Chapter 5: The Former Director—Why Does He Owe Me an Apology?

Saint Heart Orphanage stood at number 32 on Peace Street, and by now it had a history of more than twenty years.

For many people, it had been there when they were still in split-crotch pants, and when they later wore suits and ties, Saint Heart Orphanage was still there.

As though nothing had ever changed.

Only the paint on the signboard had peeled away, revealing the wood beneath its original, somber color.

Tap, tap, tap—

Out of the darkness came an old woman leaning on a cane.

She was the headmistress of Saint Heart Orphanage.

With slow, unsteady steps, she made her way to the great pagoda tree in the courtyard, found a square brick with one chipped corner, and stood on it to jump hard twice.

Thud. Thud.

Crack—

From underground came the dry, grinding sound of gears turning.

Another brick nearby rose slowly, revealing a deep tunnel leading below.

Anyone who saw this would have been astonished.

For more than twenty years, no one had known there was a mechanism beneath Saint Heart Orphanage, not even the children who had grown up and left from here.

The tunnel was not long, with oil lamps lit along both sides.

The flames atop the wicks were a ghastly green, swaying in the draft that blew into the passage.

The old headmistress kept a blank expression.

Leaning on her cane, she walked into the pallid green glow.

Her loose skin quivered with each step, making the wrinkles on her face all the more pronounced.

Against the eerie green light, those wrinkles looked like writhing green worms.

After a while, she reached the end of the tunnel.

There was a spacious hall here, larger even than the orphanage above.

All over the walls of the hall were carved and painted twisted religious symbols, and the ceiling and floor were covered with them too.

The moment one stepped inside, an overwhelming sense of oppression descended.

In one corner lay more than a dozen corpses, the smallest still in swaddling clothes.

Their eyes were wide open, and each had a gash at the throat, as though bitten by some beast.

Everything about the place was bizarre and horrifying.

"Waaah!"

"Grandma, I'm scared!"

A child’s thin, frightened crying came from ahead.

In the center of the hall’s floor was a blood-red hexagram.

Sitting inside it was a little boy.

He tried to stand, but whenever he moved, the hexagram beneath him would emit a dark purple light, binding him in place as though by invisible chains.

"Don't be afraid, Ah Chi," the old headmistress said as she came to stand beside the hexagram.

She reached out and stroked the boy’s body, a kindly smile on her face. "For you, it will all be over very soon."

"For Grandma, too."

The little boy was covered in tears. Gripping the old woman’s hand, he pleaded between sobs, "Grandma, Ah Chi won’t crawl through everyone’s shadows anymore. Ah Chi isn’t a monster. Please don’t kill Ah Chi!"

The old headmistress stroked his hair, her expression tender. "Of course you’re not a monster. You’re a genius with divinity within you."

"For more than twenty years, Grandma has been waiting for a good child like you, and now I’ve finally found one."

"With you as the sacrifice,"

"the great deity will surely be delighted."

She curled her lips, and in her cloudy eyes rose naked malice.

The little boy sensed her killing intent and trembled as he begged, "Ah Chi will be good from now on."

"Ah Chi will never be picky or naughty again. Ah Chi will go to bed early and get up early every day, and study hard..."

The old headmistress ignored him.

Stroking the child’s body, she murmured, "No wounds. So clean. Inside and out. Truly the perfect sacrifice."

She withdrew her hands.

"If you are in pain, then pray to the great deity. He will protect you."

As soon as the words fell, the hexagram lit up brilliantly.

"Ah!" The little boy let out a terrible scream.

A horrifying agony engulfed him, as though countless needles were stabbing into his body, so painful he could hardly breathe.

"Grandma... Grandma..."

He curled into a ball, blood dripping all over him.

God... save me...

The old headmistress watched this scene, both hands resting on her cane, a smile on her face.

"At last, it is almost over."

"It was worth all these years of lying low."

For years she had endured humiliation and borne the burden of waiting in this loathsome city.

All for this sacrifice, to summon a projection of the evil deity and drag the entire city into suffering and calamity.

Now, at last, her wish was about to be fulfilled.

It had not been in vain that she had played the saint all these years, dealing every day with so-called good people until she had nearly forgotten who she was.

It was over. Let them all die!

Buzzzzz—

Then, a faint sound rang in the old headmistress’s ear.

A mosquito?

She raised an eyebrow, not paying it much mind.

But the buzzing grew louder, and clearer.

"I’m sorry... Headmistress..."

"...I was wrong."

"I... evil deity... deserve death."

The old headmistress froze.

She could vaguely hear someone speaking, but could not make out the words.

At that moment, the sound of gears turning came from the tunnel.

Crack—

She jolted, spun around, and stared fixedly at the tunnel entrance.

Who was it?

The old headmistress tightened her grip on the cane, veins rising on the back of her hand. She did not dare breathe, her cloudy eyes wide as saucers.

Rustle, rustle, rustle...

From the tunnel came a strange scraping sound, as though something were gliding in close to the ground.

The muttering became clearer.

"It’s all my fault!"

"I’m the evil deity’s lackey! I deserve all this suffering!"

"I’m sorry, I was wrong!"

"Old headmistress, I’m sorry!"

"I really deserve to die!"

The old headmistress frowned, a vivid look of confusion surfacing in her eyes.

What nonsense was this person talking?

Who was he, what had he done, and why was he apologizing to her?

Was he also one of the evil deity’s lackeys?

Why was he saying he deserved to die? Was he confessing?

Under the old headmistress’s tense gaze, a man shrouded in black mist walked into the hall.

The mist blurred his figure, and she could only make out the long baton he carried in his hand.

The old headmistress studied him for a moment and could not identify him, so she said tentatively, "Praise the great deity?"

"It’s all my fault!" The man lowered his head and walked straight toward her.

The old headmistress’s heart sank.

The ritual was underway. She absolutely could not let this inexplicable fellow ruin it!

"Stop right there. Don’t come any closer!"

She issued the warning.

The man seemed not to hear her at all, and continued toward her with stiff, awkward steps.

The old headmistress clenched her cane, her expression grave.

Suddenly, the man stopped.

The old headmistress dared not relax; she still stared wide-eyed, fixedly watching him.

Then, at that very moment, a great cloud of white powder flew straight into her face.

What was that?

Caught off guard, the white powder struck her face in an instant.

"Agh! My eyes!"

The old headmistress screamed in misery, both shocked and frightened.

A fierce burning sensation erupted in her eyes, and tears began streaming uncontrollably.

She let out a feral growl.

Patchy gray fur burst forth from beneath her skin, and her body swelled rapidly, as though she had become a giant rat standing upright on two legs.

Then she sprang backward and fled.

The famed headmistress of Saint Heart Orphanage had thus turned into a monster.

Yet the man was not frightened in the least.

"I am guilty! It’s all my fault!"

While loudly confessing, he raised a can of pepper spray and blasted the fleeing old headmistress without mercy.

"I really deserve to die!"

He flung away the pepper spray, lifted the sharpened steel pipe in his hand, and charged after her in two great strides.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry!"

"Old headmistress!" the man roared, running faster and faster.

Hearing the footsteps behind her drawing closer and closer, the old headmistress was terrified out of her wits.

A madman! A madman!