Chapter 241: My Name Is Han Yimo

My name is Han Yimo.

I didn’t lie.

No, actually, I guess I did lie a little.

But that doesn’t matter anymore…

Can someone please come save me?

Dammit, my life is stuck in a loop!!

Why?! Can someone tell me why?!

Why am I trapped in the same day over and over?!

Is it a curse? Yes, it must be a curse from that incident—otherwise, I can’t explain this phenomenon.

But it really wasn’t my fault. I’ve deeply regretted it.

The problem is, no one gave me a chance to atone!

As the admin of a long-standing forum, seeing the daily traffic decline, I was more anxious than anyone.

I didn’t think much at the time—I just wanted to make the forum more popular.

So I found a photo of a beautiful girl online and made up a story. Though the story was pretty crude, I swear it was all fabricated. The girl had no connection to the man next to her.

But who could’ve guessed she lived in the same city as me?!

And who could’ve imagined it would spread faster than a plague?!

I deleted the post immediately, but the internet spiraled out of control…

They were like starved leeches spotting a bleeding piece of meat, swarming all over it.

Countless people called her a slut, a whore, a modern-day Pan Jinlian.

Some even claimed to have slept with her, spinning elaborate lies and even posting blurry photos as “proof.”

I never imagined human nature could be so vile. I immediately posted a retraction, admitting the story was fabricated and that the girl had no relation to the man.

But my clarification barely got any views and quickly sank into obscurity.

I couldn’t stop the online witch hunt. I heard people even went to her house, spray-painting vile words all over her walls.

Unable to endure the relentless cyberbullying and real-life harassment, the girl took her own life.

And that’s when my curse began.

Three hours after her death, the earth itself seemed to tremble with divine fury.

I distinctly remember dying in the earthquake—but then I found myself dreaming, entering a strange room.

What followed was horrifying. The game in that room was called “The Liar.” Eight of us sat together, voting on who was lying.

No matter who I chose, the masked figure with a goat’s head would brutally kill me.

The dream felt too real.

After dying in the dream, I’d wake up the day before the earthquake, watching the girl get torn apart online, hearing news of her suicide, then dying in the quake—only to dream again.

Day after day, my life was stuck.

What kind of curse is this?

How can it be so powerful?

Was I hexed?!

After being killed by the goat-mask over ten times, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I had to find a way out.

If I didn’t break free from this loop, I’d lose my mind.

Since the curse stemmed from the girl, I decided to save her in reality.

After all, reliving the same day meant I knew everything that would happen.

Using the details leaked online, I went to her house—already vandalized by self-righteous mobs.

Red paint covered the door, and the walls were scrawled with insults like “slut.”

When I knocked, her parents answered, armed with kitchen knives and spatulas, dark circles under their eyes, hair disheveled—ready to fight.

I explained my intentions, but they didn’t believe me until I admitted I was the one who started the rumor.

I thought they’d let me see her, but her father hacked me to death with a knife.

I brought this on myself.

Can anyone understand how broken I felt?

Even after dying, the curse didn’t end. I dreamed again!

The same damn room! The same eight people! The same “Liar” game! The same death!

Dammit, someone tell me how to choose!

Because I’m the liar!

This game is rigged. Whether they vote for me or not, I die.

I’m convinced it exists solely to kill me.

I was losing my mind. Every time I opened my eyes, it was either before the earthquake or in that cursed room.

No matter what, I died. It was like Death had a scythe at my neck, forcing me into an impossible choice—move and die, stay still and die.

I’ve probably experienced every possible death by now.

To escape this nightmare, to avoid hearing about the girl’s fate, I started locking myself in the closet.

I knew running wasn’t the answer, but I had no better ideas.

Then, in the darkness, I began seeing her photo—burned into my vision.

Soon, I heard her voice.

She whispered in my ear, telling me how much she suffered, how unjust her death was.

Days later, I felt her standing beside me in the dark.

I’ve never been so terrified.

Now, I can’t even enter dark spaces—or her ghostly figure appears, reminding me of her suffering.

Yes, I know you died unfairly! I’m trying to save you!

After 30+ loops, I finally saved her.

But the cost was high—I killed her parents to reach her.

I know I’ve lost it. To save one, I killed two.

But what choice did I have?

If I didn’t stop her from killing herself, the curse would never end.

I confessed everything, begged for forgiveness, but she was too broken, slipping into madness.

Severely depressed, she only wanted to die.

After a few more loops, I found the “right” way to save her:

Kill her parents. Tie her up. Gag her. Maybe break her limbs—just to be safe.

Is that monstrous?

Yes. Absolutely.

I may look like a deranged killer, but the sick joke is—I’m doing this to save her.

Yet the damn curse persists!

I saved her! She’s alive!

But the earthquake still comes!

The nightmare room returns!

Another vote! Again!

Get away from me!

Aaaaaaaah!

Someone, help me!!!

After 70+ loops, I gave up on saving her.

Because no matter what, the earthquake and nightmare always follow.

Then a new thought struck me—what if the curse isn’t about her?

What if the nightmare is the real curse?

To escape, I must win “The Liar” game?

The idea electrified me.

Is this loop happening because I never chose the right liar?