The whole nation is trying to survive on the cable car; I'm choosing one of three options at ea

Dark red, viscous liquid splattered on the table, on the gun beside him, and on the stone floor, pooling into a small puddle. His body hadn't even registered what was happening; he stood there stiffly for a moment, then collapsed like a sawn log, hitting the ground with a dull thud. His limbs twitched twice, then remained still.

The space was silent for a moment.

The silence wasn't because no one was speaking; rather, it was as if everyone's breath had stopped for that moment.

Then some people started gagging, some took a step back, and some gripped their weapons tighter. Zhao Qiang's face was as white as paper, and the crumpled piece of paper with "I'm not going" written on it was crumpled into a hard little ball. He Lin stood at the back of the crowd, her lips pressed into a thin line, her fingers clenching the hem of her clothes, her knuckles white.

The fact that the first two shots... Su Mu's shot and the gentleman's shot at himself... were both blanks caused everyone's tense nerves to relax slightly. Some even secretly breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that the one in seven chance of being hit might not be so terrible.

Then the gunshot brought everyone back to reality.

Twenty-one people, now it's twenty. The body still lies on the ground, blood still gushing from the wound, slowly spreading across the stone floor.

No one spoke, but the same word was written on everyone's face... fear. It wasn't an abstract, vague "fear of death," but a concrete, direct fear, like a knife held to their throats. They saw what death looked like... blood, brain matter, twitching limbs, and those still-open eyes.

Lin Yuwei stood beside Su Mu, her expression no better. Her lips were tightly pressed together, her fingers gripping the edge of her cloak until her knuckles turned white. She glanced at the corpse, then at Su Mu. Su Mu's expression remained unchanged; he didn't even look at the corpse. His gaze was fixed on Number Seven, as if waiting for something.

Number Seven was leaning back in his chair, his hands clasped over his stomach, a faint smile playing on his lips. He looked at the corpse as if it were a leaf fallen to the ground.

Perhaps only Su Mu and the gentleman in the suit remained calm and composed in the room.

Number Seven didn't look at the corpse. His gaze swept over the remaining people, and the smile on his lips deepened even more.

"Very good. Let the game continue."

Zhang Peng's team was still reeling from the gunshot, and no one spoke.

But soon, an idea flashed through the minds of several people like lightning... Someone thought of it, and then more people thought of it, and it spread rapidly like a plague.

A gun has seven bullets, but only one is live. The first shot already fired a live round. That means the remaining bullets have a 100% chance of being blanks...

"The next six shots, no matter how many times they're fired, won't hit you, right?"

It was Zhao Qiang who spoke.

His voice wasn't loud, but everyone in the quiet space could hear it clearly.

His eyes lit up, but the light wasn't from excitement; it was more like that of a drowning person suddenly grabbing a rope.

Zhao Gang glanced at his younger brother without speaking, but his expression relaxed slightly. Not only Zhao Qiang, but the others also realized this. Their eyes clearly changed; the fear of "I might die" was replaced by a sense of relief that "I might not die."

The young man who drew the second lot... a tall, thin boy in his early twenties from the twins' group... walked out from the crowd.

His steps were much faster than the first one, even bordering on impatient. He walked to the table and reached for the gun.

"Wait a minute." Number Seven's voice was unhurried, but the hand that was reaching for the table seemed to be frozen in mid-air as if it had been frozen by something.

Number Seven pulled a bullet from under the table. It was brass-colored and gleamed coldly under the light.

In front of everyone, he loaded the bullet into the chamber of a gun and then put the gun back on the table.

"I forgot to mention the second rule." Number Seven leaned back in his chair, his hands folded over his stomach, his tone still gentle. "If anyone dies in the middle, the dying party... has to start over. That means the shot you fired earlier is null and void. The remaining live ammunition is reduced to one round."

The air seemed to freeze for a moment.

Zhao Qiang's expression changed from "he grabbed the rope" to "the rope broke".

The tall, thin boy's hand was still hanging above the table, his fingers trembling slightly, but he didn't pull it back.

His mouth opened and then closed, as if something was stuck in his throat.

Zhang Peng tapped his finger on the iron cage, the force so strong that the pangolin inside flinched. His face remained expressionless, but a vein throbbed on his forehead.

He Lin closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them again. She wanted to curse, but who could she curse? Number Seven? He had been the one to set the rules from the beginning, and they had already accepted it when they came in.

"You fucking tricked me!" the tall, thin guy finally snapped.

His hand was no longer suspended; instead, he suddenly grabbed a gun from the table, pointing it at Number Seven. It wasn't pressed against his own temple, but pointed at Number Seven's face.

His hands were trembling, not from fear, but from anger. The kind of uncontrollable anger that comes from being made a fool of.

Number Seven didn't even look at the muzzle of the gun.

His gaze fell on the gun, and the smile on his lips deepened. He reached out and gently pried open the muzzle with his index finger, as if he were parting a branch that was being extended in front of him.

"You can fire." Number Seven's voice remained calm and gentle. "But I'm warning you, here, the rule is... you can't harm anyone else. But if you have that intention, you'll be the only one to die in this secret realm."

The tall, thin boy's hand froze.

The gun was still pointed in the direction of Number Seven, but his finger rested on the trigger, unable to pull it. Not because he dared, but because he couldn't. He could feel the trigger was much more difficult to pull than normal, as if something was locking it.

He slowly lowered his gun.

Number Seven nodded, as if confirming the choice. Then his gaze swept over everyone in Zhang Peng's team, as if waiting for something.