Chapter 80: Scalp

“Damn it, Yingying, you jinx! Can’t you say something auspicious? Say that again and I’ll hammer you to death!”

Little Frost swung the large hammer, producing a whistling sound.

“Don’t hammer, people will die. I just wanted to lighten the mood.”

Mu Yingying quickly backed down. She didn’t want to be flattened.

The group continued forward. A fork appeared ahead. White Peace stopped, closed her eyes to perceive for a moment, then pointed to the right.

“This way, there’s nothing on the left.”

The tunnel narrowed. The concrete on the walls was severely cracked. Gray-white mycelium grew from the cracks, and the air became more humid, carrying a musty smell.

Mu Yingying walked at the back and started humming again, still the same off-key melody.

“Can you stop humming?”

Little Frost said.

“No. This place is too quiet. If I don’t hum, I’ll start thinking.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking about those chimeras just now. Which body part would be more reasonable and comfortable to chimerically link between me and Little White Night?”

“I’ll pound you into meat paste first. Stop thinking.”

Little Frost glared at her.

Ahead in the tunnel, the outline of a person was faintly visible in the darkness.

It wasn’t the twisted mass of flesh like the chimeras. It was squatting on the ground, hugging its knees, a normal human shape.

But there were no living people here besides them. White Peace raised her hand to signal a stop.

The figure slowly stood up and turned around. It was an adult man. He was covered in blood.

Blood flowed from the top of his head, down his cheeks, neck, and shoulders, all the way to the ground. His originally light-colored work clothes were soaked through with blood, clinging to his body, rising and falling faintly.

His scalp was gone.

From above his eyebrows, the entire scalp had been completely peeled off.

Without skin covering, the dark red muscles were exposed, the fiber texture contracting as he turned his head.

The blood vessels above his forehead crisscrossed, constantly seeping blood.

Blood trickled over his eye sockets and down his cheeks. His hair, along with his scalp, was gone.

He just stood there, staring at them with blood-blurred eyes.

His lips moved, and a hoarse, broken voice came out.

“You… have you seen my scalp?”

“And my scalp. My scalp… has been peeled off. Can you help me find it? Find my scalp. And my hair. Where. I can’t find it. No matter how hard I look, I can’t find it.”

His tone was not an accusation, nor the mechanical repetition of the Headless Man.

He was pleading, his voice filled with confusion and fear.

And there was a thread of sanity, suppressed yet still faintly burning.

Mu Yingying’s Tang Dao was already drawn.

She looked at the bloody man, frowning, but did not immediately slash.

She looked at White Peace, asking with her eyes whether to act.

White Peace did not act.

She looked at the man holding his own scalp for two seconds, then stepped forward.

“Who peeled off your scalp?”

The man was stunned. He tilted his head, the skinless skull revealing more bone. The question seemed to affect him. His lips moved several times, finally spitting out one word.

“…Pain.”

It was the same word the Chimera had said.

But the Chimera’s pain was chaotic and overlapping, while this man’s pain had a clear source.

He knew who had peeled it, just couldn’t say it.

White Peace took another step forward.

This time, instead of asking, she raised her right hand and snapped her fingers.

A very thin beam of Black Light shot from her fingertip and sank into the man’s forehead.

The man shuddered all over.

The turbidity in his eyes receded layer by layer, revealing the remaining sanity underneath.

His breathing became rapid, and he hugged the scalp tighter.

His fingers clutched the wet hair, his knuckles turning white.

“I… I went for a massage.”

His voice trembled, but the sentences were coherent.

“Not far from the tunnel, there was a shop still open. I thought how could a shop still be open, but that woman was so beautiful.”

“She smiled at me. She said, sir, your scalp is a bit tight, let me massage it for you.”

“I said okay. And then… and then…”

He raised one hand and tremblingly touched his exposed skull.

When his fingers touched the muscle without skin protection, his whole body shuddered.

He seemed to finally confirm something he couldn’t believe.

“She wouldn’t let me go. She massaged while peeling. I saw her put my scalp into a box, together with other people’s scalps. So many boxes. So many. I ran out, but my scalp was still there… I want to get my scalp back. The box is still with her.”

Mu Yingying sheathed her Tang Dao after hearing his words.

