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

Chapter 124 The Eye of Judgment

The voice sank lower and lower, as if seeping up from some bottomless abyss.

The air trembled with it. Beneath our feet, the ground gave off a low, humming vibration—like something ancient turning in its sleep far below, sending up muffled reverberations.

A sudden roar exploded in my ears.

It felt as though hundreds—no, thousands—of voices were whispering all at once. Layered, blurred, indistinct, carrying fragments of something that almost sounded like human speech.

As if they were chanting scriptures I had never heard.

I couldn’t make out a single word, yet my scalp prickled, my mind strained to the point of tearing. Even my breath seemed swallowed by that rising tide of sound.

I looked up.

High in the firmament, the crimson eye was growing.

The red deepened, thickened—so vivid it looked ready to bleed. It flickered in and out among the roiling clouds, like a sea of blood churning behind them.

Each shift of cloud brought it closer.

It hung there, cold and watchful, gazing down at the human world below, and for a split second I had the sickening illusion of being flayed open under its stare.

My breathing tightened. I forced myself to look away.

Within that eye seemed to coexist boundless malice and a strange, perverse mercy. To meet its gaze felt like being pulled into some unseen depth—reduced to a silent prayer.

And Lian—

he stood as if none of it existed.

The blood-red glow washed over his face, yet not a ripple touched his eyes.

He simply stood there, still and cold.

His fingers shifted slightly within his sleeve.

The next instant—

a flash of cold light split the night like frost.

He stepped forward, placing himself between Senior An and Hua.

“Enough.”

His voice was sharp and low, heavy enough to press against the thunder overhead.

For a heartbeat, it felt as though heaven and earth had been struck still by that single word.

The whispers died. The air turned abruptly cold.

A faint curve touched Senior An’s lips.

Under the blood-red glow, his smile was shallow, distant—like someone watching a tragedy he already knew the ending to.

It was gentle.

And deeply unsettling.

“I’ll ask you a few questions.”

Even I felt a chill at how cold Lian’s tone was.

He advanced step by step, gaze cutting like a blade.

“First,” Lian said, eyes fixed on him, voice eerily calm,

“the bookstore owner and the owner of Spring-Come Inn—was that your doing?”

“Second—did all of this begin with the Moon Festival? The tavern behind it… was that also you?”

“Third—” he paused, a faint gleam flickering within his sleeve, “—was it you who trapped me in the silver box? And what exactly is the connection between that box and the world outside?”

His voice wasn’t loud.

But each word landed like a strike of thunder.

Senior An tilted his head slightly—and smiled.

The expression was mild, almost kindly.

It made my skin crawl.

That wasn’t a smile meant for people.

It was the look of someone who had heard something divine—and broken because of it.

“Heh,” he sighed softly. “That’s quite a list.”

“But since you ask so earnestly, I’ll answer a bit.”

His tone softened, almost gentle—tinged with something like pity.

“First—the bookstore owner and the innkeeper brought it upon themselves.”

“One exploited others in their desperation to satisfy his own desires. The other chased profit without regard for life or death.”

He let out a quiet chuckle—thin, edged with disdain.

“They deserved to die.”

I blinked, stunned. I edged forward a little, crouching lower.

Deserved it? I mean… maybe. But wasn’t that taking it a bit far?

Senior An continued:

“Second—the wine at the Moon Festival was simply… the appropriate remedy.”

His eyes suddenly gleamed, lit like flame.

“Only those who have committed shameful acts will be punished by the Eye of Judgment.”

“And those whose morals are flawed—once they make loud sounds, they will be noticed by the Eye.”

The moment he said it, my head rang.

I crept forward another step, a thought hitting me—

Wait. When we were at Spring-Come Inn… didn’t we drink that wine too?

That explains it. That’s why I saw that eye afterward.

I couldn’t help lifting my head.

Sure enough, the eye was still there—watching us, unmoving.

I swallowed.

Oh hell. Don’t tell me I’m next.

But Senior An only grew more animated, as if sinking deeper into some uncontrollable ecstasy.

