Chapter 12: Your Hometown

If the phrase “rules are absolute” still applies to this second “game,” then the words on the mask must be the key to solving it.

But how can this be solved?

When will the harpoon be fired?

“The clock never stops ticking”…

Could it be at a quarter past one?

Qi Xia turned to look at the desk clock on the table. It was already five past one. If “a quarter past one” was the time the harpoon would fire, they now had less than ten minutes left.

“Turn toward the direction of home for a hundred revolutions”…

Each of the nine people here came from different hometowns, and “a hundred revolutions” was no small number.

If they were thinking in the wrong direction, they could easily waste these ten minutes.

But in this room, aside from himself, what else could “turn”?

Qi Xia’s gaze lingered on the desk clock in the center of the table.

He leaned forward and lightly touched the clock, only to find it firmly fixed to the table, immovable by even a fraction.

“If the clock can’t move, then is it the chair?”

Qi Xia looked down at the chair beneath him—an old, musty-smelling ordinary chair casually placed on the floor, devoid of any mechanisms.

In that case, the only thing left was…

Qi Xia turned his attention to the round table in the center of the room and realized something odd.

This table couldn’t truly be called “round” because it seemed to be a polygon, though with enough sides to give the illusion of a circle at first glance.

He reached out and turned the tabletop slightly. Sure enough, a faint sound of chains came from inside the table.

But the table was heavy, and even with considerable effort, Qi Xia could only rotate it a few centimeters.

“A hundred revolutions…”

This number was absolutely not something two or three people could accomplish. All nine people present would have to work together to turn the tabletop if they wanted even a sliver of hope.

Lin Qin, sharp as ever, noticed Qi Xia’s action and called for everyone to stop.

The group gathered around the table and confirmed that it could indeed be rotated.

“Damn, you’re something else, con man,” Qiao Jiajin nodded approvingly. “If we turn this table a hundred times, we should be able to open that invisible door.”

Qi Xia glanced at the clock again. Though time was tight, the problem had become simpler.

Turning this round table toward the “direction of home” for a hundred revolutions boiled down to just two options:

Left or right.

But with everyone’s hometowns scattered across the country, how could they determine which direction to turn?

“Qi Xia, do you already know when the harpoon will fire?” Lin Qin asked, covering her nose and mouth.

“The hint said time ‘never stops ticking,’ so it’s probably at a quarter past one,” Qi Xia replied softly.

Qiao Jiajin’s expression darkened upon hearing this. “That means we have less than ten minutes left? Let’s start turning already!”

Dr. Zhao moved the corpse sprawled on the table aside and sat down, testing the table’s weight with his hands. “But we only have one shot. If we turn this heavy table a hundred times and it’s the wrong direction, what then?”

“That’s still a fifty percent chance of survival!” Qiao Jiajin urged impatiently. “If we don’t move, we’re dead for sure. If we turn it, there’s at least a fifty percent shot. Let’s go!”

With that, he threw all his strength into turning the table to the left.

Despite his lean appearance, Qiao Jiajin was incredibly strong. With just his own effort, he managed to turn the table half a revolution.

“What are you all waiting for?! Come on, help!” he barked at the others.

The rest, realizing he was right, reluctantly joined in.

There was no definitive answer now—they had to gamble.

But Qi Xia still hadn’t moved.

He didn’t know which direction to choose.

Left or right?

Why was “hometown” the key?

Since everyone was Chinese, did that mean “east”?

North at the top, south at the bottom, west to the left, east to the right—so the answer was “right”?

But what about those from the west?

Or did their hometowns all relate to the “Zuo Zhuan” from the Spring and Autumn period, making the answer “left”?

Qi Xia closed his eyes briefly. He had considered using the two corpses as shields, but if everyone else died, what would he do when the next game arrived?

“Now isn’t the time to abandon them.”

With that thought, he reached out, snatched a blank sheet of paper from the turning table, grabbed a pen, and stood up. He walked to an empty spot, sat down, and began scribbling furiously.

The others were puzzled but kept turning the table, now having completed over a dozen revolutions.

“If he hadn’t introduced himself as a ‘con man,’ I’d have thought he was a mathematician,” Qiao Jiajin remarked to Tian Tian beside him.

Tian Tian, dizzy from spinning, could only nod vaguely.

This time, Qi Xia didn’t write out equations. Instead, he sketched a rough outline of the country’s map.

“Hometown…?”

His mind raced, and suddenly, something clicked.

“Wait, wait…” Qi Xia’s eyes widened. “If the ‘organizer’ has such vast reach that they can gather people with similar backgrounds from so many provinces, then could ‘province’ be the key?”

He turned back to the group still rotating the table and asked seriously, “Did any of you lie about your hometown earlier?”

Everyone shook their heads.

After all, “hometown” was tied to accents and speech patterns—lying would be too risky.

“Good.” Qi Xia nodded slightly. “Now, tell me your hometowns one more time.”

Officer Li spoke first. “I’m from Inner Mongolia.”

Qi Xia marked a black dot on Inner Mongolia.

“Sichuan,” lawyer Zhang Chenze said coldly.

“I’m from Shaanxi,” Tian Tian offered.

“Dali, Yunnan,” kindergarten teacher Xiao Ran said.

“Guangdong,” Qiao Jiajin replied.

“Ningxia,” psychologist Lin Qin answered.

“I work in Jiangsu,” Dr. Zhao said.

Qi Xia marked each person’s hometown on the map and added his own—Shandong.

All eyes then turned to writer Han Yimo, who had never mentioned his hometown from the start.

“Han Yimo, are you from Guangxi or Taiwan?”

Han Yimo froze. “How did you know?”

“No time. Answer me.”

“…Guangxi.”

Qi Xia nodded. Only two possibilities had remained for Han Yimo:

Guangxi Autonomous Region or Taiwan Province.

If his answer hadn’t been one of these, he would have been lying outright.

Fortunately, he told the truth.

With the last province marked, the map now bore nine black dots.

“That’s it.”

Qi Xia lowered his voice. “Stop. Turn it right.”

“Right?”

Qi Xia rushed to the table, tossed the paper onto it, and began turning the tabletop in the opposite direction.

Though confused, the others followed suit.

Dr. Zhao glanced at the map and the nine dots.

“Why ‘right’?”