The three locust trees, left behind by the crowd, now had their ghostly faces completely peeled off their trunks. Hundreds of ghostly heads swarmed, twisted, and grotesque, vying to catch up with the group. Their tangled, messy hair was a thick, tangled mess, trailing behind like a cloud of hair. The slower-moving heads appeared and disappeared among the tangled hair, their pale, cracked faces contorted with grotesque features, as if they wanted to catch up with the people in front and devour them alive.
The pancake vendor and Ma Zhenhua were terrified, unable to get up even after struggling for a while, their hearts pounding with fear, and they even lost control of their bladder and bowels.
Ke Xun turned around, grabbed the pancake vendor by the collar, and ran.
He couldn't help the two of them; he often did weighted running exercises in school, and the weight of an adult was his limit.
Seeing Wei Dong turn around to grab Ma Zhenhua, Ke Xun scolded him, "You think you can even move him, you idiot?! Know your limits, just keep running!"
Wei Dong quickly turned back and continued running, but Mu Yiran glanced at Ke Xun, turned around, and grabbed the limp Ma Zhenhua.
"Can you manage?" Ke Xun asked him.
"Looks like you've forgotten who pinned you down on the first night," Mu Yiran replied calmly.
Ke Xun laughed and winked at him, "Don't be so smug. I only got you because I wasn't on guard. If we were face to face, it's hard to say who would be on top."
He watched as Mu Yiran's face turned cold, and he strode past him.
Playing with him is really fun, Ke Xun thought.
The ghost head chasing after him getting closer and closer was becoming increasingly boring.
Amidst the howling wind and screams, the horde of ghost heads was almost catching up with Zhang Maolin, who was running at the back. Zhang Maolin cried out and ran desperately forward, but he tripped and stumbled, and one of the ghost heads in the lead bit off his shoe.
Zhang Maolin instinctively turned his head and saw that the ghost head that had bitten off his shoe was Liu Yufei, who was now grinning ferociously, revealing small, bluish-white teeth, and howling as he pounced on him again.
"Help me—help me—" Zhang Maolin stumbled and desperately rushed forward, and as he reached the steps of the fire-viewing platform, he grabbed Ma Zhenhua's trouser leg tightly.
Ma Zhenhua had been dragged along by Mu Yiran until they reached the fire-viewing platform, where he barely regained his motor skills and frantically climbed up on all fours, but unexpectedly, Zhang Maolin grabbed him, and he was so frightened that he hurriedly pulled his leg back, but Zhang Maolin held on tightly and refused to let go.
"Let go! Let go!" Ma Zhenhua's eyes were bloodshot, glaring at Zhang Maolin with utter hatred as he struggled desperately to break free.
"Save me—please—save me—" Zhang Maolin's eyes bulged out of their sockets from extreme terror and desperate pleading, making his face look grotesquely distorted. He used all his strength, seemingly trying to drag Ma Zhenhua down and throw him into the pile of ghost heads behind him, hoping Ma would take his place and shield him from the pursuing ghosts.
"I'll give you money—I'll give you money—all my wealth—I have eight hundred million—it's all yours—save me—save me—" Zhang Maolin wailed, his voice so shrill it could pierce eardrums.
"Let go—go to hell! Go to hell!" Ma Zhenhua, enraged, kicked Zhang Maolin's face and throat viciously.
One kick, two kicks, ten kicks.
Each kick grew heavier and more brutal than the last, until finally, with all its might, it struck Zhang Maolin's throat, causing excruciating pain and suffocation. His grip involuntarily loosened, and he tumbled down the steps, landing in the vortex of densely packed hair and grape-like piles of ghost heads.
Countless ghost heads surged forward, instantly engulfing Zhang Maolin. His outstretched, contorted hands seemed to be pleading for help.
The ghost heads, like festering tumors, gnawed firmly at Zhang Maolin's body, making tearing and swallowing sounds that rose and fell, forming a continuous mass.
Zhang Maolin's piercing screams were like rough, bristly blades, dully piercing the soles of everyone's feet.
Ma Zhenhua lost control of his bladder again, scrambling desperately up the steps.
The not-so-high viewing platform felt like an eternity's climb to the top.
On the pavilion pillar, where wood chips were peeling off, lay a dark red, mud-colored seal with a desolate inscription: Li Jinghao's Seal.
Dr. Qin sighed slightly. They had searched this place before, but the seal wasn't there then. Its appearance now suggested that Mu Yiran had deciphered his painful and tragic life story, giving him someone to confide in through his painting of decades of accumulated resentment and bitterness.
"And then?!" Wei Dong, the first to rush up, shouted, looking at the seal.
"Press it down!" Dr. Qin, following closely behind, said.
Wei Dong was about to reach out when he turned and saw Ke Xun still behind. He yelled anxiously, "Ke'er, hurry! The leaders are catching up! Hurry!"
"You go first! I'm fine!" Ke Xun shouted, turning to pull Mu Yiran, who was lagging behind.
