Chapter 36 Chapter 37 The Puppet Master
Morning.
At the port of Le’an, in the bedroom.
Mr. Dongdong opened his eyes in bed, drenched in sweat. He sat up and trembled as he looked toward the desk.
As expected, just as the figure in his dream had said, there was a thick book on the table, seemingly appearing from nowhere.
He wished that last night’s dream had just been his imagination.
He got off the bed and sat down on a chair. To him, the stack of light yellow paper before him exuded an indescribable evil.
Mr. Dongdong regretted once again that he had invited an evil entity into his life. Terrifying stories from folklore surfaced in his mind, portraying protagonists who met tragically dire fates.
He believed that the enigmatic, shape-shifting female entity from his dream—perhaps a chosen one of an evil god—was not just trying to publish an ordinary little yellow book but was likely plotting a horrifying scheme that he could never have imagined. But he felt he had no choice.
Mr. Dongdong lowered his head and repented to the divine for his arrogance.
He reached out, opened the first page, and felt a wave of depravity emanating from the chaotic text.
Mr. Dongdong wanted to give up, but he was compelled to at least read a little. He endured the fear, straining to decipher the words. After a few minutes, his eyes began to hurt, and he quickly slammed the book shut in fright.
But upon reflection, he recalled the warning from the female entity in his dream; she had set up something called a “camera” in his room to watch his every move.
Trembling, Mr. Dongdong bowed his head before the nonexistent “camera” and confessed, saying “I’m sorry” three times, before finally mustering the courage to reopen the book and read on.
The text was difficult to decipher, and the style was bizarre. However, once he got into it, he unconsciously flipped through the pages, reaching the last one, and could not help but flip back to the first.
“Bang bang bang!”
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. “It’s already noon, why aren’t you up yet?”
It was his wife’s voice.
Noon?
Mr. Dongdong widened his eyes, coming back to reality.
He responded, “It’s fine, you don’t need to wait for me for lunch.”
After saying this, he gazed at the book on the table.
The book lay open, filled with strange writing.
Mr. Dongdong realized his eyes hurt, and the corners were wet. He nervously touched around his eyes and checked his fingers; thankfully, there was no blood.
He felt a wave of dread; this book truly had some supernatural element.
Though the text was difficult to make out, once he read it, there was a sort of magical pull that kept him glued to the chair, flipping through the book again and again.
Mr. Dongdong even suspected that his soul had already been tainted; the high tent that protruded was a prime example.
In his mind, images of a noble, beautiful, and sexy elven queen, surrounded by numerous green-skinned giants, crying out, kept flashing, and a rush of heat surged from his belly to his head.
He quickly stood up, closed the book, and vigorously shook his foggy brain.
He thought about how he was going to take this book to find printers today, to print copies and spread them around. It felt like he was about to spread a horrifying plague.
This was definitely a terrible and dark conspiracy; if someone were to investigate, he would surely suffer.
He hesitated, wanting to report it.
The nightmare replayed in his mind.
No one would believe him, he had no evidence. Moreover, if he betrayed them, his whole family would die quickly, as that seemingly harmless black-haired girl had personally guaranteed him.
The key factor was that she promised him profit—if they made money, he would get a share, and she would cover all publishing costs.
Mr. Dongdong made up his mind, dressed, washed up, picked up the book, and started walking in the direction of the printer.
…
…
The next morning.
A certain puppet master, the evil black-haired girl, walked down the business district streets with a backpack.
Though it was still early, the white city was bustling with commercial activity; small business owners were up early preparing their goods. There were quite a few people on the street.
A couple of passersby pointed at Jima’s black hair.
Jima didn’t react; she had long since become accustomed to being the center of attention.
All the while, she calculated and pondered her plans.
The printer was starting work, the metal type was ready, and the paper used was the best. Jima insisted on clear lettering, especially on the cover. Since this era couldn’t print in color, she had to focus on clarity.
High standards, high costs. Mr. Dongdong seemed pained at the expense, hinting to Jima that such a little yellow book didn’t need to be so demanding, and the cost could be reduced by half.
But Jima was very stubborn; she also demanded that the first printed book must be shown to her. If it didn’t meet her requirements, Mr. Dongdong would be quite close to the tragedy of his entire family perishing.
The first batch of 800 books cost me 400 gold coins, and I still need to spend more; I only have 179 gold coins left. I also need to spend money to open up sales channels; I really feel like I’m getting poorer… If the book doesn’t sell well, that so-called acne will have no value for utilization…
“Looks like it’s her.”
“Yeah, it should be her.”
Nearby, two men pointed at Jima, interrupting her thoughts.
Jima looked over and noticed a strange look in the eyes of the two men. One approached her and asked, “Miss, how much do you charge for a night?”
