Doomsday Wonderland

Chapter 1403: An Unfalsifiable Psychological Problem

Chapter 1403: An Unfalsifiable Psychological Problem

Elizabeth turned her head to look at the empty floor, her expression hidden from Marigold's view.

The pair of bare feet had vanished the moment they entered. No one could have hidden deeper inside the house in such a brief span of time, at least not without Marigold hearing hurried footsteps. The air in the room felt stagnant, only disturbed when they stepped in.

"Really?" Elizabeth responded softly. "That's unexpected."

"What's unexpected?" Marigold pressed. Had Elizabeth not claimed to be a psychic, Marigold would never have mentioned seeing those feet beneath the curtain. Even a fake psychic wouldn't dare claim that seeing ghosts indicated mental illness. In this respect, Elizabeth needed to maintain her reputation.

"I'm surprised you saw it," Elizabeth said, shaking her head as she guided her further into the room, taking a seat by a dining table. "But I'm even more puzzled that you saw it in a place it seldom visits."

"What did I see?"

After a pause, Elizabeth said, "There are things better left unknown to ordinary people."

"Do you know... what those feet were?"

The psychic poured her a cup of tea, seemingly calming herself before saying with a smile, "Of course. You could say it's an old friend of mine. It follows me wherever I go."

'Could it be that Elizabeth isn't a fraud?'

Maybe this game had settings involving spirits, which was why there was a psychic character.

Marigold realized she had only two choices: either start believing that Elizabeth truly could see ghosts or assume she had experienced a severe hallucination. She knew her mental state was sound, and she had clearly seen those bare feet beneath the curtain, as real as she saw Elizabeth and the table before her. If she began doubting herself, wouldn't Jetson unquestionably win?

If Elizabeth genuinely had psychic abilities...

"I'm very scared," she blurted out, instantly regretting it as her words echoed in the room.

Elizabeth remained silent for a while, then gestured to the tea. "Drink it."

Marigold glanced at the cup, hesitated for a second, then downed the lukewarm tea. "Here," she said, pushing the cup now holding a small residue of tea leaves back to Elizabeth. She decided not to speak another word, still skeptical about Elizabeth's claimed abilities. If Elizabeth truly had them, let her read the tea leaves.

"You believe someone intends to harm you, and the danger... comes from a place that should be safe."

Yes, home should be a safe place. Marigold's heart fluttered, watching Elizabeth lift her cup, slowly saying, "It seems like it's your home? You want to take action, but... something is holding you back."

Action? She did have a plan: to prove during the neighborhood gathering today that she's mentally sound. Nothing was holding her back. If her husband wanted to harm her, she would resist. There should be no hesitation.

Was Elizabeth making all this up? Her words were vague, and considering the information she'd given away, it could be enough for Elizabeth to weave a narrative.

Elizabeth seemed very perceptive, her gaze briefly sweeping over Marigold as if realizing that her words hadn't immediately caught Marigold off-guard. A subtle frown formed on Elizabeth's face. Perhaps some expression had given away her feelings, prompting Marigold to touch her face self-consciously.

Elizabeth lowered her eyes, gazing at the cup. "Oh, I see something new... your marital life is about to undergo a significant change. No, perhaps it has already started."

If Marigold's confidence were a needle on a dial, it had now slightly shifted towards Elizabeth. Even if Elizabeth was merely guessing, her guesses were eerily accurate.

"I can continue reading for you, but..." Elizabeth set down her cup.

This must be where she asks for payment. Marigold instinctively reached for her pocket. Of course, it was merely an act — she hadn't seen her wallet for a while now. All financial transactions went through Jetson. She could just claim she forgot it, letting Elizabeth ask him for payment.

"I'm not asking for money," Elizabeth said, stopping her mid-motion, "because what I predict next, you might not like or even believe. I only hope that when you face setbacks, you'll remember my warning... and if you come to believe me, you can seek me out."

Marigold raised her eyebrows, leaning in. "What? Is something bad going to happen?"

"Your opponent will gain a minor victory in some respect," Elizabeth said gravely, putting down the cup. "You won't be able to prove false some things he says about you."

