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

At the end of the stairs is a door.

It wasn't an iron gate, but a wooden one, looking excessively ordinary—most of the paint had peeled off, and a faint yellow light shone through the cracks. Zhou Lang pressed his ear against it; there was no sound inside. He pushed the door open.

The room was small, with stone walls on all four sides and a kerosene lamp hanging from the ceiling, its flame pitifully small. Several wooden crates were piled in the corner, and a table stood in the center, on which lay account books, an abacus, and a locked iron box.

Zhao Qiang glanced around and lowered his voice, "Is this the accounting office?"

"Underground accounting." Zhou Lang walked around the table and opened the account book.

The numbers were densely packed, but they weren't amounts—they were dates and names. Every page had names, followed by a string of numbers, and the last column uniformly displayed two words: "Inbound."

Han Yingying looked over from behind his shoulder, flipped through a few pages, and her expression changed: "Are these names... people who died in the manor?"

"It should be." Zhou Lang put the ledger back in its place and went to look at the iron box.

The lock was a combination lock, four digits. He glanced at it, didn't touch it, and instead pried open the wooden crates. The first crate contained old clothes, covered in a thick layer of dust. The second crate opened to reveal a pile of coins—exactly the same as the ones used for payday, at least several thousand, neatly stacked.

Zhao Qiang's eyes lit up, and he was about to reach out when Zhou Lang stopped him.

"Don't touch it."

Why?

Zhou Lang didn't answer, but glanced at the coins—they were too neatly arranged, more like they were on display than stored. He squatted down and used scissors to move the top few coins, wondering what was underneath.

It is a hand.

It was dry and huddled at the bottom of the box, its fingers curled up. Zhao Qiang suddenly took two steps back, crashing into the wall with a dull thud.

"Don't shout." Zhou Lang closed the box, stood up, his expression unchanged. "The third bite."

The third box contained an even older ledger, its cover torn, but the pages were still intact. Zhou Lang opened it, scanned it from beginning to end, and stopped at the last few pages.

Han Yingying leaned over to take a look. There were only two names on this page, followed by "Unresolved" instead of "Inventory".

One of the names was that of a stranger she had never met before.

Another name is: Killer Butler.

The three of them were silent for a few seconds.

"Killing the steward also incurs debt?" Zhao Qiang managed to utter this question.

"It owes the manor owner." Zhou Lang put the ledger into his backpack. "The manor has an owner; killing the butler isn't the top priority."

This conclusion made the atmosphere even heavier. Han Yingying wanted to say something, but swallowed it back and asked instead, "What about the metal box?"

Zhou Lang looked at the iron box again. Four digits. He tried the date on the last page of the ledger—wrong. He tried the manor's address—wrong. He looked up at the kerosene lamp, then at the abacus on the table, moved a few beads, and counted them.

"1743." He typed it into the lock, and the metal box opened.

Inside was a key, made of black iron, twice as heavy as a normal key. Engraved on the key were three words: Master Bedroom.

Zhao Qiang: "...Is this tonight's target?"

"It is now." Zhou Lang put the key into his pocket.

The three returned the way they came and climbed the stairs again. The ghosts in the corridor were still there. When the oil lamp shone on them, they retreated to the sides, but slower than when they went down—Zhou Lang noticed this detail, didn't say anything, but just quickened his pace by half a step.

As I returned to my room, a low, muffled sound came from the far end of the corridor, like something being dragged across the floor.

All the ghosts turned their heads to look in that direction at the same time.

Zhou Lang pushed Zhao Qiang and Han Yingying into the room, leaving himself at the door. The oil lamp was raised high, and there was nothing at the end of the corridor—but the ghosts were still staring in that direction, motionless, their breathing seemingly stopped.

He stood there for about twenty seconds, and then the voice disappeared.

The ghosts dispersed one by one and returned to their positions.

Zhou Lang entered the room, closed the door, and placed the key on the table.

"Where is the master bedroom?" Han Yingying asked.

"The third floor. I saw it during the day; it had a curtain hanging on the door, but no door number."

Zhao Qiang sat on the edge of the bed, going over the events of the evening in his mind, and finally spoke: "The sound at the end of the corridor..."

"I don't know," Zhou Lang said. "We'll talk about it tomorrow."

The next morning, the butler, as usual, gathered everyone together to assign tasks.

Zhou Lang was assigned to clean the third floor—he wasn't surprised, but Xiong Batian gave him a look that was ambiguous.

There are five rooms on the third floor. Four of them have room numbers, and the innermost room has a thick, dark blue curtain hanging at its door, covering everything completely. Zhou Lang cleaned the other four rooms first before walking to the curtain and lifting a corner of it.

The lights were off inside, and the curtains were drawn, making it pitch black. He listened intently, but there was no sound. He gripped the keys in his pocket and pushed open the door.

The master bedroom is twice the size of the other rooms. In the center is a large bed with a canopy hanging down, obscuring the view. To the left, against the wall, is a dressing table with a mirror covered by a black cloth. To the right is a bookshelf, containing very few books, with most shelves empty.

Zhou Lang glanced around and walked towards the bookshelf.

Most of the books were accounts, consistent with the style of the basement. He pulled one out, flipped through a few pages, and a piece of paper fell out from between the pages.

There was only one line of text on the paper: Third layer, seventh compartment, third book from the left.

He put the book back and went to the third shelf, seventh compartment. The third book from the left was a thin booklet without a title. Opening it, he found a rulebook, hastily written but with clear content:

"The operation of the manor depends on three things: the ledger, the key, and the master's token. The ledger records all debts, the key opens the master's room, and the master's token controls the butler. The holder of the token is the manor owner, who can control everything within the manor, including the butler."

Zhou Lang flipped to the last page of the booklet; it was blank, with nothing on it.

"Where is the master's command?" he asked the air, but no one answered.

He put the booklet into his backpack and began to actually clean the room—he was there to work, at least outwardly. He swept the floor, wiped the table, went around to the bed, and lifted a corner of the bed curtains.

There's someone in bed.

It wasn't alive, but not quite dead either—it was a withered form, huddled under the covers, its skin yellowish, its eyes open, its pupils grayish-white. It looked at Zhou Lang, its mouth moved slightly, but no sound came out.

Zhou Lang: "...Are you the owner of the manor?"

The figure nodded, the movement slow but clear.

"Where's the master's command?"

Its mouth moved again. Zhou Lang leaned closer and heard a very soft whisper: "Butler..."

"It's with the butler." Zhou Lang straightened up. "Okay, I understand."

He lowered the curtain and continued cleaning the remaining area. After finishing, he carried the bucket out and closed the door behind him.

In the corridor, Zhao Qiang was wiping the railings. Seeing him come out, he lowered his voice and asked, "How was it?"

"I've found the strategy," Zhou Lang said. "Let's find a way to get the things from the butler."