But Su Shan’s “lot” in this round was even stranger than before, still bearing five characters:
**”All People Aid the Disaster.”**
Beneath this “lot” was an arrow pointing to the left.
**”Aid the disaster…?”** Su Shan examined the “lot,” feeling the same as she had with the previous two—she could read the words but didn’t fully grasp their meaning.
If she wished to **”aid the disaster”**… what would happen?
**”Wait a minute…”** A thought struck her sharply. **”‘Aid the disaster’… doesn’t that mean ‘relieving famine and rescuing victims’?”**
If so, wouldn’t it counter **”calamity”**?
She realized this “lot” might very well be a **”life-saving charm.”** If Di Gou directed calamity at her, the words on this “lot” could save her life.
Su Shan set **”All People Aid the Disaster”** aside and picked up the other two “lots” for another look.
**”Fine Rain Falls Endlessly”** and **”No Idle Fields Across the Land.”**
One had an arrow pointing right, the other left.
A full round had already passed, leaving only seven more. If they didn’t extinguish three lanterns within those rounds, the game would end—and Qin Dingdong’s death would be in vain.
Speaking of Qin Dingdong… Su Shan glanced at her again. The fine sand had already risen past her thighs, likely engulfing her completely in minutes.
Her face was caked with dust, her expression utterly despairing. Her lips kept moving, as if repeating a two-word phrase, but with the swirling sand inside the glass room, Su Shan couldn’t make it out.
**”I’m sorry…”** Su Shan murmured. **”I can’t guarantee I’ll save you.”**
She picked up **”No Idle Fields Across the Land”** and placed it by the hole. Having already tried **”Firecrackers Bid Farewell to the Old Year,”** it was time to test this one.
But then her hand froze midair.
The two-word phrase Qin Dingdong had silently mouthed before the game flashed in her mind.
At first, Su Shan hadn’t paid it much thought. But now, considering Qin Dingdong’s repeated mouthing, the words seemed identical.
Frowning, she strained to read Qin Dingdong’s lips through the sandstorm.
If she wasn’t mistaken, those two words were: **”Cooperate.”**
**”Cooperate?”** Su Shan blinked, then lowered her head in thought. **”Is she saying this game requires cooperation?”**
But with all four players isolated in their own rooms, how could they cooperate?
Seconds later, Su Shan recalled the violent wind in Lin Qin’s room.
**”Wait… Could these ‘lots’…?”** She examined the arrows on each of them. **”Could it be…?”**
The arrows indicated the **”direction of effect.”**
A left-pointing arrow meant the “lot” would activate in the room to the left, while a right-pointing one affected the room to the right.
**”This is the ‘cooperation’…”**
Su Shan felt she’d grasped a faint clue. Her **”Fine Rain Falls Endlessly”** had a right-pointing arrow, meaning if she used it, the effect would manifest in Qin Dingdong’s room to her right.
But the “lots” were too scarce—each person held a maximum of three.
Now the question was: which was more important, Qin Dingdong’s **life**, or keeping this “lot”?
After a few seconds of contemplation, Su Shan’s mind grew tangled.
How could she act as decisively as Qi Xia, betting lives—her own and her teammates’—to win the game?
**”My thinking isn’t thorough enough…”** Closing her eyes, she began reconstructing the game’s entire framework.
Assuming her understanding of the “lots” was correct, what other rules had she failed to decipher?
What obvious **”rule”** had she overlooked?
One glaring possibility stood out: the colors of each player’s glass rooms.
In order of play, the four rooms were pink, green, orange, and blue.
The **”Nian Beast”** was bright red.
If the beast’s room color hinted at the others’ meanings, **”bright red”** likely symbolized **”firecrackers.”**
Then what did her **pink** room represent?
Su Shan’s mind raced.
The first association with **”pink”** was **”flowers.”**
**”Flowers…?”** she murmured. **”Blooming…? Is that it?”**
Her eyes snapped open. She inserted **”Fine Rain Falls Endlessly”** into the table’s hole.
Instantly, the sandstorm in Qin Dingdong’s room halted, replaced by a drizzle of water droplets from above.
Before Qin Dingdong could react, the iron mesh beneath her shifted. The double-layered floor rotated slightly, revealing numerous holes that allowed the sand to drain away amid the rain.
Qin Dingdong lifted her head in bewilderment, then cupped some water to wash the dust from her face before turning to Su Shan.
Su Shan nodded at her. After a stunned pause, Qin Dingdong’s eyes filled with gratitude.
**”It really works…”** A slow smile spread across Su Shan’s lips. **”This game truly requires a grander perspective. After all, the ‘sandstorm’ of ‘winter’ can only be resolved by the ‘drizzle’ of ‘spring.’”**
The four colors represented the **seasons.**
Pink for **spring**, green for **summer**, orange for **autumn**, and blue for **winter.**
Just as the game’s name, **”Year of Calamity,”** suggested, this was an eight-year ordeal, with each year enduring its own disaster.
The only solution was for the four seasons to support one another, safely passing through spring, summer, and autumn so that “winter” could face the Nian Beast with ample resources.
Su Shan glanced at **”No Idle Fields Across the Land”** and grasped its meaning.
As **”spring,”** she needed to use this “lot” during her turn. Since its arrow pointed left, it would affect Zhang Chenze’s room—**”summer.”**
Once spring sowed the seeds, summer would labor, autumn would harvest, and winter could then confront the Nian Beast.
In other words, though four players sat at the table, only **”winter”** could directly harm the beast.
If no crops were harvested by year’s end, how could winter survive?
As long as the other three seasons passed smoothly, **”winter”** would find a way to strike.
Su Shan nodded. Her theory might seem far-fetched, but it aligned closely with the truth. After all, her earlier use of **”firecrackers”** as “spring” had elicited no reaction from the Nian Beast, proving it was **”misused timing.”**
Yet she also understood this relied on the year being free of **”calamity.”**
Di Gou, the harbinger of disaster, would never let them pass each year unscathed.
Compounding the challenge, the rules allowed only one “lot” per player per round. Su Shan’s “lots” fell into two categories: **”sowing”** and **”rescuing.”**
The cruel dilemma was that choosing one meant sacrificing the other.
So at critical moments… should she abandon a teammate?
Given the current situation, **”summer”** was expendable.
If “spring” sowed and “autumn” reaped, the year could theoretically reach “winter.”
Su Shan glanced at Zhang Chenze, the **”summer”** to her left, her mind already weighing the options.
Then Di Gou’s voice crackled over the broadcast:
**”First player’s ‘wish’ concluded. Second player, draw your ‘lot.’”**
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