Eldritch Horror Theatre

Was it really that effective? No wonder people said to stand on the shoulders of giants.

Even at such a critical juncture, Fu Qian was quite certain this wasn’t his imagination.

It felt like grabbing a lifeline while sliding into The Abyss, giving him a moment to catch his breath.

And the more he experienced this relief, the deeper his revulsion at the thought of sliding into The Abyss—fortunately, this lifeline seemed sturdy enough.

Soon, he had caught more than just a single breath. Fu Qian could clearly feel his condition stabilizing; his mind had stopped slipping into abstraction.

But then again, if his predecessors had compiled such effective methods, how had they failed to hold out to the end?

That question was hard to answer right now. As things stood, his perception of time had severely degraded, making it difficult to judge how much longer he needed to hold out.

Especially when no one was making a sound.

”Thanks for the reminder.”

No matter. He could just start a conversation himself.”If time runs out and I still fall asleep... what happens then?”

Having offered his thanks, Fu Qian followed up with his question in the steadiest voice he could muster.

”Rest assured, that won’t happen. The moment you start crawling on the ground like a beast, I’ll announce the result and take you out.”

The Old Man’s response brimmed with confidence.

It certainly clarified why they called this the Mind Beast Punishment.

Long before he arrived, the Brotherhood had evidently already compared this experience against the Inhuman Samsara.

”Of course, the Brotherhood won’t take you in anymore. You’ll have the freedom you’ve been craving.”

Unsurprisingly, this punishment was purely for torture. Since he had killed someone, they were still going to permanently cut ties with him.

There was one last minor detail: the Old Man and Brother Thick Eyebrows were still alive and kicking. The incense burners he had smashed evidently hadn’t included theirs—so where were they?

Glancing around the Great Hall from the corner of his eye, Fu Qian realized his vision had actually grown a fraction clearer.

...

Not only had the deterioration stopped, he was actually recovering?

Quietly evaluating the change, Fu Qian confirmed it wasn’t an illusion.

The strongest proof was the illusory image formed by the gathering smoke; it had regained a faint outline in his vision.

He really was recovering. Was this the power of believing in the light?

But if that was true, why had those predecessors failed to hold out to the end?

Despite the situation looking up on all fronts, Fu Qian, who always loved asking questions, didn’t give in to easy optimism.

Not only that, but a moment later, he made a bold move—he stopped picturing the glazed Bright Light in his mind.

The sensation of sliding into The Abyss returned almost instantly, though it wasn’t as intense right away.

So this is your method? What does this world truly look like in your eyes? What is the purpose of this arrangement?

Fu Qian asked himself as he silently observed the shift.

...

Getting the opponent to start their performance had always been the true goal behind his actions.

So for Fu Qian, even as he fought the darkness, he had maintained a second perspective, constantly observing his own struggle.

He was facing an elusive, higher-dimensional opponent, and this approach would quietly help him deduce Its true intentions.

No one had come to kill him again. Even when Brother Thick Eyebrows flew into a rage earlier, he had ultimately backed down—but Fu Qian didn’t think the enemy had temporarily let him off the hook.

On the contrary, he had been operating on the assumption that this entire situation was the result of deliberate manipulation.

Working from that premise, what goal could he infer?

What outcome was It trying to achieve?

That wasn’t an easy question to answer, considering his complete lack of information on the Eighth Heaven.

But that didn’t stop him from using some simple, brute-force logic to attempt a deduction.

For example, why hadn’t It kept trying to kill him?

Even if he had shown impressive skills earlier, he was still just a mortal. With a few more assailants, he would eventually be hacked to death—unless the outcome It was guiding him toward was even worse than being hacked to death.

Was that possible? He couldn’t rule it out.

After all, judging by his past experiences, death wouldn’t restart the task, nor would he truly die; instead, he would most likely enter a cycle of Inhuman Samsara.

And he had already proven himself entirely capable of escaping it, even if the process wasn’t easy.

Then came the next question: what consequence could be worse than being hacked to death or falling into the Inhuman Samsara?—Having the path forward blocked off.

If physical annihilation was impossible, then lock down his mental progression. It could induce cognitive blind spots to create obstacles against exploring the next Heaven.

Applying that to his current situation: in a moment of crisis, he had learned the methods of his predecessors and successfully stabilized his condition, arresting his slide into The Abyss.

And that was what everyone in the Realm of Bliss tried desperately to avoid.

Even if he encountered similar discomfort later on, he would likely fall back on this ”experience” to alleviate the symptoms.

For example, he had felt something similar while observing Madam Silk Scarf and her companion’s performance.

So was this the misdirection It was trying to feed him?

Doing the exact opposite—giving up resistance, abandoning his yearning for the light, and truly plunging into The Abyss—could that be the key to entering the Upper Heaven?

It was a valid theory, but based on his experience with the Inhuman Samsara, it seemed this destination of corruption truly offered no way out—unless it wasn’t the final destination.

Feeling the withering of his will intensify once more, Fu Qian truly stopped resisting. He completely let go, allowing his will to sink as everything before his eyes rapidly began fading.

Not only that, he did one extra thing: he recalled the brief, ”shaped absence of will” that had appeared while watching Madam Silk Scarf and her companion.

He attempted to recreate that indescribable symbol, one steeped in a staggering sense of depravity, to crash through a new baseline.

The incense hall did not exist, the City of Bliss did not exist, and even the self did not exist...

Soon, torn apart by the abstract vortex, everything disintegrated and plunged into darkness.

By the very end, even the concept of darkness itself seemed difficult to define...

...

Huu—

At some point, Fu Qian drew a deep breath. In the process, he gradually reactivated his cognition of concepts like breathing, the self, the task... and so on, as if he had been pulled from a freezer to thaw.

So this is?

By the time his concept of vision returned, Fu Qian struggled to open his eyes, only to find the space ahead was still pitch black.

Reaching out, his hand easily met an obstruction, but the texture...

Groping around in another direction, Fu Qian quickly reached a probable conclusion—was he lying in a coffin again?

And one with the lid still shut tight, at that.