Once all the players had reached the third floor, a new rule refreshed on their system interfaces:
[6. Room inspections will be conducted twice each night, at midnight and 4:00 AM. After lights-out at 10:00 PM, night chats in the dormitories are forbidden, as is turning on lights without permission.]
Qi Si glanced up at the ceiling but saw no electric lights. He wondered how "turning on lights" would even be determined.
In the lamp-free dimness, a long, narrow corridor stretched out to either side. Somber iron doors were embedded in the mud walls, their numbers scrawled in white chalk.
As far as Qi Si could see, all the numbers were two digits, suggesting there were likely dozens, perhaps even a hundred, rooms on this floor.
Twenty-nine players seemed like a considerable number, but in the vast expanse of the floor, they were like dust motes swallowed by the sea—tiny and insignificant.
Qi Si walked to the nearest door and noticed that beneath the white chalk number, several dark, incised marks formed five small digits.
Counting the room numbers, he made his way to Dormitory 10. Just as he expected, beneath the chalk marks, he found the number "47" scratched into the surface.
It seemed everyone's room assignments were already decided, which saved them the trouble of arguing over who got which room. The student numbers for this room were, predictably, 46 through 50.
Other players soon noticed the markings on the iron doors and began murmuring among themselves.
Qi Si chose that moment to offer a helpful reminder. "If I'm not mistaken, your individual numbers are written just below your school emblems."
The players all looked down and, sure enough, found their corresponding numbers beneath their emblems.
They might have figured it out on their own eventually, but Qi Si’s tip undoubtedly saved them time.
Although no one offered thanks, the invisible barrier between them and Qi Si, the "NPC," had subtly diminished.
Building an identity isn't just about telling people who you are; it's about reinforcing that identity through small actions, making them believe you are who you claim to be.
In one scenario after another, Qi Si acted in a way that fit the role of "Student 47," gradually weaving a "reality" that the other players could accept.
In time, they would grow accustomed to his presence, accustomed to a... reflexive trust.
Qi Si pulled open the iron door and stepped into the cramped dormitory, his eyes met with a layout that would have driven anyone with a compulsion for order mad.
Three bunk beds were arranged asymmetrically along the walls, all facing the door. They were constructed from riveted iron plates, their edges flecked with rust. The bed boards were bare, without mattresses or bedding, looking chillingly cold and brutally hard.
The space between the top and bottom bunks was so narrow that sitting up would likely mean cracking your forehead, making them hauntingly reminiscent of the cold storage lockers in a morgue.
The top bunk of bed 46, however, was fitted with a row of cabinets, presumably for storage. They were secured with common mechanical locks, a type Qi Si was well-practiced in picking.
Perhaps because a bathroom was already located on the first floor, the dormitory had no toilet. Anyone needing to relieve themselves would have to go outside.
Of course, Qi Si figured many players would rather wet themselves in their room than venture out into the night.
His roommates had yet to arrive, so Qi Si pulled a thin metal wire from his silver bracelet and swiftly picked every lock on the cabinets.
The cabinets looked like they hadn't been cleaned in ages. A thick layer of dust coated the bottom.
Several bags filled with some unknown black powder were crammed inside. Qi Si opened one and took a sniff. He could confirm it was soil from the maple forest.
On the surface of the topmost bag, a line of crooked English was written in black ink. Translated, it read:
[Mix soil with water to relieve hunger.]
Qi Si thought back to the nursery rhyme he had heard upon entering the school. The first line was, "Good children who don't want to eat can only eat dirt."
Did the children really not want to eat? He doubted it.
More likely, there was no food, so they had no choice but to eat soil to stave off their hunger.
Qi Si recalled the instance prompt—"survival is not easy"—and a faint sense of unease crept over him.
Today had been relatively smooth. He hoped there wouldn't be a food shortage later, forcing them into some kind of wilderness survival scenario.
As for eating dirt... he wouldn't consider it unless it was the absolute last resort.
For one, it probably tasted terrible. For another, someone had already died from touching the soil.
After stashing the bags of soil in his backpack, the movement stirred the air, causing a few slips of paper to flutter. They trembled twice before settling lifelessly at the bottom of the drawer.
Qi Si pinched the papers between two fingers and held them up to examine them.
