Death by Accident

"Ding ding..."

Zhao Ke had no idea how long he had slept before the alarm woke him. He shook his head, climbed out of the coffin, and looked at the time.

It was already noon. However, the attic room's curtains blocked out all light. Even though the sun was blazing outside, the room remained pitch-black.

He had specially set that alarm. If he failed to wake up by noon each day, it would forcibly wake him.

Sitting up in the coffin, Zhao Ke stretched lazily. Though he had also slept for several days in that small town within the horror space, he truly was not used to those hard beds. In the end, he still preferred sleeping in a coffin.

Out of habit, he swept his gaze over the furnishings in the room. After checking the cabinet, doors, and windows and finding no signs that they had been moved, Zhao Ke finally climbed out of the coffin.

Just as he was about to head downstairs, an idea suddenly struck Zhao Ke. He turned back to look at the coffin behind him and thought, Why not put the coffin into the Post Album too? Then I won't have to worry about where to sleep in the future.

At the thought, Zhao Ke's eyes lit up. He placed his palm on the coffin and silently said, "Convert!"

"The object is too large. Your authority level is insufficient."

The cold prompt immediately soured Zhao Ke's good mood. Strictly speaking, though, the coffin was indeed rather large.

Cremation was promoted nowadays, and coffin shops had switched to making urns. Some coffins were rented out merely for ceremonial purposes, while very few were actually sold.

Lei Ke had pulled some strings to have this coffin custom-made by an older carpenter in the countryside. The wood was nothing special, but it was a standard six-six coffin.

It was also very comfortable to lie in. He had not been used to it at first, but after sleeping in it twice, he found himself unable to do without it.

Since the coffin was too large to convert, Zhao Ke could only abandon that little plan. He went downstairs and looked outside.

The sky had cleared. Sunlight poured down beneath a vast blue sky, and after the previous heavy rain had washed everything clean, the air was exceptionally fresh.

His cafeteria was located in the suburbs. Normally, at four every morning, the vegetable farmers he had arranged with would come deliver produce.

Perhaps because of the recent heavy rains, the farmers who were supposed to deliver vegetables had not come for several days, and the remaining vegetables were nearly gone.

He remembered that four guests had booked for tonight. At that thought, Zhao Ke's lips curled faintly upward. He summoned his Post Album with a wave of his hand and looked at the corpse chunks stored inside. Narrowing his eyes, he already had an idea.

He picked up his motorcycle keys and was about to head to the suburban produce market to buy some vegetables when his peripheral vision caught the dark rosewood box on the table, as well as the file envelope Lei Ke had sent over.

"An urn!"

The more Zhao Ke looked at the rosewood box, the more it resembled one. Then another thought came to him: if he died in the horror space, would this urn contain his ashes?

He glanced at the file envelope beside it, casually picked it up, and tossed it directly into the rosewood box.

He no longer needed those people's files.

Compared with them, the stories within the horror space felt far more thrilling and novel to Zhao Ke.

He tossed the urn into the kitchen stove, mounted his motorcycle, and headed straight for the suburban produce market.

Eastern Han Produce Market was the largest concentrated produce trading area in the region. It took Zhao Ke only fifteen minutes to ride there, but by the time he arrived, it was already noon.

Most of the fresh ingredients were gone. What remained were either items picked over by vegetable vendors or stock that was not selling well.

Zhao Ke was in no hurry, because he knew there was a smaller market behind this produce market. That was his real destination.

"Take a look! Freshly picked bamboo shoots, nice and fresh!"

"Free-range eggs! Free-range eggs! Six yuan a pound, fresh free-range eggs!"

As Zhao Ke entered the smaller market, a wave of noisy hawking greeted him. Even though it was already noon, the place was as lively as ever.

The people buying and selling here were not merchants. Many were villagers from nearby rural areas, bringing vegetables and fresh goods they had grown themselves or picked from the mountains to sell here.

