That Dropped Chinese Novel’s Useless Me Says No to the System

Chapter 117 The Silent Cross-examination

Stepping out of the bookshop, Hua and I walked in silence.

The street was still full of people, hawking voices, footsteps, the rumble of ox carts over bluestone slabs—everything looked exactly the same, as if nothing had happened.

Yet my chest felt tight, and only one word kept circling in my head: “the eye.”

That red eye.

The last line Su the shopkeeper wrote was still burned into my sight like a brand.

He called it a nightmare, but dreams always blur truth and falsehood—he wrote it like an oath, saying something urged him on. If it were just an ordinary nightmare, at worst he’d wake in a cold sweat. Why, then, hand over the book? And why hand it specifically to Juan? It felt exactly like a man being led by an invisible leash.

I clenched my palms until the fingers hurt just to force myself calm. But the calmer I got, the more wrong it all seemed. From beginning to end, every trail circled back to the same thing: that eye.

Hua said nothing. His fan stayed closed, not a sound from him.

I glanced his way; his expression was dark and still, like a deep well. The sharp-tongued Hua I was used to had gone quiet for a long while now.

We walked side by side for who knew how long, and before I realized it, we had returned to the entrance of the Spring-Come Inn.

My heart dropped.

Here?

Just days ago, the innkeeper and his whole group vanished near that ruined temple. We had heard they marched out in a great crowd and never returned. The doors had been shut tight then—not even a stray dog in sight.

But now it was completely different. The doors stood wide open, with figures moving inside.

People were gathering at the street entrance, craning their necks. And there were men carrying stretchers in and out.

The stretchers were covered with white cloth.

The bulges underneath were unmistakably bodies.

Someone walked a little too fast; a corner of the cloth flipped up, and I caught a glimpse of a pale, lifeless hand.

A chill shot straight down my spine.

Dead bodies?

“What’s going on?” My voice tightened, instinctively lowering. It made no sense. Weren’t the people of the Spring-Come Inn all missing? Then who the hell was being carried in and out now? Where did these bodies come from?

I hurried forward and grabbed a passerby, ready to press him for answers. But the instant he met my eyes, he panicked like I’d put a knife to his throat. He tore himself free and bolted. No matter what I shouted after him, he wouldn’t utter a single word.

My temper flared. I shot Hua a hand signal: Useless—no one will talk.

He only cast me a mild glance, lifting his closed fan slightly, telling me to hold.

But my skin was crawling; there was no way I could wait. I muttered, “Let’s just go in and see for ourselves.”

Before he could stop me, I stepped across the threshold.

Strangely, no one stopped me.

The men carrying stretchers kept at their work; everyone else seemed to look right through me.

The unease crawled a little higher up my spine.

In normal times, a stranger barging into an inn would’ve been driven out immediately. Yet here—not a soul even glanced my way.

Inside, the Spring-Come Inn looked the same as before. The hall was arranged exactly as it had been, tables and chairs lined neatly in place.

But the air… The air reeked of a damp, stale rot, like wet timber left too long in a dark pit.

Holding my breath, I ran a fingertip across a tabletop. A thick coat of dust clung to my skin.

My stomach tightened. I turned back and asked Hua in a low voice, “Just a few days… can it get this filthy?”

Hua shook his head, his expression grave.

I couldn’t tell whether he meant “I don’t know” or “Absolutely not.”

There was no time to dwell on it; I followed the flow of people toward the back courtyard.

The courtyard was wide open.

A neat row of stretchers lay on the ground, covered tightly.

More were being brought in, one after another.

The air was heavy. No one spoke.

Even their breathing felt muffled.

A shiver ran through me.

So many people, yet the atmosphere was dead—like the courtyard itself was holding its breath.

As I stared, lost in that oppressive silence, a finger jabbed my shoulder.

I spun around. It was Hua, motioning toward the corner.

There, crouched in a shadowed nook, was a man.

Dusty clothes, hunched back, quietly smoking from a pipe.

Smoke curled around him, half hiding his face.

A thought flickered through me.

Wasn’t that the old cook who threw us out last time?

I went over at once, crouched down, and tapped his shoulder lightly.

“Uncle,” I called, testing the waters.

The cook jerked his head up. His face was bloodless; his eyes red-rimmed as if he’d been crying not long ago. There were even streaks of dried tears on his cheeks.

When he recognized me, his pupils shrank as though he’d seen a ghost, and he shot upright in a panic.

Bad sign.

Before I could grab him, Hua slammed a hand down on the man’s shoulder and shoved him back to the ground.

So there we were, the three of us squatting in a corner, smoke drifting between us, the air stiff as boards.

Hua said nothing, expression blank. He picked up a dry twig from the ground and scratched a slow line of characters in the dirt:

—What happened here?

The old cook stared at the words, eyes darting.

After a long moment, he shook his head hard and waved his hands. Whether that meant he couldn’t read, couldn’t understand, or simply refused to answer—I couldn’t tell.

I narrowed my eyes, inwardly scoffing.

Slippery bastard.

Leaning closer, I lowered my voice.

“All right. I’ll ask. You only need to nod or shake your head. Understood?”

He froze, shocked I was speaking to him at all, eyes widening in fright.

I continued, voice colder.

“If you don’t answer honestly, I’ll shout. You know what happens then.”

I’d tested it once. When I shouted, the people of the Spring-Come Inn reacted like someone had stabbed needles into their skulls. Their faces twisted, they clawed at their heads—then they… vanished.

I’d had my own pounding headache afterward, nightmares for nights on end.

But compared to the truth, that price was nothing.

The cook went pale. His pipe nearly slipped from his fingers as he nodded frantically.

Good.

So I’d guessed right. This so-called “silencing charm” only muzzled the mouths of people belonging to this town.

Outsiders like us could still speak, still question.

The price just differed.

I narrowed my eyes at him, considering where to start.

“I’ll begin,” I said coldly.

“Last time we came, you tried so hard to throw us out. Was it because you didn’t want us touching those sealed wine jars on the floor?”

The cook hesitated, eyes spinning, pipe trembling so hard it nearly fell.

But with both me and Hua staring holes into him, he finally gave a tiny, reluctant nod.

A flicker of satisfaction stirred in my chest.

As expected. Keep pressing and something would crack.

“Those jars weren’t filled with wine, were they?”

The cook jolted, gaze unsteady. He looked like he wanted to shake his head but didn’t dare. After a long, painful pause, he nodded.

A cold smile tugged at my lips.

We were closing in.

“Then… was it wine at all?”

He hesitated even longer, then—first nodded, then shook his head.

I narrowed my eyes.

Playing games, are we?

I glanced at Hua. As expected, he flicked open his fan with a soft snap and murmured, “Looks like it’s wine, but not just wine.”

I turned back to the cook and pressed on.

“It’s diluted, then? Mixed with water?”

A quick shake of the head.

“Medicine?”

He paused, then slowly nodded.

A cold prickle crept up my spine. My palms were damp.

“Sleeping draught?”

Shake.

“Poison?”

He twitched so hard his shoulders jumped. Dropped his gaze, as if trying to hide something. But in the end, with great reluctance, he nodded.

My chest tightened as though someone had pressed a slab of ice against it.

“And the wine—people drink it?”

He nodded.

“And those who drink it… die?”

He shook his head, hurriedly.

“Fall ill?”

Another shake.

I frowned, mind racing.

Then asked, “Is it an ordinary illness?”

He shook his head.