Mingbo was silent for a moment, then answered affirmatively, "Probably—yes."

"If more than 20 years have passed and she has not returned to the game of deception, it means she is very happy."

"There's no need for her to return to the game of deception, and no one is plotting against her. She neither harms others nor is she harmed. For a good person, that's exactly what's good."

The girl became even sadder after Mingpo's words.

She cried even louder.

Blood seeped from the photos on the wall, and the piano on the second floor emitted an eerie melody. The entire room distorted as if in a hallucination—Mingpo felt as if many things were staring at her.

But amidst that strange sense of crisis, Mingpo laughed.

He reached out and patted Chizuko's head.

"Chizuko, do you know?"

Mingbo suddenly spoke, voicing what Chizuko was thinking: "You subconsciously set up this puzzle—which means you're subconsciously searching for an answer."

He wiped away the girl's tears and said softly, "An answer that will make you give up."

"I happen to know a little bit of divination, would you like to listen?"

Mingpo knew that was exactly what little girls her age longed for.

Even if you say you don't believe it, you'll still feel excited.

Although not like Ai Shiping, who is liked by everyone—perhaps because of her childhood experiences, Mingpo happens to be good at dealing with little girls of this age.

"Before that, tell me—what is your title?"

Using this topic as a starting point, Mingpo patiently asked.

"It is—[Hell Transformation]."

The girl was silent for a moment, then uttered a chilling name.

She said sadly, "This is—what my father passed down to me."

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