Lu Jieyang actually locked him inside? Wen Di found it hard to believe.
Why would he do this?
“There’s a lock on the outside, it needs a key.”
The inn had been renovated, with some facilities and decor still relatively modern. The door could be bolted from the inside or opened with a key, but Lu Jieyang had added another lock to the handle, making it impossible to open from either side.
Only the key in Lu Jieyang’s hand could open the door.
“Want to come out?” Fu Zhen suddenly asked him.
Wen Di widened his eyes: “Yes! Of course I want to get out!”
He couldn’t stay locked in here forever. He had his own performance targets to meet, with only seven days left. He needed to work hard to complete his mission—to trick these Players into “entering the room” after “succumbing to lust.”
“This chain is thin, not hard to break,” Fu Zhen said leisurely.
Wen Di felt a surge of hope: “Then go ahead and do it!”
But then Fu Zhen’s tone shifted, his voice exceptionally cold: “Why should I help you? I helped you yesterday. Have you thought about what you’ll give me in return? If you can’t even give one reward, how can you give a second?”
Wen Di’s heart tightened, and he panicked momentarily. But for now, he didn’t know what to offer in return. Weren’t these Players just after clues? But clues couldn’t be given out randomly; there had to be a trigger mechanism. For example, during yesterday’s team-building activity, he had given them clues.
The remaining clues had to be found by them on their own. Only if they brought certain key items to him would he tell them more clues.
“Then just let me stay here. Lu Jieyang won’t keep me locked up forever,” Wen Di said, a flash of inspiration striking him.
Fu Zhen chuckled silently, scoffing: “You’re so sure? Is it because he’s been so good to you these past few days that you think you’re important to him? You think he’s already infatuated with you? That he’ll let you out as soon as you ask?”
“If that were really the case, he wouldn’t have locked you in here without your permission.”
Fu Zhen’s relentless, decisive words struck Wen Di one after another, making his cheeks burn with humiliation.
He didn’t think Lu Jieyang was already infatuated with him or would listen to him. He just thought Lu Jieyang would come to find him again and open the door, giving him a chance to figure out how to escape.
He was already hungry. Lu Jieyang wouldn’t let him starve forever.
But after hearing Fu Zhen’s words, Wen Di realized he had unconsciously developed trust in Lu Jieyang. What if Lu Jieyang, like Liu Yajun, had thought about killing him? Otherwise, why would he lock him up?
Maybe all the intimate or protective things he had said to him were just an act.
Why should he trust a Player?
Wen Di felt annoyed and a little sad. It dawned on him—if these Players teamed up to lock him in the room, no one could save him. He would starve to death inside.
If they wanted to kill him, it would be all too easy.
If his misdeeds were discovered, he would surely be surrounded and killed.
Wen Di’s heart raced with fear. He bit his lip, afraid his trembling voice would be heard. Only after the person outside urged him twice did he finally open his trembling lips to speak:
“Please, I really have nothing to give you. Don’t keep me locked up here. Let me out, and I can cook for you.”
The person outside could hear the sob in his voice.
Crying again.
This little ghost.
Always so arrogant, but the moment something happens, he immediately starts crying.
Fu Zhen paused for two seconds before replying, “You only ask for help when something happens, and after receiving it, you just say thank you. You really know how to make things easy for yourself.”
“Cook for me? Have you ever even used the kitchen knife? Weren’t you just heating up frozen pre-made meals for us? Couldn’t I do that myself?”
Wen Di stood facing him across a narrow gap, listening as these bargaining chips were shattered. Feeling guilty, tears welled up in his eyes, and he let out soft, whimpering sobs like a small animal.
Useless sobbing, completely unaware of his own predicament. Even if he were about to be bitten to death the next second, he would only curl up and whimper.
“Since you have so little sincerity, there’s no need for any transaction between us. Just wait for that lunatic Lu Jieyang to come find you.”
After saying this, Fu Zhen turned and walked away. He deliberately made his footsteps loud, waiting for the person inside to call him back.
But no one called.
Half a minute passed, and still no sound.
Fu Zhen stood there with a cold expression, realizing he looked like a fool, and left without looking back.
Why had he resorted to what he considered the most foolish method? There were many ways to get an NPC to reveal clues, and “luring” was the least efficient—something he had always disdained.
Only Lu Jieyang had the patience to spend all day coaxing and pleasing an NPC.
In truth, he didn’t need the little ghost to tell him anything. He already knew more than enough.
What he wanted, perhaps, was something else…
Five minutes later, he returned to Wen Di’s room, likely having turned back as soon as he reached the top floor.
He had warned him earlier: if he couldn’t offer repayment, he would take it himself.
This time, he had come to collect.
As he rounded the corner, the hallway outside the door came into view. But to his surprise, someone was standing there—Shen Wangqing.
In his hand was a small axe, and the chain and lock that had secured the door lay on the ground.
His expression darkened, and he stepped forward. Just then, a figure rushed out of the room and threw itself at the tall, slender man standing there.
It was Wen Di.
He clung tightly to Shen Wangqing’s waist as if holding onto a lifeline.
Lifting his tear-filled, glistening eyes to look at him, he said, “Thank you.”
His gaze held only him.
Shen Wangqing froze.
Anyone would have frozen.
Because the little ghost smelled incredibly fragrant—so fragrant it made one wonder if he had applied some kind of drug to himself. Just being near him made one’s head spin, wanting to bury their face in his slender, pale neck and inhale deeply, like a pervert. Or even bite him, draw blood, drink it, and see if it tasted as sweet as his face.
The little ghost’s body was also soft. Usually wrapped up like a ball outside, he would only shed his clothes in the room, revealing his slender frame. Touching him anywhere would make one wonder—how could a man’s body be so soft?
Look at Shen Wangqing. Where was the composed demeanor he’d had the past few days? He was utterly bewitched, his eyes dazed. Did he even remember he was a Player? His mind was probably blank, having forgotten everything.
Did he just want to press the little ghost’s head down, capture those moist lips, suck on the plump, pink lip bud until they were swollen and bruised, until the beautiful little ghost cried, his lashes wet with tears, his glass-like eyes gleaming as if washed clean?
Fu Zhen didn’t blame him. Who could resist when the little ghost looked at someone with such deep, soulful eyes, as if that person were the only one left in his heart?
Yesterday, he had looked at him the same way.
So, it was no wonder that since last night, he had wanted to devour him whole.
The little ghost only hugged Shen Wangqing for a moment before letting go, then noticed him and turned around. But upon seeing it was him, his face tensed up, and he immediately hid behind Shen Wangqing as if he were some kind of villain.
Fine, fine, fine. Fu Zhen couldn’t help but laugh.
To outsiders, this laughter seemed particularly eerie.
Since doing good deeds was useless, he might as well stick to his usual style—simple and brutal.