Chapter 17

Luo En struggled for a long time, but in the end, he wound up right back where he started.

Everything had gone exactly as the Mayor had predicted—no different from the past.

The Mayor just sat there, saying nothing.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was another corpse.

Luo En had meant to dispel the magic, yet the Mayor’s attitude never turned ugly.

Instead, the man sitting in front of the house asked, “Would you like to come in and rest?”

He knew Luo En had to be exhausted after all that effort.

If you couldn’t figure out what this place truly was, you could simply treat it as a maze—one that looped forever between 6:00 a.m. and noon.

Luo En braced his hands on his thighs and exhaled. “Fine.”

The Mayor wasn’t a good man, but Luo En needed the break.

He was shown to a spare room, told where to find food, and left to wander the town center at will.

Apart from hiding how and where the spell could be undone, the Mayor had done nothing to hinder him.

By the fireplace, Luo En warmed his hands and asked, “If you really don’t want me to break the magic, why not just kill me?”

“Do I look capable of killing anyone?” the Mayor replied from the doorway.

“So you’ve considered it.” The bread Luo En had just eaten suddenly tasted like ash.

The Mayor spoke again, quietly. “I’ve killed people who came here before... just as you said.”

He hadn’t merely thought about it—he’d already done it.

“I wanted others to be like me... to sacrifice themselves to keep those people frozen...”

He paused a long time before continuing. “Back then, I must have been... fifty-something.”

“So how old are you now?” Luo En realized, belatedly, how serious that question was.

“I’ve lost count...” The Mayor shook his head and stroked the squirrel in his lap.

“Let me ask you something, Luo En,” he said. “After you break the spell... what then?”

“What then? I leave Winterless Town, of course.” Luo En didn’t hesitate.

“And the people you free?” the Mayor asked. “They’re not ordinary folk—they’re madmen.

They’re monsters wearing human skins. If they leave, they’ll only bring disaster.”

Even now, he was still trying to talk Luo En out of it.

Luo En fell silent; he had no answer.

Some replies would wrong the others; others would wrong himself.

“I’ve rested enough.” He slung his travel bag over his shoulder. “I’ll come back.”

The tighter the Mayor clammed up, the more certain Luo En became that the spell could be undone.

If this cage were truly inescapable, the old man would have no reason to guard the secret so jealously.

Luo En still believed the odds of leaving Winterless Town were on his side.

... ...

Luo En kept exploring, and the Mayor kept sitting in front of the house.

When he felt up to it, the old man would lean on his cane and set out food on the table—something he rarely did, because every movement cost him.

Maybe it was because this newcomer was different.

Yet the difference seemed small: Luo En was just a stubborn young man, nothing more.

“You’re still at it...” the Mayor said, watching the frost whiten Luo En’s hair.

“What else can I do?” Luo En shot back.

Neither had persuaded the other.

Thus they spent ten days together in the town center, where time itself had gone awry.

“This town isn’t large,” the Mayor remarked. “You must have searched every corner by now.”

Luo En ignored him; they’d had this exchange too many times.

After a short rest, he straightened his pack and prepared to leave again.

As he stepped through the doorway, the Mayor called after him, “Are you really that eager for the world outside?”

Luo En glanced back, puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

The old man must be incurably jaded—no wonder persuasion never worked.

Yes, the Bicolor Realm had shown him little kindness, but he still looked forward to grand vistas, exotic food, and girls worth meeting.

His grand adventure would start with a cute girl, not a decrepit elder.

He gave the Mayor a resentful look, then shut the door—hard.

The cabin shuddered, and the photo frame propped on the windowsill finally toppled.

The sharp crack of breaking glass made the Mayor flinch.

He hobbled over on his cane, picked up the frame, and saw that the glass had shattered completely.

It had been dropped before, but never this badly.

He ran a finger over the fractured glass and sighed.

“Since everything is trapped in this moment forever... why can’t you be mended?” the Mayor murmured, setting the photo frame back in its place.

The house was always spotless; the food in the warehouse never dwindled; footprints on the road outside vanished within moments.

Yet the photograph kept yellowing, and the glass never healed.

He sat in the chair, gaze fixed on the faded picture.

Stroking the squirrel’s fur, he spoke in a daze: “Go find him.”

The squirrel lifted its head, startled.

The Mayor lowered his weary eyelids. “Then bring him there.”

For countless years he had been tired, but today the exhaustion was heavier than ever.

“He might be killed,” he whispered. “No... perhaps I will be.”

He opened his arms; the squirrel leapt to the floor, light as breath.

It glanced back, as though asking him to reconsider.

“Don’t worry... even if the magic breaks, nothing will change,” the Mayor said, voice hoarse against the quiet room. “I just want to see him once more.”

The white squirrel darted away, leaving the Mayor alone in the house.

He could not remember the last time he had been truly alone.

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