Chapter 663 - 65: The Departed Witch

Chapter 663: Chapter 65: The Departed Witch

And yet, for some reason, it felt perfectly normal.

She made short work of the bowl of noodles.

The bottom of the bowl was spotless, with barely a trace of broth left.

Then she set down her chopsticks and let out a burp.

It was a long, loud burp, with no attempt to stifle it. She reached out and patted her belly—I followed her movement with my eyes and only then did I realize her stomach had already begun to swell.

It was round and swollen, as if she were pregnant with something, stretching the waist of her poofy skirt taut.

The fabric of the skirt was pulled into a series of fine wrinkles. The curve was so perfectly round it seemed unreal, looking completely out of place on her slender frame.

But it also seemed strangely fitting—as if that bowl of noodles she’d just eaten was supposed to turn into such a round, bulging belly. Where else would all those noodles have gone?

The problem was, were there really that many noodles?

Enough to create the belly of a pregnant woman?

She burped again, a little quieter this time, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.

Then she slammed her hand on the table. The force was like a hammer blow, making the bowl and chopsticks jump.

"I’m full."

She tilted her head back to look at me, her pink eyes shimmering.

"How much?"

"Fifteen."

I said.

That was based on my previous experience—the Elder had paid fifteen.

She nodded, and her five slender fingers, tipped with pink nail polish, deftly flipped over, palm up, and held out in front of me.

"Then pay up."

I froze.

"Pay up?"

I thought I must have misheard.

"Naturally, you’ll pay me."

She said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, her chin tilted slightly upward. The pose made her look both arrogant and naive, like a child used to having every demand met.

"Shouldn’t you be paying me?" I frowned. "Since when does the owner have to pay the customer?"

"You’re just going to give it to me anyway."

Her tone was as flat as if she were stating a fact, her pink eyes staring at me without blinking.

I opened my mouth, wanting to argue.

But for some reason, the words died on my lips.

A voice in my head was saying—’She’s right. You should give it to her. Just give her the money.’

The thought came out of nowhere, but it was lodged in my brain like a nail, impossible to pull out.

My hand moved uncontrollably, reaching into my pocket and touching the bill.

Grayish-white, coarse, with "Heaven and Earth Bank" printed on it... I clenched it in my fist, feeling the paper grow slightly soft from the sweat of my palm.

But I just couldn’t hand it over.

’Fine.’

’I’ll just give it to her.’

’It’s not a big deal, anyway.’

I was just about to pull my hand out—

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

The sound didn’t come from the front door.

It came from the bedroom.

A dull, frantic pounding, as if something was trying to smash the door down with all its might.

One blow after another, so rapid it sounded like a heart hammering out of control in a chest.

The entire bedroom door was trembling, flakes of paint shaking loose from the frame and fluttering down.

It was every bit as loud as the earlier knocking on the living room door.

Then I heard voices.

A man’s, a woman’s, coming from behind the door. They were muffled, distorted by the wood, like bubbles rising from the bottom of a very, very deep body of water.

"Don’t give..."

"Don’t give her the money..."

"You can’t give it to her..."

The voices were intermittent, hurried, and panicked, as if two people were speaking at once. They overlapped and crushed each other, every word sounding like it was being squeezed through the crack of the door.

I turned my head and stared at the bedroom door.

The doorknob was shaking violently, as if it could be twisted open from the inside at any moment.

A chill ran down my spine. The bill was clutched in my sweaty palm, and I didn’t know whether to let go or hold on tighter.

’Dad?’

’Mom?’

’What are they saying?’

’Why can’t I give her the money?’

The girl was still sitting at the dining table, her pink-tipped fingers held out before me, waiting for me to place the money on her palm.

I looked at her hand, then at the still-trembling door. Two forces were pulling at my mind, like a rope stretched taut to the breaking point—

"Hmph."

A soft, cold snort.

It was short and sharp.