Jima’s golden eyes lit up, and she pulled the man into a dream. She quickly envisioned a dream filled with 800 burly green-skinned men, each with a face as ugly as a pig and muscular bodies.
The man first showed confusion, then surprise, and finally panic. His eyes widened, mouth agape, making muffled sounds, drooling uncontrollably.
His companion noticed something was off and asked, “What’s wrong with you?”
Jima clarified, “He’s probably daydreaming about eating green sausages.”
“But he—”
At that moment, Jima snapped her fingers. The man pulled into the dream suddenly woke up, bent over, one hand holding his stomach, the other protecting his backside, and began to gag.
His companion was too stunned to react.
“Why did you suddenly ask me how much I charge?”
The man continued to gag, the enthusiastic green-skinned giants had clearly left him with profound psychological trauma.
Jima punched him lightly on the head and asked, “Hey, answer my question.”
The man staggered; his companion steadied him, glaring at Jima and saying, “Are you looking for a fight?”
The man quickly grabbed his companion and said, “Don’t be impulsive.”
Then he turned to Jima, pointing with a trembling finger to a paper not far away where a couple of people had gathered. The paper was quite large, depicting the face of a woman.
“I saw it over there, please spare me.”
Jima smiled and said, “How could a girl who seems harmless use extraordinary abilities to harm others? Sometimes, people act a little crazy; it’s normal, right?”
The two suddenly felt that Jima’s golden eyes were so bright, and her smile was so beautiful, that they developed a momentary fondness for her.
They nodded.
“Let’s go.”
With Jima’s word, the two hurriedly left.
She approached a piece of paper pasted on the wall at the bottom of the dance studio. As she got closer, she saw that it was a drawing of a woman’s face that looked somewhat like her, with deliberately black hair and golden eyes.
Jima stood before the paper, stroking her chin, and muttered to herself:
“Hmm, the face is a bit distorted, lacking shadowing; it seems like someone who hasn’t been drawing for long. Let’s see what’s written on it? Tsk, Little Q is making love in the hallway… anyone can join, despicable and cunning, secretly poisoning, likes to stab innocent disabled people in the back… already achieved a thousand kills… tsk tsk, what a poor imagination; nobody would buy this little yellow book.”
It was likely the work of her good classmate.
“Fortunately, they haven’t slandered me to be small, short, and fast.”
Jima didn’t take it to heart; the people around her noticed the black-haired girl, throwing strange looks at Jima.
Jima didn’t care; to her, this world was composed of just a few familiar faces. She was indifferent to how other strangers looked at her or spoke ill of her, unless they came up to her and said it.
But…
Jima stepped forward, reaching for the paper pasted on the wall. The paper was newly stuck, making it easy to remove.
The person who pasted the paper seemed to be concerned she wouldn’t know. They chose to put it at the stairway of the dance studio, where she would nearly come every day.
Jima effortlessly peeled the paper off.
Since it was already on her face, if she didn’t show any reaction, how was that different from being a turtle hiding its head?
At this point, if she still thought: ah, anyway, I’m a transformed girl, and my acquaintances wouldn’t believe this rumor. Let these clowns dance as they wish.
It would likely be no different than A Q.
She had to make them pay a heavy price.
After Jima tucked the paper away, she slowly walked up the stairs.
In her mind, she pondered how to deal with this matter and what useful angles it might provide.
At night, she would make them have nightmares, tormenting them daily. After five or six days of sleepless nights, they would naturally understand their mistake.
No, that was too long. Besides, this was the realm of the Sanctuary, and it would definitely attract the attention of those from the Sanctuary. Although it wouldn’t cost her much if she were caught, George, who wrote rules even for spanking, wouldn’t approve of chaotic acts of revenge.
Should she go through legal avenues and accuse them of slander?
Forget it, this isn’t modern society. There aren’t such detailed laws; I have no evidence, and the Sanctuary doesn’t have cameras. If that silly virgin George found out about this, he would definitely spend a lot of time interviewing people. Not to mention the time and effort, even if evidence was found, it might only lead to an apology from those girls.
Use rumors against rumors?
This is my strength; I have extraordinary abilities when it comes to slander, and it can also help me quickly master the power of “deceiver.” I could take this paper and run over to George, crying a bit and pretending to be deeply affected; he surely wouldn’t have the heart to blame me for my slanderous behavior.
The only problem is that the effect would be too slow.
Jima thought as she ascended to the second floor and entered the dance studio.
Unusually, the studio was almost full; only Master Ke was missing.
The moment Jima stepped into the studio, a girl closed the door behind her. The red-haired girl took the lead, pulling a plump girl and a bunch of others to surround her.
“Little Q!” the red-haired girl said, “Apologize to me!”
Jima silently deleted the well-thought-out plan she had just concocted.