White Peace did not answer Mu Yingying’s question. She looked at the man.

“Is that shop still open?”

The man nodded.

“Yes. Not far from the tunnel. Turn a corner and you’ll see it. The sign is red.”

“Take me there.”

White Peace’s tone was not a request. The man was taken aback, then shook his head frantically, blood splattering everywhere.

“No, I can’t go back. She’ll peel my scalp again. She’ll peel yours too. She’ll kill me—”

“I’m not afraid of her.”

White Peace interrupted him.

“I’ll kill her and get your scalp back.”

“And you’re already dead. You’re a Weirdness now.”

The man’s retort got stuck in his throat.

He wanted to say he was still standing here, still talking, still feeling pain.

He looked at the pale skin, the dried blood on the edges and the curled arcs.

Then he slowly closed his mouth.

“I’m dead. Then please help me get my scalp back…”

he said.

White Peace said nothing more. She turned and walked toward the direction the man had pointed.

Little Frost pushed White Night to follow. Mu Yingying walked at the back.

As she passed the man, she tapped his shoulder lightly with the hilt of her sword.

“Let’s go,” she said. “Go get your box back.”

At the end of the tunnel was a broken staircase going upward. Rusty metal handrails were covered with wet moss.

The group walked up the stairs.

The man with the peeled scalp followed at the end, moving slowly, each step cautious.

He left a trail of intermittent blood drops on the stairs.

Light shone down from above, a warm yellow. At the top of the stairs was a half-open iron door. White Peace pushed the door open and walked out.

Before them was a street, or what used to be one.

The buildings on both sides had collapsed mostly, broken walls casting messy shadows under the bloody sky.

The ground was cracked, littered with rubble and rusty rebar.

But the small building at the street corner was intact.

Its outer walls had no cracks, the windows were wiped clean and bright, with clean white curtains hanging.

The steps in front of the door were covered with a new non-slip mat.

On the doorframe hung a wooden sign, painted bright red, like a drop of blood in the gray-black ruins. “Xinxin Massage.” Four characters, square and upright.

Next to the non-slip mat on the steps, there was a pot of green ivy.

Mu Yingying stared at the sign for a long time.

“This damn place,” she said. “Not a single living person, why open a massage parlor? And it’s so clean and tidy. Definitely suspicious.”

White Peace stepped onto the stairs, her bare feet stepping on the non-slip mat without making a sound. She reached out and pushed the door.

The door was unlocked. Inside was a narrow hallway, the walls covered with beige floral wallpaper.

At the end of the hallway hung pink plastic bead curtains, gently rustled by the wind.

The air had a faint lavender scent. On the wall hung a new human acupuncture point chart.

This place was clean beyond belief, as if someone maintained it daily and ran regular business.

The man cowered outside the door, his feet on the edge of the steps, his body trembling violently.

This clean room was just a few steps away, but he didn’t dare approach.

White Peace did not look back at him. She walked through the hallway, pushed aside the bead curtains, and entered.

The inner room was a standard massage room, with two massage tables covered with clean white sheets.

A humidifier in the corner sprayed mist, emitting lavender fragrance.

Candies were placed at the head of the bed, and essential oils and lotions were neatly arranged on a cart nearby. A woman sat on a chair by the window.

She was very young, looking no older than thirty, with fair skin and delicate features.

Her dark brown hair was tied in a bun at the back of her head, secured by a wooden hairpin.

She wore a dark red cheongsam, with a name tag on the collar reading “Xinxin.” On her feet were clean black flat cloth shoes.

She was folding towels, one white towel after another, folding them into squares and placing them on a rack next to her. Her movements were meticulous.

The rack was already piled high with towels, but she kept folding.

White Night noticed that the edges of those towels faintly showed a dark red color.

It looked like stains that had been rubbed on something and then washed repeatedly, leaving indelible marks.

White Peace stood at the door.

The woman raised her head.

Her eyes were alive, not murky and hollow like a Weirdness’s.

They were the eyes of a living person, clear and gentle, with the characteristic smile of the service industry.

But this appearance, similar to a living person, was more unsettling than any Weirdness.

“Hello.”

“How many? Doing a service? Do you have an appointment?”