The edges of the paper were irregular, and the whole thing was crumpled, as if torn from a larger document and smuggled here in a pocket.
Tiny symbols were drawn on the paper in black ink, crowded together like a school of tadpoles in water.
The symbols were consistent in size but varied in style. Straight and curved lines were neatly drawn into strange forms, suggesting some kind of script.
Qi Si stared at the paper for a long while, but when no system translation appeared, he decisively gave up trying to decipher its meaning.
He folded the papers one by one and slipped them into his pants pocket. As he picked up the last one, his movement paused.
It was a square piece of paper, also torn from somewhere, but its edges had been neatly trimmed.
On its yellowed surface, countless open eyes were painted in vivid red pigment, their gaze cold and detached. Around the eyes, a few sparse vines were drawn in black ink, adding a touch of chaotic detail to the otherwise stark image.
The meaning of the drawing was impossible to discern, yet the moment he looked at it, he felt a sense of spiritual detachment, as if the image were a medium connecting him to some higher existence, his soul resonating and drifting away into the vast cosmos.
The sensation wasn't unfamiliar. He had recently experienced a more potent version of it in the game space. Even earlier, in the *Su Clan Village* instance, he had felt something similar when looking directly at Qi's corpse.
[You have discovered a remnant of the "Scarlet High Priest."]
[He was the god's most beloved child, who once prepared a ritual of flesh and blood for the god's descent.]
"An evil god?" Qi Si narrowed his eyes, the conversation he had overheard on the way to the bathroom echoing in his mind.
‘He was taken by an evil god.’ ‘Always messing with that weird stuff.’ ‘He brought the evil god here...’
Given that this instance involved witchcraft, was it possible they would actually have to summon an evil god?
Having just rid himself of the [Humanoid Evil] card, Qi Si wanted absolutely nothing more to do with any entity resembling an evil god.
The iron door behind him was pulled open again, and footsteps entered.
The newcomer stopped short upon seeing Qi Si fiddling with the cabinets. "47, what are you doing?" he asked, straight to the point.
Maintaining his position on the ladder, Qi Si continued rummaging through the cabinet without looking back. "Sorry, Brother Chen. I had this room to myself before, so my stuff is a mess. I've taken up a lot of space. I'll clear it out for you as fast as I can..."
The newcomer was Chen Lidong.
As a "philanthropist," he shouldn't have been wearing a school uniform. But to avoid raising suspicion among the other players, he had hastily snatched one and thrown it on.
Now, he had to play the part, moving into the dormitory assigned to number 50, as indicated on the uniform.
The moment he entered, he was met with Qi Si's flawless lie. "Had this room to myself"? What happened to the others?
Chen Lidong was a deeper thinker than most, and he immediately voiced his doubt.
He watched as Qi Si turned to face him. The young man's handsome face first registered confusion, then, in an instant, it twisted into a mask of fear, unease, and sorrow, as if he had just recalled a memory that had been deliberately erased.
After a two-second masterclass in facial contortions, Qi Si stared into Chen Lidong's eyes with a chilling intensity and uttered a few haunting words. "They all died. Buried in the dirt..."
His voice was so cold, so laced with a thread of danger, that Chen Lidong's blood ran cold. A thousand terrifying possibilities bloomed in his mind, including the fear that he had said something he shouldn't have and triggered a death trap.
Fortunately, Qi Si's strange state lasted only a moment. His expression smoothed back to calm as he continued where he left off. "I've organized the cabinet now. Brother Chen, feel free to put whatever you have inside."
Chen Lidong, feeling as though he'd just cheated death, could only manage a whisper. "I... I don't have anything. Thanks, 47."
"Don't mention it. It's only right." Having successfully terrified his new roommate, Qi Si hopped down from the ladder with a bright smile, acting as if nothing had just happened.
He said no more, and Chen Lidong dared not ask. The man stood awkwardly by the door, unsure whether to advance or retreat.
The twenty-square-meter dormitory suddenly felt as constricting as a rabbit cage.
The bunk designated as number 47 was a lower bed, directly opposite the one with the cabinets.
Qi Si walked over nonchalantly, took off his shoes, climbed onto the bed, and lay down flat, as still as a corpse.
Chen Lidong held his breath as he watched Qi Si settle in. Only then did he tiptoe over to bunk number 50.
