Masterful deceivers often wield the essence of "Thick and Black Theory" to an exquisite degree; even if an action wasn't their own doing, they find ways to flaunt the underlying intricacies to their audience, allowing them to vaguely accept a sliver of implication from those hazy connections. Had it not been for the old man’s eagerness to hasten things with his counsel, perhaps Xiaoyu would never have doubted that the person bearing a nine-tenths resemblance to his mother shared an innate blood tie with him.

However, a lie is a lie, and being exposed is its undeniable fate. Xiaoyu remembered the first time he went to the Sea of the Departed, when Hou Dayong forced him to use the Blood Kin Compass to track down his older sister and Xiaoshu. His mother had appeared on that bronze surface. At the time, he wondered why his father’s shadow was absent. Only after Dayong explained did Xiaoyu understand that the compass only revealed living relatives. Now, the elder claimed to have formed a pact with the Sea of the Departed—didn't that directly contradict the fact that his mother was alive and well? His mother had taught him and his sister since childhood to live lives of value, certainly not to be the sort of people who would carelessly pledge their lives to evil just to cling desperately to existence.

Thinking of this, Xiaoyu slammed open the door, snatched the sickle from the floor, and ran into the hallway. But he hadn't taken two steps before a voice snagged his heels from behind, yanking him from his blaze of indignation back to reality.

“If you don’t believe the person lying there is your mother, why did you pick up the sickle from the floor?”

Xiaoyu spun around to see Uncle Ou. He held a bolenggu (rattle drum); the drum had just been on the old man’s bedside table, yet through some unknown means, he had grasped it in the instant Xiaoyu turned. He shook the handle from side to side, advancing with the rhythmic dong-dong-dong sound.

“Don’t push me!” Xiaoyu backed away a couple of steps, watching him with a hint of fear.

Uncle Ou smiled faintly and stopped, standing firm in the corridor, yet he did not stop the bolenggu in his hand, continuing with the steady dong-dong-dong as he said, “No one here is forcing you; you chose to pick up that sickle. Think back along the path from the Fountain of Youth to the Original Shadow Villa—who forced you to keep holding it all this way?”

At first hearing this, Xiaoyu was stunned, unable to find words to refute him. Though he didn't believe the elderly woman lying in the room was his birth mother, from the very first moment he saw the sickle, no one had ever told him he must hold it. Even at that initial encounter, the sickle lay alone on the ground; no one had coerced him.

“Furthermore, you had the chance to be rid of it, to leave it in some corner forever, to bid farewell to the life-and-death pact, and bravely face the death that was coming. Yet, you went back for it, actively wanting to keep it by your side. Now, to say we forced you is hardly fair, I think.” Uncle Ou paced close behind; for every step Xiaoyu retreated, the elder advanced one, maintaining a subtle distance between them—neither too far nor too near.

“I... I haven't decided yet…” Xiaoyu retreated until his back hit the wall, pressing against the cold plaster, listening to the dong-dong of the drum, but daring not meet those eagle-like eyes.

“You have already decided; you just lack the courage to face it.” The old man smiled cunningly, suddenly taking two steps in one, closing the distance. He leaned in, fixing Xiaoyu with those eyes that pierced straight to the soul’s core, and urgently commanded, “You’ve decided. Let me be your test subject. Raise the sickle and stab me hard in the back! If you don't have the courage, let it go early, let the sickle return to where it belongs; someone else will need it.”

Uncle Ou’s aggressive advance threw Xiaoyu into utter disarray. The hand holding the sickle trembled uncontrollably; he wanted to drop it but couldn't bear to, yet he couldn't bring himself to stab down. He could only close his eyes, shake his head, and shout, “Don’t force me, don’t force me…”

“No one’s forcing you! Strike me with the sickle! Strike, strike!”

The old man’s hoarse bellow drowned out the dong-dong-dong of the bolenggu. Xiaoyu felt his mind become a chaotic mess. Flashes of Huagu, Ali, Xiaoshu, and Xiaohei danced before his eyes, but they were ultimately supplanted by Uncle Ou’s predatory, eagle-like gaze. He hated this man; no one had ever cornered him like this, making him feel the profound agony of being unable to live yet unwilling to die.

The sickle was raised. Blade falling with the hand, it swung toward the accursed old man, cursing him to eternal unrest in the underworld.