“Such a pity,” he laughed, eyes shining, “I never expected the people of this city to be so cowardly they wouldn’t dare raise their voices—wouldn’t even dare laugh. Hahaha—!”

He threw his head back, laughter echoing across the altar.

At first, it sounded human.

Then it didn’t.

It grated like metal scraping stone, like cloth tearing right beside your ear—shrill, piercing, unbearable.

I instinctively shrank further into the shadows, muttering under my breath, “Yeah… he’s completely lost it.”

Lian didn’t react. He simply watched, cold and silent.

“Third—” Senior An stopped laughing abruptly, lowering his voice.

“That silver box you brought… at first, I didn’t understand it either.”

“But after I opened it…” he paused, voice dipping, “there was something inside. A force. It kept growing stronger.”

“One day—”

His voice trembled slightly, almost too soft to hear.

“I was able to enter it myself.”

My chest tightened.

So he’d been inside too?

Then all those things we saw in there—could they have—

“And inside,” he slowly raised his head, eyes turning strange,

“is far more interesting than you think.”

He smiled, showing his teeth.

The expression looked wrong—like a wax mask stretched too tight.

“As for you—” he turned to Lian, tone suddenly soft, “I don’t have the power to trap you in there.”

“But… perhaps soon, I will.”

“What do you mean?” Lian’s brows drew together, voice low.

Senior An didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he reached calmly into his robe—and took something out.

I recognized it at once.

The silver box.

“Thanks to this little thing you brought,” he said, fingers brushing its surface, his voice trembling with something close to delight, “it’s quite a treasure.”

“I discovered something inside it… ah—right, I almost forgot—”

He stopped mid-sentence, as if remembering something important, then smiled—softly, almost tenderly.

“That’s a secret. Not something I can just tell.”

The words fell lightly.

But a chill ran straight through me.

There was no emotion in them. No shame. No hesitation.

“But don’t worry,” he added, tone soothing, like he was calming a child,

“you’ll soon witness its… miracle. On your friend.”

His gaze shifted to Hua, still unconscious, a flicker of light passing through his eyes.

“I’ve discovered—this young one can also see the Eye.”

My heart dropped.

Damn it. He’s going after Hua.

A faint red glow began to seep from the surface of the silver box.

I didn’t think.

I moved.

“Stop—!” I shouted.

That shout was loud enough—Senior An paused, glancing toward me.

Lian seized the opening.

He moved like a gust of wind—

and struck, palm driving straight toward Senior An’s abdomen.

“Lian, watch out—!” I barely got it out before they clashed.

Their strikes collided, the shockwave nearly knocking me off my feet.

Lian’s attacks were fast and ruthless. But Senior An had been ready—his sleeve swept out, deflecting with a counterstrike.

They exchanged several blows in rapid succession. Their robes whipped through the air, the stone beneath their feet cracking under the force.

I could barely follow it, my head spinning.

—That old man might look calm, but he’s no joke.

Then suddenly, Lian pivoted—feinting.

A sharp crack split the air—the sound of a strike missing its mark.

In that split second of distraction—

Lian reached in—

and snatched the silver box straight from Senior An’s hand.

“Got it!” I nearly shouted.

Without hesitation, Lian pulled out the rag Juan had given us.

It looked like nothing—just a crumpled scrap of cloth.

He wiped the surface of the silver box.

“Lian! Are you sure that’ll—” I didn’t finish.

The world lurched.

The dizziness hit like a blow—like being peeled apart from the inside out. Everything spun. My heartbeat lost its rhythm.

“Lian—!” I reached out—

but my vision had already blurred.

The last thing I saw was the box slipping from his hand, hitting the ground, rolling once—twice.

Clink.

It came to a stop near my feet.

Then—

a roar.

Darkness slammed in.

Some unseen force dragged at me, pulling everything—sound, wind, light—into a dense, collapsing void.

The final image burned into my mind—

the giant eye in the sky.

As the night caved in, it split open like a wound.

A red fissure.

Then, slowly—

it closed.

Like a smile.

And then—

there was nothing.