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

Chapter 140 Stranded in the Swamp

Once we got closer, I finally understood—crossing this Man-Eater Swamp was nowhere near as simple as I hoped.

The mud-colored surface beneath us was neither water nor solid ground. It looked deceptively flat, but shifted under the slightest pressure. The moment you nudged it with your toe, you sank in, and when you pulled your foot back up, half the sole would be gone. The trees around us were tall, yet grown strangely “clever”—their roots curled tightly away from this area, avoiding the ground as if it were poison. There wasn’t even a fallen branch left sturdy enough to serve as a raft.

I looked up at the vines hanging overhead. They dripped with moisture and dangled two or three zhang above us. Swinging across using those? Impossible—unless I stood on Hua’s back and let him ferry me across like some oversized turtle.

The idea startled even me.

“I’m asking seriously,” I said, forcing an awkward laugh to cut off that ridiculous thought. “Those people really crossed here? They didn’t sprout wings and fly over, did they?”

Mu Cangli scratched his head, unusually sheepish. “Uh… I forgot to ask.”

I was speechless.

Lian, on the other hand, merely cast us a cold glance. Without further comment, he said, “Wait.”

Before the last syllable fell, he was already airborne. A streak of red skimmed across the canopy, barely disturbing a single leaf. We craned our necks as he moved between the trees, swift as a shadow. Moments later he drifted back down beside me, robes settling like nothing had happened.

“Found it.”

“Found it?” My eyes lit up. “You mean there really is a path?”

Lian didn’t answer. He pointed at what seemed to be an ordinary tree. Following his gesture, I finally noticed several heavy iron spikes hammered into its trunk, forming a faint climbing path. And hidden among the branches was a woven bamboo basket—much larger than any carrying hamper, big enough for a person to crouch in.

Two thick ropes were attached. One ran across the treetop, the other hung down the side. Lian flicked one lightly and said, “This is how they crossed.”

Hua inspected the rope and arched a brow. “Clever. A lever-and-pulley system. Sit in the basket, pull the hanging rope, transfer force through the pulley, and you’ll slide across little by little.”

Mu Cangli nodded quickly. “That’s convenient.”

I blinked, then let out a breath. “All that worry for nothing. Turns out it’s easy.”

Except once I climbed up, I learned that “easy” was only relative.

The basket swayed like a lantern in the wind. The moment my foot touched it, it wobbled wildly. The rope had clearly been used many times—the fibers were frayed and white at the edges.

Mu Cangli went first. He was light, barely made a sound, and slid to the opposite side in a few soft swishes. Hua followed—tall as he was, he moved with surprising agility; after a few shakes, he also made it across.

“How is it?” I called up.

Mu Cangli waved. “Solid enough!”

I inhaled deeply, cursed myself for being spineless, and forced myself up.

The basket was narrow at the top and bulged in the middle. I curled myself into it, limbs pressed against the bamboo ribs. The swamp air below carried a strange stench… like rotting flesh soaked in cheap liquor.

“System,” I muttered under my breath, “you’re sure this thing didn’t break after Mu Cangli and Hua rode it?”

[System Notice: No anomalies detected.]

Then it paused, surprisingly.

[Did you not display exceptional courage recently? Why hesitate now?]

I froze, whispering, “This is… instinct.”

The basket swayed twice. I nearly shut my eyes.

But my luck held. At first, everything went smoothly.

Aside from the occasional creak from the pulley overhead, and the rope scraping at my hands, everything was under control. I pulled the hanging rope hard; the basket slid forward bit by bit. Swamp gas churned below, bubbles bursting with splashes that looked disturbingly alive.

“Easy… easy…” I muttered, terrified of becoming today’s swamp offering.

Then—midway across—the basket stopped.

A sharp clack. Something in the pulley jammed. The basket jerked hard; I nearly bit my tongue.

“What happened? Why aren’t we moving?” I shouted, still crouched low.

Silence hung for a few breaths.

Then Lian’s voice carried from afar, calm but cutting. “Don’t move. Stay down.”

