Puzzle Madness

Chapter 210 The First Dream War (Sixteen)

The tourist patted the metal box beside him. He was at ease and relaxed, as if Ai Xi, whom he was meeting for the first time from afar, was actually an old friend he had known for many years.

"The Asia-Europe Post has really gone all out this time. Let me do the math: each life support storage unit is crammed with three criminals, so there are—well, there are definitely several hundred in total."

"The latest shipments from Mong Cai, the stock delivered from the West Asia and North Africa branches; most of them are probably here. There have been quite a few disappearances in Mong Cai lately, haven't there? Most of the drug addicts have been caught."

He pressed his hand against one nostril and inhaled exaggeratedly:
"Hiss—the hearts here are so thick right now, even ordinary people like you and I can feel it."

A burnt, scorched smell. Extremely faint, yet undeniably present; it's as if a fire has broken out among the stars, and the faint scent drifts to Earth.

Ai Xi stopped and looked her up and down; her gaze finally settled on the tourist's hand, wrapped in a blood-stained bandage:
"Little priest? Don't call me that."

"Who are you? You—you're the guy who shot the air rifle at the school that day?"

She frowned, her hands still in her pockets, rubbing the transmitter:
"So, this is indeed a trap."

The tourist waved his hand, causing the person bound to him to sway along—that person's skin was full of wrinkles, clearly very old.
"That's not quite right. I asked you to come and help, but whether you're willing to help or not is your decision."

"I did fire the shot earlier, but I had my reasons."

"In exchange, I can share some information with you. Put that transmitter you're holding aside for now—once your good friend arrives, we probably won't be as friendly as we are now."

"Dead men don't reveal any information. Well, anyway, since I'm dead, you'd have a hard time knowing what will happen."

He straightened his floral shirt, his face becoming even more serious; he drew a gleaming, dark pistol from his back waist.

“Essentially, I’m here to form an alliance with you, little priest. If you feel insecure, you can take this in your hand.”

He casually tossed the pistol off the tower; the magazine followed—from such a height, the pistol bounced twice before landing precisely at Ai Xi's feet.

Ai Xi frowned, picked up the pistol thrown by a tourist, and awkwardly checked the ammunition and safety before loading the magazine.

She understood the reasoning behind tourists using this terminology:

"Don't use that word to refer to me. DouDou is my friend, not my god."

The tourist plopped down, resting his chin on his hand:

"What's the difference? Anyway, let's listen first—"

“Actually, I know you better than most people. I understand why you don’t fear him, but instead feel close to him: not because you are such a naive teenager.”

"There's a line by Oscar Wilde that I don't know if you've heard: 'The burned child loves fire.'"

He pointed to the huge wound on Ai Xi's face, and the old man on his back let out a long, thin groan:

"In your case, it's literally what it means—you like dangerous things. It's not about being a cool boy, skipping class to fight at the skating rink, or sneaking out at night behind your parents' backs. It's not some kind of teenage danger."

"It's a real [danger]: a power that can crush you, any human being, at any moment; more intimidating to creatures active in the night than fire, and hotter and more painful. You're delighted to be able to influence such a chaotic and violent thing, aren't you?"

“Aish, I also know why you have this name. Your mother smoked this brand of cigarettes when she was pregnant with you; neither your father nor your mother even wanted to leave you their surname: how did you get the burns on your face? How did you get the scars on your body? How did you spend your childhood? It's no secret. Too many people don't deserve to have children, right?”

“I completely agree with that; I’m a lot like you. I went through the same thing.” He paced back and forth, the old man’s head on his shoulder swaying with him.
"But you are truly lucky."

"When the pain becomes unbearable, you begin to pray—and you receive a response. The deity walking on the earth gently waves his hand, and divine punishment descends, making those who brought you suffering vanish forever, leaving only two stains on the concrete floor:"

"The body can no longer be beaten, cut, burned, or drowned by others, and no one will use you as a cigarette extinguisher or ashtray after you go home."

"Who could resist becoming a believer when witnessing such a miracle?"

"Not a carpenter's child, not a prophet in the desert, nor a prince dozing under the linden tree; just a classmate who sits next to you, always wearing a silly raincoat all year round."

"I don't want incense, I don't want indulgences, I don't need you to observe fasting or take vows, I just want the answers to my homework and the company of playing games."

"Indestructible, nothing can harm him; such power would actually ask something of you: before that, no one had ever asked you for anything, because you had no value to give."

"Wow! You must be the happiest believer in the world! Even though you like to talk about 'friends,' it doesn't change the fact that you're a believer—"

boom!
The bullet missed the tourist; instead, it flew out at an angle and hit a box, sending up a trail of sparks.

Ai Xi held the gun, her face flushed red, the burn scars almost glowing. She adjusted her shooting posture and checked the magazine, seemingly wondering why she had missed the target.

More than anything, there was rage. The redness surged to his ears, covered his cheeks, and turned into bloodshot veins around the whites of his eyes.

"Is there a problem with the rifling?"

She was breathing heavily, her voice low, hoarse, and dry, as if it were filled with phlegm.

The tourists remained unhurried. He gave a thumbs-up and a forefinger, and wagged them:

“You can’t shoot like that. This place is full of heart ether right now, you can’t hit anyone by aiming directly at them—and your little one who’s on the roof shouldn’t come in either: it’s for her own good.”

Where were we? Oh, actually we're quite similar.

"You spend every day by DouDou's side, yet you haven't developed any mental illness or become delusional. Given your upbringing and family background, what are the chances of that? Actually, it's because you don't have any mental illness, nor do you feel you've committed any crime."

“You have a true antisocial personality. Your heart is not empty, because it is filled with hatred—you hate every human being equally.”

"Whether it's the analysis department of Asia-Europe Post or the [big spiders] in the network, they all think that you have anchored DouDou to some extent, making him maintain a behavior pattern that is somewhat similar to that of humans, so no one dares to attack you."

“I know it’s not. That’s just how DouDou is; quite the opposite—it’s him who keeps you from being exposed: exposing how much you really want to set the world on fire.”

The tourists covered their mouths and chuckled.
"I've seen the people you've taken down, and I even cleaned up the mess for you. A bit green, but with potential: that's what people said about me when I first started out; oh my! Time flies."

"You can kill in the name of protection, isn't that great? There's no need to tell the dead that you want to gain experience, everyone understands."

"Haha, you have no idea how much I'm like you. Anyway, as someone who's been there, let me share some insights:"

"Humans are just stones rolling and bumping around, shaping each other in the process; that's how we are born, so there's no need to hate them."

(End of this chapter)