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

Similar labels appeared next to the names of the other people. Han Yingying quickly glanced at them: Zhou Lang was labeled "Photographer," the man in the plaid shirt was labeled "Writer," the couple was labeled "Tour Guide," the couple was labeled "Chef," and the big guy was labeled "Carpenter."

Then, the rules came into being.

It wasn't a pop-up window or a system notification sound, but a painting on the lobby wall—originally depicting a bamboo forest, with lines of text slowly emerging from the gaps between the bamboo leaves:

[Instance: Misty Manor]

[Rank: B]

[Mission: Complete a three-day homestay experience and leave alive]

[Rule 1: Each guest has one identity. Please complete the work corresponding to your identity within three days.]

[Rule 2: Please do not leave your room between midnight and 5 a.m.]

[Rule 3: There are "guests who should not be present" in the resort. Please do not talk to them.]

[Rule 4: If a guest is found who should not be there, please write their name in the register.]

[Rule 5: Complete all works and correctly label all "guests who should not exist" to pass the level]

[Hidden Hint: A secret is hidden in the paintings at the villa]

Han Yingying read the rules twice and noticed several key points.

First, what about the "guest who shouldn't be there"—does the girlfriend on the bus count?

Second, the rules state that you cannot talk to "guests who shouldn't be there," but they don't say you can't observe them.

Third, the hidden hint mentioned paintings. There are several paintings in the lobby, and there should be more in the corridor.

She looked at Zhou Lang, who was staring at the bamboo forest painting on the wall, his gaze shifting back and forth over the words.

"Please collect your room keys yourselves," Ah Xiu's voice came from the front desk. "Dinner is ready in the restaurant on the first floor."

Han Yingying took the key to room 206. Zhou Lang took the key to room 208, which was right next to hers.

As he reached for his keys, the man in the plaid shirt's hand trembled, and the keys fell to the floor, the metallic sound of them striking the wooden floor echoing crisply in the quiet hall. He bent down to pick them up and gave Han Yingying an awkward smile.

"My name is Lin Zhou," he initiated the conversation. "This is my first time playing this kind of... uh, game."

Han Yingying nodded: "Relax and just follow the rules."

She found it ironic to say that. Last time at the haunted manor, she almost died on the first night.

Dinner was in the restaurant on the first floor, at a round table where six people sat. The dishes were plentiful, including braised pork, steamed fish, stir-fried seasonal vegetables, and a pot of steaming chicken soup.

The big guy was the first to pick up his chopsticks, grabbed a piece of braised pork, stuffed it into his mouth, chewed it a couple of times, and gave a thumbs up: "It tastes good."

He introduced himself as Qian Hu, a construction worker, with a loud voice and a straightforward personality. Han Yingying thought he was a bit like Zhao Qiang; both were the type who were rough around the edges but not unpleasant.

The man in the couple was named Song Ming. He didn't talk much and kept observing his surroundings while eating. His girlfriend, Chen Xue, kept putting food on his plate and had two dimples when she smiled.

When Han Yingying looked at Chen Xue, the scene in the car automatically replayed in her mind—her head turned 180 degrees, her eyes rolled back, and her mouth stretched to her ears.

She looked away and picked up a piece of green vegetable with her chopsticks.

Zhou Lang sat to her right, eating at a moderate pace and remaining silent throughout. However, Han Yingying noticed that his chopsticks didn't touch the chicken soup.

She didn't touch it either.

After dinner, everyone went back to their rooms. Han Yingying's room wasn't big; it had a single bed, a desk with an easel, canvas, and a set of paints on it.

Props used to identify art students.

She picked up a tube of paint, turned it over to look at the back—the production date section was blank.

She put down the paints and began to check the room. The area under the bed was clean, there were only two empty clothes hangers in the closet, the bathroom mirror was not cracked, and there was nothing hidden in the toilet tank.

knocking.

Han Yingying opened the door, and there was Zhou Lang.

"Come in and talk." She stepped aside to let her pass.

Zhou Lang came in and didn't sit down. Instead, he leaned against the desk and got straight to the point: "There's something wrong with the woman in the car."

"I know," Han Yingying said, "She turned her head at the wrong angle."

"More than that," Zhou Lang said. "When we got on the bus, there were five people plus the two of us, making seven. But there are only six names on the register."

Han Yingying recalled—yes, there were six names and six keys on the register. Seven people, one is missing.

"Chen Xue did not sign," Zhou Lang said.

Han Yingying's pupils contracted slightly.

"So she's a 'guest who shouldn't exist'?"

"At least one of them. The rule says 'all,' which means more than one."

Han Yingying thought for a moment: "Does Song Ming know? His girlfriend..."

"It's hard to say," Zhou Lang said calmly. "He might know, he might not. Or maybe he's not even human."

These words sent a chill down Han Yingying's spine.

"Rule number three says you can't talk to 'guests who shouldn't exist,'" she said, "but my con artist skills—"

She paused.

Zhou Lang looked at her.

Han Yingying hesitated for two seconds before saying, "I have a skill called 'The Deceiver,' which allows me to extract information during conversations without the other person noticing. But the prerequisite is that the other person has to speak to me."

"The rule says you can't initiate a conversation with it," Zhou Lang said. "But what if it speaks to you first?"

Han Yingying blinked.

"The original wording of the rule is 'Do not talk to them,' without distinguishing between active and passive participants," she said.

"That depends on how you interpret it," Zhou Lang said. "You can try not to talk to them directly, but to try to get information out of them in other ways."

"In what way?"

"You're an art student," Zhou Lang said, pointing to the easel on the table. "You can hire a model when you're painting. Let it be your model; you don't need to talk to it, but it might talk to you on its own."

Han Yingying paused for a moment, then smiled.

This brain circuit is indeed different from that of a normal person.

"Okay," she said. "I'll try it tomorrow."

Zhou Lang nodded and turned to leave. But he stopped at the door.

"Lock the door at night and don't open it. Don't open it no matter what noise you hear."

The door closed.

Han Yingying locked the door twice and then propped a chair under the doorknob. She lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing with various thoughts.

At 11:58, footsteps could be heard in the corridor.

It wasn't just one person's footsteps—it was many, densely packed, like rain.

Han Yingying pulled the blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes.

The footsteps paused briefly at her doorway before continuing onward.

She didn't open her eyes, but her palms were sweaty.

The next morning at seven o'clock, Han Yingying was awakened by birdsong.

I drew back the curtains, and outside was a thick, impenetrable fog, a white expanse where nothing could be seen more than three meters away. But the birdsong was clear, chirping and chattering, carrying an incongruous air of joy.

After washing up, she went downstairs and found three people already seated in the dining room. Qian Hu was eating a steamed bun, Lin Zhou had a bowl of porridge in front of him but hadn't touched it, and Zhou Lang was drinking plain water.

"Good morning." Han Yingying sat down next to Zhou Lang.

"Good morning," Lin Zhou replied, his expression not good. "Did you hear anything last night?"

"What was that sound?" Qian Hu mumbled, his mouth stuffed with steamed buns.