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

Su Mu was leaning against the edge of the stone table, toying with a gun in his hand. The gun twirled between his fingers, then twirled again, the movement as casual as twirling a pen.

Number Seven's gaze fell on the gun, and his brows furrowed even more.

"You won't admit defeat?" Number Seven's voice was no longer the calm and gentle one it used to be; instead, there was something indescribable about it... not anger, but more like a kind of obstruction or unease.

Su Mu didn't speak. He looked at Number Seven, his finger hovering over the trigger guard, the gun lying quietly in his palm.

He was watching to see if Number Seven could wipe out Zhang Peng's team. The group was chattering incessantly, which Su Mu found quite annoying. If Number Seven could eliminate them, he would be happy to see it happen. But Number Seven waved his hand twice, and not a single person died. Su Mu understood.

"Let's make a deal," Su Mu said, his tone as casual as haggling at a market. "Give me my reward, and I'll call it a draw."

Number Seven looked at him and fell silent. The smile was still in his clean eyes, but it was no longer the calm, all-controlling smile of before; instead, it was a more complex smile, as if something was stuck in his throat.

"Impossible," said Number Seven. "You missed six shots, I missed six shots. According to the rules, it's a draw."

Su Mu smiled helplessly.

He knew this would be the answer. Number Seven never intended for him to take the item from the beginning.

What game, what rules—it's all a facade.

The purpose of this secret realm wasn't to let people take away treasures, but to let them die here. Su Mu was just an exception... his luck was so good that even Number Seven couldn't suppress it.

"Then it seems," Su Mu held the gun up to his eyes, looked at the muzzle, and then at the chamber, "that we can only gamble on the seventh shot."

The space was silent for a moment.

Zhao Qiang's mouth opened again.

Zhao Gang placed his hand on his younger brother's shoulder, but didn't press hard, because he himself hadn't reacted in time. He Lin's pupils contracted to their maximum. Zhang Peng's finger hovered over the iron cage, not striking it. Everyone stared at Su Mu as if he were a patient who had escaped from a mental hospital.

"Are you crazy?" Lin Yuwei's voice exploded from behind Su Mu, sharp, urgent, and carrying an emotion she rarely showed to outsiders.

She wasn't unaware of Su Mu's madness... From the haunted house to the dark zone to that broken machine, none of the things Su Mu did were things a normal person would do.

But this time was different. Seven shots. The probability of the remaining guns being loaded with live ammunition was an unbelievable number. And Number Seven himself said it was a draw.

A draw is a draw; there's no need to gamble with your life.

Su Mu didn't look at her. His gaze was fixed on Number Seven, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"I didn't check the gun," he said, his tone as calm as if he were commenting on the weather. "I just bet there weren't any bullets in it."

Then he pulled the trigger.

"Click."

Empty gun.

The crisp metallic clang echoed in the quiet space, like a pebble thrown into a deep well. No one reacted in time.

Zhao Qiang's mouth was still open, Zhao Gang's hand was still on his brother's shoulder, He Lin's pupils hadn't contracted, and Zhang Peng's finger hadn't struck the target. Su Mu had already placed the gun back on the table. Blank shot. Seventh shot. Blank shot.

Number seven was the first to make a sound.

"Impossible." His voice was no longer the calm and gentle one it had been before; instead, it carried a genuine, irrepressible intensity. He sprang from the back of his chair, not standing up, but leaning forward, his hands braced on the table, his knuckles white as he pressed his fingers against the smooth stone slab. He looked at the gun Su Mu had placed back on the table, then at Su Mu, then at the gun.

"Impossible." He repeated, his voice even louder than before.

He reached for the gun, his movements swift and unlike the composed gentleman he had been before. He pulled back the bolt, aimed the chamber at the light... a brass-colored bullet lay silently inside, its tip gleaming coldly in the lamplight.

Number Seven's fingers trembled slightly. He removed the bullet from the chamber, held it between his fingertips, and examined it closely. The bullet was real, the gunpowder was real, and the firing pin marks on the primer were still there... When he pulled the trigger, the hammer had indeed struck the primer. But the bullet hadn't exploded, hadn't fired; nothing had happened.

Number Seven examined the gun thoroughly, turning it over and over again, before looking up at Su Mu.

"I'm stuck." His voice was very soft, as if he were talking to himself, or as if he were confirming something, "...How is that possible?"

Lin Yuwei stood behind Su Mu, her mind completely blank. She glanced down at her character panel... the talent bar was still grayed out, the class icon was still dark, and all skills were displayed as unavailable.

She looked at it again, a third time, a fourth time, confirming that she hadn't misread it. Everything was forbidden. Su Mu, without any power enhancement, picked up a loaded gun, pulled the trigger against his temple... and then the bullet jammed.

She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, with only one thought in her mind... How can someone be so lucky?

Zhao Qiang's jaw finally closed, but he couldn't speak. Zhao Gang's hand slid down from his brother's shoulder and hung at his sides. He Lin stood at the back of the crowd, arms crossed, her nails digging into her arms.

Zhang Peng finally tapped down, but not gently; he slammed the door shut. The iron cage door sprang open, and the pangolin inside curled up into a ball, unnoticed by anyone.

The same thought was on everyone's mind: How can someone be so lucky?

Number Seven stood there, still clutching the bullet in his hand. His expression was no longer composed.

The curve of his lips was still there, but it was no longer a smile; instead, it was a more complex, stiff stiffness, as if he were trying to maintain something. His fingers trembled slightly, not from fear, but from a strange, unfamiliar feeling he had never experienced before, one that left him bewildered.

He looked down at the bullet in his hand and remained silent for a long time.

"Are you going to keep firing, or surrender?" Su Mu's voice broke the silence.

In fact, Su Mu breathed a sigh of relief at this moment; he had made the right bet.

Number Seven looked up.

He looked at Su Mu, and something shattered in those clear eyes. It wasn't anger, nor fear, but a deeper, more profound bewilderment, like a faith that had been shaken.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then he reached out and picked up the last gun from the table.

"You can't be that lucky." His voice was soft, as if he were talking to himself. "There must be something wrong. I will... I will be lucky too."

He pressed the gun to his temple and closed his eyes.

Pull the trigger.