My hand had already found the talisman doll of the Guardian Deity in my bundle.
The other reached toward Lian.
“You awake?”
No answer.
He rely opened his eyes—slowly—and looked toward the door.
“They’re here,” he murmured.
A chill shot through . “Who’s here?”
“Listen.”
The wind outside died.
Then ca a strange rhythm of footsteps—
Tap… thud… tap… thud…
Even. Deliberate. Echoing off the stone path before the house.
That wasn’t the rhythm of a man walking.
That was… the long-short-foot patrol.
BANG!
The door shuddered.
A warped voice crooned from outside, half laughing, half weeping:
“Straight legs… straight legs…”
Gooseflesh rippled over my arms.
And then—the system’s voice slid into my ear:
Side Quest [Folklore Horror: The Dream-Hunter] activated.
Warning: if awakened in the dream, escape must follow the rhythm of long-short steps.
Failure to match will mark you as an outsider—imdiate consumption follows.
“Say that again?” I hissed.
Triggered by a misplaced draft note from the original author. Activation irreversible.
I was about to curse when a gust of cold air brushed the back of my neck.
Outside the window—a pair of feet hovered in midair.
One black, one white.
One long, one short.
Moving with a grotesque, off-beat rhythm.
Then—screams.
From the next room, a traveler with normal legs burst through the window, sprinting for his life—swift, symtrical, dood.
The thing outside lunged once and swallowed him whole.
Only his shoes hit the ground, twitching twice before going still.
I nearly lost my soul on the spot.
“Lian! Hua! Get up—we can’t run evenly!”
“What kind of logic is that?” Hua barked, sitting up.
“No ti! Raise your right foot higher! Lian—stop smiling, you’re too symtrical!”
Barefoot, I tried a few steps on the floor.
Tap-thud, tap-thud.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, half laughing, half hysterical. “Abandoned novel, and I still get dropped into so village-horror battle royale?”
“System, what is that thing?”
Note: Source fragnt [Qushan Village], unpublished draft. Scene auto-generated due to missing Chapter 8.
“Fine!” I yelled. “If I run right, I live?”
If escape distance reaches two hundred steps with acceptable asymtry, mission cleared.
“‘Acceptable asymtry’? This is survival, not choreography!”
Recomnded rhythm: left short, right lift. Tap—thud, tap—thud—
“Shut it! Are you teaching to flee or to dance a village jig?”
Countdown begins. Five… four…
“Okay, okay! I’ll dance!”
Lian and Hua watched as I bent my knees and gave a shaky little hop.
“Left—tap… right—thud…”
The wind moaned; grass hissed underfoot.
“It’s, uh… a family secret,” I gasped. “Ancestral Nangong step. Wards off evil. Join in—quickly!”
Lian’er said nothing. His gaze shifted toward the door.
The steps outside drew nearer.
Tap—thud, tap—thud…
Through the crack I saw it—
A twisted shadow, lopsided, half its face peeled away, an eyeball swinging from its cheek.
“Those who walk straight… must die…” it crooned.
My scalp prickled. “Lian’, it’s here—!”
He tilted his head slightly. “Like this?”
And then he moved.
Left toe, right lift—smooth, effortless, elegant.
The motion flowed like willow branches in the wind, so graceful it looked like… nuet.
“You’re escaping, not performing!” I hissed.
But sohow—it worked.
The ghost hesitated, as if trying to decide whether he was one of theirs.
Hua, anwhile, only smirked.
He flicked open his folding fan, steps light but precise, each tap-thud crisp and maddeningly composed.
“Truly, young master Nangong,” he drawled, “even your running looks rehearsed.”
“Shut up! One more word and I’ll stand still so it eats you first!”
The ghost was closing in. Its voice turned harsh—
“Too straight… too neat… not from the village…”
Cold sweat drenched my back.
Then I noticed—Lian’s rhythm had changed.
He’d begun to miss beats on purpose—half a step late, half a step early.
Wrong in all the right ways.
His red sleeves fluttered; his footwork blurred into shadows.
Even the ghost looked confused. It tilted its head, uncertain, claws hovering midair.
Hua followed suit, his movents less elegant but steady, almost composed.
As for …
I tripped.
My left foot dragged, my right jumped too soon, and before I knew it—
BAM!
I fell straight into Hua.
His fan clattered to the floor. Our legs tangled.
“Are you insane?” he hissed.
“You shut up or I’ll let go and you can die artistically on your own!”
We staggered in chaos—two n, three legs, no rhythm whatsoever.
The ghost lood closer. Its voice rasped like bone on stone:
“Too… even… must fix…”
Then it stopped.
It blinked at us—our ridiculous, half-embraced three-legged shuffle—and whispered, almost thoughtfully:
“…Crooked… just right.”
And drifted away.
Huaand I stood frozen.
Side Quest [Qushan Village: Night Patrol Dream] complete.
Title earned: Three-Legged Balance: The Way of the Crooked.
Hidden bonus: Spirit of the Village Dance.
We’d actually cleared it.
I collapsed onto the floor, panting, half sprawled across Hua’s leg.
“System,” I wheezed. “What the hell kind of title is that?”
Achievent unlocked. Congratulations.
“Give another one—like ‘Painless Victory,’ maybe?”
Hua picked up his fan, dusting it off. “A sha,” he said mildly. “I was just about to reward you with my Starving Tiger Palm (so kind of martial arts).”
I was about to retort—when a chill brushed my shoulder.
Under the eaves stood Lian, red robes glowing faintly in the dark, eyes cool, expression unreadable.
His right hand, half-raised, glead with the edge of a hidden weapon.
“Lian?” I managed.
His gaze flicked to where my hand still rested on Hua’s shoulder.
His lips curved faintly.
“Quite… in sync.”
My stomach dropped.
I yanked my hand away at once.
Before I could explain, Hua tugged back. “Don’t move—what if the ghost cos again?”
“You shut up.”
Lian’s eyes lowered. He turned away, soundless, the air around him suddenly colder.
A shiver ran through .
This… was not good.
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