Chapter 9: The Unacceptable Truth

Everyone’s expressions turned to shock upon seeing those three words.

“I drew the ‘Liar’ card,” Qi Xia said slowly. “But whether I reveal it or not doesn’t matter—because it’s completely irrelevant.”

He picked up the card and casually tossed it into the center of the table.

“If I’m not mistaken, every single one of you is holding the ‘Liar’ card too.”

No one moved after hearing this. After a pause, Officer Li was the first to speak. “So… you’re saying everyone lied just now?”

“Exactly,” Qi Xia nodded. “You’re all smarter than I expected. Each of you inserted a small lie into your story, making it sound plausible without disrupting the narrative logic.”

Officer Li pondered for a moment, as if realizing something.

“If what you’re saying is true…” He sighed meaningfully. “Then the problem just got even more complicated.”

The others looked at him, confused.

Officer Li continued, “According to the rules, the only way we all survive is if every one of us chose the ‘Liar.’ But if that’s the case, then the ‘Liar’ loses. So we…”

Dr. Zhao was the first to grasp his meaning. “You’re saying… we can vote freely because everyone’s lying? That makes this a ‘guaranteed-win game’—except for the one who gets voted out?”

“Right,” Officer Li nodded. “The optimal strategy now is to concentrate all our votes on one person. That way, we minimize losses—since the rest of us can survive…”

His words plunged the room into an oppressive silence. Meanwhile, the Goat-Head remained motionless.

So… they were simply voting to decide who would die?

Qi Xia sighed in frustration and looked at Officer Li. “Officer, is interrupting people a hobby of yours? Does it give you a sense of accomplishment?”

“What kind of question is that?” Officer Li frowned. “Wasn’t I just helping strategize?”

“I don’t need your help,” Qi Xia replied without hesitation. “Your ‘strategy’ will get everyone killed.”

“What?” Officer Li was stunned. “How would I get everyone killed? Isn’t my reasoning correct? If everyone’s lying, then any vote should be valid, right?”

“Officer Li, the Goat-Head said, ‘The rules are absolute.’ ‘There is one and only one Liar.’ Do you remember that?”

“Ah…” Officer Li fell silent for a moment, recalling that the Goat-Head had indeed said those exact words.

“Let me clarify things for everyone,” Qi Xia said coldly. “In this game, it seems like the ‘Liar’ has a huge advantage because everyone feels like they’re about to win. But if we vote recklessly, we’ll *all* die in the end.”

Qiao Jiajin, sitting beside Qi Xia, rubbed his tattooed arm and muttered, “Because we’d be breaking the ‘rules’…”

“Exactly,” Qi Xia nodded. “But the real trick of this game is that we have no way to confirm whether someone else is lying. As Lawyer Zhang pointed out, we can only judge based on inconsistencies in each other’s stories—but we’re all from different places. Even if events contradict, we can never be 100% sure someone’s lying.”

He glanced at the silent group before continuing. “The ‘host’ deliberately chose the nine of us for a reason—to make us think we can spot flaws in stories that *seem* interconnected.”

“But is that really the right approach? How can we possibly know for sure who’s lying?” Qi Xia let out a cold laugh. “In this game, the only ‘Liar’ we can confirm with absolute certainty, based on the clues we have, is *this* person. His words completely contradict our current situation.”

Qi Xia grabbed a pen and swiftly wrote two characters on a sheet of paper: **Human-Goat**.

“I’ve been wondering—why did the Goat-Head introduce himself with such a strange name at the start? It seemed unnecessary. Now I realize it’s part of the game.”

Everyone slowly turned to look at the Goat-Head, who still hadn’t moved.

Officer Li hesitated, then shook his head. “Liar, I have a question. The Goat-Head’s rule was: ‘Among all the storytellers, there is one and only one Liar.’ But he didn’t tell a story, did he?”

“Didn’t he?” Qi Xia shrugged indifferently. “I distinctly remember the Goat-Head saying he gathered us here to ‘create a god.’ Isn’t that an absurd story in itself?”

Officer Li lowered his head, conceding that Qi Xia’s reasoning made sense—yet something still felt off.

“But…” Dr. Zhao spoke up. “Your entire theory hinges on the assumption that ‘everyone is a Liar.’ How can you be so sure? What if we flip our cards and you’re the only ‘Liar’ here?”

“You *couldn’t* have told the truth,” Qi Xia replied with a bitter smile, his expression tinged with despair. “I spent time verifying this. Not only do I know you all lied—I even know *where* you lied.”

He pushed his notes forward and turned to the girl beside him. “Tian Tian. When you were ‘working’ in the car, leaning out the window—did the falling billboard really just hit the car and knock you out?”

Tian Tian pressed her lips together, refusing to answer.

“Qiao Jiajin. You fell from that height onto a billboard—and all you got was ‘knocked out’?”

Qiao Jiajin stayed silent.

“Teacher Xiao Ran. Did you *really* dodge that speeding car while holding that child?”

Xiao Ran’s eyes flickered uneasily.

“Dr. Zhao. Operating rooms are built sturdier than regular rooms for stability. Yet you said the ceiling collapsed—and you were just ‘knocked out’?”

Dr. Zhao turned his head away.

“Han Yimo. You claimed you had no idea what happened. But writers hate interruptions—you really don’t know how you got here?”

Han Yimo exhaled softly.

“Lawyer Zhang. Your car was knocked into a fissure. Just how deep was it?”

Lawyer Zhang crossed her arms, expressionless.

“Officer Li. What kind of car do you drive that lets you instantly recline the seat and break free from someone restraining you?”

Officer Li touched the red marks on his neck but said nothing.

“Lin Qin. Your ceiling collapsed too, but you said your studio was on a high floor. If a high-rise starts collapsing, wouldn’t the entire building come down?”

Lin Qin bowed her head deeply.

Seeing their reactions, Qi Xia clenched his teeth and said:

“Everyone, face it. All of us—including me—are already dead.”