Mr. Death in the Steam World

This harvest added another 24 hours to Moen's lifespan, leaving him with 30 hours remaining.

On his way home, Moen spent all his savings to buy a Webley revolver.

Thanks to this era of alternating order and chaos, guns were practically everywhere, and he bought one with almost no effort.

As a professional shooter, the long-lost weapon greatly boosted his confidence.

With the help of "Meow Swiftness", he felt that he could get home much faster.

"Hoo-ha--"

Moen ran breathlessly to the door and stopped.

He thought he had unlimited stamina, but after running continuously for several hours, even a dead body would feel a little tired.

On the way home, whether it was psychological or not, Moen kept smelling a faint floral fragrance.

The fragrance of the flowers was exactly the same as the one he had smelled in the old laboratory building.

The source of the fragrance lies within this door, which is both familiar and unfamiliar.

"Clara, you have to be alright..."

Moen took a deep breath and pushed open the door that held his hopes.

In the living room, Clara was still sitting on the old sofa, holding a needle and thread in her hand.

Hearing the door open, she looked up with a big smile on her face.

"Brother? You're back?"

Thankfully, nothing bad has happened yet, and everything is still in time.

Moen breathed a sigh of relief and quickly ran over to grab Clara's shoulder:

"Clara, hurry up and pack your things, we have to..."

Wait a minute, something seems off about her expression.

Her eyes were unfocused, and although her smile remained, it always gave the impression that she was thinking about something else.

"Clara?" Moen frowned. "What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

Clara tilted her head and looked at him with an innocent smile:

"No, I'm fine."

She paused, as if suddenly remembering something interesting:

"By the way, bro, I ran into an uncle last night when I went out to take out the trash."

"Uncle? What kind of uncle?!"

Moen grabbed Clara's shoulder.

Clara didn't notice Moen's unusual behavior and continued calmly:

"That uncle was such a nice person; he gave me something."

"What is it? Could it be—"

Seeing Moen's anxious face, Clara's smile slowly widened:

"My uncle gave me a flower, it's so pretty!"

Moen felt a "buzz" explode in his head.

"What does that flower look like? Did that uncle do anything to you?"

Moen asked urgently, but Clara did not answer.

She just sat there, tilting her head, maintaining that innocent smile.

Gradually, that smile became more and more exaggerated, more and more distorted, more and more...

"Brother, look—"

Her voice had changed. It was still Clara's voice, but it had gained a touch of sweetness that sent chills down one's spine.

"That's what it looks like."

As Clara spoke, several vines slowly emerged from her sleeves.

In the very center of the vines, a flower blooms wildly, its entire body blood red and incredibly vibrant.

Moen trembled and stepped back, feeling the hairs on his body stand on end.

The petals swayed gently as Clara spoke, as if mocking his foolishness.

"Clara," no, the flower of the other shore, it whispered:

"Dear brother, have you ever wondered why there are suddenly so many mice in our house?"

"No, no, no..."

Moen crouched on the ground with his hands behind his head, instantly lost in a mental storm.

He recalled that Professor Leonard's diary mentioned that the spider lily could nourish the surrounding life.

He remembered Clara mentioning to him casually that there had been a sudden increase in the number of rats near her home in the past two days.

As his thinking deepened, a terrifying truth surfaced in his mind:

That damn flower has been lurking near his house all along!

There was no point in thinking about it anymore, so he turned and ran.

However, as soon as he put his foot down, he found that the ground had become sticky and soft, like stepping on a layer of rotten flesh, and he couldn't get any leverage at all.

The flower of the other shore chuckled softly, and a vine reached out and gently brushed against his cheek.

In that instant, he felt as if a layer of fog had been lifted from his vision.

The cabin's exterior walls, door frames, and window sills were all covered with dark red vines.

The branches and leaves overlapped in layers, winding around the entire house like blood vessels.

His current situation is like a lamb entering a tiger's den.

Moen took a deep breath and tried to appear calm:

"What exactly do you want? If you want to kill me, then just do it. Why waste your breath talking to me here?"

Hearing Moen's words, the Flower of the Other Shore smiled even more happily:

"What's the rush? It's not easy to find someone to talk to, and I haven't finished chatting yet."

Moen didn't respond; he just stared intently at it.

The Flower of the Other Shore waited a while, and seeing that he remained silent, her tone instantly turned cold:

"Since you're so ungrateful, just hand over the stuff."

Moen's heart sank, but his face remained impassive:

"What is it?"

"Heh, don't play dumb with me." The Flower of the Other Shore's gaze fell on his chest, as if she could see through everything.

"That thing on you—oh, I think you call it a containment object, right?"

The flower on the other shore tilted its head.

"My rats saw everything clearly when you hanged yourself that day."

"Seeing you lying on the ground, lifeless, I wasn't even planning to help you anymore, but alas..."

The other shore flower's voice suddenly became cloyingly sweet, and her eyes turned dangerous.

"A completely dead man is now standing right in front of me, all alive and kicking."

The flower of the other shore tilted its head slightly, its blood-red vines still wrapped around Clara, but it did not rush to tighten them.

"Ha... to be brought back to life, do you know how long I've waited for this opportunity?"

Moen stared at it intently, without saying a word.

He noticed a detail.

Although the vines covered the entire room, the few near the window were much darker in color than the rest, and some even showed signs of withering.

This flower may not be as serene as it appears.

Seeing that Moen actually had time to think about other things, the Flower of the Other Shore sneered:

"You seem to have misunderstood something. I'm not asking you for a favor."

The vines suddenly tightened.

Clara's body jerked backward, the twisted smile still on her face, but she let out a muffled groan.

That was Clara's own voice.

"I just think that searching you directly is too troublesome and not elegant enough."

The other shore flower spoke slowly and deliberately,

"What if you hide it somewhere I don't know? I'll have to go through all the trouble to find it, and you—"

It manipulated Clara's hand and gently patted its own cheek.

"You'll tell me obediently, won't you?"