Chapter 21: They Were Monsters
Inside the castle, in the hall directly opposite the door, one could see an absurdly massive oval table.
A thick purple tablecloth covered it, and along its two sides were seated people of various shapes—or rather, monsters.
At this moment, they all turned their heads toward the door, each wearing a slight smile.
The children’s eyes were dim, unable to process this strange and shocking scene, and among the crowd, Han Su had likewise grown numb.
He had been “welcomed” by these monsters many times before, and had become desensitized; instead, as he blended in and moved toward the castle, he habitually observed every detail around him.
First, he looked toward the northwest corner at the rose‑covered wall, and saw behind the weeds, many wooden planks nailed vertically and horizontally.
It turned out to be a hole, just large enough for a small child to crawl through.
That had been the route he used to escape the first time, but after he was kidnapped from the future for the second time, that hole had already been repaired.
Similar repairs had occurred many times: this dilapidated dungeon, with cracks created by time or some force, provided many nooks for children to slip in and out.
He had used those vulnerabilities to escape many times, but each time he was brought back, the escape route he’d used would be sealed—almost as if an invisible force was constantly patching the castle’s bugs.
Yet these monsters seemed unaware that he had escaped countless times; they did not remember his escapes.
As he pondered, Han Su and the glassy‑eyed children entered the castle’s hall, and the monsters seated at the oval table slowly turned their heads.
Han Su had counted them countless times, and secretly sized them up many times.
They varied in shape, somewhat matching the quick sketches Song Chu‑shi had drawn, but the living, mysterious, terrifying presence was far beyond what any sketch could convey.
There were seven of them, sparsely seated around the oval table, with many empty seats remaining—each empty seat had tableware, a chair, and some even had half‑drunk glasses of wine.
This surprised Han Su: could there be other monsters who hadn’t arrived?
Unfortunately, during all his escapes, he had never seen any additional monsters.
He then glanced toward the staircase corner, where stood a lonely candelabrum made of brass, over a meter tall, covered in intricate patterns—but with no candles, only a spike.
Like the rose thicket, the candles had been removed.
His gaze returned to the long table, where the pale, obese monster in a tight suit revealed a brass key at its waist.
This eased his mind slightly: “Luckily, the key is still on the Pale‑Skinned Monster.”
“That means the door is on this floor too, so I just need to replicate the previous route as much as possible and I can escape…”
“Clap clap”
The butler gently tapped his palms together—a crisp, elegant sound.
As if rebooting everything like just now, the children instantly snapped back from their daze—this clap seemed to flip a switch, waking them fully.
They raised their little heads, surveying the surroundings, growing fearful expression by expression.
Especially when one child saw on the dinner table a monk in a black clerical robe crawling with insects, and broke into tears, crying “wah!”
“These,” said the butler with a pale face and a smile, his hands clad in white gloves clasped together, looking at the many monsters around the table, “these are the chosen lucky ones by our Great Emperor…”▶
“Sss…”
As the butler spoke—or rather, as the children came fully awake and showed real fear—the monsters around the table suddenly smiled.
They whispered among themselves, their eyes scanning the children.
Their voices were strange, unlike anything Han Su had heard in reality, as if belonging to another species—mysterious and eerie.
Previously, Han Su had no memory of such sounds, but now he stirred slightly:
“The style of language is somewhat like Fisherman’s Chant…”
“The recording played by the Disaster Management Bureau confirms it’s one of the monsters’ languages, just not as clear as now.”
“The one from the Bureau sounded like an ancient recording—monster speech mixed with background noise… as if monsters were unintentionally recorded.”
“….”
He instinctively wanted to distinguish it carefully, to force himself to remember their language.
But soon, he realized the difficulty—when listening to the Fisherman’s Chant in the voice recorder, it had been smooth and easy to memorize and repeat.
But facing these monsters, there was no such ease—just a blur, completely unmemorable.
“Uncle…”
In this eerie and oppressive setting, a child in a blue little suit suddenly raised his hand boldly.
He looked up at the butler beside him, gathering his courage: “Is this... is this the Science Museum?”
The butler turned his head toward him and did not reply—just kept smiling at him.
The expression was kind and gentle, but stiff, always maintaining that arc of a smile; though standing still, the smiling face seemed to zoom in the children’s vision.
It felt like it was about to press against his face.
The questioning child began to tremble, scared, and lowered his hand, averted his gaze, and his body started shaking uncontrollably.
At that moment, a monster suddenly rose slowly from the dinner table.
This movement instantly caught everyone’s attention—it was the monk in the black clerical robe.
Even while seated, twisted worms had been crawling through his collar, cuffs, and pant legs.
Yet his expression remained calm and stern; he walked slowly away from the table, the sleeves of his robe hanging down, his face solemn—he looked like a monk from the last century walking through the ruins of the world, full of compassion for mankind.
He walked directly toward a little boy in the crowd.
That boy was chubby, wore shiny leather shoes, and had his hair slicked back with pomade; he looked at the approaching monk in fear.
The children around him grew afraid too, shrinking away from his side.
Suddenly, he panicked, tightly shut his eyes, and his legs trembled—large wet stains spread across the white of his pants.
As the smell of urine began to fill the air, the monk in black stopped in his tracks, and the worms crawling in and out of his body’s every orifice all seemed to curl up in disgust.
After a while, the monk slightly altered his direction.
He looked directly at a girl in the crowd and slowly reached out his hand toward her.
On that hand were rotting, bloody holes, crawling with worms, giving off a pungent stench.
The little girl in the crowd had already been trembling with pursed lips, and when the monk reached out to her, she finally couldn’t hold back and cried.
But even her crying made no sound—she didn’t dare to move, just stood there blankly.
The monk took her hand—his rotting hand moved gently—and slowly led her toward the spiral staircase.
From his arms and wrists, worms crawled out from time to time, climbing onto the girl’s arms, into her sleeves, into her collar.
And the terrified little girl simply followed him blankly.
“Let her go…”
All the children were already terrified, watching the girl being taken away with innocent sympathy and confusion.
But just then, a girl with a ponytail suddenly dashed out of the crowd.
She grabbed the stiff girl’s hand and shouted loudly.
She was a full head taller than the other children, looking older—but in fact, she was the same age.
As she grabbed the little girl, her other hand seized the candelabrum at the staircase corner.
“She’s scared! She doesn’t want to go with you…”
She shouted at the worm-covered monk, and also at the other monsters: “We—we want to go back to school—we…”
“Police uncle, the police will come looking for us…”
“……”
The other children were so shocked by the pony-tailed girl’s actions that they even forgot to cry.
In the crowd, Han Su’s heart sank slowly for a moment.
No wonder Song Chu‑shi gave up a privileged life and wandered the world for ten years searching for her.
Every time, it was this girl who stepped out first.
She would protect the weak children.
Even his first escape had been because of her.
Back then, the candelabrum she grabbed still had a thick tallow candle on it—it was when she swung the candelabrum and lit the carpet that she attracted the monsters’ attention, allowing him to seize the opportunity to escape through the not-yet-shut door and slip through the flowers.
Unfortunately, such chances and flaws that allowed him to escape had become fewer and fewer—without that door, it had become very difficult for him to flee.
The only variable was the spell he brought this time—could it be of any use?