The nine people were now like chandeliers on the ceiling, swinging back and forth by gripping the handles.
Lin Qiang looked down and felt a chill run through her heart.
Below was a hollow space about ten meters deep.
If they hadn’t grabbed the handles, they would have surely fallen to their deaths by now.
“Hey, writer, hold on tight!” Qiao Jiayin noticed Han Yimo’s grip was slipping and grew frantic. “Why are you so weak at a critical moment like this?”
“I…” Han Yimo’s face strained with effort, but his body still slid downward bit by bit.
Qiao Jiayin was close enough to reach out. He let go with one hand and yanked Han Yimo’s pants upward. Qiao Jiayin was strong—Han Yimo felt as if he were being lifted. He quickly seized the opportunity to tighten his grip on the handle. Seeing this, Officer Li also extended a hand to help. Each of them grabbed one of Han Yimo’s arms, preventing his fall.
Just as everyone was about to exhale in relief, a muffled groan echoed.
They turned to see Tian Tian, who couldn’t suppress a cry. Only then did they remember her hand was also injured.
But this girl seemed to have an incredible tolerance for pain. It wasn’t until her blood coated the handle that she let out a pained sound.
Her right hand slipped free, leaving only her left to cling to the handle. But a girl’s strength was naturally limited—holding her entire weight with one hand was nearly impossible. She suddenly began to slide downward.
Qi Xia’s expression darkened as he immediately reached out and seized her injured wrist.
The brief contact revealed that her thin body was trembling faintly, and her wrist was ice-cold.
“Hey, con man, not bad of you,” Qiao Jiayin remarked.
Qi Xia sighed helplessly. “I just don’t want to see any more corpses. Don’t overthink it.”
Time ticked by, and everyone’s arms began to ache.
Hanging for so long was no easy feat for anyone—even Officer Li was sweating on his forehead.
“How long do we have to hang here?” Lin Qiang asked Qi Xia beside her.
“Don’t know,” Qi Xia replied grimly.
He knew there were no more hints for the “next game,” yet they still saw no hope.
If the organizers were ruthless enough to leave them hanging like this, their deaths would only be a matter of time.
But…
Was there really no hint for the next game?
Qi Xia’s heart wavered.
Could there be some hidden clue in an unseen place?
He looked down at the ground below. If there was any hint, it would have to be somewhere down there.
“Hmm?”
His gaze swept across the collapsed floor, where new walls had been exposed. In the farthest corner, there seemed to be a door.
But that door was utterly unreachable for them.
They were still about ten meters above the ground—jumping from this height would be anything but safe.
Lin Qiang followed Qi Xia’s gaze and soon spotted it too.
“A door?”
The others looked down and confirmed the presence of a worn-out wooden door at the bottom.
Just as they were staring in despair, the door slowly creaked open.
A black figure emerged from the shadows. Qi Xia squinted—this person also wore a black suit, but his mask was entirely different from the ram-headed one.
He wore a massive, dark green snake’s head.
“Long time no see, everyone. I am ‘Human Snake,’” he said slowly.
“Snake your mother!” Qiao Jiayin roared. “First a ram, then a dog, now a snake? You think I won’t kill you right now?”
“Please, remain calm.” Human Snake’s voice was steady as he glanced up at the dangling group. “You are currently in the final round of the game. Beside me is a lever. If I pull it, your ceiling will lower slowly, and no one will be harmed.”
They followed his gesture and spotted the inconspicuous lever beside the door—previously unnoticed in the dim light.
“Then… can you pull it now?” Xiao Ran asked timidly.
“I…” Human Snake smirked imperceptibly. “I’ll play a game with you. Whether you survive depends on your performance.”
“Another game…” Dr. Zhao’s hair was disheveled, his teeth gritted as if he wanted to devour someone.
“Listen carefully, everyone. This game is called ‘Yes or No.’” Human Snake took a slight step forward, addressing the suspended group. “You may collectively ask me three questions, and my answers will only be ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Note that I will not lie. After three questions, if I agree to save you, I will pull the lever. If not, I will lock this door and leave you to your fate.”
Qi Xia frowned.
Three questions?
Only “yes” or “no” answers?
This game was far too tricky.
No matter what, their goal was to get the snake-headed man to lower them. But would he agree?
Xiao Ran, the kindergarten teacher, acted before anyone could think. “Hey, will you let us down?!”
“Stop!” Qi Xia lunged to cover her mouth, but the girl’s words had already reached Human Snake’s ears.
The snake-headed man sneered. “No.”
“Hey! What the hell, woman?!” Qiao Jiayin bellowed. “We only got three questions—don’t mess this up!”
“I…”
Xiao Ran lowered her head guiltily, her expression pained.
“Two questions left,” Human Snake said impassively, stepping back to position himself closer to the door.
It seemed he had already given up on them.
Xiao Ran’s impulsive question had turned this game into a nightmare.
Human Snake would never make it that easy.
If he wanted to save them, why set up this game in the first place?
But then again, if he didn’t want to save them, how could they make him pull the lever?
Even if they rephrased the question to “Will you refuse to let us down?” his answer would still be “yes.”
“Con man, got any ideas?” Qiao Jiayin turned to Qi Xia.
Qi Xia closed his eyes briefly, his thoughts in turmoil.
Ideas, ideas.
As a mere human, how could he always have solutions?
Every step since entering this room had demanded his ideas. Why should he bear the weight of so many lives?
But despair quickly followed.
If he gave up, would the others have any chance of survival?
“I can’t die here…” A faint light flickered in Qi Xia’s eyes. “She’s still waiting for me…”
A gentle woman’s voice echoed in his mind: “Xia, you know… there are many paths in this world, and everyone has their own.”
He opened his eyes slowly, his thoughts suddenly clearer.
That was it—his mistake was blindly following the opponent’s rules.
“Human Snake,” Qi Xia called out softly.
Officer Li stiffened. “Hey, what are you planning to ask? Let’s discuss it first to avoid another mistake like before.”
“It’s fine. I’ve already figured out how to survive,” Qi Xia declared confidently, looking down at Human Snake. “Stay quiet. This will all be over soon.”
“You really have a way?” Zhang Chenze asked.
“Probably.” Qi Xia took a deep breath, carefully considering the next two questions.
No—strictly speaking, just one.
With a single question, this game would end.
From the start, the key wasn’t to obsess over making him pull the lever—it was to focus on the logic of “yes” and “no.”
Human Snake seemed intrigued by Qi Xia, his eyes peering through the mask’s hollows.
Qi Xia paused, then asked:
“Human Snake, if my next question were ‘Will you pull the lever?’ would your answer to it be the same as your answer to this question?”
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