Qi Xia remained seated, neither standing up nor searching for clues.
He still felt something was off.
Similarly, the psychologist Lin Qin hadn’t risen either.
“What are you thinking about?” Lin Qin asked casually, covering her nose and mouth with her hand.
“Me?” Qi Xia was taken aback. “What, are you diagnosing me now?”
“Not exactly. Though someone as sharp as you probably has some psychological quirks, this isn’t the time for therapy,” Lin Qin replied with a faint smile. “I was just curious about your thoughts.”
Qi Xia paused before answering, “I’m thinking about the reason.”
“Reason?”
Ignoring Lin Qin, Qi Xia called out to Dr. Zhao instead, “Doctor, how long can a person survive after being shot in the heart?”
Dr. Zhao turned around, considering for a moment. “If I recall correctly, a heart shot would render someone unconscious within seconds. But since medical ‘death’ refers to ‘brain death,’ even if unconscious, the brain could still function for a few minutes.”
Qi Xia nodded. “That ram-headed man screamed for several minutes earlier, meaning his physiology is far more resilient than an average human’s, right?”
“Exactly. Despite being shot in the heart, it took him several minutes to lose consciousness completely.”
The others fell silent as they listened to Qi Xia and the doctor.
It was only because of this “con man’s” clarity of thought that all nine of them had survived earlier.
“So, why do you think that is?” Qi Xia raised his hand, forming a gun with his thumb and forefinger, pressing it to his temple. “Most people would choose this for suicide.”
He paused, then adjusted his hand to point upward under his chin. “Or like this.”
Finally, he lowered his hand to his chest.
“No matter what… those who commit suicide choose the least painful way to die. So why did he shoot himself in the heart?”
Qiao Jiajin, fiddling with the ram-headed mask, flipped the man’s head over and muttered, “Maybe this idiot’s skull was too thick—one bullet couldn’t finish him off.”
“If he coughed up blood, that means his physiology is the same as ours,” Officer Li interjected. “No matter how tough he was, a point-blank shot to the head would’ve killed him instantly.”
Qi Xia nodded. “If that’s the case, then there’s only one explanation left.”
He pointed at the mask in Qiao Jiajin’s hands. “The ram-headed man chose to shoot himself in the heart to protect something. The ‘game’ isn’t over yet.”
Qiao Jiajin stiffened. “You’re saying… he was afraid of damaging the mask?”
“Exactly.”
Under Qi Xia’s direction, Qiao Jiajin turned the ram mask inside out, revealing the rough inner lining.
A putrid, sour stench wafted from it.
Just as Qi Xia had suspected, black ink handwriting covered the inside—though some parts were smeared with blood. Unfazed, Qiao Jiajin wiped it clean with his T-shirt until the text became legible.
“What the hell?” Qiao Jiajin muttered, then began reading aloud in his heavily accented Mandarin:
“I am the ‘Human Dog.'”
“You are all cursed.”
“I hope you survive.”
“The clock never stops; danger lurks on all sides.”
“If you wish to live, turn toward your hometown one hundred times.”
“By the way, they say bamboo shoots thrive after rain—why aren’t they afraid of being beaten by it?”
“See you after the rain.”
Qi Xia frowned slightly. So it was a clue for the next “game”…
The shadow of death looming over them refused to fade.
They were already dead—did they have to die again?
“Hey, con man, what does this mean?” Qiao Jiajin demanded.
“How should I know?” Qi Xia scoffed. “There are nine of us here—must I be the one to figure it out?”
Lawyer Zhang Chenze slowly sat down. “As much as I hate to admit it, your train of thought aligns perfectly with the ‘game master’s.’ If you have any ideas, you should share them.”
“I—”
Before Qi Xia could finish, the walls around them began to shift.
To everyone’s shock, holes materialized out of nowhere.
The solid concrete walls now seemed like a malleable, ever-changing surface.
Within moments, rows of holes lined the walls as if they had always been there.
Simultaneously, the sound of chains rattling echoed from all directions.
“What’s happening?!” Panic erupted.
“Look at the ceiling!” someone screamed.
They looked up—even the ceiling was riddled with holes.
Qi Xia finally stood, taking the ram mask from Qiao Jiajin and scrutinizing the last line:
“See you after the rain.”
“Rain…?”
Qiao Jiajin crept to the wall, peeking into one of the holes—then stumbled back in terror.
“Bloody hell!”
He frantically searched for cover but found none.
“What’s inside?!” Xiao Ran asked fearfully.
The others knew Qiao Jiajin had nerves of steel—if something scared him this badly, it had to be horrifying.
“Son of a—!” he shouted. “Harpoons! The holes are full of ‘retracting’ harpoons!”
“What do you mean ‘retracting’?” Dr. Zhao asked, bewildered.
“Probably ‘cocking,'” Qi Xia said. “Since the chains started rattling, the harpoons have been primed. They could fire any second.”
“Oi, con man! Think of something!” Qiao Jiajin grabbed Qi Xia’s arm desperately. “If these things fire from all sides, where do we hide?!”
Qi Xia considered it. Surviving alone wouldn’t be hard—there were two corpses already in the room.
Harpoons had limited piercing power. Piling the bodies in a corner and hiding behind them would give him decent odds, even if he got hurt.
“Saving everyone this time will be nearly impossible. I’ll prioritize my own survival—I won’t help you again,” Qi Xia said quietly.
“You—” Qiao Jiajin cut himself off, turning to Officer Li and Dr. Zhao instead, but they looked even more lost.
Qi Xia reread the mask’s clues.
Had he misunderstood?
Would this “game” only end when one person remained?
If they kept trying to keep everyone alive, these deadly trials would just keep coming.
After all, this room defied logic—walls shifting at will.
None of this followed science. It felt more like magic.
But if the game master wielded such power, why torment nine dead people?
Was this some sick amusement by an underworld bureaucracy?
As Qi Xia lost himself in thought, Lin Qin spoke up, staring at the mask in his hands. “It says there’s a way to survive—’turn toward your hometown one hundred times.'”
The group calmed slightly, mulling it over.
“Does it mean face our hometown and spin in place?” Tian Tian asked.
“Doubt it,” Qiao Jiajin said. “How would we even know which way’s home in here? And spinning a hundred times would just make us dizzy—no real effect.”
“Screw it, I’ll try!” Tian Tian picked a random direction and started spinning.
Qi Xia pondered deeper. It couldn’t be that simple.
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