Chapter 6
“So people who commit murder because a seed deceives them are sent here after they learn the truth and break down?”
Chang Gui nodded.
“Once their seeds have stored enough resentment, they’re dug out and replaced.”
“People like you, who can regain awareness by themselves and even absorb the entire seed, are excellent prospects for practicing the Grievance-Feasting Demonic Codex.”
“All the ones before you were chosen by the cultivators and taken as disciples. Of those left behind, some were crushed by suffering, lost their reason, and went mad. Others couldn’t bear it and killed themselves.”
“Tell me, does getting to join the upper class count as a good thing? Should I congratulate you?”
“What about you?” I asked. “How have you stayed sane?”
“Want to hear my story?”
She smiled.
“No harm in telling you. I used to be the top dungeon runner. I could always bring everyone through without a scratch. Everyone thought I’d be the first to return to the real world.
“After untold hardships, I cleared the final stage and climbed into the tunnel back to reality. I never imagined that the other end would lead to the farm.”
She looked down at her hands with a mocking expression.
“A sister-in-arms who once fought beside me apprenticed herself to a demonic cultivator. But me? I can’t even absorb a seed. No potential to become one of them. All I’m fit for is livestock.”
As she spoke, Chang Gui slowly dug her nails into her arm, making two deep, bloody holes.
I couldn’t bear to watch. “Even if you’re upset, you shouldn’t hurt yourself like this…”
She seemed amused.
“You think this is self-harm? Silly child. This is a farm! And on a farm, they feed the livestock.”
“Wonderful stuff. Not only does it keep you full, it makes your skin soft and thin. So thin that the slightest pinch draws blood.”
“Once you’ve absorbed the feed, you itch all the time. You want to scratch everywhere. Doesn’t matter if you tear your skin open—the feed speeds up healing, too. Look.”
Chang Gui held her injured arm in front of me.
Within seconds, the two deep holes writhed shut, scabbed over, and shed their scabs. Two white marks remained, then disappeared as well.
“The more it itches, the more it hurts. The more it hurts, the more resentment you produce. And there you are: a proper human battery,” she said cheerfully.
I leaned against the cold wall and quietly thought over everything I had heard that day.
So this hellhole, the Palace of Grievances, had only appeared a year ago.
No wonder missing-person cases had been cropping up everywhere over the past year.
Previously, most people who went missing had been small children. This year’s victims were mostly young and middle-aged adults, and they weren’t exclusively women.
Rumors abounded. Some suspected illegal coal mines; others blamed foreign organizations.
Who could have imagined that the answer was a band of demons?