I transcribed the evening’s game into text and posted it on a forum for help. Although there were very few replies, some people gave me different perspectives.
One person mentioned, “The host might also be the liar,” which successfully caught my attention.
I have to admit, the power of netizens is endless—I had never even considered that angle before.
After roughly sorting out the logical relationships, I once again used the earthquake’s momentum to enter the dream.
Tonight, I was determined to break the curse.
Once everyone had finished telling their stories, I knocked on the table and confidently declared, “Everyone, I think ‘Human Sheep’ is the liar.”
As expected, the group was visibly shaken by this statement. My goal was within reach.
“But… but what’s the reason?” the tattooed man asked dumbfounded.
“R-Reason?” I froze. “What more reason do we need? I’ve voted for every single one of you, and none of them were right!”
Seeing their bewildered looks, I realized I had misspoken.
They didn’t have any memories!
What the hell was I doing?!
And so, I was honored to be elected as the “liar” with the highest number of votes that night.
Maybe I deserved it.
After waking up, I organized my thoughts again. The rules of this game were harsh—everyone had to vote for the “liar” simultaneously. If even one person voted wrong, someone would die.
So, my real goal should be to rally everyone to vote for the same person, preferably “Human Sheep.” Only then could we escape the room, and I could break the curse.
I posted for help again, and with the assistance of countless netizens, I finally understood the rules clearly.
After rethinking the game’s logic, I returned to the room once more.
This time, I still suggested voting for “Human Sheep,” with a clear rationale: I suspected that everyone’s hand cards were all “liar,” meaning “Human Sheep” had lied when explaining the rules.
He was the original “liar,” and everyone else had lied because of his deception. Therefore, we should vote for him.
I was a genius—it took me fewer than a hundred cycles to figure this out.
This time, I clearly swayed them.
Finally, the thrilling moment of voting arrived!
When I flipped over my own vote for “Human Sheep,” I was brimming with confidence. Then I watched as the cop, the doctor, the lawyer, the thug, the kindergarten teacher, and the hostess all revealed their answers—every single one had chosen “Human Sheep”!
Perfect!
I was about to break free from the curse!
The only one left was that fair-skinned, delicate-looking guy who barely spoke. He seemed indecisive, and while I’d never had much fondness for handsome men, this time… he was going to be my savior!
Slowly, he flipped over his slip of paper, revealing the words written on it.
That was when I realized—this man wasn’t a savior. He was a complete idiot who had shit for brains.
Written clearly on the paper were the words “Chen Junnan,” even embellished with a tiny, meticulously drawn heart at the end.
“What the hell is ‘Chen Junnan’?!” I shrieked.
“Yours truly is Chen Junnan,” the man replied with a smirk.
What the hell?!
Did this guy even understand the situation?!
Did he think he was some kind of celebrity? Who the hell cares what your name is?!
That night, I was killed again—swift and clean, no hesitation.
Fantastic.
When I woke up, I was furious. I had no energy left for anything else.
This Chen Junnan was too stupid. I guess God is fair—good-looking men have no brains. I had to find a way to convince him.
From that day on, I resolved to use my sincerity to enlighten this moron.
I prepared a whole speech in advance, planning to make everything crystal clear the next time I entered the nightmare.
But when the night came, after I spent ages reasoning with him, appealing to his emotions, and nearly exhausting my saliva trying to enlighten him… I still lost it.
When Chen Junnan flipped over his slip, it had another inexplicable name written on it.
Andy Lau.
This time, there was no little heart—just a small smiley face.
I clenched my teeth, barely containing my rage, and hissed, “Chen Junnan, explain to me… what is ‘Andy Lau’?”
“Oh? You don’t know? Andy Lau is a Hong Kong celebrity,” Chen Junnan said with an innocent expression. “I think he was born in 1962—a triple-threat in film, TV, and music. Have you seen ‘Infernal Affairs’? In it, Andy Lau played—”
“Played your damn ancestor!” I roared.
I never thought I’d die because of Andy Lau.
Andy Lau didn’t kill me, but I died because of Andy Lau.
Bravo.
Chen Junnan, you’re something else.
From that moment on, I was locked in a battle of wits with this idiot, Chen Junnan.
My goal became simple and pure: make Chen Junnan vote for “Human Sheep.”
But for some twisted reason, he voted for everyone except “Human Sheep.”
Time after time, he flipped over his slip—Aaron Kwok, Leon Lai, Jacky Cheung, Stephen Chow, Chow Yun-fat…
After the Four Heavenly Kings, it was every other celebrity imaginable—from Hong Kong, Macau, and Taiwan to mainland China, then international stars.
He knew way too many celebrities.
I died for practically every famous person, domestic and foreign.
When I saw “Guo Degang” and “Yue Yunpeng,” it finally hit me—this bastard was doing it on purpose.
He wasn’t stupid at all. Not once had he repeated a name. He was deliberately sabotaging me!
He didn’t want me to escape. He was keeping me trapped here, unable to move forward!
He was my living, breathing curse!
Why did someone like him exist? Why was he ruining everything?
Too bad I couldn’t move, or I’d have found a way to kill him.
Chen Junnan… what grudge do you have against me?
Why are you blocking my life’s path?
Escaping the room was completely hopeless now.
With Chen Junnan here, there was no way I’d ever get out.
But waking up on the same day every time was driving me insane.
After dozens more cycles, I came up with a way to stay sane—I’d do something different each time.
That way, I could pretend every day was a new one…
After all, in reality, I had about a day and a half—plenty of time to try many things.
During that period, I experimented with being a gaming streamer, a livestream seller, and even dabbled in talent streaming on a whim.
Later, I became a forum moderator and even a scammer.
But I gradually realized how empty it all felt.
My days were stuck in a loop, and these ventures never progressed beyond the starting phase. It was all meaningless.
So… was there a way to leave something behind?
Even if I was doomed to repeat this day, could my creations escape the cycle?
What could truly endure?
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