The Vortex and the Unlucky

The ash-gray clouds pressed relentlessly toward the ground. Occasionally, they would be torn apart by crimson lightning, only to swiftly re-form in a suffocating spiral.

“Ordinary people can’t see this, can they?” Yuan Anqing gazed out the restaurant window. The apocalyptic scenery churning outside formed a stark, bizarre contrast to the carefree, mundane lives of the pedestrians walking below.

“Of course not. They only see blue skies and white clouds.” Zhuo had booked a private dining room for them, ensuring no one would overhear their conversation.

The restaurants in this small town were all family-run, primarily catering to locals. Yuan Anqing and Zhuo, with their striking appearances and distinct city accents, stood out significantly from the townspeople. There was no possibility of them secretly investigating while concealing their identities.

“Everyone here has an aura formed by desire, but there is only one true Vortex.” Since entering the anomaly, the golden hue in Yuan Anqing’s eyes had not dimmed.

“It’s actually quite easy to find,” Zhuo said, casually picking at his food. “You just need to find the unluckiest person in town.”

“The unluckiest?” Yuan Anqing did not understand.

“Or the most desperate,” Zhuo shrugged. “Their taste is terrible—sticky, disgusting, and very sour. Like rotten fish left out for three days in the scorching heat.”

Zhuo understood Differentiated Beings far better than Yuan Anqing did. “Inferior differentiation is erratic, like that kid at the office yesterday. His differentiation didn’t pose a particularly exaggerated threat to reality.”

“But there’s another group of people whose lives, when viewed in isolation, resemble a dark comedic joke. Once inferior differentiation befalls them, the outcome is devastating.” Zhuo was clearly well-acquainted with these matters. “I don’t like their desires. Their desires are crude, simple, and utterly devoid of vitality.”

Yuan Anqing grasped the key point. “You’ve eaten them before?”

“I have. Because a Vortex can’t be dealt with in a normal way,” Zhuo said, sounding genuinely wronged. If he had a choice, he would never consume such bitter, acrid things.

Those individuals who became a ‘Vortex’ were merely transmitters for spreading inferior differentiation. They were already dead inside; their bodies were simply vessels channeling a storm of desire.

Who is the unluckiest person in town?

Yuan Anqing pondered for a moment, then declared, “Then we’ll just ask around directly.”

“Ask directly? Aren’t you afraid people will think you’re a bad guy with ulterior motives?” Zhuo reached out and poked Yuan Anqing’s cheek.

“No,” Yuan Anqing said calmly. “I don’t look like one.”

“Appearance isn’t the standard for judging good people and bad people, you know,” Zhuo reminded him.

“True. But for most people, their vigilance relies entirely on the quality of a first impression. My appearance is quite good; I pose no physical threat, and I seem sufficiently refined.” Yuan Anqing understood his own corporate camouflage well. “I can tell them I’m a creator looking for inspiration.”

“But you don’t have any actual works to substantiate your identity,” Zhuo pointed out. He still found it unreliable.

“No need.” Yuan Anqing pushed up his glasses, then rose and opened the private room door to peer out.

The plump owner of the family restaurant was sitting by the liquor cabinet, scrolling on his phone.

“Are you really going to try it?” Zhuo quickly shoveled the remaining food from his bowl into his mouth, pulled out a wet wipe to clean his hands, and followed him out.

“Excuse me, sir.” Yuan Anqing seamlessly put on his professional, customer-service smile. “We’d like to stay in town for a while. Are there any reliable guesthouses you’d recommend?”

The plump owner paused, looking surprised. “Why would you want to stay here?”

This small town wasn’t a tourist spot; it was a rural-urban fringe, connecting the deep countryside to the larger county. Such an area had neither the entertaining facilities of a city nor the picturesque fields of the true countryside. It was an exceedingly dull place.

“My friend and I are traveling around looking for inspiration. We settle down and stay for a while wherever we go,” Yuan Anqing said softly.

“Looking for inspiration? What do you do?” The owner instantly became interested.

Just as Yuan Anqing had predicted, the owner didn’t suspect him for a second. Though Yuan Anqing was a tall man at 183 centimeters, he appeared far too gentle—especially when smiling. Yuan Anqing knew precisely how to leverage that smile. After all, no one liked to face a cold expression when negotiating business contracts. He was adept at concealing his inner detachment, making himself seem like a good-natured, easygoing intellectual.

“We work in film, behind the scenes,” Yuan Anqing lied smoothly.

The owner hissed in awe. “You look more like a movie star yourself!”

“You’re too kind. I haven’t studied acting,” Yuan Anqing replied modestly, intentionally not rushing to steer the conversation back to the guesthouses. He waited for the owner to share more.

The title of ‘film worker’ was a massive novelty to the people in this area. Yuan Anqing needed to collect ‘stories,’ and most ordinary people harbored a deep desire to confide in outsiders. Yuan Anqing merely needed to adopt the posture of a good listener, and the other party would reveal more than enough information.

After all, there weren’t many guests here, so the owner didn’t have much to do. Moreover, Yuan Anqing and Zhuo’s striking appearances were the most interesting things to happen all week.

Zhuo stood beside Yuan Anqing, unable to interject. He simply watched, thinking this ‘Savior’ was truly terrifyingly adept at putting on an act.

“Zhuo, take notes,” Yuan Anqing said, turning to him.

Upon hearing there would be notes taken, the owner’s enthusiasm for sharing intensified.

They spent over four hours chatting with the owner. The town was a close-knit community, and as one of the few local eateries, the owner knew most of its residents and all of its gossip. In such a place, any bit of misfortune in a household quickly spread. Yuan Anqing indeed gathered a considerable amount of useful information.

