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

Zhao Qianshan remained silent for a while.

"I know some clues," he said, "but I can't tell you yet."

"I'll tell you when you become stronger."

Zhou Lang didn't ask any more questions and returned to his room.

Lying in bed, he closed his eyes, his mind filled with Zhao Qianshan's words.

The resurrection ritual, the monster in the basement, and the whereabouts of the older sister.

All of this was like a tangled mess, leaving him unable to make sense of it.

But he knew that the real test would only begin tomorrow.

The next morning, Zhou Lang got up early.

He checked the equipment; the chainsaw, scissors, and oil lamp were all there.

The bandaged man has almost recovered. Although he is still a bit weak, he can at least fight.

"Are you really going to the basement?" the bandaged man asked. "It's dangerous there."

"I know," Zhou Lang said, "but I had no choice."

"Be careful," the bandaged man said. "If you encounter any danger, remember to call me."

"Although I'm weak right now, I can at least block for you."

Zhou Lang smiled and said, "Thanks."

At nine o'clock sharp, he arrived at the entrance to the basement.

The iron gate was already open, and it was pitch black inside.

Zhou Lang took a deep breath, held up the oil lamp, and went inside.

The passage was still the same, but this time there was no forest.

He walked downhill and soon reached the end.

The wooden door, still covered in symbols, was still there, but this time it was open.

Zhou Lang walked in, and the scene before him stunned him.

This isn't a scary place; it's just an ordinary room.

The room has a bed, a table, and a bookshelf.

The bookshelves were filled with books, making it look like someone's study.

"You've arrived."

A voice came from deep within the room.

Zhou Lang turned around and saw a person sitting in a chair in the corner.

He was a young man, who looked to be in his twenties, wearing a white hospital gown.

His face was pale, but his eyes were bright.

"Are you that monster?" Zhou Lang asked.

The young man laughed.

"A monster?" He shook his head. "I'm just a patient."

"A patient trapped here."

Zhou Lang frowned: "What do you want to do?"

"I want to live," the young man said, "just like you."

"So I need your help."

"Will you be resurrected?"

"No," the young man shook his head, "I don't need to be resurrected, because I've never died."

"I'm just stuck here, unable to leave."

"And you can help me leave."

Zhou Lang looked at him warily: "How can I help?"

Zhou Lang walked forward, holding an oil lamp. The green light illuminated a narrow passage. Iron chains were nailed to the walls on both sides, with dried bloodstains still hanging on them.

"People used to be imprisoned here." Han Yingying's voice trembled.

"It's not just about imprisoning people," Zhao Qiang pointed to the ground, "Look at those scratch marks, no human could have made those."

Zhou Lang crouched down and examined the ground carefully. The scratches were deep, as if they had been dug out with something sharp, and in some places, bone fragments could even be seen.

"Keep going."

At the end of the passage was an iron gate, unlocked, but Zhou Lang knew that this was the second gate the bandaged man had mentioned.

He took out a pair of scissors from his pocket and cut his finger. Blood seeped out and dripped onto the door.

The iron gate opened slowly with a screeching sound.

Behind the door was a larger space, like an operating room. In the center was a rusty operating table with straps strapped to it, and various surgical instruments were placed on a trolley next to it.

But what's most eye-catching are the photos hanging on the wall.

The photos are densely packed, each one showing a different person. There are men and women, young and old, but the only thing they have in common is that they are all dead.

"These are all..." Han Yingying covered her mouth.

"Previous players," Zhou Lang said, approaching the wall and examining the photos closely. "Or rather, materials."

The photos are also labeled with dates and numbers. The earliest one is from three years ago, and the most recent one is from last month.

Zhou Lang counted them; there were a total of forty-seven photos.

"Forty-seven people..." Zhao Qiang's voice changed, "How many people has this game actually killed?"

"There's much more than that," Zhou Lang said, pointing to the corner of the wall. "There's another pile over there."

More photos were piled up in the corner, some of them yellowed and moldy, making the faces in them unrecognizable.

Zhou Lang flipped through a few pages, then suddenly stopped.

One of the photos shows a young woman wearing a white coat, smiling gently.

The back of the photo reads: "Zhou Wan, the first homeroom teacher."

Zhou Lang's hands began to tremble.

"What's wrong?" Han Yingying noticed his unusual behavior.

"It's nothing," Zhou Lang said, stuffing the photo into his pocket. "Keep looking."

He didn't want anyone to see him lose his composure. His sister's photo being here meant she'd also been to this basement. But where was she now? Was she dead, or had she escaped?

Zhou Lang forced himself to calm down. Now was not the time to think about these things.

On the other side of the operating room was another door with strange symbols drawn on it, which looked like some kind of incantation.

"This is the third door." Zhou Lang took a deep breath.

The bandaged man had said that only those who truly want to die could open this door. But Zhou Lang didn't want to die; he still needed to find his sister.

"Make yourself believe that what you want most is behind that door..."

Zhou Lang closed his eyes, and his sister's face appeared in his mind.

She always smiled, and even when life was tough, she never showed weakness in front of him. After their parents were in a car accident when he was young, his older sister raised him alone.

She once said that as long as he lived well, anything she did would be worthwhile.

Zhou Lang opened his eyes and placed his hand on the door.

The door didn't move.

"It really didn't work..."

Just as he was about to give up, the door suddenly clicked.

The door opened.

"How did you do that?" Zhao Qiang asked, his eyes wide.

Zhou Lang didn't answer. He didn't know why the door opened either, but now wasn't the time to dwell on that.

Behind the door was a deeper passage, at the end of which light could be faintly seen.

The three of them went inside, and the walls on both sides of the passage were covered with inscriptions.

"Help..."

"Let me out..."

"I don't want to die..."

"It's eating me..."

Every word was filled with despair and fear. Zhou Lang could imagine how much pain those people were in before they died.

At the end of the passage was a huge room with a high ceiling and countless iron chains hanging from the walls. In the center of the room was a huge glass jar containing something.

When Zhou Lang got closer and took a look, he froze.

There was a person soaking in the jar.

To be precise, he is a person pieced together from different parts.

Its head is that of a child, its body is that of an adult man, and its limbs come from different people; the whole body is like a Frankenstein's monster.

The scariest thing is that it's still alive.

Those eyes opened and stared intently at Zhou Lang.

"New...materials..."

The sound came from the jar, and it sounded like countless people talking at the same time.

"You're the dean's favorite patient?" Zhou Lang forced himself to remain calm.

"I...I'm not a patient..." the thing said, "I'm...a work of art..."