Chapter Two Hundred Twenty-Three: "Number Thirty, He's Gone Mad

Mo Yan rolled over on the bed.

He glanced at the wall clock.

One o'clock in the morning.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock."

The noisy second hand ticked away, second by second. What was usually white noise now sounded like a drumbeat in his ears, loud and obtrusive.

He rolled over again, clinging to the soft white sheets, trying to bury himself in the soft bed.

He closed his eyes, reached out his hand, and covered his ears, not wanting to hear those strange sounds.

...But it was useless.

Footsteps were constantly echoing around him, accompanied by a creepy nursery rhyme. It was as if dozens of children were dancing and singing around him.

The moment he closed his eyes, he could see blood-red lines entwining and twisting in front of him, trying to bore into his brain from his eyes.

"...Mo Yan, Mo Yan."

He could even hear someone softly calling his name, like a siren gently singing to a sailor. If he responded, she would drag him to the bottom of the sea.