That tone made my stomach drop. It sounded like the kind of “move and you die” warning no one wants to hear.

I held my breath, frozen.

Somewhere beneath me, a strange sound rumbled through the swamp—part wind, part gas venting from deep underground. Except… there shouldn’t be wind here. The trees were too dense, the canopy too heavy. The sound was coming from directly below.

I resisted as long as I could. Then I finally leaned to the side and peered down through the gaps in the basket.

One glance was enough to send cold sweat running down my spine.

The swamp center, which had been still a moment ago, was collapsing—sinking inward like a deflated bladder.

The entire muddy surface was drawing in on itself.

A massive black void opened beneath, at least ten zhang wide. Mud along the edges churned as if alive—rolling, pulsing.

“…Holy—” I almost cried out loud.

The wind was coming from that hole.

“Look!” My voice cracked. “Are you seeing this?! There’s a hole under us!”

Mu Cangli must have noticed something too. “Don’t panic! Hold on!”

But before the words faded, the rope above me moved—

Not because I pulled it.

Because something else was pulling me.

The basket sagged, sinking.

I clutched the rim in terror. “System! Analyze! What is this place?!”

[Analyzing—]

[Analysis failed. Unknown energy detected. Host advised to evacuate immediately.]

“Evacuate your moth—”

The basket dropped.

My world flipped. The swamp, the trees, the sky all spun.

Lian’s shout ripped through the air: “Let go of the basket—!”

Before I could react, something tightened around my waist—a cold flash, Lian’s soft-cord hook latching onto me.

A sharp crack followed.

The main rope snapped.

The bamboo basket plummeted straight into the black void, disappearing in an instant.

If Lian had been even half a breath slower, I’d be Man-Eater Swamp’s newest entrée.

He hauled me back to the tree, and I clung to him like a man nearly drowned, my breath ragged.

“What… what was that hole?”

He looked toward the darkness, expression clouded. “I don’t know.”

The words chilled me more than the swamp air.

Across the void, Mu Cangli and Hua stood frozen, calling out, “Are you both alright?!”

“How do you think? I’m not dead!” I shouted back, though my legs were shaking.

Mu Cangli yelled, “The basket? The rope?”

I looked down. The pit was pitch black—no rope, no basket, nothing. Everything had been swallowed whole.

“We’re screwed,” I muttered. “We’re not crossing this now.”

Lian didn’t respond. His gaze stayed fixed on the center of the collapsing void.

From beneath, a faint glow seeped upward—dark red, like blood.

My scalp prickled.

“Lian… that light. Is it… moving?”

He saw it too. His expression hardened. “That’s no earthly thing.”

And then—

A familiar chime rang inside my head.

【System Notice: Plotline fluctuation detected.】

I froze. “What fluctuation?”

【Abnormal data detected in current scene coordinates. Suspected ‘setting conflict’.】

My heart skipped. “Setting conflict? You mean—the plot’s breaking?”

【System analyzing…】

It paused, then continued:

【A ‘bug’ was previously detected in Luoyan City. This fluctuation is more severe. Probable cause: instability in the main storyline has affected spatial structure, resulting in abrupt terrain transformation—i.e., the observed shift from ‘swamp → void’.】

I stood there, stunned, the corner of my mouth twitching.

“So what you’re saying is… this isn’t a natural disaster. It’s a narrative disaster?”

【It may be understood as script collapse.】

“Script… collapse?” I swallowed and let out a cold laugh. “So if I fall in, does that count as getting deleted from the save file?”

【Probability approximately 99.9%.】

“Wow. Thanks. Real comforting.”

Even the wind had changed—now it carried a faint metallic tang, warm and rusted.

“Fine,” I said, wiping sweat from my brow, my chest still tight. “The basket’s gone, the rope’s gone—can that soft cord of yours get me across?”

“No.”

Lian pressed his lips together, his gaze sweeping between the swamp and the far bank.

I turned to look. Mu Cangli and Hua were still standing on the opposite side, the wind snapping their sleeves like banners.

A bad feeling crept over me.

“So… does this mean they’re the only ones who can keep going?” I asked cautiously.