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

[Important Information for Residents of Wangshan]

1. Please do not go out after 10 p.m. There are many wild animals in the mountains, so please be careful.

2. If you hear a knock on the door, please verify the identity of the person who came in.

3. Entry to the storage room at the end of the corridor is prohibited.

4. Please contact the front desk if you encounter any problems.

5. Please do not waste water resources, as water supply is limited in the evening.

Of the five rules, two are noteworthy. The third rule prohibits entry into the storage room; such forbidden areas are often the most crucial. The fifth rule states that water supply is limited at night—considering the strange occurrences mentioned in the dungeon information, water might be a key point.

Zhao Qiang leaned over to look, his expression grim: "Knocking to confirm identity first, does that mean something will come knocking tonight?"

"Highly likely."

"That's great," Zhao Qiang said, but there was no real sense of "great" in his tone.

The afternoon was free time. Teacher Lin explained that sketching would officially begin tomorrow, and today was for getting familiar with the environment. Zhou Lang didn't waste any time, taking Zhao Qiang for a walk around the town. Han Yingying ran into them at the guesthouse and followed them.

Cangling Town is smaller than it looks. The main street is only a ten-minute walk from the end, and there are only a few shops on both sides—a general store, a noodle shop, a clinic, and an incense and candle shop. Several lanterns hang in front of the incense and candle shop, one of which looks a bit strange; it doesn't look like paper or cloth.

Zhou Lang stopped and stared at the lantern for a few more seconds.

"What's wrong?" Han Yingying asked.

"It's nothing." Zhou Lang withdrew his gaze and continued walking forward.

But he remembered that lantern.

The material, how should I put it—if he wasn't mistaken, was somewhat like leather. Human skin.

The townspeople were friendly and answered all their questions, but everyone avoided mentioning one thing: what happened in town three years ago. Zhou Lang asked the grocery store owner, who simply smiled and changed the subject. He asked the noodle shop waiter, who said he was late and didn't know.

three years ago.

Zhou Lang memorized this timeline.

At six o'clock in the evening, everyone returned to the guesthouse for dinner. Sister Liu's cooking skills were indeed excellent. A table full of home-style dishes, including braised pork, stir-fried seasonal vegetables, and sour fish soup, were so delicious that Zhao Qiang ate three bowls of rice.

At the dinner table, Zhou Lang noticed that the person in the baseball cap kept observing Sister Liu. The burly man, on the other hand, ate in silence, ignoring everyone. The girl in the black hoodie sat next to Han Yingying, and the two occasionally exchanged a few words, seemingly getting along well.

"Sister Liu, how long has this guesthouse been open?" Zhou Lang suddenly asked.

Sister Liu was serving soup to everyone when she heard this and paused: "It's been five years."

"How's business?"

"It's alright, it's usually fully booked during peak season."

"Has anything happened before?"

There was a brief silence at the table after those words. Sister Liu's smile remained unchanged, but she ladled the soup a little faster than before.

"What could possibly happen? This place is perfectly safe."

Zhou Lang didn't ask any further questions.

After dinner, it quickly grew dark. Night falls earlier in the mountains than in the city; it was already pitch black outside the window just after seven o'clock. Around eight o'clock, the lights in the corridor flickered twice.

Zhao Qiang was looking at a map on his phone in bed—the game provided them with phones as props—when the light flashed, he tensed up.

"Don't worry, it's probably just unstable voltage," Zhou Lang said.

I don't believe a single word you say.

At 9:30, Sister Liu's voice came from downstairs: "Students, get some rest. You have to get up early to draw tomorrow."

At 10 o'clock sharp, the corridor lights went out.

The only light in the room came from the small desk lamp. Outside, it was pitch black; even the moon was obscured by clouds. There were no streetlights in the town—at least not from their angle.

Zhao Qiang pulled the blanket up to his chin, stared at the ceiling, and listened intently.

Nothing happened for the first half hour.

Then--

Footsteps echoed in the corridor.

The footsteps were light and slow, like someone shuffling along the wooden floor in slippers. They walked from one end of the corridor to the other and back again, pausing briefly at each door.

The footsteps stopped when they reached the entrance of 301.

Zhao Qiang held his breath.

I stood outside the door for about ten seconds, then the footsteps continued forward and gradually faded away.

Five minutes later, a barely suppressed scream came from the next room. It was unclear who had finally let out a scream.

Zhou Lang leaned against the headboard, clutching an oil lamp in his hand, but did not light it.

The first night was exploratory. They were merely confirming the location of their prey.

That night, there was no further movement.

When it gets light, Zhao Qiang's dark circles could make him look like a panda.

At seven o'clock in the morning, the sunlight streamed into the room precisely on time.

The oppressive feeling from last night had completely dissipated. Birds chirped and insects hummed outside the window, and the mountain breeze carried the fresh scent of grass and trees. Zhao Qiang lay on the bed catching up on sleep, drool soaking his pillow. Zhou Lang had already finished washing up and opened the window to let in some fresh air.

The forest behind the mountain shone brightly green in the morning light, looking completely harmless.

But Zhou Lang noticed a detail: on the hillside behind the mountain, there was a small area where all the trees were dead. Not the normal yellowing of autumn, but dead—the branches were bare, grayish in color, and completely out of place with the surrounding greenery.

He took a picture and saved it to his phone.

Breakfast was served in the lobby on the first floor. Sister Liu was as warm and attentive as ever, offering a full range of dishes including porridge, steamed buns, and pickled vegetables. Zhou Lang glanced around; eleven out of twelve students were present, one was missing.

"Where's that guy from room 303?" Zhou Lang asked the person next to him.

The person sitting next to him was wearing a baseball cap. He was probably in his early twenties, lean, with a small mole on his chin, and looked like someone with a story to tell.

"I don't know, maybe they're still sleeping?" The baseball cap lowered his voice. "Did you hear any noise over there last night too?"

"Um."

"My roommate almost opened the door to check," the baseball cap said, pursing his lips. "I stopped him."

As soon as he finished speaking, the boy from room 303 came down. Zhou Lang had previously judged him to be an NPC, but now, seeing his absent-minded appearance, he wasn't so sure anymore.

Han Yingying sat down opposite Zhou Lang with her bowl of porridge. She looked around to make sure no one was watching before speaking, "The faucet in our room dripped all night last night."

"Can't turn it off?"

"It can be turned off, but it turns back on by itself after a while. The constant ticking is driving my roommate crazy."

Zhou Lang stopped eating with his chopsticks.

The fifth rule in the guest notice states that water supply is limited in the evenings. However, the faucet in Han Yingying's room is constantly dripping. What does this mean?

Either the rules are lying, or the water isn't from a normal water supply system.

"Pay close attention to the direction of the water pipes today," Zhou Lang said.

Han Yingying nodded.

After breakfast, Teacher Lin led everyone to choose sketching spots around the town. Zhou Lang wasn't particularly interested in painting, but given his position, he had to put on a show. He found a spot not far from the incense and candle shop, set up his easel, spread out his sketchbook, and pretended to paint.

Zhao Qiang sat next to him and drew for ten minutes, producing a lump of something.

"What's this?" Zhou Lang glanced at it.