My ‘Healing’ Game
Chapter 756: I Have a Bit of Stage Fright

Chapter 756: Chapter 756: I Have a Bit of Stage Fright

The old man’s dance ended in the darkness, and the roomful of dead souls returned to the mirror once more.

With his hands drooping, it seemed as though the old man was dancing with his life, like a leaf slowly falling onto its root, each dance a lifetime.

Staring blankly at the mirror with his hollow eye sockets, the old man’s special aura slowly faded. His back remained hunched, his white hair disheveled, and the wrinkles on his skin became even more pronounced.

"Old master, may I try dancing on the stage?" Han Fei didn’t know how to dance, but he possessed a superhuman memory and absolute control over his body. He had memorized every movement of the old man and could completely "imprint" them.

"Anytime you wish, even if you don’t join the club in the end, you can still come here to dance," said the old man, as if just coming back to his senses, turning around and replying to where Han Fei’s voice originated from.

"Alright." Han Fei was not one for formalities. He wanted to complete the task as soon as possible and then explore this place once his blood volume had recovered.

Pocketing the Rebirth Saber, Han Fei stood in the center of the stage.

He was an actor, familiar with all kinds of stages; formerly, he too had silently performed on stages without an audience, showcasing his life.

His hands rippled like waves on Lake Hubbard, slowly stretching out to both sides. Han Fei merged the softness and the masculinity of the human body, focusing intently on recalling every movement of the old man, trying his hardest to be as accurate as possible.

Initially, Han Fei danced just for the task, but as he danced, he felt as though the movements were calling out to him, like rushing water that didn’t need deliberate alteration, naturally flowing upon the earth.

"Is this the dance of the Deep World?"

The Ghost Pattern on Han Fei’s body was triggered, as if some sort of totem was imprinted upon him. He stopped trying to replicate each movement precisely and started to experience the power that lay within these movements.

Just like Han Fei had surmised, the old man’s dance was no ordinary one; it must have been some sort of ritual dance.

When Han Fei was halfway through the dance, shallow shadows appeared on the mirrors all around, faces vaguely emerging and quietly extending from the mirror’s surface.

The temperature inside the room began to drop continuously, but Han Fei, wholly immersed in the dance, didn’t notice.

As the dance progressed, Han Fei began to hear whispers, and the scenes before his eyes also changed.

Within the seemingly ordinary mirrors appeared one bloody and brutal scene after another: death, slaughter, despair—every horror revolved around a shrine, a shrine that was different from any Han Fei had seen before.

It was constructed entirely from corpses, its base formed of the living arms of humans, its Divine Door made of split-open torsos.

When Han Fei tried to look into the Divine Door, it was as if his eyes were pierced by needles, and a sharp pain ensued.

His movements slowed slightly, but to complete the task, Han Fei endured the pain and continued to dance.

The whispers around his ears gradually dissipated, and the scene before his eyes returned to normal. The mirrors were still those mirrors, and the reflections showed only Han Fei and the old man with hollowed eyes.

Struggling through the final movement, Han Fei promptly sat down on the stage, his back drenched with sweat and his face covered in cold sweat; he had just narrowly brushed with death.

"Player number 0000, please note! You have successfully completed the dance, earning Basic-level Dance ability and E-grade special dance—Sinners."

"Basic-level Dance: Dancing with your heart can improve this ability. It can be enhanced with Skill Points and can only be raised to High-level Specialization."

"Sinners (E-grade rare dance): You are a sinner dancing in shackles, wildly dancing on a stage with no audience, commemorating the dead souls you have personally killed."

"Attention! This dance has a chance to summon dead souls, has a chance to temporarily enhance physical strength, brain power, and mental threshold. It can only be triggered once every 24 hours."

As the system prompt sounded, Han Fei felt his efforts were worthwhile.

"You danced well, you have a talent," said the old man with dark eye sockets, staring at Han Fei and revealing a hint of satisfaction on his face.

"How do you know I danced well when you can’t even see?"

"Your dance touched many souls; I can hear their voices. A good dance is not just about fancy movements and high-level skills," said the old man, extending a few fingers silently: "Heart, feeling, fusion, using your body to communicate with the world—that’s my understanding of dance."

"Teacher, may I learn to dance from you?" Han Fei was very curious about the old man’s identity, but he wasn’t foolish enough to ask directly. He would wait until they were closer, and then everything would be easier to discuss.

"You want to learn from me?" The old man hesitated: "My dancing can bring misfortune. Are you sure?"

"Certain," Han Fei replied confidently.

"Then I can’t teach you," said the old man, who had been rather reticent but seemed to cheer up a bit after meeting Han Fei: "You might try finding other hobbies. I can feel that dancing isn’t your true interest."

An elder and a younger left the dance studio, and Han Fei returned to the "Calligraphy Practice Center." He entered the room filled with characters for ’death.’

"This is the place where a few other members used to like to stay, but they’ve been gone for a long time, and I don’t know where they went," said the old man with a black umbrella, standing outside. He did not enter the room.

Only intending to complete his task, Han Fei looked towards the characters for ’death’ filling the room, needing to find the most special one among them.

He might as well take his time since there was no time limit. Han Fei simply sat in the room, examining each character one by one.

At first, Han Fei didn’t think much of it, but the more he looked, the more unsettled he felt.