His was a top bunk. The large man huddled, shrinking as he climbed the narrow ladder, then mimicked Qi Si, lying down as still as death.
In the silence, Qi Si quietly retrieved the Fate Pocket Watch from his inventory. He placed it beside his head, his eyes unblinkingly following the hands as they ticked from one mark to the next.
The very instant the hour hand pointed to "10," the entire world plunged into darkness, as if a giant black curtain had been thrown over it, extinguishing all light.
This must be the "lights-out" mentioned in the rules.
And still, no other roommates had entered the dormitory.
It seemed that, according to the instance's design, Dormitory 10 was meant for only two players, Qi Si and Chen Lidong, along with three empty beds.
Under the cover of darkness, Qi Si curled up and reached down to touch the sole of his foot.
It felt unusually rough, as if a layer of soil had become embedded in his flesh, impossible to rub away.
He had noticed it the moment he took his shoes off. The skin that had been submerged in the foul water of the bathroom was now stained a dark, earthy color, identical to the back of the player who had died. It was as if he had been contaminated.
Or, more accurately... infected?
...
In Dormitory 11, a player named Freed lay on his bed, scratching his back relentlessly.
He had no school uniform, and therefore no number, so he had no idea which room he was supposed to be in.
He had tried to find an occupied room to stay in, but every group of players had turned him away, saying they didn't know what kind of monster he might attract without a uniform.
As lights-out approached, he had no choice but to enter the empty Dormitory 11 and claim a random bed.
In the darkness, Freed cursed silently, hurling the most vicious insults he could think of at the players who had refused to help him.
In the real world, everyone treated him with deference and respect. But in this instance, no one understood courtesy or consideration. They were all a pack of savage, selfish hooligans.
Lying on the hard bedboard, he was wide awake. The itch on his back grew more intense, and he dug his nails into his skin, scratching until he drew several bloody lines.
Ever since he had gone to the maple forest and returned, his back had been itching maddeningly, compelling him to scratch it raw.
After hearing from Jiang Junjue what had happened in the bathroom, he realized the dead player's symptoms were very similar to his own. For a terrifying moment, he thought he was done for.
It was only when he was showering that he'd asked a nearby player to look at his back. The player claimed to see no soil or mushrooms, which finally put his mind at ease.
Now he figured he had probably been bitten by some tropical insect, which would explain the persistent itching.
"What a dump. What rotten luck," Freed muttered under his breath. Suddenly, he heard the rustle of fabric, like someone turning over in their sleep.
Was there someone else in the room?
Freed was absolutely certain he hadn't seen a single person when he came in. If someone was here, it could only be...
As if to confirm that he hadn't been hearing things, a dull *thud* came from the top bunk—someone had hit the wall while turning over.
The sound of breathing filled the air, one after another. The once-empty dormitory was suddenly full of sleeping people.
A cold sweat broke out on Freed's skin. He fumbled for the flashlight in his inventory and switched it on, hoping the light would banish his fear.
The pale beam struck the wall, illuminating a gray face.
The face was just a rough outline, with three long, oval voids for eyes and a mouth, like a figure from an abstract painting.
The moment the light hit it, the hole where its mouth should be began to quiver. "You turned on the light," it said in a sinister whisper. "You turned on the light after lights-out..."
Freed snapped back to his senses and quickly shut off the flashlight, stammering an apology. "S-sorry! I'm turning it off now..."
The face on the wall giggled. "You spoke. You spoke in the dormitory..."
Freed froze.
[After ten o'clock lights-out, night chats in the dormitories are forbidden, as is turning on lights without permission.]
The words of the rule were crystal clear, hanging coldly on his system interface, offering no room for negotiation.
Fear sent his heart into a frantic rhythm. He felt a sharp pressure in his bladder, and a few warm drops of urine escaped.
Acting on pure instinct, he threw the flashlight to the floor and curled into a tight ball.
But it was too late. Amidst the face's grotesque laughter, a violent pain erupted from his back, as if something was breaking through his flesh as if it were soil.
Pain and itching merged into an unbearable agony. He began to thrash and roll on the bed, but it did nothing.
A soft *shushing* sound, like plants growing, rustled behind his ear. The new shoots grew wildly, mercilessly devouring his life and strength...