Mu Yiran was dragged down by Ma Zhenhua. When Ma Zhenhua was fighting with Zhang Maolin, Mu Yiran had abandoned him, not wanting to get involved anymore. Unexpectedly, Ma Zhenhua managed to catch up again and, just like Zhang Maolin had done, was clinging tightly to Mu Yiran's leg, refusing to let him leave.
The ghosts surged forward, about to catch Ma Zhenhua. At that moment, Ma Zhenhua experienced the extreme fear Zhang Maolin had felt earlier. He clung tightly to Mu Yiran's leg, afraid of being kicked like he had kicked Ma Zhenhua. He thought, even if he died, he would take someone down with him.
Why? Why did I die like this while you all survived? Ma Zhenhua was unwilling; he hated, he was filled with resentment.
When a person is about to die, their strength often exceeds its limit. Mu Yiran, being dragged along, couldn't break free for a moment.
Ke Xun tried to pull him away, but realized it wouldn't work. They didn't have time; they couldn't continue this entanglement.
Ke Xun shoved the pancake stall owner forward, tossed a message to Dr. Qin, and said, "Take him with you!" He then turned and reached for Mu Yiran's pants.
"You're asking for it!" Mu Yiran glared and gritted his teeth.
"What are you thinking? What can I do to you at a time like this?!" Ke Xun said, his hands moving swiftly, pulling Mu Yiran's baggy linen pants down in two quick motions.
Ma Zhenhua, clutching Mu Yiran's pants, slipped off and let out a piercing wail.
"Ha." Ke Xun wanted nothing more than to kick this man into a pile of ghost heads, but he still grabbed his collar and pulled him up.
On the last few steps, Ke Xun and Mu Yiran almost simultaneously stepped onto the seal, both hands pressing down on it. Ke Xun saw a flash of white light, within which something resembling a picture frame seemed to appear.
His body instinctively lunged towards the picture frame, a mere second passing by. Looking closer, he saw soft overhead lighting and walls surrounding him, adorned with paintings of varying sizes and intensities.
—He was back. That art museum, that strange museum that had led to this nightmarish, bizarre journey.
Wei Dong lunged forward, grabbing Ke Xun's neck and shaking him violently. "Ke'er! Am I dreaming?! We're back? We're really back? Let me pinch you, does it hurt? It's not a dream!"
Ke Xun pushed him away, coughing twice while rubbing his neck. Just as he was about to speak, a strong force from behind forced him forward. Turning around, he saw Ma Zhenhua, his face contorted with tears and snot, kneeling on the ground.
"You've got a lucky life, huh?" Ke Xun said expressionlessly, not glancing at him a second time, but instead looking up at the painting hanging on the wall behind him.
The painting was titled "Funeral," and the artist was Li Jinghao.
Only then did Ke Xun see the painting clearly.
All around were deep mountains, and Li Family Village was nestled among them—truly remote and isolated.
The lonely village, the dilapidated houses, and the somber colors all conveyed the tragedy and oppressive atmosphere surrounding it.
On the outskirts of the village, someone was digging a grave. At the northern end of the village, a family had set up a mourning hall, with a few people dressed in mourning clothes moving about in the courtyard.
Outside this family's courtyard, three ancient locust trees with eerie, beast-like shapes stood silently and sinisterly.
Upon closer inspection of the three locust trees, the trunks were indeed gnarled and twisted, with shapes resembling human faces covering the bark. Looking even closer, at the base of one of the trees, there was a striking resemblance to a human face, very much like Liu Yufei.
Ke Xun took a step back, then examined the fire-watching platform south of the village and the riverbank beside it; the shapes of both locations did indeed resemble the characters "Jinghao."
Ke Xun pointed to the burl that resembled Liu Yufei and turned to Mu Yiran: "Was this originally in the painting?"
Mu Yiran stared at him coldly, ignoring him.
Ke Xun raised an eyebrow, about to ask a question, when he heard Dr. Qin interject, "No, this face isn't in the painting. It's just that... he died in the painting. The first two paintings we entered were the same. Once someone dies in a painting, their image is preserved within it, becoming part of the painting."
Ke Xun looked at him, "What about in the real world? Does this person just disappear into thin air? Won't anyone suspect anything?"
Dr. Qin lowered his eyes, "In the real world, this person will live for a few more days, but during those days, they will lose all their memories of the painting, and then die in a seemingly normal way, without arousing anyone's suspicion."
Ke Xun was speechless, no longer looking at the painting, and instead continued to ask Dr. Qin, "What's next? Will we immediately enter another painting?" Dr.
Qin calmly prompted, "Check your pockets."
Ke Xun and Wei Dong hurriedly checked their pockets, only then realizing that they had changed back into the clothes they wore in the real world, but pulled out a piece of cardboard they had never seen before from their pocket.
The front of the cardboard sheet was printed with the words "Changhe Art Museum Art Exhibition" in large print. The back, printed in smaller print, showed the date, time, the address of the Changhe Art Museum, and the words "Exhibition Hall 3."
"This is..." Ke Xun had a bad feeling.
Dr. Qin's voice was low: "The time and place for the next painting's inclusion in the exhibition. This is a ticket only we have, and it's also... an invitation that can't be refused or transferred."