Infinite Nightmares

"Dad... Mom." The moment Zhang Wenda uttered those words, it felt as though his heart had stopped.

He stared blankly at the monsters before him, at their hollow bodies and their scythes that glinted with a cold light.

He had seen these hideous monsters before. He knew about the bizarre appearances of the various adults in their world.

But he never imagined that these monsters would be his own parents. And compared to the other adults, they looked undeniably stranger and far more terrifying.

Ever since his experience at the Youth Palace, he had known that there was a certain logic underlying all the rules.

But he never could have imagined that the logic behind the rules-based horror tormenting him from the very beginning was, in fact, his own parents!

Especially when he remembered them crawling out of Yang Yongxin’s corpse.

A headache began to throb in Zhang Wenda’s temples. The pain intensified, growing so severe it felt like his head was about to explode.

With an agonized expression, he dropped to one knee. He dug his fingers into his hair, pressing down hard as if to physically stop the pain.

Just then, a sharp scythe extended, hooking around Zhang Wenda’s forearm in an attempt to pull him up from the floor.

But it was merely trying to help, and the sharp blade tore his arm to a bloody pulp.

Zhang Wenda violently shook his arm free and glared viciously at them, at the two heads looming over him. "Why! I want to know why!"

His voice echoed through the old room. "I can understand ’Don’t be late,’ but why can’t I ask anyone for help? Why can’t I help others? Why do you attack me for no reason?!"

His voice grew louder until he was roaring, his body trembling. "Why did you send me to that internet addiction school?!"

As Zhang Wenda screamed the words he hadn’t even dared to speak in his past life, a ringing began in his ears, growing increasingly intense.

But he paid the ringing no mind. He just craned his neck, staring defiantly at the two monsters, watching as their two large, hollow mouths slowly opened to utter a muffled, indistinct phrase.

"Because... we... love you."

Hearing such an absurd statement, Zhang Wenda suddenly, inexplicably, laughed. Sometimes, when faced with something truly unbelievable, all one can do is laugh in disbelief.

Since arriving in this world, he had experienced so many bizarre and inexplicable things that he thought nothing could surprise him anymore.

But whether it was the Youth Palace, the library, or even the Internet World, they all paled in comparison to that single sentence.

Everything he had endured, all of it combined, was not as grotesque as those words.

’The reason they tormented me, the reason they sent me away to be tortured... was love?’

Zhang Wenda shook his head firmly. "No. You don’t love me. You never even saw me as a person. You just wanted an obedient tool to provide for your old age! Anything that defied you was an unforgivable sin, an act of filial impiety!"

"You’re always right! In your eyes, I’m just a punching bag! A place where you can vent all your negative emotions without a second thought! Because I’m your son! And I can’t run away!"

"Do you know what they call me at school? Hmm? Do you? You have no idea!"

Zhang Wenda jabbed his chest with his right index finger, his voice trembling. "My nickname is Haozi! Do you know where that came from? It’s not just because I was small and skinny as a child! It’s because every time you beat me, I’d scurry away like a rat with my head in my hands! The other kids saw it and gave me that name!"

"I finally get it now. Yang Yongxin can never truly be killed. Because there are millions of people like you out there. One internet addiction school falls, and another ’academy’ will just rise to take its place!"

"Where there’s demand, there’s a market. You’re the ones giving them money! You’re the ones creating that market! It’s you!"

Zhang Wenda’s finger stabbed accusingly toward them. "You’re the ones who sustain them! You are the foundation upon which that hopeless hell of humiliation, beatings, and electroshock was built!"

In the face of Zhang Wenda’s accusations, the scythe monsters let out low, guttural roars, interspersed with single, broken words.

The hollows all over their bodies seemed to hum, resonating in tandem with the roars from their mouths.

They seemed to be saying something, trying to justify themselves, but Zhang Wenda couldn’t understand a word. It was as if he and his parents were two different species, their languages no longer compatible.

They grew more and more agitated, their scythe-limbs beginning to swing, carving fresh wounds into Zhang Wenda’s body.

But as the familiar wounds appeared and that strange, negative emotion welled up inside him once more, Zhang Wenda suddenly recognized its source.

It was the same panic and helplessness he’d felt as a child, being beaten for no reason and not knowing what to do.

’Back then, he never knew why, never knew what he had done wrong. But now, he suddenly understood. I did nothing wrong. They were the ones who were wrong!’

A scythe blurred toward him in a swift arc. Zhang Wenda shot out his hand and caught the blade, gripping it tightly as blood dripped from the web of his thumb.

Zhang Wenda gripped the scythe, his gaze firm. "Never again. I will never let this happen again!"

Just as the four scythes were about to plunge into his chest, the Yellow Core was completely depleted.

Everything around him faded rapidly. The bodies of the scythe monsters grew transparent. A few seconds later, he was back inside the old tenement building. He had returned.

Zhang Wenda stared at his surroundings, at the home filled with a sense of nostalgia. He remained frozen to the spot, unmoving, until night fell. What he was thinking in that moment, only he knew.

The moment the room plunged into darkness, CLICK, the television turned on. Its antenna, which had a bunch of green vegetables hanging from it, drooped downward. The static-filled noise from the TV shattered the silence.

At that, Zhang Wenda finally moved. He stood up, pulled a flashlight from his bag, and walked calmly toward the door.

As he reached the doorway, he saw a bowl of noodles on the unfolded folding table. Steam was still rising from it; it looked freshly made.

Zhang Wenda paused in the doorway, then turned back. He picked up the bowl and hurled it to the floor. As the sound of shattering ceramic echoed in the room, he turned and walked out the door without looking back.