Afterward, Yuan Anqing and Zhuo went to the ‘Grand Hotel’ recommended by the owner. The ‘Grand Hotel’ was merely a name; it was actually a rundown, four-story guesthouse.

Yuan Anqing checked if the bathroom plumbing was functional, then emerged to find Zhuo sitting on the stiff bed with a bewildered expression.

“What’s wrong?” Yuan Anqing asked him.

“There are so many unlucky people in this town,” Zhuo lamented. “I feel like we haven’t narrowed it down at all!”

“Actually, we have.” Yuan Anqing was prepared for this. Rural towns often had sizable populations, and with more people came more unfortunate incidents. Furthermore, rural areas were relatively underdeveloped. Money might not guarantee happiness, but backwardness and poverty could easily strip people of happiness, pushing them into despair.

Zhuo opened the notepad app on his phone, counting the suspicious individuals they had noted. “There are over forty of them!”

“Which one do you think is the most miserable?” Yuan Anqing asked.

“They’re all miserable,” Zhuo replied dismissively. “I don’t even know why half of them are still alive. It would be better if I just ate them instead of letting them linger on like this.”

“Whether they want to die is their own business; you have no right to decide that for them.” Yuan Anqing took Zhuo’s phone. “Let’s start investigating the closest one: Li Sheng, from the local nursing home.”

“Should we sneak in?” Zhuo asked eagerly.

Yuan Anqing eyed Zhuo’s massive, imposing frame up and down. “Do you honestly think that’s possible?” Zhuo, a two-meter-tall hulking monster, trying to go undercover?

“We just need to circle the perimeter,” Yuan Anqing said, pointing to his own chest. “I can confirm if the Vortex is nearby based on the physical rejection.”

Since entering the Desire Cyclone, Yuan Anqing’s body had never been comfortable. He was forced into a constant state of mental tension and heart palpitations. The Vortex naturally repelled the Savior, and Yuan Anqing’s energy, in turn, repelled it.

“No need to sneak in, huh…” Zhuo sounded deeply disappointed. “I thought I could climb across the rooftops.”

“You know there are surveillance cameras even in small towns, right?” Yuan Anqing felt Zhuo had simply watched too many spy movies.

“I know.” Zhuo sighed heavily.

After a brief rest, the two began their ‘field research.’

Under the guise of ‘seeking inspiration,’ elderly men and women would occasionally approach them. Yuan Anqing consistently portrayed himself as an earnest artist searching for creative sparks. He didn’t mind conversing with the town’s elders, as information from a single source was often biased or incomplete.

However, these conversations significantly reduced their efficiency.

As dusk fell, Yuan Anqing and Zhuo had only visited three locations. The town’s streets bordered the deep countryside, with some alleys leading directly into unlit fields. The rural dirt roads lacked mobile navigation mapping, so Yuan Anqing and Zhuo had to walk and ask for directions.

Most people in the small town went to bed early. By 9:30 PM, the streets were entirely deserted.

“Are we still going to the middle school?” Zhuo asked. “The ‘Grand Hotel’ locks its doors at eleven.”

They walked along a quiet riverbank. Zhuo’s steps were light. He enjoyed the cool air here; the wind felt pleasant on his face, and they could actually see the stars.

“Let’s head back first.” Yuan Anqing rubbed his temples. He had dealt with too many gossiping elderly people today and felt his corporate social battery was completely depleted.

“I like the sound of the cicadas and frogs here,” Zhuo said, looking around. “It’s much more comfortable than where we live.”

“Is it?” Yuan Anqing was far too weary to appreciate the beauty of nature. He and Zhuo walked onto an old stone bridge together. “Right now, I just want a good night’s sleep.”

“Those old folks really liked you, you know.” Zhuo had barely been approached, likely because he looked too fierce for the grandmothers to gossip with.

“I just put on an act.”

As Yuan Anqing finished speaking, he suddenly felt a stifling, unnatural heat in the wind blowing past him—like the scalding steam that rushes out when opening an industrial pressure cooker.

He stopped in his tracks, violent goosebumps prickling his skin.

Yuan Anqing stared intently at a flickering streetlamp ahead and to the right. The lamp buzzed, and then a person appeared directly beneath it.

It was a man in a dark blue shirt. And this man was staring intently at Yuan Anqing—with completely empty eye sockets.

Danger! Yuan Anqing’s brain flashed a blaring warning, but before he could even flinch, Zhuo yanked him backward.

Zhuo pulled Yuan Anqing directly over the stone railing, leaping off the bridge and plummeting toward the dark river below.

Yuan Anqing instinctively closed his eyes. Hitting the water from this height is going to hurt.

However, he was mistaken. After closing his eyes, Yuan Anqing felt something impossibly soft and warm completely envelop him.

“Zhuo?” Yuan Anqing opened his eyes to find himself held securely in the palm of a giant, crimson hand.

The hand’s grip was moderate, making Yuan Anqing feel as if he were wrapped in a massive, leather sleeping bag.

Zhuo had reverted to his original monstrous form. Although this form was much smaller than his true maximum size, he could still stand firmly in the river, the deep water only reaching halfway up his scaled calves.

Zhuo’s head resembled a flayed, demonic ram, covered in dark scales. He extended a few more of his dozens of arms, carefully cupping them around Yuan Anqing to shield him. “I’ll leave a gap for you to breathe.”

The familiar, arrogant voice instantly dispelled most of Yuan Anqing’s tension.

“This is a bit troublesome. It’s a ghost,” Zhuo said, glaring up at the bridge.

Yuan Anqing paused. “…Wait. You said it was a what?”