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墨書 Inktalez
"......Huh—"
Lin Zhao Cheng suddenly opened his eyes, his vision blurred, his mind still caught in some kind of chaotic whirlpool, his ears filled with a buzzing echo.
He couldn't remember how he had stopped, nor where he had fallen, only that his consciousness had been abruptly pulled back, like a terrifying free fall, and then—came to a halt.
He gasped for breath, his hands trembling as he slowly felt around his surroundings.
—The soft touch of leather.
—The smooth armrest.
—The cold, hard floor.
"......No way?"
He looked around, his eyes beginning to adjust to the light in the room, gradually making sense of this world.
That familiar sofa, the Glass Coffee Table placed beside it, the dim yellow light in the room, the wall clock still ticking away, and the quiet night outside the window.
This is... his home?
He was still sitting in the Massage Chair.
Nothing had changed.
Everything in the room seemed frozen in time, unchanged, as if he had never left this place at all...
"......Damn."
He suddenly sprang up from the Massage Chair as if electrocuted, jumping back a few steps in terror, panting heavily as he stared at that chair.
His legs felt weak from sheer fright, his mind swirling chaotically, unable to distinguish reality from illusion—
What he had just experienced... was it a dream? Or had it really happened?
Had he truly gone to the Blood Flesh Hell? Killed William? Destroyed the Pharyngeal Arch? Escaped from the twisted dimensional rift?
Or was it all just an absurd and bizarre nightmare?
Lin Zhao Cheng's throat felt as if it were about to crack from dryness, his head spun dizzily, and his heartbeat raced painfully in his chest.
He slowly raised his hands, his eyes fixed intently on his palms.
His hands... were impeccably clean, without a trace of blood, no wounds, no remnants of flesh, and no signs of battle.
It was as if nothing had ever happened.
"...Impossible..."
Lin Zhao Cheng whispered, a chilling sense of unease filling his heart.
If all of this was a dream, then why was his body still trembling slightly? Why did his mind still retain images of that strange world? Why... did he feel that his waist was completely pain-free?
His heartbeat grew louder, as if it would shatter his eardrums.
"What exactly... happened?"
The Massage Chair stood silently in the corner, as always, without a sound.
But as Lin Zhao Cheng looked at it, he felt as though it was "watching" him.
"No matter what... I am absolutely never sitting in that damned thing again."
Lin Zhao Cheng gritted his teeth, the fear and chill within him still lingering, but he knew that this Massage Chair could not be left here.
He took a deep breath, suppressing the unease within him, and stepped forward, gripping the armrests of the Massage Chair tightly, staring intently at the seemingly ordinary chair that had brought him endless nightmares.
"Get out of my house," he said firmly.
With all his strength, he yanked the Massage Chair off the ground!
"Thud—!"
The wheels of the chair scraped against the floor, producing a dull sound as if it were making one last struggle.
Lin Zhao Cheng ignored it, gritting his teeth as he dragged it step by step out of the room and to the trailer by the door.
The night outside was unusually quiet; a gentle breeze blew, carrying a chill that made it feel as though the entire city was immersed in an unfathomable silence.
"Ha..."
He panted heavily, reaching out to open the trailer's compartment and forcefully pushed the Massage Chair inside.
The chair collided with the interior wall of the trailer, emitting a muffled "bang," like a final cry of defiance.
Lin Zhao Cheng secured it with ropes, closed the door, and looked up at the night sky, various thoughts flashing through his mind.
Where should he take this thing?
After pondering for a moment, a location suddenly came to mind—
"The nearby Waste Disposal Site... Yes, they should be able to get rid of this cursed thing. Maybe I can even get some scrap money for it."
He shook his head vigorously, trying not to think too much, turned around, got into the vehicle, and started the engine.
"Vroom—"
The headlights illuminated the road ahead as the tires gently rolled over the asphalt, and the vehicle slowly pulled away from the front of his house.
He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, unwilling to glance back at the contents in the trunk.
—This time, I must completely rid myself of this thing.
“Creak—”
The car stopped at the entrance of the Garbage Recycling Station, and the air was thick with the smell of machine oil, rust, and decay, so heavy it felt almost suffocating.
Surrounding the area were piles of discarded electronics, twisted and deformed metal parts, and heaps of garbage resembling small hills. In the distance, a Mechanical Arm was compressing a pile of Old Appliances into neat Metal Bricks.
Lin Zhao Cheng turned off the engine, took a deep breath, then pushed open the car door and jumped out.
“Damn it, finally here…” he muttered under his breath as he walked around to the back of the car to unload.
“Hey! Are you selling scrap or junk?”
A hoarse and lazy voice came from nearby.
Lin Zhao Cheng looked up to see the Fat Boss sitting in a worn-out folding chair at the recycling station. On a small table beside him sat a cup of discolored tea and a crumpled old newspaper.
He wore glasses with one lens smeared with grease, squinting slightly as he scrutinized Lin Zhao Cheng, seemingly assessing whether he could bring in something valuable.
“Junk,” Lin Zhao Cheng replied while pulling hard on the trailer’s securing straps.
“Hey…” The Fat Boss squinted his eyes, his gaze landing on the Massage Chair in the trailer.
“This thing looks pretty new. Is it broken?”
Lin Zhao Cheng panted slightly, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He couldn’t be bothered to explain further and coldly replied, “This thing can’t stay; it’s junk. Hurry up and process it.”
The Fat Boss's gaze roamed back and forth over the chair, as if assessing its value.
"Tsk... this material isn't bad, and the motor should still be functional... If I take it apart, the parts will be worth something."
He licked his lips, revealing a greedy smile.
"How about this: I'll give you a thousand, and you can keep the chair."
Lin Zhao Cheng rolled his eyes in annoyance, dragging the Massage Chair down as he impatiently replied, "It doesn't matter how much you offer; I don't want to see this thing again. Just get rid of it."
The Fat Boss paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow at him. "What's wrong? Is there something spooky about this chair?"
Lin Zhao Cheng halted for a second, fell silent, then quietly said, "...Don't ask. You wouldn't want to know."
The Fat Boss shrugged, not pressing further. He simply smiled and called out to a worker in the back, "A Quan! Come take this chair apart!"
Not far away, a young worker wearing a hard hat responded and walked over with tools in hand towards Lin Zhao Cheng.
Finally, Lin Zhao Cheng let out a sigh of relief. He stared at the Massage Chair lying quietly on the concrete floor of the recycling station, feeling an indescribable sense of liberation wash over him.
—At last, he was completely rid of that damned thing.
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