“What do you mean by ‘survive’…? And what’s the purpose of the ‘gas masks’?”
The rabbit-man pointed at the massive machine with a countdown timer: “In ten minutes, this machine behind us will continuously release highly concentrated chlorine gas, ensuring all nine of you die here.”
Though I didn’t fully understand the rabbit-man’s words, the uncles and aunts around me seemed terrified.
“You’re lying!” the uncle shouted again. “If that machine really spews chlorine gas, you three would die too! Do you think we’re stupid?”
“If you don’t believe me, I encourage you to test it,” the rabbit-man nodded. “It’d save us some trouble. Oh, just for procedure’s sake—there’s a reward for this game. The more survivors, the smaller the prize.”
I was genuinely confused—what “game”? What “reward”?
Wasn’t this a prison? Since when do prisons have games?
Suddenly, I thought of Sima Guang.
Then, the only young woman among us spoke up: “But chlorine gas is denser than air. If that machine really releases it, the gas would sink into the well, and we wouldn’t die.”
“Exactly. So if you don’t believe me, feel free to test it.”
The rabbit-man made no effort to persuade us—just kept urging us to try.
I was so scared I barely remembered how I got down from the ceiling. All I recalled was the adults arguing before deciding to send me down the well.
I peered into the hole—it really did resemble a “well,” with no handholds inside.
To descend, I’d have to brace against the walls with my hands and feet, inching downward slowly. But how would I get back up?
Ever since we’d broken free of the ropes, the three masked figures had stood motionless. I had no idea what they were planning.
The uncles and aunts eventually decided to tie all the rubber ropes that had bound us into one long line.
They said I should climb down first, using my hands and feet to brace against the walls. Once I retrieved the key, they’d toss the rope down to pull me up.
It sounded reasonable, and I was about to agree—until the young woman stepped in to stop them.
“This won’t work,” she said firmly. “This plan is flawed.”
She shielded me, blocking my view of the others.
She wasn’t tall or imposing, but she smelled nice—slender, with a round face, shoulder-length hair, and a comforting presence.
“What’s the problem, girl?” an uncle demanded. “This plan is solid. We’re running out of time—let the kid go down!”
“Yeah, stop wasting time!”
“I’ll agree if you tie the rope around his waist first,” she insisted. “Otherwise, I won’t allow it.”
“And who cares what you allow?!” another uncle snapped. “You think we’re scared of you?”
“No means no.”
“Why not?” an aunt asked. “You think we’d just abandon him?”
“Yes. You’re acting suspicious,” the woman replied. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you only pulled up the key and left him behind.”
Peeking out from behind her, I saw the uncles and aunts exchanging glances, their expressions calculating.
They reminded me of my homeroom teacher—always watching me with strange, unsettling eyes.
Fear crept in, and I reached for the woman’s hand. That’s when I noticed she was trembling slightly.
Was she scared too?
A sharp, distressing scent wafted from her—one that filled my mind with a single word: *unease*.
“Fine, whatever!” the lead uncle grumbled. “Kids these days, always assuming the worst… Alright, we’ll tie the rope around him.”
He reeked of something foul.
Once they agreed, the woman took the rope and fastened it securely around my waist, whispering, “Listen carefully—if you want to survive, *never* untie this rope. If it slips, hold onto it no matter what.”
I nodded slowly.
As she spoke, a warm, comforting scent enveloped me—something I’d never noticed before.
This time, the word in my mind was *sincerity*.
It was bizarre. Since when could I distinguish so many scents?
Since when did smells carry emotions like *unease* and *sincerity*?
Once the rope was secure, I followed their instructions and descended. Thankfully, I was used to chores at home, so I moved quickly without angering them.
The well matched the rabbit-man’s description—yet not quite.
After climbing down a short distance, I spotted small holes lining the walls in a circular pattern. Further down, a recess in the center held a few masks—not enough for everyone.
Reaching the bottom was harder than expected. My hands were raw and bleeding.
This was worse than cleaning up after Dad broke plates.
“Kid!” the woman called from above. “Is the well sealed?”
Her voice echoed beautifully in the shaft.
I scanned the surroundings and found only a tiny hole at the bottom—no larger than a coin—blocked by a strange little plate.
I nodded. “Sis, it’s closed off. No way out.”
Then I caught her scent again—*worry*.
This was getting frustrating. Why were there so many strange smells in the world?
“Find the key and hold the rope tight!” she shouted.
I nodded and was about to search when I saw the lead uncle looming behind her, his face dark, his stench overwhelming.
In less than a second, I screamed, “*Sis, watch out!*”
The sound tore through the well, startling everyone above.
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