Famine 69: Smile

For a long moment, Gao Zhai was frozen in place, staring dazedly at Si Zhiyan.

Before he could say a word, Zhong Yanqing let out a groundhog-like shriek of alarm: “Farm owner, sir?! Farm owner, sir, you just walked in like that?!!!”

She knew he was powerful, but still… What if?

What if her judgment was wrong? What if the core couldn’t be removed? What if—

After all, everything was just deduction. There were still too many uncertainties.

This, too, was why Liang Qingshuang had never considered seeking help from outside—

The ritual array could only be solved from the inside. Who would risk their own life, step into the sacrificial array, and try to save them?

—Si Zhiyan would.

No matter how easily he spoke of it, Gao Zhai, in his heart, had already prepared to die. He knew this adventure meant almost certain death; the fire and regret surging in his chest had not yet faded, only to be abruptly extinguished.

“You…” he stammered, his pupils glimmering with tears.

Liang Qingshuang was almost speechless.

She looked at Si Zhiyan, then turned to Gao Zhai. Suddenly, she realized—she had nearly lost him forever.

Gao Zhai, Tiger, Old Yang… all those brothers who had decided to risk their lives for the group—she had almost lost them all.

The thought nearly crushed Liang Qingshuang, suddenly blurring her vision. The heartbeat after a narrow escape thundered in her ears.

Liang Qingshuang took a deep breath and nodded heavily. “…Alright!”

“…I’m sorry, farm owner, sir. I’m clumsy with words, I can’t say anything good. But, whether we succeed or fail today, our Spring Grass Mercenary Company will always remember this, and remember this moment.”

“If we make it through this calamity, if you ever need our help in the future, just say the word. Our company will always be your friend!”

Si Zhiyan smiled calmly. “It’s a fair exchange—mutual benefit.”

“Lead the way.”

—As if this were truly mutual benefit!
Gao Zhai and the other mercenaries hurried to his side, meeting each other’s eyes, tears welling.

Before they moved, Zhong Yanqing called out, “Wait.”

She clutched her arm, trembling. “…If I was wrong… If we can’t do it, or it’s even harder than we thought… What then, sir?”

“It’s fine.” Si Zhiyan turned his head, smiling gently. “I trust you.”

For a moment, Zhong Yanqing was struck speechless.

Si Zhiyan turned away, his dark silhouette disappearing into the cave.

—

What then?

This body was only a projection—a phantom avatar. Even if he couldn’t get out, even if it was destroyed, he’d only need a day to reform it.

Compared to losing an avatar, Si Zhiyan was far more concerned that the mercenary company would be depleted by the ordeal, unable to meet the farm’s future population needs.

A fair exchange—mutual benefit.

Nothing more.

Of course, as long as he understood this in his heart, there was no need to explain to others—too many words invite trouble.

With a composed expression, Si Zhiyan followed the mercenaries forward.

Gao Zhai and the others, who were usually rough and rowdy, were now quietly and respectfully guiding him. Not one so much as stepped ahead of him, their faces showing genuine respect.

Even Chen Chunsheng had never received such treatment in his time.

They’d all survived seven years of apocalypse—everyone knew what mattered.

No matter how powerful the farm owner might be, even if he could solve the boiling pool with a flick of the wrist, he’d already fed them endlessly and now delivered a solution to their predicament. He had done more than enough.

Mutual benefit—wasn’t there supposed to be a “mutual” to it?

They’d already given everything they had to offer.

Now that the farm owner had stepped personally into the blood array, the mercenary company had nothing more to give—except…

A few more brothers surviving.

They would save a few more of their own!

In the Famine game, a person’s life was like a bug’s. The mercenary company—only slightly stronger bugs. Besides their own, no one cared about them.

Even Chen Chunsheng, their old leader, had thrown them into the blood ritual.

They had raged, despaired, cursed their own weakness… but truthfully, they weren’t even surprised.

Who bothered to care whether bugs lived or died?

—The farm owner cared.

Gao Zhai could barely describe what he felt at that moment.

“Gao Zhai.” Si Zhiyan’s calm voice called.

Gao Zhai straightened up, “Yes, sir?”

“…No need to be so nervous,” Si Zhiyan glanced at him, pointing forward. “I just wanted to ask—has it always been like this since you came in?”

Where he pointed—

After only a short distance inside the cave, they found the path: neat, tinged here and there with mold. Wooden boards snaked forward, twisting through carefully designed corridors and shrines inset into the cave walls. Sconces with metal lamps punctuated the passage, and tiny stones set in the surface showed the way.

Clearly abandoned, the ornamental plantings at the far end had run wild—overgrown, their roots poking up between the floorboards.

