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

Chapter 120 The World Turned Inside Out

I was still debating whether to go up to Lian, stop him, and explain the origins of the silver box and the strange distortions it created.

But before I could speak, Lian’s expression shifted. His eyes fixed sharply on something ahead, and he turned, striding off without a word. There was no panic in his step, but a kind of unyielding resolve that brooked no refusal.

Hua and I exchanged a glance. Neither of us dared delay; we moved after him at once.

“Lian, where are you going?” I asked under my breath.

He didn’t look back. The wind carried only two quiet syllables from him.

“Up ahead.”

Up ahead? What is ahead?

An unease tightened in my chest, and I could only follow closely.

We turned past two streets, and a residence suddenly appeared before us. Compared with the distorted shops outside, this courtyard was unnervingly quiet. Its gate stood half-open, as though waiting for us to enter.

My heart gave a heavy thump. I blurted out, “Senior An?”

Indeed, the two stone leopards sat silently by the entrance, just as before.

But the moment Hua and I stepped in after Lian, we both stopped short.

When we first visited Senior An days ago, the courtyard had been full of wooden puppets. Odd, yes, but they merely carried water, swept floors, chopped wood—bumbling servants that made one want to laugh.

Now…

The entire courtyard seemed drowned in shadow. A cold wind whipped through the air, carrying with it the metallic tang of blood.

The wooden puppets were still busy—but the items in their hands were no longer buckets and brooms.

They were chains, long tongs, wooden stocks, leather whips.

One puppet bent over a roaring furnace, feeding charcoal into the flames. The fire blazed high, tongues of heat licking upward, turning the iron tools inside a blistering red. A burnt, meaty smell leaked out with the waves of heat. Inside the furnace, several grotesque implements were being heated—a fork-like tool split into many prongs at the tip like twin dragons baring their fangs, glowing red-hot as though eager to sink into flesh; and a tall wooden ladder fitted with sharp, narrow rungs studded with nails—the infamous “Maiden’s Ascent,” where every step peeled skin from bone.

Another puppet stood under the eaves, rigid as a corpse, snapping a long whip through the air. The whip was clearly cowhide bound with iron. It was heavy, vicious. Each crack left a pale scrape across the stone floor, making a shrill hiss like a snake striking.

Several more puppets worked elsewhere—one hammering together an iron yoke, each clang ringing like a death knell; another riveting iron links into a chain, the heavy thuds pressing against the chest; yet another carefully honing a blade, the edge gleaming cold under the firelight, giving its wooden face a sinister glint.

The whole courtyard felt like a torture workshop from hell.

The puppets that once looked so harmless now moved like merciless wardens, each motion carrying a chilling implication.

But the most terrifying sight stood at the center.

Senior An.

He was being driven by one of the wooden puppets, stooping to lift those icy tools. The puppet raised its whip and struck his back without hesitation.

A crisp, cutting snap rang out.

“How…” My scalp tightened painfully.

“How dare you!” Hua’s shout cracked like thunder. His eyes turned razor-sharp as he lunged forward and kicked the puppet aside.

It flew across the yard and slammed into a wall, limbs jerking stiffly as it twitched. One look at Hua’s expression told me he was a heartbeat away from shattering it completely.

I didn’t have the time to watch. I rushed forward and pulled Senior An up.

“Senior An! Are you all right?”

But the words stuck in my throat.

He simply smiled—calm, unbothered—and brushed the dust from his robe. His movements were fluid, almost casual, as though the whip had never touched him.

“Senior An?” I asked again, unable to accept it.

Hua frowned as well, his voice low and cold. “Are you… the same Senior An from outside?”

Senior An arched a brow. “Who else would I be?”

I hesitated, pointing at him, then at the puppet still twitching on the stones. “…but you… and it…”

Senior An’s half-smile held a faint irony. His tone remained flat.

“You’ve already realized it, haven’t you? The world inside the silver box isn’t the same as the one outside.”

Hua and I exchanged a look. The same heavy realization sank in both our chests.

So it wasn’t coincidence—the distortions here were deliberate.

I was about to question him further when the corner of Senior An’s mouth lifted, almost imperceptibly. A flicker of something strange passed through his expression and vanished.

Before I could decipher it, his attention had already shifted toward Lian.

“You’ve been staring at me ever since you stepped in,” Senior An said. His tone was measured, almost probing. “Do you have something you wish to say?”

Lian froze for a moment. His gaze settled on Senior An, steady and silent for a long stretch. Only after that long pause did he speak in a soft voice. “Do we… know each other?”

His voice was clear, almost childlike in its confusion.

I held my breath. Something in my chest pulled tight.

But Senior An did not grow angry. Instead, he let out a quiet chuckle. “Let it be. Since you’ve already seen how the bookshop and the Spring-Come Inn have swapped their roles with the outside world, there’s no point dwelling on it. Come with me. There are more places worth a look.”

With that, he walked out of the courtyard.

Hua and I exchanged a brief glance and followed.

As we moved through the streets behind Senior An, my eyes swept constantly across the shops and stalls. The hawkers’ cries, the clatter of pots and ladles—all sounded identical to the outside world. Yet something always felt faintly off. Some storefronts were painted too freshly, their signage drawn with a rigid, unfamiliar hand. Some teahouses had only a handful of seats, eerily empty, as though they existed purely for decoration.

I tried to make sense of it, to match the layout with my memories. But aside from the familiar bookshop and the Spring-Come Inn, everything else seemed like uncharted territory—vaguely similar in outline, yet veiled behind a thin mist. Each corner I turned, I searched for the slightest familiar trace, but the only things that surfaced in my mind were the neat desks of the bookshop… and the inn’s chaotic or desolate arrangements.

Everything else felt erased by the silver box’s unseen hand.

Hua and I exchanged another glance. With no better choice, we kept following.

Lian trailed slowly behind us, his expression distant, contemplative. I deliberately slowed down and caught his sleeve. “What’s wrong?” I asked quietly.

Lian lowered his gaze, his voice almost inaudible. “I keep feeling… that Senior An is someone I know. But also someone I don’t.”

I blinked, scratching my head. “Nothing to be done. Your memory isn’t whole yet. Don’t push it. Once we get out of this silver-box world, maybe it’ll come back.”

Lian shook his head, his expression growing even more tangled, but he didn’t say anything further.

Ahead of us, Hua raised his voice. “Senior An, where are we heading next? And how do we get out of this silver box?”

Senior An didn’t turn around. “No hurry. Just follow.”

We were about to step into a narrow alley.

The shadows between the walls pressed close to our ears, damp and cold. The air felt as if it whispered.

Then—

Lian suddenly stiffened. His expression shifted in an instant. He grabbed my hand—and before I could react, he spun around and bolted in the opposite direction!

“Hey—Lian!” I shouted, but he held my wrist in a crushing grip, leaving no room for resistance.

My stamina was never strong. I stumbled, nearly dragged along as he tore through the streets and alleys. The wind howled past my ears, and my mind churned with questions.

What did he see?

Where was he taking me?