Chapter Thirty-Six: The Invisible Man

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

Fang Tang had just picked up his pickaxe when this peculiar sentence suddenly flashed before his eyes, utterly baffling him.

"What do you mean by that?"

Ghosts?

As a fine young man who had undergone nine years of compulsory education and lived by the socialist core values, he naturally did not believe in the existence of ghosts. Not even in this subterranean world that defied all scientific common sense.

He didn’t… Well, to be fair, this place was awash with the impossible. Its strange rules always brought others unexpected surprises. But when surprises became too frequent, they turned into shocks.

"In every world, ghosts exist. To be precise, ghosts are spiritual entities. Usually, these spirits are invisible, but here, the abundance of unreasonable rules and environments has made them visible.

I suddenly feel the urge to tell a story—would you like to hear it? However, due to certain rules, the story may be incomplete. You’ll need to explore and understand the Catacombs yourself before I can tell you the whole tale."

Fang Tang’s sharp brows lifted as he gazed at the golden text, silent.

Why was his ‘Eye’ giving him all this information out of the blue? Was it because of the existence of ghosts?

The following words from his Eye made everything clear. It wasn’t that the Eye was being deliberately cryptic; its essence was omniscience! But, bound by certain rules, this all-knowing Eye had become a riddle-speaker, a master of half-truths.

Thinking back to the octopus he’d encountered before—also speaking in half-concealed hints, with some things left unsaid—Fang Tang realized another rule at play. Perhaps a rule akin to "no spoilers" or some other prohibition on saying too much.

He didn’t know the purpose of these rules, but he could guess that violating them would come at a steep price. The Eye’s reticence bore witness to that.

Yet, here lay a paradox. If the Eye couldn’t spoil anything, why was it allowed to alert him to his surroundings in the Catacombs? That seemed to violate the rules, and yet the Eye suffered no consequence.

Perhaps the rule had loopholes. Or perhaps the Eye was abiding by a different, more nuanced rule.

"A secret that cannot be spoken..." Fang Tang recalled a film, then paused, asking, "Are there mutually contradictory rules in the Catacombs, even multiple at once?"

"Here, anything is possible, isn’t it? You’ve already seen a talking octopus—what more proof do you need? Strengthen yourself. Only by coming into contact with certain things can I better assist you, my friend!"

Receiving such an ambiguous reply, Fang Tang chuckled.

At last, he had caught a glimpse of the Catacombs’ true face. It was only a tiny fragment of the whole, but it was enough to delight him.

"What was that story you mentioned?" he asked.

"Oh? Right! I almost forgot. Since you want to hear a story, I’ll tell you an incomplete one. It’s my first time telling a tale, so I’m a bit excited!

There once was a wretched soul with almost no presence from a young age. Forgotten by his parents in a supermarket at the age of three, left behind by his grandmother in the fields at five, locked inside a classroom by his teacher at seven… He became a transparent man, visible yet unseen among the crowd.

But the Catacombs did not overlook him. They pulled him in, and he became someone whom all Catacomb creatures ignored. Using this natural advantage, he wandered freely through the Catacombs, until…

When his pickaxe went into cooldown, he and a giant sand python became trapped in a cave. The python ignored him, but the rules did not. In the end, he was swallowed by the python. @%&#%$...

...His anger at life before death, combined with certain factors I cannot yet speak of, transformed him into a spiritual entity, amplifying his abilities to the extreme—an existence nearly on par with the highest level of beings."

This time, the Eye had produced an unusually lengthy message, with a string of garbled characters in the middle.

No need to guess—those details had been censored by the rules.

Fang Tang rubbed his brow, feeling a touch of sympathy for this brother.

Neglected from childhood—so much so that even dining with a girl would leave her feeling as if she were eating alone.

A life lived as a transparent man. While it made certain furtive acts easy, such an existence was also unbearably lonely.

"So, that’s how this ghost came to be?"

He exhaled deeply and gazed into the cave where the ghost was said to dwell, eager to witness such an extraordinary ability.

Catacomb No. 78.

Fang Tang entered the tunnel and looked around, seeing nothing resembling the ghost his Eye had described.

He felt as if he’d been tricked.

"He’s walking toward you now… He’s standing right in front of you… He’s touching your face."

A chill shot down Fang Tang’s spine. He jerked back, staring hard at the empty space before him.

After a long moment, he finally saw him—a man standing right there.

Not at all as he had imagined: not transparent, but vivid and distinct, easy to spot at a glance.

And yet, when he’d first entered, he’d seen nothing.

Was this what it felt like to have almost zero presence?

It was terrifying.

The man before him looked to be in his thirties, hair disheveled, stubble on his chin, face vacant, dead eyes fixed on Fang Tang. His hand still hung in midair—right where Fang Tang’s face had been.

"I didn’t even feel his touch..."

Fang Tang bared his teeth, curiously examining the man… or rather, the ghost.

He glanced away for a moment, and when his gaze returned, the man had vanished.

"Is he still here?" Fang Tang asked in a low voice.

"He hasn’t moved an inch."

Fang Tang fell silent.

What an incredible ability!

He rested his hand on the weapon at his waist, searching intently for the man.

Soon, he spotted him again. This time, he didn’t dare look away.

"Brother, can you speak?" Fang Tang swallowed nervously, fixing his gaze on the man and speaking softly.

The man tilted his head, a look of confusion flickering across his dull features, as if startled that Fang Tang could see him.

"Zhou… You… Fu…"

The man’s voice was hoarse, as if his throat had been torn open—muffled and indistinct, but he managed to stammer out a name.

"Zhou Youfu? Is that your name?" Fang Tang asked quickly.

"Zhou… You… Fu…"

The man only repeated the name over and over, his speech broken and halting.

Fang Tang exhaled in disappointment. He had hoped for a conversation.

After all, this was a ghost—in his imagination, it ought to have some measure of intelligence.

But this… Was this all?

So much for his high hopes.

"Can this… ghost be killed?" he asked.

"The power of elements is mysterious, after all—a product of the rules."

This time, the Eye especially emphasized rules.

Fang Tang understood, drew his weapon, and fired at the man.

Bang!

A burst of flame shot past his face, the heatwave so intense he could feel it.

Under the power of the flamethrower, a charred, semi-transparent figure appeared on the ground.

Since this thing was a product of the rules, it should decompose into beads, shouldn’t it?

Fang Tang was uncertain—this was, after all, his first time facing such a thing.