Taoist Master, wishing for a sacrifice-based system

Chapter 82 Ordering takeout with the note "No spicy" and getting punished by heaven? The ultimate combo of lying, stomach feels like it's being stabbed!

The pain lasted for about thirty seconds.

then.

slowly.

It has decreased.

Like the receding tide.

From the elbow to the wrist.

From the wrist to the palm.

From the palm to the fingertips.

Finally, it disappeared.

Black Dog Bro.

Kneeling on the studio floor.

He was panting.

His plaid shirt was soaked with sweat.

He slowly raised his head.

Looking at the computer screen in front of me.

on the screen.

The document is still open.

The cursor is blinking.

first row.

"According to an insider."

These seven words.

It's displayed there properly.

The cursor is positioned after the cursor.

Waiting for him to type the next word.

Black Dog Brother stared at the screen.

He slowly extended his right hand.

Trembling.

It was put back on the keyboard.

He tried.

Try again.

He pressed "G".

pain.

same.

Exactly the same.

The pain of a hammer smashing bones.

From fingertips to elbows.

All the way.

"ah!!!"

He called out again.

His right hand retracted again.

This time, he fell straight to the ground.

He lay on his side on the studio floor.

It curled up into the shape of a shrimp.

They held each other's arms together.

My whole body is shaking.

Xiao Zhou rushed over to help him.

"Brother! Brother, what's wrong? Should we call 120?"

Black Dog Brother was lying on the ground.

He covered his face with his left hand.

He covered his left cheek, which had been swollen from slapping himself.

His glasses were crooked.

The bloodstains on the shirt cuffs gleamed faintly under the light.

He remembered an hour earlier.

The wish he made at Qingyun Temple.

He recalled the gray-white column of smoke that had solidified in mid-air after the three incense sticks rose, remaining motionless.

He remembered what Qin Du had said.

"Monks do not speak falsehoods."

Black Dog Brother was lying on the floor.

He suddenly...

An extremely terrifying guess has emerged.

Telling lies.

Get slapped.

To tell lies.

Get hit by a hammer.

What if?

After that.

Can we no longer tell lies?

Can we no longer lie?

Never again.

Is this a rumor?

If it's his life.

The skill that allows one to survive.

That ability to extract money from other people's suffering.

That ability he built up with lies, allowing him to wield immense influence in the gossip world.

One hour ago.

It was the wish he himself made.

thorough.

Is it obsolete?

Black Dog Brother was lying on the ground.

He began to make a sound.

It's not crying.

It's not a laugh.

It was a suppressed, extremely unpleasant sob that came from deep within the throat.

Like a dog with a broken leg.

In a dark alley.

The sound of someone licking their wounds alone.

Xiao Zhou and Lao Ma exchanged a glance.

They didn't know what had happened.

All they know is...

Their boss.

This afternoon, after returning from a Taoist temple.

like.

He's become a different person.

Black Dog Brother lay on the studio floor for a full twenty minutes before getting up.

Xiao Zhou was helped to sit down in a chair, Lao Ma handed him a glass of water, and Xiao Li stood beside him, not knowing what to say.

The three of them stared at each other, wide-eyed.

Black Dog didn't even drink a sip of water, and waved his hand: "Go home today, stop work for now."

"But the agency is pressuring us, saying forty-eight hours—"

"I said stop, and I'll stop!"

After shouting that, the three of them immediately packed their things and left.

The studio fell silent.

Black Dog Brother sat alone at his workstation, staring at the seven words on the computer screen.

"According to an insider."

The cursor is still flashing.

Slowly extend your right hand, hovering it above the keyboard, about two centimeters away from the keys.

I didn't dare press it.

The pain from just now is still lingering in my body's memory; all ten fingers are still slightly numb.

I tentatively pressed my index finger down one millimeter.

I didn't touch the keycaps.

It doesn't hurt.

One millimeter further down.

I still haven't encountered it.

It still doesn't hurt.

When my fingertip was less than a millimeter away from the "G" key, my finger stopped on its own.

It's not that I'm afraid to press it.

My entire arm felt like it was frozen, and the muscles wouldn't obey me.

The body is smarter than the brain; the body has learned that pressing this key is like a hammer smashing bones.

We sat there in a stalemate for five minutes.

Finally, I turned off the computer.

"I'm not writing anymore."

He mumbled something under his breath, in a very soft voice.

"I'm not writing today, I'll do it tomorrow."

I stood up, packed my things, and prepared to go home.

My stomach growled.

I haven't eaten anything since noon; I've been too busy running to Qingyun Temple and getting slapped.

I took out my phone, opened the food delivery app, and searched for the mala tang restaurant I usually eat at.

When placing the order, I habitually typed four words in the remarks section: "No chili."

This is an old habit. Every time I order mala tang, I write "no spice" because the default spiciness level of the restaurant is too high. If I write "no spice," the restaurant will put in less spice, but they will still put in some, just enough to make it a mildly spicy level that I can tolerate.

Actually, I can eat spicy food.

And I really like spicy food.

The phrase "No chili" is technically a lie. It actually means "Less chili," but it's written as "No."

I tapped "Submit Order".

Nothing happened.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"It seems that this only triggers when you lie to someone's face or tell a lie, not on your phone."

I comforted myself, put my phone back in my pocket, locked the studio door, and went downstairs.

I got into the car in the underground parking garage.

The food arrived 25 minutes later.

Sitting in the car, I opened the packaging. As soon as the plastic box opened, a spicy aroma wafted out.

There were indeed chili peppers inside, though less than usual, but still some.

I picked up my chopsticks and took a bite.

Put it in your mouth.

I chewed it twice.

Swallow it.

Then it felt like my stomach had been stabbed.

It's not a metaphor.

It really felt like a knife had stabbed right in the middle of my stomach and then twisted half a turn clockwise.

"Holy crap!!"

He sprayed out a mouthful of spicy hot pot, splattering it all over the steering wheel, the dashboard, and the windshield.

Red chili oil, vermicelli, enoki mushrooms, quail eggs—it all covered my face and the whole car.

He clutched his stomach tightly with both hands, curled up into a ball, and rested his forehead on the steering wheel.

pain.

This is not a normal stomachache.

It is a persistent, intense burning pain that comes from deep within the stomach wall and feels like someone is sanding the stomach lining.

Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead onto the steering wheel.

It lasted for about forty seconds.

Then it gradually diminishes.

It has the same pattern as finger pain: it comes on suddenly and goes away quickly.

The pain completely disappeared after forty seconds.

He slumped in the driver's seat, panting heavily, his shirt soaked through again on the back.

"This is fucking amazing!"

It took him a while to catch his breath, and then his mind started racing.

What did you just do?

I ordered takeout.

The note said "No chili peppers".

Actually, I can eat spicy food.

These four words are a lie.

Then, after taking the first bite, my stomach exploded.

What does this mean?

This means that it's not just lying to someone's face that will get you slapped.

It's not just typing out fabricated press releases that causes excruciating finger pain.

Even a casually typed "No chili" on your phone can trigger physical punishment if the content doesn't align with your true feelings.

If you lie, you'll be proven wrong.

Fingers tell lies, and bones are hammered.

I wrote a fake note saying I ate something and now I have stomach cramps.

The rule for this wish is no longer "discovering other people's secrets".

The rule is: From now on, Brother Black Dog will be completely free from the word "fake".

Any form of fake.

Spoken. Written. Hit. Implied.

If the content does not match the true thoughts, the body will punish in the most corresponding way.

If you tell lies, you'll get a beating.

If you tell a lie, you'll get slapped.

The stomach digests the "fake" food preferences, and then the stomach gets beaten up.