Staring at one character for too long made it seem unfamiliar.

After half an hour in the room filled with the character for ’death,’ Han Fei started to struggle with recognizing the word.

In his eyes, each ’death’ character seemed to slowly change shape as if they were moving on their own.

"Calligraphy is the art that reflects life; an author’s emotions – joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure – all seep into the characters they write. Each of these ’death’ characters is like a bloody knife, and each character feels to me as if it represents a human life."

Han Fei didn’t understand calligraphy appreciation, but he had rich experience in dealing with ghosts and monsters. When those characters began to morph, he immediately took out the Rebirth Slaughter Saber.

The human nature of the blade’s edge shone, as Han Fei began to trace those ’death’ characters with the Slaughter Saber.

He laid a blank paper over the original character and rewrote it with the Rebirth Saber.

This blade, forged from human intent, could clearly sense the presence of slaughter. Most of the ’death’ characters contained hatred and a will to kill, after all, the character itself carries the meaning of death and destruction.

A full hour passed, and just when Han Fei was preparing to write a ’death’ character in the corner behind the door with the Rebirth Slaughter Saber, the light on the saber suddenly vanished.

"The Rebirth doesn’t want to destroy that character."

In the most inconspicuous place in the room, there was another ’death’ character that seemed different from the rest; no malice flowed from it.

Just as Han Fei noticed the difference in this character, the other ’death’ characters in the room all turned into faces of the dead. They maintained their expressions from just before death, coldly staring at Han Fei, as if they were ready to rip off his face and leave it there too.

With no time to hesitate, Han Fei wanted to gouge out that special ’death’ character with the Rebirth Saber, but the character slowly transformed into a child’s soul.

"His name is Little Dog, a child picked up by one of the members here. He’s timid and a bit simple. Don’t harm him," the old man seemed to recall something and shouted to Han Fei inside the house.

Han Fei stopped his movements, the dead faces staring intently at him. As long as he didn’t harm Little Dog, it seemed the dead would not harm him either.

"Player number 0000, please note, you have successfully found the most special character and obtained Basic-level Calligraphy Ability, learning the method to write the ’death’ character."

"Calligraphy: One of the basic hobbies. The Fitting Degree with you is not high."

"Death Character Writing (E-rank Special Font): Writing Divine Text with a special font, triggers unexpected effects."

Han Fei listened to the system’s prompt, realizing that hobbies in the Deep World could change many things. If utilized well, they shouldn’t be much different than a Hidden Profession in effectiveness.

"It seems I have to become a person with a wide range of hobbies."

Han Fei had completed the two requirements for the ordinary E-rank task. He walked under the old man’s black umbrella, and they arrived at the "Garden" together.

Compared to the other two scenes, this place appeared more brutal and direct; every flower represented a person.

"The task requires me to pick a flower, ensuring it does not wither immediately."

Walking into the "Garden," the eerie sensation was hard to describe. The ground was planted with bodies; the shattered skulls were neatly arranged.

"Which of you is willing to leave with me?" Han Fei used the power of Word Spirit as he conversed with the "plants."

Each soul-flower shuddered; they awoke within their shells, quietly looking at Han Fei.

How a flower made of living beings could bloom, Han Fei didn’t know, and he didn’t want to know. If possible, he wanted to take all of these "flowers" with him.

Black Rain fell on the flower field, the pitch-black droplets infiltrating the souls. They struggled to crawl out of their shattered skulls, but the black rain, like dark threads, seemed to stitch them to the bodies.

The only way to regain freedom appeared to be "blossoming," their souls bursting out as the only means to escape bondage.

Picking up a shovel nearby, Han Fei prepared to dig up the bodies, but the souls showed expressions of immense fear.

Hearing movement in the courtyard, the old man also spoke up to dissuade him: "If you break the roots of the flower, then it can no longer bloom."

"I’m just trying to experiment with the currently popular hydroponics," Han Fei dug up the ground and saw a tangle of blood vessels below.

All bodies had their blood vessels intertwined; removing one body would affect several around it.

"You must not destroy this place. If the Florist sees, she will be very angry," the old man caressed the iron gate, urging Han Fei to leave.

"The Florist? Is she also a member here?"

"Yes, her voice sounds delicate and kind, like a frail old lady. But anyone in the club who angered her seems to have never made a sound again," the old man kindly reminded.

"Never made a sound again..." Han Fei looked at the flower field. Those who had provoked the Florist were probably buried in the ground now.

Reason told him to be cautious, but the task was just one last step away.

Han Fei put the shovel back in its place, handling the blood vessels on the bodies with his hands. He wanted to try to dig up a body to take with him; saving even one was worth the effort.

Yet, before he could dig much deeper, the old man who had been advising Han Fei suddenly fell silent, and Han Fei felt a chill on his back.

He turned to glance over and noticed a huge figure had appeared at the entrance to the alley without notice.

Over three meters tall and heavily built, she dragged a monster’s body in her left hand, gripping its head as if it were a toy; her right hand was misshapen and swollen, wrapped with the curses of the dead.

"What are you all doing?" a voice incongruent with her size emerged from the Florist’s mouth, sounding like the grumpy old lady next door.

While Han Fei cautiously touched the blood vessels, not daring to move, the old man with his eyes gouged out stood beside, opening the umbrella silently, moving as if he were looking for someone, too.