Who cares! Anyway, I’m just muddling through each day as it comes. I’m not even afraid of death now, so I’ll just keep scamming food and drink wherever I can.

In the days that followed, except for eating and using the bathroom, George Smith wouldn’t let me get out of the carriage at all. Even sleeping had to be done inside the compartment. As for losing my virginity, that plan was obviously nowhere in sight. All I knew was that the carriage was heading into more and more remote areas, probably past the border. Along the way, everything looked desolate and eerie, deathly silent, not a soul in sight. Meals were just cold, dry rations, and when I was thirsty, I drank from mountain springs or streams. No matter what I asked, George Smith simply wouldn’t answer, only telling me to behave and do as I was told.

These days, I gradually felt the shadow of death looming over me. For example, when I peed under a tree, the tree would suddenly fall and crush my foot. When I pooped, a scorpion would unexpectedly dart out of the grass and pinch my butt. Even drinking water, I’d somehow choke for no reason.

So I had no choice but to stay alert at all times, eyes and ears wide open. Half a month later, we arrived at a stretch of marshland.

“Get out.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I lazily pushed open the carriage door, and was startled out of my wits.

The four tall horses had been stripped of all flesh and blood, turned into four ghastly white skeleton horses, standing stiff and motionless.

I screamed, turned around, and saw the strange, flickering eyes of George Smith, which sent a chill through my whole body.

Could I have run into a monster? What would a monster want with me? My flesh is filthy and stinky, definitely not tasty. Unless it’s a female monster who’s taken a liking to my looks? But no matter how I looked, the Adam’s apple on George Smith’s neck didn’t seem fake.

From the bushes, three ghostly figures emerged.

An old man with white hair, a burly man, and a sleazy-looking dwarf. Facing George Smith, they all knelt down together: “Master, you’ve finally made it back.”

George Smith grunted, “I’ve found the medium.”

“Congratulations, Master, you actually found the medium before the deadline.” The three of them looked up, greedily staring at me as if my face was covered in silver coins.

I didn’t say a word—this wasn’t the time to speak, and even if I asked, George Smith wouldn’t tell me anything. The only thing I was sure of was that I was the “medium” they were talking about, and they were going to use me for something big.

There were four of them, so I could only play it by ear; acting rashly would be useless. Besides, I was almost dead anyway. In three days, I’d turn seventeen.

George Smith seemed a bit surprised by my compliance, patted me, and said in a sinister tone, “Behave, and you’ll live.”

I guessed he was just lying to me, but I had nothing to lose. Deep down, I actually hoped George Smith was a monster—if so, maybe he really did have the power to save me.

“Hurry up, Master, we only have three days left.” The dwarf hopped around impatiently.

My heart skipped a beat. Three days? What a coincidence.

George Smith nodded. “Let’s go in.” His black robe spread out, and he swept forward, gliding into the marsh. The white-haired old man and the burly man flanked me on either side, following closely behind.

Damn it, are we in such a rush to get reincarnated?

The marsh was gloomy and silent, tangled vines blocking out the sky, leaving only tiny slivers of light. The green, murky water snaked through the bushes, bubbling with filth. Fallen leaves had piled up thickly, most of them rotting into sludge, giving off waves of stench.

We gradually went deeper into the marsh. I found it strange—there wasn’t a single animal in sight, not even a tiny bug or ant.

It was as if this marsh had swallowed all life.

“Hurry up! Move it!” the dwarf snarled at me. I really wanted to smash his bulbous, boozy nose.

A whole day passed quickly. I’d long since lost all sense of direction. In George Smith’s hand was a roll of yellowed sheepskin, which he kept glancing at as he led the way.

“I can’t go on!” I gasped, collapsing to the ground.

George Smith looked at me. “Then rest for a while.”

After entering the marsh, George Smith had been pretty polite to me. I took a cold steamed bun from the burly man and wolfed it down.

George Smith had his back to me, studying the sheepskin map again. The dwarf kept staring at me, making my skin crawl. The white-haired old man sat on a tree stump, took out a tobacco pipe, tapped it on his heel, put it in his mouth—then, with a “clack,” the pipe suddenly slipped, and the old man started coughing violently.

The cough was thin and sharp, as if something was crawling out of his throat.

The dwarf turned in surprise, and George Smith’s expression changed as well.

“Ugh!” A mess of colorful stuff spewed from the old man’s mouth—blood, tangled intestines, then a red lung, a yellow liver. The old man clutched his throat in agony and fell to his knees.

A warm, beating heart popped out, landing in the mud and twitching slightly.

At first, I thought the old man was doing some kind of magic trick, but when he slumped to the ground, I realized the white-haired old man was dead.

The burly man roared in terror.

“Shut up!” George Smith barked, his face grim. He looked around uneasily, the red light in his eyes flickering on and off.