Detective Li glanced at Jin Won-hoon and Little Glasses beside him, then at Zhang Chenze on the other side, feeling uneasy in his heart.
Though he had briefly teamed up with Attorney Zhang, the truth was, he wasn’t very familiar with any of the three.
In such a bizarre place, was it really reasonable for strangers to form a team and play games together?
What exactly was that man, Chu Tianqiu, planning with this arrangement?
“Mr. Li, I heard you’re a police officer?” Little Glasses asked.
“Yes,” Detective Li nodded. “Isn’t it ironic to meet a cop here?”
“Not at all,” Little Glasses shook his head politely. “Here, we’re all the same kind of people.”
“And what do you do?” Detective Li asked.
“I teach and mentor,” Little Glasses replied. “We’re both in tough professions, so I understand you.”
Detective Li nodded, studying the man’s appearance—lean and wiry, with sharp, bright eyes that made it hard to guess his age.
“So you’re a teacher?”
“Yes,” Little Glasses nodded, and the conversation lulled between them.
Detective Li sighed helplessly. If not for Chu Tianqiu’s team assignments, he would’ve preferred to move with Han Yimo.
If he couldn’t keep an eye on that guy, he might end up getting someone killed.
Meanwhile, Zhang Chenze glanced at Jin Won-hoon, who seemed to be lost in thought while walking, which struck her as amusing.
“Are you a student?” she asked.
“Ah… me?” Jin Won-hoon chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, sis, I am a student.”
Zhang Chenze noticed that despite being only thirteen or fourteen, the boy’s eyes held a depth beyond his years.
The four of them made awkward small talk until they soon arrived at a game venue.
Standing at the entrance was a monster wearing a stitched-together mask.
Detective Li stared at the grotesque face before him and couldn’t help but scratch his head.
Like the “Human-Dragon” he’d seen before, this figure also wore a mask pieced together from animal skins—but it looked different.
The earlier Human-Dragon mask had been made from a mix of ox and crocodile faces.
This one, however, was crafted from a horse’s head and snake skin, with a frail body and enormous deer antlers glued onto the mask.
“Hello, everyone,” the figure spoke—another woman’s voice. “Would you like to play my game?”
Having been killed by the “Human-Rabbit” before, Detective Li felt a pang of wariness at the female referee’s voice.
Little Glasses scrutinized the figure, then pulled out his map and hesitated.
Chu Tianqiu had arranged this trip, so why was their destination some kind of monster?
“Jin Won-hoon, did we take a wrong turn?” Little Glasses held the map up to the boy. “Take a look for me.”
Jin Won-hoon checked the map and confirmed the direction was correct.
But the location marked on the map clearly read “Human-Tiger,” along with a few dozen words of strategy.
How did this monster resemble a tiger at all?
“I am the ‘Human-Dragon,'” the woman said. “Free game. Anyone want to play?”
The four exchanged glances.
She was the “Human-Dragon.”
Though her mask was nothing like the one they’d seen before.
“No wonder…” Little Glasses nodded. “Mr. Chu said the games here are categorized by the Chinese zodiac, so encountering a ‘Dragon’ isn’t surprising—it’s part of the twelve signs.”
The other three nodded. Apart from Detective Li, none of them retained their memories, so they could only follow Chu Tianqiu’s instructions.
But even Detective Li, who *did* have his memories, was seeing a dragon-type game for the first time.
With the map now incorrect, should they still participate?
“I don’t think we should take the risk,” Detective Li said. “If the map’s wrong, then Chu Tianqiu’s strategy won’t work either. We should go back.”
“But ‘no loss,'” Jin Won-hoon said.
“What?”
“Bro, ‘no loss’ one,” Jin Won-hoon explained. “No ticket cost, no loss, right?”
Little Glasses frowned, then understood.
This was a free game—the worst outcome was breaking even.
If they won, they could contribute to the group, especially since Chu Tianqiu had mentioned that most “Human”-level games were safe.
But what *was* the “Dragon” game about?
Suddenly, Little Glasses remembered something. “Oh, Detective, didn’t Mr. Chu say you’re an ‘Echoer’?”
Zhang Chenze stiffened, exchanging a glance with Jin Won-hoon. “‘Echoer’…? What’s that?”
“I *am* an ‘Echoer,'” Detective Li nodded. “But I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you. I was eliminated early, so my knowledge is very limited. I don’t know what the ‘Dragon’ is.”
“I see…” Little Glasses nodded, then addressed the group. “Right now, we have two choices: turn back and grab another map to try again, or take a gamble here. But this isn’t just my decision—we need to discuss it together.”
Detective Li thought for a moment. “Let’s vote. Anyone want to go back?”
No one raised their hand—except Detective Li himself. “Personally, I suggest we take our time. Jumping into an unknown game is risky.”
After a few seconds of silence, he reluctantly lowered his hand. “Then… anyone want to play this game?”
Jin Won-hoon raised his hand.
After a pause, Little Glasses did too.
Two to one.
They all turned to Zhang Chenze, who hadn’t spoken up.
“I abstain,” she said. “Without detailed information, I won’t make any rash decisions.”
“That’s fine. We have a result,” Detective Li nodded. “Since we’re a team, the majority rules. We’ll try the ‘Human-Dragon’ game. Even if we fail, we’ll bring back some intel.”
The three nodded and approached the Human-Dragon.
As they entered the building, the Human-Dragon shut the door behind them.
Then, in an instant, the entire structure vanished from the street.
As if it had never been there—just an empty square.
—
**Paradise Port.**
Chu Tianqiu sat in a dimly lit room, shelves around him lined with bloodstained animal masks.
Humming a classical tune, he tapped his fingers rhythmically, looking utterly content.
Soon, he opened his eyes and glanced at the chessboard on the table.
Black pieces and worn plastic toys were arranged on it.
He picked up four “pawns” and gently placed them before a large monster figurine, murmuring to himself, “Oh, ‘Dragon Slayers,’ the opportunity is right here. How will you choose to die?”
He chuckled, then glanced behind the monster.
Four more pieces stood there.
A “king,” a “queen,” a “knight,” and a “bishop.”
These four, along with the earlier pawns, encircled the plastic beast, forming a pincer attack.
“Qi Xia, why is this, I wonder?” Chu Tianqiu closed his eyes and resumed humming.
“Why is there always only one ‘king’ on the board?”
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