Doomsday Wonderland

Doomsday Wonderland Chapter 1389: Ji Shanqing’s Considerations

Chapter 1389: Ji Shanqing’s Considerations

Perhaps everyone was tired, so the Anonymous Thoughts Zone on the wall was still blank for the time being; no one’s thoughts made it onto the list.

This gave Lin Sanjiu a significant amount of hope.

Anyone but a fool, upon a little thought, would understand why the game would set up such a thing — it simply hoped to tear them apart, turning them against each other. It would certainly not choose thoughts like “I want to strive hard with everyone.” If it was blank now, was it because no one had subconscious thoughts that could make it onto the list?

The four farmers worked silently for a while, and as the time was getting closer to the agreed-upon rest time of ten o’clock, everyone’s faces began to show some signs of relief for the impending end. The other three had long since stopped their search, pulled out a blanket from their backpacks, and sat down to rest. Though no one was asleep, the room was quiet for a while.

If they considered 10:30 PM as bed time and planned to get up at 7:30 AM, they wouldn’t get a full eight hours of sleep like this. The farmers’ output on the first day totaled eleven food b.a.l.l.s, which was barely enough to get by. Keeping in mind that they just entered the game that day and had a base from before, by tomorrow, if they continued to rely on the same output, it would be insufficient for their energy expenditure.

To be safe, it was better to start tilling the fields around four or five in the morning.

The thought of the long and seemingly endless hard work the next day made even Lin Sanjiu feel a little apprehensive. Just as she was about to discuss this with everyone, she heard a low, indistinct groan. Startled, she followed the sound and found that it was Han Suiping, who had been in a stupor for most of the day.

His face was so red it looked as if it had been boiled; even a glance was frightening.

“Louisa,” Lin Sanjiu called out urgently, “Can you check what’s wrong with him?”

Louisa made her way through the narrow path between the fields and squatted in the corner, her back s.h.i.+elding Han Suiping’s face. She touched his forehead and looked up, surprised. “He’s running a fever; his face is burning up.”

Developing a high fever wasn’t unexpected for Han Suiping, who was unable to relieve pain or fight infections. Despite being somewhat prepared, Lin Sanjiu still felt a wave of dread wash over her.

“Does anyone have a handkerchief, or anything similar?” she asked. Seeing that no one did, she ripped off a piece of her pant leg, soaked it in the irrigation water, and placed it on Han Suiping’s forehead as a makes.h.i.+ft compress. It was a crude remedy but better than nothing.

Han Suiping’s intermittent groans, like a nearly broken record, dragged and echoed in the room from time to time. Fractured ribs were extremely painful, let alone that he broke several at once. By the time everyone finished farming, laid out their blankets, and turned off the lights, his groaning was the only clear sound in the room.

“We need to be up by four-thirty at the latest,” Lin Sanjiu said to the group. “The next two days will be tough, but we’ll get through this game.”

The news was met with resignation rather than enthusiasm, but thankfully, no objections. A few murmurs of “Got it,” filled the room, soon overlaid by the sound of Han Suiping’s labored breathing.

Lin Sanjiu quietly bid goodnight to the grand prize, and as she was about to fall asleep, she thought she heard someone sigh impatiently. But she was so tired, she didn’t even bother to think about it and slipped into a deep sleep.

When the grand prize woke her up, the room’s lights had been turned back on.

“Sis,” the grand prize said, his cool fingers resting on her shoulder. “It’s four o’clock. There’s something you should see.”

‘What?’

Not only was her head foggy, but her heart was also thumping especially fast. Lin Sanjiu didn’t want to see anything; nothing was more important than continuing to sleep. But she managed to prop herself up and noticed that out of the seven people on this side of the room, only she, the grand prize, and Nu Yue were awake, with the others were still sprawled out on the ground.

At this time, Nu Yue had a gloomy look on her face. Her expression was even worse than her complexion. She pointed behind Lin Sanjiu.

Lin Sanjiu swallowed her dry throat and turned around.

On the wall in the Anonymous Thoughts Zone, a message read: “What a nuisance! How many times have I been woken up tonight? It would be nice if he could be smothered to death. He’s neither dead nor alive, but he still disrupts people’s rest.”

The sound of blood roaring in her ears nearly drowned out Nu Yue’s voice. Lin Sanjiu steadied herself, then turned to face Nu Yue. “What did you say?”

“I saw this as soon as I woke up,” Nu Yue said in a hoa.r.s.e voice. “Those are not my thoughts.”

Lin Sanjiu nodded; she believed her. Even if Nu Yue was frustrated, she wouldn’t wish death on Han Suiping—this had to be from last night.

As the lights flickered and noises stirred, others began to wake. Lin Sanjiu stood by the field, watching as everyone groggily got to their feet. She addressed Nu Yue, “Of course, being jolted awake in the middle of the night is annoying. It’s normal to have such thoughts when you’re groggy and emotional.”