But in that instant, the trembling of the door stopped.

All the knocking, the voices, the vibrations—everything stopped.

I stood there stunned, my fingers still clutching the bill in my pocket. The chill on my back hadn’t completely faded, but the force tearing at my mind had vanished.

Then I noticed—the living room seemed a little brighter.

It wasn’t the kind of brightness from a light being turned on. Rather, the hazy grayness had thinned.

The light coming through the window was still grayish-white, but it was much fainter than before, as if someone had mixed a handful of clear water into the gray, diluting it.

The sofa’s outline became a little sharper. I could make out the patterns on the sunflower seed shells on the coffee table. Even the faint reflection in the black screen of the old TV in the corner was clearer.

I subconsciously glanced at the girl.

She was still sitting there, her posture unchanged, her fingers still held out before me.

But the corners of her lips were turned up slightly, and a faint light swirled in her pink eyes.

She looked at me and repeated herself.

"Pay me."

This time, without any hesitation, I pulled my hand from my pocket and held the grayish-white bill out to her.

The girl extended two fingers and plucked the bill from my hand as if picking up a fallen flower petal.

Her pink eyes curved into crescent moons, and the smile at the corners of her mouth slowly rippled outward.

"You made the right choice."

Then she smiled.

The moment that smile bloomed, the bill in her hand suddenly lit up.

A soft, pink glow, as if all the flowers covering the mountains in spring had blossomed at once from the burning bill.

The light spilled from between her fingers, falling on the tabletop, the floor, and the hazy gray walls.

Wherever the light touched, the grayness faded away layer by layer, like ink being washed away by water.

Like a dense fog dispersed by the wind, like a dream awakened by the morning light, like countless layers of gauze curtains being lifted by an unseen hand.

The hazy gray ceiling, walls, and floor grew paler and thinner under the pink glow, eventually dissolving into countless tiny motes of light that silently scattered.

Standing amidst that dissipating gray, I felt as if something had been drawn out of my body, and something else had returned to it.

Then, I saw a light.

An azure light, shining from a distance, like daylight pouring in from behind a pushed-open door.

The light grew sharper and brighter. Amidst the dissipating grayish-white, it was a blue so pure, so clear, that it made one want to walk toward it.

The grayness vanished completely.

I—Murphy—was standing in the middle of a vast, grayish-white wasteland.

And the azure light was not far to his side.

A spatial rift stood there silently, its edges emitting a steady, azure glow.

Murphy turned his head to look at the girl.

She was still standing there.

The hem of her pink skirt fluttered gently in the wind, and a few strands of her fluffy hair were blown back, revealing a smooth forehead.

Her round, swollen belly had also returned to normal.

"Who are you? And why did you help me?"

The girl tilted her head, the azure light reflected in her pink eyes.

"Eye of Myriad Phenomena, Void Sea Ferryman, Weaver of the Threads of Causality, Lead Singer of the Seventh Movement, Lifetime Honorary Member of the Sweet Tooth Council—"

She rattled off a long string of titles in one breath, enunciating each one perfectly, as if reciting a lesson she had memorized long ago.

By the end, she couldn’t help but laugh, revealing a row of neat, white teeth.

"But you can just call me the Witch of Passing."

Murphy watched her, waiting for her to continue.

"As for why I helped you—"

She drew out the last word, her pink eyes roving over Murphy’s face once, then twice.

Her lips curled into a playful smile.

"Heh heh."

Just a chuckle.

Then, she raised a hand and gently pressed her pink-nail-polished index finger to her pink lips. ℴ

Her body began to fade.

"Thanks for the noodles, Murphy."

And then, she vanished completely.

A gray wind blew across the wasteland, passing through the spot where she had disappeared, leaving nothing behind.

Murphy stood in the vast wasteland, staring at the empty space where she had been, and was silent for a long time.

Then, without any hesitation, he transformed into a streak of sword light and plunged into the azure spatial rift.