A real killer playing a villain; the guy surnamed Zhen in Detective, run!

In the back row, Jiang Yan stood up, the chair legs scraping against the floor with a screeching sound.

"Shut down."

Yan Ji didn't turn around: "Team Leader Jiang, this is the recording process."

"I said stop the machine."

Jiang Yan had already pressed the button on the walkie-talkie, "Stop dry ice spraying, start forced ventilation."

Yan Ji suppressed his anger: "You believed him just because he said one thing? Carbon monoxide? You can smell it? This isn't a crime scene, this is a variety show."

Jiang Yan stared at the screen.

In the scene, Meng Ying had already started gagging, Da Yan's breathing became shorter, and Shen Yiming tried to stand up, but Lu Yuan pressed him down.

"You don't know him," she said in a low voice. "He wouldn't joke about something like this."

Yan Ji sneered, "Then I'd like to see how he—"

Before he could finish speaking, Lu Yuan moved on the screen.

The high-pressure dry ice was still spewing out, and white mist drifted over my ankles and climbed up my calves.

Lu Yuan sighed as he looked at the unresponsive exhaust fan. He turned and walked to the abandoned biochemical culture rack that was being used as a backdrop.

Several rows of transparent tubing were tied to the frame, and the tubing was fixed with thick, stiff iron wire.

Lu Yuan ran his fingers along the edge.

"Click." He pulled the wire down.

Shen Yiming covered his mouth and nose, looking completely bewildered: "Brother Lu, what are you doing?"

"Fix the air conditioner."

Lu Yuan walked to the nearest jet valve, pressed the valve casing with his left hand, and held the wire in his right hand, inserting it into the gap that was less than two millimeters wide.

The wire rubbed against the metal parts inside.

One stroke, then two. Lu Yuan's fingertips stopped.

He listened intently, flicked his wrist, and pressed down again.

"Crack." A low, muffled metallic snapping sound echoed through the mist.

Inside the broadcast van, the technician shouted, "Valve number three is depressurized!"

The next second, a chain reaction occurred, and all twelve nozzles simultaneously emitted a hissing sound.

"Hiss—hiss—" It sounded like a row of old bellows being stepped on and stopped.

The injection stopped, and the pipeline pressure dropped from the green zone all the way to the bottom.

The forced ventilation system, which was originally locked by the program, automatically started after the pressure imbalance. The four exhaust vents in the ceiling opened simultaneously, drawing up the white mist and removing most of it within seconds.

Meng Ying knelt on the ground, coughing until her eyes were red.

Da Yan, leaning against the wall, cursed, "Damn, is this really not just for the show?"

Shen Yiming stood by the wall, holding the highlighter pen, as if frozen in place.

He glanced at the handwritten tablet covered in formulas, then at the broken wire in Lu Yuan's hand.

The entire gas chamber system was physically bankrupt.

He Rihuo peeked out from behind the door, his hands still clasped together. "Teacher Lu, can you open the door now?"

Lu Yuan looked at the electronic lock at the exit.

After the exhaust system is activated, the safety system takes over, and the electronic lock's red light turns green.

"Yes." He patted the rust dust off his hands.

No one spoke in the broadcast van.

Jiang Yan walked to the technical station: "Adjust the gas detection data."

The technician frantically opened the backend, and a curve popped up.

The carbon monoxide concentration column had just crossed the yellow warning line a minute ago, and was only one bar away from the red lethal warning line.

Further down, the curve was pulled down by the forced drainage system.

Old Fang stared at the screen, his throat dry.

If the gas continues for another two minutes, none of the five guests, two cameramen, and the on-site rescue personnel inside the gas chamber will be able to get out safely.

Yan Ji sat in the chair, his back soaked with sweat.

He stared at the set of red data, and the walkie-talkie in his hand slipped to the ground.

In the surveillance footage, Lu Yuan pushed open the exit door, turned around to look at his teammates who were still in a daze, and said, "Let's go."

Shen Yiming didn't move.

Lu Yuan glanced at the countdown on the wall, then at his watch.

"Don't just stand there. If you delay any longer, the braised chicken drumsticks will get cold."

The electronic airtight door rises.

Thick steel plates were embedded in the wall, emitting a dull, mechanical sound. A broadcast began.

"Congratulations on escaping the biological gas chamber."

"The safe house is now open. Please proceed to the rest area."

