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

"There were a lot of footsteps in the hallway," Lin Zhou said in a low voice. "I peeked out through the crack in the door—"

"What did you see?" Han Yingying asked.

Lin Zhou shook his head: "I didn't see anything. The corridor was very dark, but the footsteps were right at the door."

"That's right," Zhou Lang said. "If you can't see it, it means you're fine. If you can see it, then something's wrong."

Lin Zhou's face turned even paler.

Song Ming and Chen Xue were the last to come down. Chen Xue had changed into a floral dress, her hair was tied in a ponytail, and she greeted everyone with a smile. Song Ming followed behind her, his expression normal.

Han Yingying noticed a detail—after Song Ming sat down, he moved his chair closer to Chen Xue, but his body weight was tilted in the opposite direction.

subtle.

After breakfast, Han Yingying went back to her room and began studying her art supplies. She had never studied painting in her previous life, but her identity as an "art student" gave her some basic skills—when she picked up a paintbrush, her fingers naturally found the correct way to hold it, and some basic concepts of composition also came to mind.

The abilities granted by my identity aren't particularly strong, but they're sufficient.

She casually made a few strokes on the canvas to test the texture of the paint. The oil paint was thick and heavy, and when mixing it, there was a strange sticky feeling, as if she were stirring something that shouldn't be stirred.

At ten o'clock, she carried her easel to the hall.

The lobby has the best lighting; the sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows is filtered by the mist and becomes soft, diffused light, perfect for painting.

She set up the easel and began to observe the paintings on the wall.

The bamboo grove painting, which displayed the rules last night, now has its inscriptions removed, leaving only a plain bamboo grove image. Next to it are three other paintings: one landscape, one flower and bird, and one—

Han Yingying walked closer to take a look.

The fourth painting depicts the guesthouse itself. It's a three-story wooden building with two red lanterns and seven people standing at the entrance.

Seven people.

She counted it once. Then she counted it again.

The seven people in the painting are dressed in the exact same clothes they wore when they arrived last night. But there's one problem—there's an extra person in the painting.

There were seven people when I arrived last night, but among the seven people in the painting, there was a man in a gray long robe whose face was blurred, as if it had been soaked by water.

Eight people? No, she looked again—there were seven, but one of them had been replaced. The person who was supposed to be standing there was gone, replaced by someone in a gray long gown.

Which location?

Based on the clothing comparison, Han Yingying concluded that the person whose position had been replaced should be Chen Xue.

She took a step back, her heart racing.

"It's really well drawn."

The voice came from behind, and Han Yingying almost jumped up.

Chen Xue stood behind her, tilting her head to look at the painting with an appreciative expression on her face.

"Are you drawing this?" Chen Xue pointed to Han Yingying's blank canvas.

Han Yingying's mouth moved slightly, then closed again.

Rule 3: Do not talk to guests who "should not be there".

But is Chen Xue really her? Her name isn't on the register, and that strange situation happened on the bus. Her position in the painting was replaced... The evidence points to her, but Han Yingying isn't 100% sure.

What if I made a mistake?

"You must be really good at drawing," Chen Xue said to herself. "I learned to draw when I was little, but I didn't keep it up."

Han Yingying didn't say anything, turned to face the canvas, picked up her paintbrush and began to paint.

She painted the fog outside the window. A white base, layered with gray and light blue to create depth. Her hands moved, her mind raced.

We can't talk to her directly, but we can use another method—as Zhou Lang said last night, let her be a model.

Han Yingying put down her paintbrush, picked up a piece of sketch paper and a pencil, made a "sit" gesture to Chen Xue, and pointed to the chair next to her.

Body language does not count as conversation.

Chen Xue blinked and smiled: "You're going to draw me?"

Han Yingying nodded.

"Great!" Chen Xue happily sat down in the chair and struck a pose. "Is this okay?"

Han Yingying gave a thumbs up.

She began to sketch. The pencil scratched on the paper, and Chen Xue sat opposite her, maintaining her smile.

The Conman skill is triggered by "extracting information during a conversation," but Han Yingying discovered a workaround—she doesn't need to speak; she only needs to make the other person talk, and then capture key information from their words. The skill automatically analyzes the truthfulness of the other person's speech.

"You're drawing so intently," Chen Xue said. "My boyfriend never looks at me this intently."

Han Yingying's skill provided feedback—that statement is true.

interesting.

"We were college classmates," Chen Xue continued. "We've been together for three years. He used to be very romantic, but now all he does is look at his phone all day."

real.

"It was my suggestion to come to the guesthouse this time, because I wanted to recapture that feeling from before."

real.

"Actually, I'm a little scared." Chen Xue's voice lowered. "Last night I had a dream that I was standing in front of a mirror, but the person in the mirror wasn't me."

Han Yingying's pencil paused for a moment.

Skill feedback—that statement is only half true.

The dream was real, but the description "the person in the mirror isn't me" is problematic. It's not "not me," but rather—

Before Han Yingying could think it through, Chen Xue's next words came.

"Tell me, how can a person be sure they are themselves?"

The skill did not provide any feedback.

This is not a statement, but an interrogative sentence, so there is no true or false statement. But the question itself is strange.

Han Yingying lowered her head and continued drawing, her hands steady, but her mind was in turmoil.

Chen Xue finished her sketch, and Han Yingying turned the paper over to show her.

"Wow, it looks just like me!" Chen Xue leaned closer to look, then suddenly frowned. "But... you drew my eyes wrong."

Han Yingying examined the painting—it wasn't wrong. Both eyes were normal almond-shaped, with pupils centered; there was nothing wrong with them.

Chen Xue pointed to the left eye in the painting: "This one. This one isn't mine."

Han Yingying stared at the left eye in the painting for three seconds, then looked up at Chen Xue's own left eye.

The same.

Chen Xue smiled and stood up: "Thank you for drawing my portrait. I'm going to find Song Ming now."

After she left, Han Yingying turned the sketch paper over and quickly wrote down a few keywords on the back: mirror, identity swap, left eye.

At this moment, Zhou Lang came down the stairs, holding a retro film camera in his hand—a prop for the photographer.

Han Yingying pulled him aside and whispered what had just happened.

After listening, Zhou Lang asked a question she hadn't expected: "When you were drawing her, did you feel like something was off?"

"What do you mean?"

"Drawing requires careful observation of the subject. When you were observing her, did you notice anything...inconsistent?"

Han Yingying recalled the process of sketching.

"Yes," she said, "her shadow."

Zhou Lang waited for her to continue.

"When I draw a sketch, I need to pay attention to the relationship between light and shadow. The window is on her left, the light is coming from the left, and the shadow should be on the right. But her shadow—" Han Yingying swallowed, "her shadow is on the left. On the same side as the light source."