You made all the streamers on the internet kneel before you when you were asked to make a game.

The old woman, who had no chin, stopped what she was doing and slowly raised her head.

Her mouth was a black hole from which drool constantly dripped downwards.

She stretched out her withered finger and pointed to a spot not far away.

"I'm not bad at directions," I said, looking in the direction she pointed.

It was a butcher shop.

A butcher shop with a sign that reads "Human Flesh".

On the cutting board were various bloody "parts".

Arms, thighs, eyes, heart...

A one-eyed butcher with a face full of scars was chopping a leg bone, which was indistinguishable as a human or something else, into small pieces with a huge cleaver.

Next to the butcher shop stood a wooden sign with the price list written in blood.

[One little finger: 10 Hades coins. 】

One tooth: 5 ghost coins.

A strand of hair (with scalp): 1 ghost money.

[A drop of heart's blood: 50 ghost coins.]

【…】

"I'm not bad at directions" turned pale instantly. So this is how the economic system of the Village of the Dead works.

Here, the player's body is their capital.

Players have to risk their lives to survive.

Holy crap! You have to hurt yourself just to play a game?!

[Is this even a concept a human could come up with? You're a good person, you deserve to die!]

I take back what I said before; it doesn't seem so unacceptable that Brother Long is eating offerings anymore...

This is the real terror; it forces you to make a choice: to die whole, or to live incompleteness?

While everyone was discussing it, "I'm not bad at directions" made his choice.

He took a deep breath and walked to the butcher shop.

"Boss," his voice trembled, "I...I want to exchange it for 100 ghost coins."

The one-eyed butcher raised his head, grinned, and revealed a mouthful of yellow teeth.

"Okay."

He slammed the still-dripping cleaver down onto the cutting board with a loud clang.

"Put your hand here."

"Your choice, ten fingers, or..." The butcher's one eye swept over the player's body, "...a pair of hands?"

"I'm not bad at directions," she said, closing her eyes and placing her left hand, trembling, on the cold cutting board.

He extended his little finger.

"This...this one will do."

"it is good."

The butcher raised his knife.

"ah--!"

A heart-wrenching scream echoed throughout the entire ghost market.

Although the pain sensation in the game is limited to a safe threshold.

But the visual impact of watching his finger being chopped off and blood gushing out, along with the excruciating pain simulated by the system, still caused "I'm Not a Faint of Directions" to have an instant mental breakdown.

He collapsed to the ground, looking at his bleeding left hand and the lone little finger on the cutting board, and burst into tears.

The butcher picked up the finger and casually tossed it into a nearby wooden bucket filled with various limbs.

Then, he took out ten pieces of ghost money stained with dark red blood from the money box and threw them at "I'm Not a Line Guru's" face.

"Take it and get out."

……

Night falls.

One second ago, the sky was still a hazy yellow.

The next second, the huge, blood-red disc completely disappeared.

The whole world was plunged into complete darkness.

"Bang—!"

A deep, resonant gong sounded from the east end of the village, echoing through every corner.

Immediately afterwards, an old voice drifted over.

"The weather is dry and the air is parched—"

"Beware of fire!"

"Bang—!"

The gong sounded again, as if striking everyone's heart.

"The dead embark on their journey—"

"Strangers should avoid this area."

[Server-wide warning: The Village of the Wrongfully Dead has entered a "curfew" state.]

All players must find a house with a picture of a "door god" and take refuge within three minutes.

During the curfew, staying outdoors is strictly prohibited.

Those who violate this rule will bear the consequences themselves.

The chilling system notification sent a chill down the spines of all the players still wandering outdoors.

"Holy crap! Curfew?!"

"Door gods? Where are there any door gods!"

"Run! Find somewhere to hide!"

In an instant, the entire village was thrown into chaos.

The players ran wildly along the dark village road like headless flies.

They groped around, banging on every wooden door they could see.

"Open the door! Let me in!"

"Is anyone inside? Help!"

But most of the houses were deathly silent, offering no response.

Occasionally, a few rooms had two blurry portraits pasted on their doors, resembling the legendary Qin Qiong and Jingde.

The doors to these rooms opened with a push, revealing them crammed with equally panicked players.

A dilapidated house of only a dozen square meters was crammed with twenty or thirty people.

Everyone was crammed together like sardines in a can, making it difficult to even turn around.

But no one dared to complain.

Because outside the door, the clanging of gongs and the heavy footsteps were getting closer and closer.

"He's here! He's here!"

A player peeking through the crack in the door let out a suppressed gasp.

Everyone immediately fell silent.

The only sound in the room was heavy breathing.

A tall figure appeared on the village road.

He was hunched over, so his face was obscured; all that could be seen was a lantern he was carrying.

A lantern made of human skin.

The lantern emitted a ghostly green light, casting an eerie glow on the ground beneath his feet.

He walked very slowly.

With each step, the iron chains beneath his feet dragged on the ground, making a "clattering" sound.

[System notification: Your microphone has noise detection enabled. Please remain quiet.]

The chilling notification made the players inside the room freeze in their breath.

Everyone covered their mouths tightly, afraid of making even the slightest sound.

One player coughed because he was so nervous.

"cough!"

The sound wasn't loud, but it was like a thunderclap in the deathly silent room.

All eyes instantly turned to him, filled with fear and anger.

The player realized he had made a mistake and turned pale with fright.

Outside.

"Splash—"

The sound of the chains dragging on the ground stopped.

The lantern made of human skin slowly turned towards the room where they were.

Green light shone in through the crack in the door.

"No...don't..."

The player who was coughing shook his head in despair.

next second.

A withered, black hand with nails half a foot long pierced through the thin wooden door and precisely grabbed his neck.

"what!"

The scream only lasted half a sound before it abruptly stopped.

The player was forcibly dragged out through the crack in the door.

The screams outside the door quickly turned into the crunching sound of bones being chewed.

Unlike the chaos and turmoil outside.

Inside the Chen Clan Ancestral Hall, a solemn and deathly silence remained.

Lu Zhixing knelt on the prayer mat, expressionless, and followed the village chief in chanting scriptures.

With his photographic memory, he had already memorized the so-called "Rebirth Sutra" perfectly.

At the same time, he also recorded the life stories of all the spirit tablets in the ancestral hall.

Three hundred and seventy-two spirit tablets.

Three hundred and seventy-two people died unjustly.

Each one of them died so "just right".

Lu Zhixing was 100% certain that these life stories were all fabricated.

The problem is, who has the ability to alter the memories of more than three hundred ghosts?

What is it for this suppression?