Chapter 100: The Human Skin Drum (4)

She took another look around the bathroom and the television.

The showerhead in the bathroom was fine, no issues there. The television turned on, displaying a normal picture without any flickering or white static caused by a weak signal.

Meanwhile, the front desk clerk began calling out to those still lingering in their rooms, urging them to open their doors and come out.

“It’s broad daylight; don’t waste your time hiding away in your rooms. Luomen Village has many fascinating spots to explore. You’ll need someone to carry a camera and take photos to prove you’ve visited these popular attractions. If you come back at night without enough pictures, it just means you didn’t properly enjoy this quaint village.”

The clerk was probably shouting through a loudspeaker in the corridor.

“If you complain about not having a good time, we won’t refund your money!”

Not satisfied with just one shout, she carried the loudspeaker from one end of the corridor to the other, from the third floor to the fourth, until every member of the tour group was out of their rooms. Only then did she finally relent.

“Where do we pick up the cameras?” someone asked.

“At the front desk,” the clerk replied, her attitude far from friendly. When tourists asked questions, she didn’t even glance at them, barely lifting her eyelids and looking down her nose. “Go find the box yourself. The cameras are inside.”

“Now?” someone questioned.

“What, you want me to deliver it personally?” she snapped.

Her temper was like she’d swallowed a live grenade—infuriating to no end.

Seeing the clerk brandishing the loudspeaker and heading toward her, Tang Mu quickly dashed downstairs. She didn’t want her eardrums to suffer needlessly.

On the ground floor, many people clustered around a cardboard box holding cameras and flyers advertising the photo spots.

Tang Mu noticed the crowd and decided not to jostle for equipment. Instead, she waited until most people had taken theirs, then casually picked an old-fashioned camera along with a dozen or so blank sheets of photographic paper.

“Tang Mu,” Lu Zhengqing approached, carrying his own chosen camera and photo paper. “Although your mental strength level is higher than ours, you haven’t taken on many quests and lack experience. So during the game, I suggest you stick with us. After all, we’re in the same guild now.”

“Being in the same guild doesn’t mean we won’t sabotage each other?” Tang Mu gestured toward An Xiaoying, who was glaring at her from a distance with predatory eyes.

“Then join me,” Lu Zhengqing proposed. “I’m a man; it’s only right I look out for you.”

Tang Mu ignored him. It was too soon to trust him to watch over her.

The first location on the map was a river called Luohe. The water was crystal clear, and the valley was carpeted with beautiful pebbles. As the water flowed downstream, the intricate patterns on the stones were visible beneath the surface.

Not far off was the large waterwheel they had previously seen in the village, used for irrigation.

“Shall we take pictures? This should be the first spot,” Lu Zhengqing suggested to Tang Mu.

But she said, “I don’t want to take photos.”

“Why not?” Lu Zhengqing looked surprised. “The woman at the front desk said we have to take photos, or they won’t let us rest at the inn.”

“Don’t you find it strange?” Tang Mu frowned, her delicate brows knitting together in a way that unsettled the soul. She looked like a fragile beauty, a delicate canary that should be cherished and protected, yet her words and actions were unlike anything a delicate bird would do.

“When we first entered the village, the guide told us to take photos. Now that we’re here, they still insist on it. But the pictures never match reality. I suspect those photos are meant to harm us—maybe even kill us. So, if you want to stay alive, don’t just obey them blindly. If you get into trouble because of this, don’t expect me to save you.”

“But what if we don’t follow their orders? Won’t we be disqualified?” Lu Zhengqing disagreed. “In a previous quest, if you didn’t do what the PC instructed, you lost your game eligibility.”

“Then you take the photos yourself.”

Tang Mu stood firm. Her instincts screamed that those photos must not be taken. Doing so could bring grave consequences.

Despite the tense atmosphere around them, the village itself was peaceful.

“If you don’t have anything better to do, help us gather some snails,” a woman bundled up in thick clothes called out by the riverbank, gesturing for tourists to wade into the water. “Ten coins for every pound of snails. How about it?”

“Why don’t you collect them yourself?” the tourists were puzzled. They were visitors, not seasoned farmhands. Who knew how hard it was to catch snails in the river?

“Do you have any money on you?” the woman asked. “Your guide took all your coins when you arrived, right? Staying at Old Wang’s inn—a real money pit—costs a fortune. Don’t believe their lies about three meals included. They randomly charge for extra dishes. If you can’t pay, you’ll be made to wash dishes, clean, or do farm work. Since you’re going to be working anyway, why not do it for me?”

What kind of place was this?

The tourists were not pleased. This wasn’t an inn; it was a scam.

“So… if we work for you, we won’t get into trouble, right?”

“Nope! We use this river water daily,” she said. “I don’t go in because I wear too many clothes and it’s uncomfortable. Otherwise, I wouldn’t waste money having you guys do it.”

Some of the more naive players took her at her word. They rolled up their sleeves and pants and started wading into the river.

Tang Mu stayed put.

Lu Zhengqing, seeing her lack of enthusiasm, also remained on the shore rather than joining the others.

The water was shallow—just knee-deep when people stepped in.

One player waded into the river, took a small bamboo basket for snails from the villager, and moved toward the center where the rocks were abundant and snails hid beneath.

He could pull handfuls out with ease.

“How many do you want? Half a pound? One or two pounds?” The player complained after just picking a few snails, sounding exhausted.

Whether it was imagination or not, the villager seemed to glare at him with disdain, as if annoyed that he wasn’t cut out for farm work and was already slacking off after only bending twice.

“Get more,” she urged. “Bring me half a basket, at least.”

She was egging the tourist on.