Inside, warm yellow LED strips stretched along the corners of the walls, and the floor was covered with clean wood-grain flooring. A sofa, cushions, a water dispenser, and a round table were all provided. On the walls were also thoughtfully prepared warm slogans from the production team.

"Remember to eat during your escape."

If it weren't for the fact that I almost got sent away in dry ice just a second ago, this place could really be considered a healing station in a variety show.

Shen Yiming entered, his legs still a little unsteady, as he held onto the doorframe.

Supported by Da Yan, Meng Ying had just sat down on the sofa when she slumped down, covering her mouth and nose with her hands, her nose tip turning red.

The first thing He Rihuo did after entering the room was to find a corner and squeeze himself inside.

Lu Yuan was the last to come in.

In the center of the round table, business double-portion lunch boxes were neatly arranged. Each lunch box was accompanied by a pair of disposable chopsticks, a small box of soup, and a bottle of mineral water.

He sat down in front of his lunchbox, lifted the lid, and steam rose from the rice. Vegetables were arranged in the lower left corner, braised beef brisket took up half of the compartment, and a large, savory chicken leg lay in the other half.

It's glossy, rosy, has bone structure, and is the right size.

Lu Yuan nodded in satisfaction. The production team may have been reckless earlier, but they hadn't skimped on the chicken leg part.

He broke apart his chopsticks, picked up a chicken leg, and took a big bite.

The skin and flesh are separated, and the sauce is still hot.

Lu Yuan lowered his head and ate his rice, his focus even greater than when he was dismantling the gas valve.

Inside the safe house, an extremely jarring scene unfolded.

On one side are four guests who have just experienced a near-death experience.

Shen Yiming sat on the edge of the sofa, his fingertips still trembling; Meng Ying hugged a pillow, her hair sticking to her forehead, and the smell of the boxed lunch made her stomach churn; Da Yan leaned back in her chair, staring blankly at the ceiling; He Rihuo was the most stable, having already entered the process of self-transcendence.

On the other side, Lu Yuan had chicken legs, rice, beef brisket, and vegetables. The order was clear, and the efficiency was astonishing.

Inside the broadcast van, Yan Ji stared at the monitor, anticipating: the collective breakdown after the high-pressure test; the top guest losing their composure; the female guests crying their eyes out; and the veteran MCs embracing each other, marveling at the preciousness of life.

With slow motion, piano music, and the caption "We've been through life and death together," it could trend on social media for three days straight.

As a result, right in the center of the screen, Lu Yuan sat at a round table, steadily gnawing on a chicken leg.

Yan Ji's temples throbbed.

Old Fang stood to the side and asked in a low voice, "President Yan, how should this part be edited?"

Yan Ji didn't speak; he didn't know how to cut himself either! He wanted to cut himself off!

Lu Yuan finished most of the chicken leg, looked up and around, "Aren't you guys eating?"

Meng Ying waved her hand, her voice a little hoarse: "Right now... I feel like throwing up whenever I smell food."

Da Yan looked down at his lunchbox, his face turning pale: "I can't either. When that fog came out just now, all I could think of was a suicide note."

Shen Yiming gripped the mineral water bottle, his fingertips slipping: "Let's take it easy for now."

Lu Yuan thought for a moment, then took out a bag of sweet and spicy snacks from his pocket and pushed it onto the table.

"The boxed lunch doesn't suit your taste?"

"Eat something sweet and spicy to stimulate dopamine. It's cheap and effective."

There was a two-second silence in the safe house.

The aroma of spicy strips spreads, the unique scents of flavoring, chili oil, sugar, and starch products dominating the air.

Shen Yiming stared at the bag of spicy strips, his mind flashing back to the 10,000-word review by the sharp-tongued Lao Xu: "Reshaping Chinese Crime Films: Lu Yuan's 'Zero-Degree Performance'".

It mentions a concept: anchor point. It uses low-cost, highly sensory, and extremely mundane everyday actions to pull people back from a high-intensity mental state to a normal coordinate.

At the time, Shen Yiming was just writing for fun as a film critic.

Now, he watched as Lu Yuan, having just dismantled the gas chamber valve, sat down to gnaw on a chicken leg, and then pulled out some spicy strips.

It's connected.

Shen Yiming leaned forward, lowered his voice, and said to Meng Ying and Dayan, "I understand."