My Strange Tale Love Strategy Simulator

In Zhang Ying's blurred vision, the figure in the black coat gradually disappeared.

All the outlines were fading, as if they were merging into the air behind them.

And from the gradually disappearing darkness, another figure emerged.

Wide-brimmed hat, plaid shirt, leather vest.

That familiar, always smiling face emerged from the fading shadows.

Jack.

Zhang Ying's lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but no sound came out of his throat. His vision became increasingly blurry, and Jack's face turned into a shimmering spot of light in his eyes, while everything around him seemed to be spinning and distorting.

He couldn't hold on any longer.

With my eyes closed, I was plunged into darkness.

……

When Zhang Ying opened his eyes, he didn't see the sky of the western town, but a hazy gray sky.

He sat on a stone step.

The stone steps are made of old bluestone slabs, worn smooth and shiny, with moss growing in the cracks. On either side of the steps are two faded wooden doors, the Spring Festival couplets on them now white, their edges curled up, rustling in the wind.

He recognized the place—the old rural house, the place where he lived as a child.

Zhang Ying looked down and saw his hands.

It was a very small hand, with delicate skin, short and thick fingers, and dirt stuck in its nails.

He was wearing a faded blue jacket with two holes in the knees, revealing scabbed scars on his exposed knees.

He squatted on the stone steps, his hands on his knees, his mouth open, crying loudly.

Tears welled up in his eyes, streaming down his cheeks and dripping onto the stone steps, leaving a small, dark stain. He cried out loudly, his voice hoarse, his whole body trembling with each sob.

In the courtyard, an old man in a tattered military overcoat was pressing a ragged beggar under his knees.

That was his grandfather.

Grandpa's face was angry and ferocious, and the wrinkles on his face were squeezed together from the force, like a crumpled tree bark.

His hands gripped the beggar's arms tightly, and his knees pressed against the beggar's back, pinning the man to the ground, unable to move.

The beggar's face was pressed to the ground, his cheek against the yellow earth, and he was making incoherent cries. His clothes were tattered, his exposed skin was covered in filth and wounds, his fingers were black and thin, scratching at the ground like withered branches, and his fingernails were full of mud.

Zhang Ying sat on the stone steps, watching this scene, and her crying grew even louder.

After a while, the sound of police sirens came from afar, growing louder and louder as they approached. Blue and red lights flashed at the alley entrance, and two police cars stopped in front of the old house.

Several uniformed police officers got out of the car. One of them squatted down, handcuffed the beggar's hands behind his back, and the other two officers helped pull the beggar up from the ground and shoved him toward the police car.

As the beggar was being put into the police car, he turned around and glanced at Zhang Ying.

There was no anger or hatred in those eyes, only an indescribable emptiness.

The police car closed its doors, started its engine, and drove out of the alley. The sirens gradually faded into the distance until they disappeared completely at the end of the street.

The courtyard fell silent.

Grandpa dusted off his knees, turned around, and walked to the stone steps. The anger on his wrinkled face had vanished, replaced by a weary gentleness. He knelt down, looking Zhang Ying, who was sitting on the steps, at eye level.

"Don't cry," Grandpa reached out and wiped away Zhang Ying's tears with his rough thumb. "It's alright."

Zhang Ying sobbed, snot running down his lips, but he didn't bother to wipe it away.

"Grandpa... I was just kindly opening the door to give alms to that beggar... Why did that beggar want to take me away?"

Grandpa was silent for a moment, then withdrew his hands and placed them crossed on his knees. He looked towards the alley entrance, where the police cars had already driven away, leaving only an empty road.

"Child," the grandfather's voice was deep, "you must know that there are many kinds of enemies in this world."

Zhang Ying looked up through her tear-filled eyes at her grandfather's face.

"Some enemies, whether driven by necessity or oppression, will harm you." Grandpa turned his head and looked into Zhang Ying's eyes. "Like that beggar, your grandpa knelt down to save you. If you encounter such an enemy, Grandpa believes you won't harbor any ill will towards him."

Grandpa paused.

"This kind of enemy is the most pitiful. If you understand them, even an enemy can become a friend."

Zhang Ying sniffed but didn't say anything.

"And that beggar just now," Grandpa's voice deepened, "he used your kindness as bait, waiting for you to open the door before dragging you away and selling you. You might not feel hostility towards this kind of enemy at first, but he will actually hurt you."

A cold glint flashed in Grandpa's eyes.

"This kind of enemy is the most hateful. If you encounter this kind of enemy in a critical situation—"

His lips moved, and he uttered four words.

"Kill them all."

……

Zhang Ying opened his eyes from his dream.

A sharp pain throbbed through his brain, as if something was repeatedly striking inside his skull, from his left temple to his right temple, from his forehead to the back of his head.

Each impact was accompanied by a sharp pain, making him gasp for breath.

He also experienced a buzzing sound in his ears, like a swarm of bees buzzing around him, making it impossible for him to hear anything clearly.

He gasped and opened his eyes to look around.

Then he froze.

All he could see was a simple black and white.

The whole world seemed to have turned into an old-fashioned black and white photograph; the walls were black, the ceiling was black, the windows were black, everything was black.

The outlines of those objects were drawn with white lines, as if someone had drawn a simplified map of the world on black paper with a white pen.

The wood grain of the walls consists of thin white lines, the edge of the bed frame is a thick white line, and the light coming through the window is a blurry white.

Zhang Ying quickly understood this.

Because of the full force of his use of the Evil Eye, his optic nerve was severely damaged. When the blood vessels burst from the surface of his eyeballs, it wasn't just bleeding; it also damaged his optic nerve.

He can still see, but only in black and white; he has lost the ability to distinguish colors.

This is the first time this has happened to him.

Zhang Ying took a deep breath, suppressed his unease, and began to survey his surroundings.

He was lying on a small wooden bed. The bed was small, just big enough for him to lie flat. The bed board was hard, and there was only a thin mattress on it. The color of the mattress was grayish-black in his vision, and he couldn't tell what color it originally was.

The surrounding room was a small, wooden guest room, barely decorated. There was no table, no chairs, no cabinets, only this bed.

Zhang Ying sat up in bed.

A wave of soreness surged through his body instantly, as if someone had punched him countless times, every muscle screaming in exhaustion. His waist, back, shoulders, and arms—every part of him ached.

He sat on the edge of the bed, moved his fingers, and made sure that all the parts of his body were still there.

Just then, the door to the room was pushed open.