—It was the remains of a Japanese hot spring inn: primitive in decor, yet full of style.

Other than the colored rune marks, there was no indication that this was a blood ritual to the gods.

“Yes, it’s been like this since the first day we came,” Gao Zhai explained. “Even the oil lamps were always lit…”

…

Hands behind his back, Si Zhiyan frowned slightly.

Zhong Yanqing had said this was a solemn and monumental sacrificial formation—not to be profaned.

Why, then, would this civilization draw a divine blood ritual array inside a hot spring resort?

Did the gods just really like bathing? Were divine beings so leisurely?

But then again, it didn’t feel like just a regular spa.

It was missing something crucial.

Without comment, Si Zhiyan led the way further in, up to the northernmost pool.

The north pool was a private area—soon as the door swung open, a blast of ghostly white, sulfur-laden steam billowed out.

The scorching steam left Gao Zhai blinking white, barely able to restrain himself from falling back.

A single glance told Si Zhiyan all he needed to know about Gao Zhai’s earlier hesitation.

This was not just a hot-spring pool, but more like an underground river—stretching off in a band, twisting into darkness without a visible end.

Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle…

And the river was boiling.

Endless bubbles rolled to the surface, clouds of scalding vapor pouring out, making the onlookers’ faces flush red. Even several steps from the bank, Gao Zhai could barely keep his eyes open against the stinging heat. Squinting, he said, “It’s right here.”

Given those conditions, Gao Zhai’s confidence at lasting five minutes underwater, covering thirty meters, was already remarkable.

Si Zhiyan nodded.

Buzz.

The phantom avatar scattered before everyone’s eyes, dissolving seamlessly into vapor.

This was why Si Zhiyan had dared to say he’d solve it—a phantom body could become intangible at will.

Heat couldn’t hurt vapor.

What was impossible for flesh was a breeze for the phantom avatar.

A wisp of vapor slipped quietly among the bubbles, merging noiselessly into the boiling river.

Riding the current down, Si Zhiyan drifted forward, inch by inch. Visibility was minimal; the underground river was hopelessly turbid, a soupy yellowish murk rushing past.

Suddenly, a wave of heat surged—a black shape broke violently through the cloudy water, pressing close to Si Zhiyan’s vision.

Through the avatar’s sight, he saw, clear as day—

It was the face of a person boiled alive.

The eyes were gone, flesh half-rotted, but the mouth stretched wide in a grotesquely exaggerated smile, the corners split nearly to the ears.

—

Had Si Zhiyan had pupils, they would have contracted sharply.

Fortunately, the corpse made no move to attack—even seemed absolutely inert, floating there in the current.

Si Zhiyan slid past, continuing onward.

One, two, three…

More lay ahead, and more still.

At the river’s deepest point, countless corpses lay scattered across the bed.

Their poses varied—some hands raised in prayer, some kneeling, some still caught mid-desperate sprint…

Yet every corpse bore that same cavernous grin, the corners of their mouths torn nearly to the ears, beaming free of shadow.

And all faced the same direction.

As if, even now, they were still reaching for it.

What lay that way?

Guided by the angle of their outstretched arms, Si Zhiyan crept forward with utmost care.

Through the murky, bubbling water, he made out the true form at the center.

At last, he understood what he’d sensed was missing from the moment he entered this cave.

The missing piece—

The front desk.

This seemingly intact, well-appointed abandoned spa had no front desk.

Because its front desk was in the center of the boiling underground river.

Behind the desk, a wooden doll dressed as a shrine maiden sat with eyes closed, head bowed serenely, enthroned above the rolling waters.

Scores of corpses, their faces fixed in that eerie smile, reached towards her, kneeling as if flower petals spreading in a circle—the bodies splayed across the riverbed in layered, overlapping radiance.

Cradled in the shrine maiden puppet’s hands was a soft, golden blossom, its petals waving gently in the water.

[Terrain Bait].

The vision was both harmonious and chilling—an uncanny tableau of divinity.

Si Zhiyan scarcely breathed, stretching a wisp of his form forward to brush the blossom’s yellow petals.

As the air stream touched the flower, the shrine maiden puppet’s head snapped up.

Swish.

On the puppet’s face was painted a radiant smile, the mouth torn nearly to the ears.

At the same moment, a girl’s voice rang out in the minds of everyone within the ritual array:

[Wel…wellwellwellwellwellwell…]

[Welcome!]
[Welcome…to the Smile.]

Crack.

The puppet’s neck lurched left a full ninety degrees, hanging at an impossible angle as jet-black hair fanned out in the boiling water, the mouth gaping and closing.

[Do you… will you have…a smile?]