A bizarre and terrifying experience; I messed up the dungeon world.

Chains were nailed to the wall, and bloodstains were on the ground. Zhou Lang walked ahead, holding an oil lamp, the light casting a flickering green halo on the wall. Dried wreaths hung on both sides of the corridor, their petals long since crumbled into brown powder, falling to the ground with every step.

Zhao Qiang stepped on a patch of ground and instinctively stopped.

"There are no ghosts ahead," Zhou Lang said without turning around. "The oil lamp isn't responding."

Han Yingying whispered, "The door."

At the end of the corridor was an iron door. Unlike the one on the ground, this one was not locked, but just ajar, with a faint light shining through the crack—not from a lamp, but more like the glow of some rotting creature.

Zhou Lang pushed the door open.

Inside was a basement room with bare walls and a wooden chair in the center, with half a person sitting on it.

To be precise, it was the upper body that had been cut off. There was nothing below the waist. The cut had dried and turned black. The hem of the butler's uniform was neatly draped over the edge of the chair, and the silver buttons on the shirt were still shiny.

The uniform is exactly the same as the one worn by the butler upstairs.

Zhao Qiang took a step back, his back hitting the iron chain in the corridor with a clanging sound.

"The first steward of the manor," Zhou Lang stepped forward, the oil lamp illuminating the face, the flesh had collapsed, the skeleton was still holding it up, "kill the steward's true form."

Han Yingying went around behind the chair, looked down, and asked, "What's that walking around all day?"

"Skin."

Beside the chair, on the ground, was a half-open wooden box containing a dozen or so dried human skins, neatly folded and dressed in the same uniform, like folded shirts, stacked there.

Han Yingying closed the box without saying a word.

Zhao Qiang swallowed hard. "Every shift change is a real... skin change?"

"Change it, and your energy will be restored," Zhou Lang squatted down. There was a line of blood-written words on the ground, the handwriting was crooked but still legible, "The manor needs a butler, the butler needs the original body, the original body is dead, but the wandering soul is not gone."

This line of text clearly explains the operating logic of the manor.

Zhou Lang pulled out the chainsaw from the toolbar, pressed the start button, and the machine emitted a steady hum, which was particularly clear in the basement.

Zhao Qiang looked at the saw. "Are you sure this is the right one?"

"I'm not sure," Zhou Lang said, "but as long as the original exists, the copy won't end. We have to give it a try."

Before anyone could say anything more, he brought the chainsaw down. The things on the chair didn't move an inch, made no sound, and didn't struggle; they were simply dismantled.

The system notification sounded three times in a row.

[Dungeon progress: 100%. Completion rewards have been credited. Rating: S-rank.]

Zhou Lang turned off the chainsaw, clapped his hands, and said, "Let's go."

---

The instance exited faster than expected. A flash of white light, and Zhou Lang woke up on the floor of his bedroom, his back covered in cold sweat, still clutching the oil lamp in his hand—the wick was out, and the oil was almost gone.

He sat by the bed for a while, not in a hurry to get up.

The words in blood were still swirling in my mind, like a lingering ghost.

The manor's first butler had been dead for many years, and had been sitting in that basement for just as many years. The skin on top was still being changed and the skeleton below was sitting there obediently. This setting sounds bizarre, but Zhou Lang always felt that even the most bizarre things have their own logic. Just like those ghosts that automatically give way, they are afraid of the green light in the oil lamp. This does not contradict the fact that they are ghosts.

My phone vibrated.

[Rewards for clearing this stage: 1200 points, 1 "Observation Mirror" item.]

The Observation Mirror has a brief description: It can be used to observe strange emotional states within a dungeon. It can be used 3 times per dungeon and cannot be replenished after use.

Zhou Lang stared at the words "3 times" for a while, then put the prop into his storage compartment.

Then I opened my points balance, glanced at the total, and it was enough.

---

Three weeks later, the system sent a task notification in the early morning, with different wording than before and an additional line highlighted in red:

The death rate in this instance is unusual. An investigation has been initiated, and high-rated players are invited to participate.

Instance Name: Japanese-style Inn. Difficulty: Not specified. Number of Participants: 6.

Zhou Lang opened the map. It was a two-story building with white-painted exterior walls and several strings of wind chimes hanging from it. It was surrounded by mountains, and the nearest town was more than an hour's walk away. In the corner of the map was a thumbnail, a real-life photo of the instance—two rows of red lanterns hung at the entrance, almost too festive.

He turned off the map and went to sleep.

The term "abnormal mortality rate" is a kind of system slang in the game. It means that there is a bug in this dungeon, and the number of deaths exceeds the preset range. The system suspects that there is a problem with the strange design, but it does not have the direct authority to deal with it. So it assigns the task to a high-rated player to go to the scene to investigate.

It's considered dirty work.

But he needed to go in and take a look.

---

The time to enter the instance is 2 PM.

Zhou Lang opened his eyes. First, he saw a blue sky, then mountains, and then a dirt road beneath his feet. Several osmanthus trees were planted along the roadside. It wasn't the flowering season yet, but the air smelled sweet.

The guesthouse was nestled in a mountain valley, its white-painted walls adorned with a few wind chimes that tinkled softly in the breeze. A middle-aged man with a round, slightly overweight face sat at the entrance, shelling peanuts, scattering shells all over the ground. Seeing Zhou Lang approach, he brushed the shells off his legs and stood up. "Guests are here! Welcome, welcome!"

The enthusiasm was excessive, making it seem more like they hadn't received any business in a long time.

"Which room number?" Zhou Lang asked.

"202, the first room on the left on the second floor, I'll show you there—"

"Need not."

As Zhou Lang entered, the man sat down again and continued peeling peanuts, his movements calm, completely unlike a character from a video game.

But Zhou Lang remembered him.

In the lobby, a middle-aged woman in an apron was wiping a table, her back to the door. She wiped slowly, stroke by stroke, as if she were thinking about something, or rather, she seemed lost in thought, her hands still moving. She didn't look up at Zhou Lang.

The man and the woman at the door were in the same space, but neither of them glanced at the other.

It wasn't unfamiliarity, but rather a deliberate attempt to completely avoid eye contact with the other person.

There were already people waiting in the lobby.

A woman in her thirties sat on the sofa, legs crossed, holding a phone in her hand. Her long hair was permed into tight curls, and she wore a well-fitting thin shirt, looking meticulously groomed from head to toe. When she saw Zhou Lang enter, she glanced at him, subtly shifted her position as a greeting.

A man in his early forties stood by the window, his back to the door, studying the map of the guesthouse on the wall. He was strong, with dark skin, and stood there like a log, motionless.

In the corner, there was a girl dressed as a student, carrying a cloth bag. She had a small face and was folding paper with her head down. She folded a piece of white paper again and again, her expression more focused than a map.

Zhou Lang noted down the positions of the three people and found a single sofa near the door to sit down.

The door opened shortly afterward.

Han Yingying entered, glanced around the hall, and her gaze lingered on Zhou Lang for a moment. "What are you doing here?"

"skillful."

"You always say it's a coincidence," she said, walking over and sitting down, placing her bag at her feet. "The death rate in this instance has skyrocketed. The notification said it was high-risk, and I thought the system had sent it to the wrong person."