“Huh?” someone muttered, confused.

Only then did everyone’s attention s.h.i.+ft to the Anonymous Thoughts Zone on the opposite wall. Their faces registered shock; Lin Sanjiu couldn’t tell who recognized the thoughts displayed there as their own.

She sighed inwardly and lowered her eyes. Silvan was still alone on the other side of the room, blocked from view. She didn’t know if he had gotten up. If she let him come back to this side… No, she shouldn’t need Silvan’s strength for now.

“Sis,” the grand prize suddenly called out, his voice laced with urgency. Startled, Lin Sanjiu looked up and noticed the text in the Anonymous Thoughts Zone had changed again: “With all the sleep we’re losing at night and the food he’s taking during the day, it’s no wonder some are upset.”

Was this… someone else’s thoughts? Right now?

Lin Sanjiu swiftly turned around, her gaze sweeping across everyone’s faces. Each person, when meeting her eyes, displayed similar surprise and caution. They looked at each other, their eyes drifting uncertainly over their companions, their mouths pursed tightly.

It was impossible to tell whose thoughts these were—perhaps, not knowing was best.

Lin Sanjiu took a deep breath, turned, and tried to maintain a calm tone as she responded, “He’s our companion. We can’t just let him die. This game is temporary. We came in together, and we should stick through this together.”

The text in the Anonymous Thoughts Zone disappeared, and after waiting for half a minute, there was only blankness—perhaps she had convinced them?

“Let’s get started then,” Lin Sanjiu commanded the group, appearing unperturbed.

Being a farmer was the hardest job. You couldn’t take your eyes off it for a moment; unlike being a tax collector or worker, which was relatively easy, only requiring you to tap around on the ground looking for the exit. Precisely because of this, it took her a while to sense that the atmosphere in the room seemed a bit strange.

The first thing she did was look at the wall.

“Stick together? That might be easier said than done. To get out, we need to make sure we all survive. Continuing to support him could put that at risk.”

This time, the tone was softer. It must be another person’s thoughts.

Lin Sanjiu stared intently at the wall, her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles seemed about to break through the skin. She looked up; all the farmers were bent over farming while the other two were also inspecting the wall—as if those thoughts didn’t belong to any of them.

“He only needs three food b.a.l.l.s a day,” she replied, her voice trembling with rising emotions. “We can stretch our resources to cover that.”

The content in the Anonymous Thoughts Zone on the wall changed immediately, as if answering her, “But why should I share with him? Everyone is surviving on their own abilities, survival of the fittest; I have no complaints about that. But using my hard-earned income to support a useless patient? Is that fair?”

It was definitely a farmer.

Lin Sanjiu didn’t turn to face whoever might be harboring such thoughts. She didn’t want to face anyone at the moment; instead, she kept her eyes fixed on the wall, adding, “That’s not the way to think about this. Anything could happen in this game. When someone’s in trouble, we should lend a hand. That’s what being a team is all about, isn’t it? If you were in his shoes, wouldn’t you hope we would continue to support you?”

The text on the wall changed again: “I’m not careless like that. The injuries he has are his own fault. The rules were clear. He broke them. If he dies, he has only himself to blame. Why should we drain our resources for his mistake?”

A loud clang made Lin Sanjiu whirl around. It was Nu Yue—she had thrown her farming tools to the ground. Unaware she had broken her hoe, her face a mix of anger and disbelief, she shouted, “Who said that?!”

Her connection with Han Suiping from their time in the modern world was unique. After her outburst, the room fell silent for a few seconds before Jian Sheng finally spoke up. “Don’t look at us. Yes, we came later, but that’s not our fault. How do we know those aren’t your thoughts you’re denying?”

“Enough,” Lin Sanjiu snapped. “Listen to me—I will never abandon Han Suiping. It doesn’t matter whose thoughts those are. If you’re in trouble, I won’t abandon you too. If anyone has a problem with Han Suiping, they’ll have to deal with me first.”

With these words, the room suddenly quieted down. But it was only the voices that were quiet, not their thoughts.

“It’s easy for you to say that when it’s Han Suiping who’s in trouble.”

Lin Sanjiu had enough of the arguing. She turned away and picked up her farming tools, her actions making her position clear: she was done discussing it, and anyone who disagreed would just have to deal with their frustrations on their own.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the text on the wall change again: “It’s not just Han Suiping I’m supporting for nothing. I’m really drained. Eating only four food b.a.l.l.s just isn’t enough.”

Lin Sanjiu pressed her fist against her forehead, trying to stave off a burgeoning headache.

Ji Shanqing approached her quietly and whispered, “Sis, there are some things I need to discuss. I hope you’ll stay calm when you hear them.”

She looked up, silent, not sure she could promise that.

“In thinking about how to end this game,” Ji Shanqingcontinued softly, “it seems there’s one among us who must die, and thatperson has to be Han Suiping.”