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

Zhou Lang looked at the copy information on his phone screen while chewing on half a sausage.

"The House of Mystery" is a C-rank dungeon, not for beginners.

The system's background is quite artistic: A sketching group from Qingcheng Academy of Fine Arts goes to an ancient town for inspiration, staying in a local guesthouse for seven days. Survive seven days to pass the level.

Seven strange occurrences, seven days. A standard C-level laptop configuration.

But this copy is not working properly.

Three months ago, a help request appeared on the player forum. It was only one line long and has not been updated since.

"This instance is wrong; I've already died nine times here."

He died nine times.

The story of dying nine times in a C-rank dungeon spread, but no one took it seriously, assuming the poster was just joking. However, Zhou Lang found the player's record in the game's backend—the account status showed "in a dungeon," and the continuous online time was ninety-two days.

A dungeon that could be cleared in seven days trapped one person for ninety-two days.

Zhou Lang stuffed the end of the ham sausage into his mouth, chewed it, and swallowed it.

Zhao Qiang appeared at the school gate right on time, his face as pale as his faded T-shirt. He'd only been out of the last dungeon a few days, and the guy had lost a lot of weight; his cheekbones were even more prominent.

"Brother Lang, is this dungeon really only C-rank?"

"Um."

Zhao Qiang breathed a sigh of relief.

"But it might be even more difficult to deal with than an S-class."

He swallowed his breath again.

Zhao Qiang's lips trembled twice, as if he wanted to say something, but Zhou Lang directly pulled him into the dungeon entrance.

The white light swallowed the two people.

When his vision cleared again, Zhou Lang was standing on a bluestone path. On both sides were old houses with low walls and gray tiles, strings of dried chili peppers hanging from the eaves, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of osmanthus. In the distance, a range of green mountains stretched out, and closer by, a pool of emerald green lake.

The atmosphere of an ancient town in Jiangnan. Too quiet for words.

"bite--"

Welcome to the instance: The Mysterious House

[Identity: Third-year student at Qingcheng Academy of Fine Arts]

[Mission: Survive for seven days]

[Tip: It's safe during the day; please stay in your room at night.]

[Number of strange occurrences in the instance: 7]

Zhao Qiang stared at the number twice: "Seven anomalies, and only the two of us?"

"more than."

Zhou Lang raised his chin. A few people were scattered across the street ahead, all carrying easels and paint bags, looking just as bewildered as the two of them.

A man in a windbreaker walked over first. He was in his early thirties, with a long face and thick eyebrows. He had the air of a seasoned player – walking lightly, always scanning his surroundings, and never taking his hands out of his pockets.

"Lin Yuanshan, this is your sixth time entering the program." He didn't mince words.

Others gradually gathered around. A man and a woman were clearly together; the man was named Chen Ming and the woman Song Xiaonan, both on their third visit. A tall, thin man wearing gold-rimmed glasses was named Fang Xuewen, on his fourth visit. A burly man named Ma Dong was only on his second visit, his eyes filled with nervousness.

The last one to appear was Han Yingying.

She turned the corner from the street corner, carrying her easel. Wearing a light blue apron and a ponytail, she looked quite professional. She paused for a moment when she saw Zhou Lang, then walked over and stood next to him, saying casually, "Assigned by the system. What a coincidence."

"Do you know them?" Lin Yuanshan looked at Han Yingying and then at Zhou Lang.

"We came out together with the last dungeon," Han Yingying said.

Lin Yuanshan's attitude changed, and he glanced at Zhou Lang: "Game name?"

"Waves and waves."

"……OK."

Eight people, seven of them are strange. There's one more human than ghost.

But quantity has never been the key factor.

Lin Yuanshan readily took on the role of leader, leading the group along the bluestone path deeper into the town. There were few pedestrians on the road, and occasionally they would see one or two old people sitting on their doorsteps shelling beans, glancing up at them with indifferent expressions.

After walking for about ten minutes, a three-story old building stood at the end of the road. Ivy climbed the white walls, there were two stone drums in front of the door, and the three characters "Jufuzhan" were written on the wooden plaque. The paint was mottled, and the last stroke of the ink was crooked, as if the writer's hand was shaking.

The door was open.

Behind the counter stood a middle-aged man, short and stout, with triangular eyes and a forced smile on his face. However, the direction of his smile lines was off—the corners of his mouth were raised, while his eyebrows drooped, making his face look like two expressions spliced ​​together.

"Are you art students? I've been waiting for you for ages." He flipped open a yellowed registration book. "There are eight rooms in total. Don't stay on the third floor, it leaks. There are six rooms on the second floor and two on the first floor. Choose whichever you like."

"Why isn't the third-floor leak being fixed?" Lin Yuanshan asked.

The boss raised his eyelids and glanced at him, a glint of shrewdness flashing in his triangular eyes: "What's the point of repairing it? Nobody lives here anyway."

There's nothing wrong with what you said, but the tone is strange. It's not like "no one lives there, so we won't fix it," but rather "that place is uninhabitable."

Zhou Lang wasn't in a hurry to choose a room; he was taking in the layout of the guesthouse. The first floor had a lobby and dining room, and the door to the kitchen was half-open, from which came the sound of chopping vegetables. Next to the counter was a narrow passageway leading to the backyard. The stairs were made of wood, creaking underfoot, and the paint on the handrails was peeling off.

There was a paper lantern in the corner, very old, with a picture of a lady painted on it.

"Whose lantern is that?" Zhou Lang asked.

The shopkeeper glanced at it and said, "Oh, that belongs to Sister Wang next door. She comes over to sit whenever she has time. She's a very kind person, and she made the lanterns herself."

The kitchen door was pushed open as soon as he finished speaking.

The woman who emerged was a large woman—not fat, but with a large frame, her shoulders broader than half the men present. She carried a basin of water, wore a gray apron, and her wet hair clung to her forehead.

"This is my wife," the owner introduced. "She cooks, so please make do with what you have."

The woman didn't speak, nor did she even glance at them. She carried the basin of water out through the side door. Zhou Lang saw her walking towards the lake through the crack in the door. Her gait was strange—her legs were stiff and straight, as if her knees couldn't bend.

Zhao Qiang leaned closer and whispered, "Brother Lang, that woman..."

"I saw it."

Zhou Lang withdrew his gaze.

A young woman, in her early twenties, stood at the top of the stairs, wearing an apron and holding a rag, wiping the stair railing. She was pretty, but her face was deathly pale, and her lips were chapped. Seeing Zhou Lang watching her, the girl lowered her head and quickened her wiping.

"That's Xiao Xu, a student working part-time while studying," the boss said. "He's a college student working my summer job."

A young couple sat hand-in-hand on a sofa in the lobby, dressed in matching outfits, seemingly tourists. The girl was flipping through a travel guide, while the boy was playing on his phone. They greeted Zhou Lang and his group warmly when they saw them.

"You live here too?" the boy asked. "That's great, there are so few people in this town, there's no one to talk to."

All five NPCs have made an appearance.

No, there are six.

A woman in her thirties, with curly hair and a floral dress, had appeared beside the lanterns by the entrance, carrying a bag of pastries. She greeted the shop owner with a smile, "Boss Zhang, I've brought some osmanthus cakes for your guests to try."