I'm Trapped in the Block

"Let’s go," Jeff said plainly, but his tone betrayed a hidden worry.

The Fake Fishmen were thrilled to be participating in the Sea-Moon Rite, so in their excitement, no one noticed anything was off with Jeff as they all rushed eagerly toward the Moon Altar.

Only Li Luo, who was lagging behind, gave Jeff a puzzled look.

"What’s wrong?" She had likely noticed something was amiss.

As if shaken from his thoughts, Jeff jumped and turned to stare blankly at Li Luo.

After snapping out of it, he slowly replied, "It’s nothing. Let’s go."

With that, he led Li Luo to follow the others.

But Jeff remained preoccupied the entire way, a heavy look on his face.

Finally, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. "Humans perform rituals too, right?" he asked.

"Of course."

"Do they build altars like this one?"

"They do."

After receiving his confirmation, Jeff fell silent again. He walked on with his head bowed...

Soon, the group arrived at the edge of the Moon Altar.

Up close, the massive altar’s oppressive presence was even more pronounced.

Shrouded in mist, the Moon Altar resembled a colossal beast whose full form was hidden, coiled within the fjord and stirring restlessly.

The arrival of the Fake Fishmen quickly attracted the attention of the other Fishmen.

None of them stopped what they were doing. They just stared silently at Jeff’s group, casting odd looks their way before quietly detouring to take other hauling routes.

Before long, the once-bustling Fishmen had vanished. They must have found other paths to avoid the Fake Fishmen.

Although the ostracism wasn’t overt, an oppressive atmosphere had already begun to permeate the air.

The Fake Fishmen, who had been excited just moments before, felt their enthusiasm instantly extinguished. They were so embarrassed they wished the ground would swallow them whole.

"Let’s get to work."

Jeff called out to the Fake Fishmen and started up the passage leading to the Moon Altar.

The passage was built within the Moon Altar itself, spiraling upward with a network of many branching paths.

To facilitate the transport of goods, these passages were all very wide.

They encountered many other Fishmen inside the passage, but they all promptly moved aside, taking different branches to get away from the Fake Fishmen.

This made the Fake Fishmen extremely uncomfortable.

Fortunately, the passage wasn’t long. Jeff must have chosen the most direct route, as it wasn’t long before they reached the top of the Moon Altar.

A light breeze blew past, causing the mist to shift slowly. The area was utterly silent.

The other Fishmen seemed to have already steered clear of this area, so there was no one working here.

Mo Ling’s gaze swept over the area, and he realized they were near the seaward edge of the altar.

’After all those twists and turns in the passages, we’ve somehow ended up on the other side of the Moon Altar without even realizing it.’

Wooden crates, presumably hauled up by the other Fishmen, were stacked high at the edge of the path, filling the area.

"It’s these crates. We need to take what’s inside and set it all up," Jeff told the Fake Fishmen.

"What’s in them?" one asked earnestly, though their initial enthusiasm was gone.

"Bait."

’Bait?’

The Fake Fishmen were all perplexed.

The Shrimp-headed Man walked up to a crate, used a current of water to pull out the nails, and peered inside.

The crate was a chaotic jumble of expired human food products and assorted seasoning bottles, like a big stew of garbage.

The food packaging was caked in a thick layer of dust. Some of it was torn, allowing the contents to leak out. Exposed to the mist, the food had begun to rot and stink.

The moment the crate was opened, a rotten stench wafted out.

The Shrimp-headed Man tore open a bag of what looked like potato chips, but dark, hard lumps tumbled out.

These black lumps also gave off a horrid stench.

’The dense fog covering Fishman Island is so potent it can even affect food that’s still sealed in its packaging.’

’So they didn’t trade with the humans for this food to eat it.’

’It was meant to be bait.’

’But could this rotten food really work as bait?’

’What could it possibly lure out?’

While Mo Ling was still puzzling over it, the Fake Fishmen who had crowded forward to see the rotten food seemed to have an instant realization. They all turned to look at Jeff in unison.

Their eyes were filled with shock, tinged with fear.

"The Sea-Moon Rite needs... *that*?" a Fake Fishman asked in disbelief.

"Yes," Jeff affirmed. "The ancient texts clearly state that we need a lot of it."

Jeff then pointed to other crates in the distance. "The ’cages’ are in there. It took the village a long time to prepare them. The required quantity was so large that it left no time to set up the Moon Altar."

The Shrimp-headed Man walked in the direction Jeff had pointed, pried open a small gap in one of the crates, and pulled out a small wooden ball.

The small ball was only the size of a walnut and perfectly smooth. The Shrimp-headed Man rolled it in his palm for a moment, his pair of antennae twitching anxiously.

"There are too many. This is very dangerous," he said, his voice laced with worry.

At his words, everyone present fell silent.

The crate was filled to the brim with identical wooden balls.

Mo Ling listened, completely baffled.

’Why are these little balls called "cages"?’

’What exactly are they trying to catch?’

Mo Ling focused his perception on the small ball. ’It’s solid. There’s no way it could trap any creature.’

’And it’s tiny. It doesn’t look like it has any destructive power, either.’

’The only strange thing is that the surfaces of these balls are all perfectly smooth, as if coated in a thin, waxy sheen.’

’It’s just like the material from the library I saw before.’

’Is this... Immortal Wood?’

After a moment of careful observation, Mo Ling was certain he hadn’t been mistaken.

These strange wooden balls were indeed made of Immortal Wood. It was just that the waxy sheen was much fainter than what he’d seen on the library and the ancient Fishman texts—just a shallow, flimsy layer.

’Does Immortal Wood have other uses?’ Even after identifying what the wooden balls were made of, Mo Ling was still deeply confused. He could only wait for the others to provide an answer.

However, the silence stretched on. No one present spoke a word, and the atmosphere was incredibly tense.

Just then, the Shrimp-headed Man broke the silence.

"Did the Great Clan Leader ask us to do this?" he asked, his tone dejected.

Jeff shook his head. "Not exactly. He only agreed to let me ask for your help. Even if you don’t do it, other clan members will."

"It’s the same for everyone."

Hearing this, the Shrimp-headed Man’s antennae stopped twitching, and his hand, which had been clenched tightly around the small ball, slowly relaxed.

"Well, you should’ve said so earlier. I really thought we’d been abandoned for good."

"The Great Clan Leader wouldn’t abandon anyone," Jeff said, looking at the Shrimp-headed Man seriously. "He has always treated everyone the same..."

The Shrimp-headed Man waved a hand dismissively. "You don’t have to say it. Someone from the clan has to do this job, whether it’s the others or us ’freaks’."

"What’s the point of worrying about it so much? It just makes things worse."

At this, his antennae perked up again.

"So, are we doing this or not?" he asked, turning to the silent group of Fake Fishmen.

"Yeah, let’s do it! What’s there to be afraid of?" one of the Fake Fishmen declared, rolling up his sleeves.

"For the Fishman Race..."

"For the Fishman Race!"