Zong Jiu opened his eyes.
Above him stretched a mold-stained white ceiling, damp with spreading water damage.
[Beep… Beep… System connection established.]
[Welcome, E-Rank Thriller Trainee Zong Jiu.]
The room was small and completely enclosed.
White walls. No windows. Bare furnishings.
A rusted iron-framed bed sat in the center of the room. Beside it stood a battered metal cabinet with a cup of cold boiled water resting on top.
The air smelled damp and stale.
The silence was oppressive.
Zong Jiu remained lying still, fully awake but in no hurry to move.
Instead, he calmly organized the information he had gathered so far, comparing the system’s explanations with the fragments of plot he remembered from the novel.
The first round was a solo survival instance.
No teammates.
No cooperation.
No need to care whether anyone else lived or died.
Every trainee only needed to accomplish two things:
Survive.
And perform well enough to receive a favorable evaluation.
Because surviving alone was not enough.
Even if a trainee escaped the instance alive, receiving a poor evaluation could still result in elimination.
The system had phrased it pleasantly enough—“punishment instance,” “revival opportunity”—but Zong Jiu knew better.
The punishment instances carried a mortality rate close to ninety-five percent.
Being sent there was effectively a death sentence.
As for how to achieve a higher evaluation…
The answer was simple.
Throw yourself into danger.
Fight back against hopeless odds.
Turn impossible situations around.
Create dramatic reversals.
The system clearly encouraged risk-taking.
Or, to put it more bluntly—
it encouraged people to court death.
That alone made Zong Jiu vaguely aware of something deeply wrong beneath the surface of this so-called survival show.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t read far enough into the novel to uncover the truth behind it all.
Quietly sighing to himself, Zong Jiu turned his head.
The peeling metal surface of the cabinet reflected his current appearance.
White hair.
Pale pink eyes.
A striped hospital gown neatly buttoned at the front.
His pale skin blended almost seamlessly into the surrounding white walls, making him look less like a person and more like a delicate porcelain doll.
Only the blue E-rank badge on his chest remained unchanged.
After staring for a moment, Zong Jiu closed his eyes again and opened the identity information provided by the system.
The information was brief.
Name: Zong Jiu.
Age: Seventeen.
Condition: Autism.
Admitted earlier today.
Just like the novel.
No deviations whatsoever.
After waiting silently for a while to confirm there were no sounds nearby, Zong Jiu finally pushed himself upright.
The moment he moved, however, dizziness hit him immediately.
His limbs felt heavy and sluggish, as though separated from his nervous system by a layer of delay.
Something was wrong with his body.
Zong Jiu flexed his fingers several times before quickly arriving at a conclusion.
Sedatives.
A strong psychotropic drug remained in his bloodstream.
Judging from the lingering symptoms, it had likely been administered within the past six to eight hours.
He steadied himself against the wall and slowly examined the room.
Everything inside was metal.
Metal bed.
Metal cabinet.
Metal cup.
All rusted and heavily worn.
The room resembled less a hospital ward and more a prison cell.
The only door was made from thick steel reinforced with rust-stained plating. A narrow observation window sat at eye level, allowing staff outside to monitor the room.
There was no handle on the inside.
Patients were not permitted to leave on their own.
Then Zong Jiu’s eyes narrowed slightly.
The wall beside the bed was covered in countless scratched numbers.
Messy.
Chaotic.
As though carved there by someone slowly losing their mind.
Right then—
CLACK.
The sound of locks being opened echoed from outside.
The rusted iron door creaked open.
Cold air drifted in from the dark corridor beyond.
Standing outside was a nurse in a faded white uniform.
Her appearance was plain, but her expression carried an unsettling indifference.
When she looked at Zong Jiu, there was no warmth in her gaze whatsoever.
Only cold detachment.
Like she wasn’t looking at a person—
but an object.
“Number 12,” she said flatly. “Dinner time. The cafeteria is upstairs.”
Without waiting for a response, she immediately moved to the neighboring room.
“Number 13. Dinner.”