A sinking feeling engulfed Marigold. What did that mean? The tea party hadn't even started, yet Elizabeth already condemned her efforts to prove Jetson was lying and that she was mentally sound? How did she know what Marigold planned to do?

A surge of anger welled up inside Marigold, causing her to abruptly stand up. She almost fell for it. How could she believe Elizabeth? If this psychic truly had special abilities, would she be scrounging for food in the building? Although she couldn't explain those feet or why Elizabeth knew of her intentions, a scam artist always had tricks up their sleeve.

She absolutely refused to give up before taking action. Moreover, as she viewed her plan, she believed it was flawless.

Marigold, suppressing the impulse to storm off, sat back down. "I'll wait and see. You say I can't prove it, but do you have a way?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "You still doubt my abilities," she said with an almost understanding tone, her amber eyes appearing genuine. "I don't blame you, as I've never showcased my abilities among neighbors. But when my prediction comes true, I hope you'll trust me a bit more."

Marigold stared at her, asking, "Is that... all?"

"Yes. Until you believe in me, I can't help you," Elizabeth said with a sigh, sounding genuinely regretful.

Marigold was close to believing her — until Elizabeth glanced at the time, entered the kitchen, and placed the lunch box she had given her into the microwave. That action was like a cold bucket of water splashed on her face.

If Elizabeth could truly discern everything from tea leaves, why wasn't she suspicious of that lunch? Their conversation had clearly hinted that Jetson, her adversary, was involved. Given that the meal came from her home and she wouldn't eat it herself, it was evident who made it. How could Elizabeth still trust it enough to eat?

Perhaps the psychic was merely improvising based on the information gleaned from her facial expressions and words. If Marigold's confidence was shaken and she genuinely faced a crisis, she might desperately seek Elizabeth's help, allowing the latter to name her price.

Who would have thought that someone who seemed so kind-hearted would be so cunning?

For the next half-hour, Marigold felt as if she was sitting on pins and needles. Through the intermittent and casual conversation, the neighbors finally arrived. It seemed they, like her, were visiting Elizabeth's home for the first time. Upon entry, their reactions were similar — shock, unease, and a hint of resistance.

Such a mysterious and eerie house would make anyone uncomfortable.

Despite Elizabeth's ominous warning, Marigold felt she performed impeccably. Yes, she had been bedridden for a long while due to recurring fevers that made her feel muddled. Stepping outside for some fresh air and chatting with everyone had certainly eased her spirits. Were Leah and Jessica preparing for their finals? How was Ivy's new boyfriend? Was Pink about to start elementary school?

Endless small talk swirled from her lips. She couldn't outright deny her bedridden state, nor could she claim her mental state was perfectly fine. Therefore, she subtly modified what Jetson had said. Keeping the principle of asking more about others and speaking less about herself in mind, she managed the conversation gracefully. Even if the neighbors were initially a bit reserved when they first saw her, laughter soon echoed throughout. When asked about her daily life, she replied with an answer she'd thoughtfully prepared, "Doing housework, cleaning, reading... checking online job listings; the day just flies by."

"You're planning to find a job?" Ms. Chen asked.

Marigold smiled. "Yes. I'm still preparing my resume."

She felt a mix of pride and relief when she went to the restroom, congratulating herself on handling the situation so well. Even if a single conversation couldn't erase the shadows of Jetson's lies, at the very least, she had left an impression of being mentally sound. A good start would make things easier going forward.

After washing her hands, just as she was about to open the door, she overheard two female college students whispering in the corridor.

"It's a bit scary," said a husky voice that unmistakably belonged to Jessica, sounding as though she always had a lump in her throat. "It's my first time seeing someone with such severe..."

'Severe what?'

"I thought Jet was exaggerating," Leah whispered back. "Who would've thought... Why hasn't he admitted Goldie to the hospital?"

Marigold's grip tightened on the door handle, her head spinning.

Why? Had she done something wrong? Did she say something inappropriate?

Were her responses not sophisticated enough, not in line with social norms?

Elizabeth was right after all. Marigold lifted her head. For the first time, she considered that the psychic might be her last hope.

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