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

"Mountain," Zhao Qiang said confidently.

"Are you sure it's not a pile of shit?"

"You're the one who drew shit." Zhao Qiang flipped the drawing over. "It's just the angle."

Zhou Lang ignored him and focused his attention on the incense and candle shop.

Around ten o'clock in the morning, a woman walked into the incense and candle shop. She was in her thirties, wearing a light blue dress, her hair loose over her shoulders, and she walked with an indescribable sense of timidity. She stayed in the shop for about fifteen minutes, and came out carrying a paper bag.

Zhou Lang called out to her.

"Hello, we are students here for sketching. Can we ask you something?"

The woman glanced at him, her eyes slightly evasive, but she stopped anyway: "Ask away."

"What are the lanterns in this shop made of? The one by the door looks quite unique."

The woman's expression changed. It was only for a moment, and she quickly returned to normal, but Zhou Lang noticed it.

"I'm not sure, you should ask the shop owner," the woman said before quickly leaving.

Zhao Qiang listened intently the whole time. "She seemed really afraid of that lantern."

Zhou Lang put down his charcoal pencil, stood up, and walked into the incense and candle shop.

The shop was dimly lit, with offerings such as incense, candles, and paper money scattered everywhere. Behind the counter sat an old man, over sixty years old, thin and frail, with black stains embedded in his fingernails.

"Buying something?" the old man asked.

"Take a look." Zhou Lang casually picked up a stack of paper money and flipped through it. "Boss, did you make those lanterns at the entrance yourself?"

The old man looked up at him, his gaze scrutinizing him.

"A family heirloom craft."

"What kind of leather did you use?"

This statement was dropped without any preamble.

The old man's hand stopped on the counter. There was a three-second silence.

"Cowhide."

"The leather doesn't have that pattern," Zhou Lang said.

The old man stared at him for a long time, then smiled. That smile sent chills down Zhao Qiang's spine.

"Young man, you know quite a lot," the old man said, "but some things are useless even if you know them. Buy what you want, or leave if you don't."

An order to leave.

Zhou Lang didn't insist and left the shop with Zhao Qiang.

Once outside, Zhao Qiang grabbed his arm: "Tell me the truth, what kind of leather was that lantern made of?"

"You really want to know?"

Zhao Qiang hesitated for a moment: "Never mind, I don't want to know."

Back at the guesthouse at noon, Sister Liu was busy in the kitchen. Zhou Lang deliberately slowed his pace as he passed the kitchen door. The kitchen was filled with the aroma of food; Sister Liu was standing in front of the stove cooking, her apron neatly tied. Everything seemed normal.

But Zhou Lang noticed a photograph hanging on the wall next to the stove.

The photo shows two people, a man and a woman. The woman is Sister Liu, who looks a few years younger and is smiling happily. The man is in his early thirties, with a square face and thick eyebrows, and has his arm around Sister Liu's shoulder.

"Sister Liu's husband?" Zhou Lang asked, standing at the door.

Sister Liu glanced back at him and smiled, "Yes, but he's gone. He passed away three years ago."

"How did you get there?"

"Get ill."

Sister Liu spoke in a very calm tone, so calm it seemed off. A woman whose husband has died shouldn't be so calm when talking about it, unless she had rehearsed this answer repeatedly.

During the afternoon's sketching time, Zhou Lang didn't paint. He asked Zhao Qiang to cover for him while he went around to the back of the guesthouse.

The backyard wasn't big; a few clothes were hanging out to dry, and there was a well in the corner. The well was covered with a stone slab, and a large stone was placed on top of the slab—deliberately sealing it off.

Zhou Lang didn't touch the stone. It wouldn't be wise to touch the core area the very next day. Instead, he checked the exterior structure of the guesthouse. It was a three-story building with six rooms on each floor, and water pipes ran along the exterior walls. He followed the pipes and noticed that one section on the second floor was noticeably newer than the others—as if it had been replaced later.

three years ago.

Sister Liu's husband died three years ago. The people in town are reluctant to talk about what happened three years ago. The lantern at the door is made of human skin.

These fragments began to piece together a shape in Zhou Lang's mind.

In the evening, everyone returned to the guesthouse. The atmosphere at the dinner table was much more tense than the day before; the commotion last night had put all the players on high alert. Even the NPCs were quieter than during the day.

The man in the baseball cap seized an opportunity to sidle up to Zhou Lang: "Hey bro, what did you find out?"

"Tell me what you found out first," Zhou Lang countered.

The man in the baseball cap paused for a moment, then shook his head with a smile: "I found out that a woman went missing in town three years ago. Her surname was Chen, she lived at the east end of town, and had a husband who was a cook. The official explanation was that she left the town, but her household registration was never transferred."

Where is her husband?

"He's gone too. He died a few months after disappearing, supposedly from drinking pesticide." The baseball cap shrugged. "But the old doctor at the clinic let slip that the man wasn't quite right in the head before he died; he kept saying he saw his wife inside a lantern."

Inside the lantern.

Everything is in place.

Zhou Lang whispered three words: "Human skin lantern."

The baseball cap's face paled for a moment, but he recovered quickly, showing he was an experienced player. "One of the seven anomalies?"

"It's hard to say. There might be more than one." Zhou Lang didn't give a definitive answer.

At ten o'clock, the lights went out.

The second night began.

This time, there were more than just footsteps.

Around 10:30, the familiar sound of slippers rubbing together echoed in the corridor. But unlike last night, the footsteps lingered longer in front of each door. When they reached the door of room 301, Zhou Lang heard another sound.

Tick.

The sound of water.

His gaze shifted to the area below the door. There was a gap about two fingers wide between the door and the floor. A puddle of water was slowly seeping into that gap.

No, it's not water.

The liquid appeared dark red and viscous under the lamplight, with a fishy-sweet smell.

Zhao Qiang saw it too; he was huddled under the covers with only his eyes showing. His lips moved, but he couldn't utter a single word.

At the same time, a sound came from the bathroom.

The faucet is running.

No one touched it, but the tap turned on by itself. The water flow was very weak, but it wasn't normal tap water—it was yellowish and had an indescribable sour smell.

Zhou Lang stared at the bathroom door frame.

A hand extends from the running water from the faucet.

The hand was very white, with slender fingers and neatly manicured nails, like the hand of a housewife. It slowly extended outwards with the flow of water, first the fingers, then the palm, and then the wrist—

It stopped when it extended its forearm.

It can't reach any further.

The red liquid seeping into the room through the crack in the door was also moving very slowly, still a long way from the foot of the bed.

The rule for the second day: they can slip through water and door cracks to partially enter the body, but cannot go all the way in.

This is Zhou Lang's judgment.

The question is—does anyone else know this rule?

The answer will be revealed in ten seconds.

A scream came from room 304, followed by the sound of something falling and the door opening. Someone rushed out of the room.

Zhou Lang cursed and jumped out of bed.

"What are you doing!" Zhao Qiang shouted from behind.

"Someone opened the door."