Her footsteps gradually disappeared deeper into the corridor.
The hallway itself was dim and damp.
Rust covered the stair railings.
Water dripped continuously from somewhere overhead.
Even the weak glow of the nurse’s lantern failed to illuminate the darkness below the staircase.
Zong Jiu curled his lips slightly.
Without hesitation, he stepped out into the corridor and headed upstairs.
Surprisingly, unlike the filthy wards below, the dining hall was unexpectedly clean.
Pale blue tiles covered the floor and walls.
Patients lined up in silence carrying metal trays while workers behind the serving window distributed food.
Quite a few people were already seated throughout the hall.
Every one of them wore identical hospital gowns.
Among them, the Thriller Trainees were immediately recognizable by the glowing rank badges attached to their chests.
Apparently, NPCs could not see the badges.
The moment Zong Jiu entered—
the atmosphere subtly shifted.
Heads turned one after another.
The white-haired young man walked slowly beneath the dim lights, his long hair falling over his shoulders like cold moonlight.
Even hidden beneath an oversized hospital gown, his appearance was breathtaking.
It was the kind of beauty that ignored gender entirely.
The live broadcasts instantly exploded.
[HOLY SHIT.]
[Where did this beauty come from?!]
[This is a survival show? I thought I clicked into an idol debut program!]
[LOOK AT HIS FACE—]
[I’m switching rooms immediately.]
Naturally, not everyone reacted positively.
[What’s the point of being pretty? This isn’t the entertainment industry.]
[E-rank newbie. He’ll probably die in the first round.]
[People here are hyping visuals while S-ranks like Zhuge An are sitting in the same instance.]
At another table, He Jianlan glanced toward Zong Jiu before turning back.
“That newcomer looks pretty interesting.”
Qin Ye snorted while poking at the vegetables on his tray with flattened chopsticks.
“If you have time to stare at pretty faces, why not focus on Zhuge An or Vincent instead?”
“Vincent never came to the cafeteria.”
He Jianlan subtly shifted his gaze toward the back corner of the dining hall.
“But Zhuge An’s here.”
Both of them were veterans.
Qin Ye was an A-rank contender who had survived more than ten instances.
He Jianlan was B-rank.
Among ordinary trainees, those ranks were already considered high-level.
“There are two S-ranks and three A-ranks in this instance alone,” He Jianlan muttered quietly.
“And dozens of E and F-ranks.”
Neither continued speaking.
They both understood what that implied.
In the infinite loop, the more dangerous the instance, the more high-ranking contenders gathered there.
Which meant—
this asylum instance was far from simple.
Qin Ye’s gaze settled on the man seated quietly at the back of the dining hall.
Black hair.
Cold features.
An air so detached he looked almost unreal.
The glowing S-rank badge on his chest carried a small number above it.
Among the tens of thousands of Thriller Trainees, only ten people possessed S-rank authority.
And Zhuge An—
was ranked third among them.
Within the infinite loop, his name alone carried terrifying weight.
His intelligence bordered on monstrous.
No one dared underestimate him.
“If the special identity-holder mentioned in the side mission is Zhuge An,” He Jianlan said quietly, “then we’re in trouble.”
Qin Ye immediately shook his head.
“Don’t provoke him.”
Even among S-ranks, Zhuge An was considered one of the most dangerous existences alive.
Meanwhile, Zong Jiu calmly ate alone in the corner.
The food tasted awful.
But at least it was edible.
As the effects of the sedatives gradually weakened, sensation slowly returned to his hands.
The stiffness eased slightly, though his movements still carried obvious delay and incoordination.
Zong Jiu remained expressionless.
After the accident, there had been periods where his hands were so damaged he couldn’t even hold basic objects properly.
Compared to that—
this was already an improvement.
Cold fluorescent light reflected off the steel tray before him, faintly illuminating his pale eyes.
So far, everything still roughly aligned with the original plot.
But soon—
that would change completely.
Because according to the novel timeline—
less than two hours remained before the original Zong Jiu died.