There were no stall fees here, and it was a legal business area. It was also a local support project, and with deliberate official promotion, it had become quite a bustling market.

"Young man, these are freshly picked mountain goods. Take a look! They're wonderful for soup."

Zhao Ke walked up to an old man and saw wild shiitake mushrooms in two bamboo baskets. After several days of heavy rain, wild shiitakes in the mountains would immediately begin sprouting.

These mushrooms had to be picked quickly. If left too long, they lost their flavor. Zhao Ke looked at the mud on the old man's shoes and the hole in his pants. On closer inspection, he could vaguely see a little bloodstain inside.

Clearly, the old man had suffered quite a bit to pick these mushrooms.

Unfortunately, they were good goods, but no one had shown interest all morning. Wild mountain mushrooms did not look appealing, and ordinary people did not know how to recognize quality, so the old man had not sold a thing.

"I'll take them all!"

Without asking the price, Zhao Ke took four hundred yuan from his wallet and handed it over. The old man froze, then hurriedly waved his hands. "That's too much, too much!"

"It's not. They're good goods, worth the price. Sir, here's my address. If you have more in the future, just bring them here. I'll take everything."

"Th-this... all right, all right, all right."

The old man accepted the money, delight on his face, though his eyes grew misty. Four hundred yuan was not much, but it was enough to buy medicine for his wife.

Carrying the mushrooms, Zhao Ke continued deeper into the market and bought quite a few more things along the way—chicken, duck, fish, meat, everything.

Ignoring the strange looks from others, Zhao Ke carried his large bags of purchases, chickens in one hand and ducks in the other, into the restroom. After some time passed, Zhao Ke emerged with both hands empty, making the elderly man watching the toilets stare wide-eyed.

Scratching his head, the old man hurried into the restroom and searched it from top to bottom. He even rummaged through the wastebasket. Forget a chicken—he could not find even a feather. A moment later, he came out looking utterly baffled and muttered, "Strange. Was I seeing things?"

"Boss, one bowl of wonton noodles."

After browsing the market all morning, Zhao Ke entered a wonton noodle shop on the market's left side.

This Long Kee Wonton Noodle Shop was not large, but it was already a locally famous authentic eatery. The five or six tables before him were all full, and a long line stretched out behind them.

Many cars were parked outside, including several high-end sedans. They had all come to try the place.

Zhao Ke ordered a bowl of wonton noodles and stood there waiting. At that moment, a local news report came on the television hanging in the shop.

"Today in our city, a renovation worker died in an accident early last night. According to the investigation, the deceased was installing window glass when he accidentally fell from the twenty-fourth floor. Our station reminds everyone working at heights to remain mindful of safety..."

Zhao Ke paid it no attention at first. Accidents like this happened every day; only now, with information so widespread, were they frequently reported.

However, when Zhao Ke raised his head and glanced at the news, his entire body stiffened. The renovation worker who had fallen was none other than Li Hongbing, whom Zhao Ke had encountered earlier in the horror space.

In the horror space, Li Hongbing had been drugged unconscious by Xiong Er's mother and made into a pot of meat porridge. Yet in reality, he had died in an accident.

If Li Hongbing was like this... then what about the others?

He remembered the scar-faced man saying that one Post Point could be exchanged for a gold bar, with a guaranteed legitimate source in reality and absolutely no trouble.

A bold speculation immediately surfaced in Zhao Ke's mind. Was there some unseen force constantly creating accidents to conceal the truth?

And behind those accidents, perhaps just like Li Hongbing, people were killed in the horror space and died in accidents in reality—silently, without anyone noticing anything unusual.

As soon as that thought arose, Zhao Ke felt a chill run down his back. Coldness crawled up his spine, raising goosebumps all over his body.

Just then, Zhao Ke suddenly felt the flesh on his shoulder tighten. He turned his head slightly and saw that, at some unknown time, a hand had come to rest on his shoulder.