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

The tasks changed on the third day.

The butler summoned the four men to the hall and laid out four buckets of paint and four brushes.

"Today's task—paint the west corridor." The butler's voice was dry and monotonous. "Standards: no omissions, no drips, no air bubbles. Evaluation criteria are linked to salary."

Zhao Qiang stared at the bucket of paint, his face saying, "Here we go again."

The four men divided the tools and went to the west corridor. The corridor wasn't short, about fifty meters long from beginning to end. Xiong Batian painted the fastest, but his technique was rough, the paint was uneven, and there were several drips. Zhao Qiang worked meticulously, but he was too slow; Zhou Lang had finished painting ten meters while he had only painted three.

Han Yingying did her job properly, and became more and more skilled after figuring out the material of the wall.

Zhou Lang noticed a problem with the wall while he was halfway through painting.

The walls of the west corridor are not solid.

The brush made a different sound at certain spots—not the sharp "swish" of a solid wall, but a hollow "thump." He silently memorized these spots without making a sound.

During the lunch break, Zhao Qiang plopped down on the ground, rubbing his arm. "This manor is deliberately making things difficult for us. Yesterday we were chopping wood, today we're painting walls, and tomorrow are they going to make us lay floor tiles?"

"Maybe they'll make you dig up their graves," Zhou Lang added.

Zhao Qiang's face stiffened.

"Can't you say something nice?"

"Okay, I'll let you fill the grave tomorrow."

Han Yingying laughed out loud, then quickly composed herself. Zhao Qiang looked at the two of them with a look of utter despair, realizing he had made a mistake in choosing friends.

After lunch break, back to work.

Around 3 p.m., the accident happened.

When Xiong Batian finished painting the wall at the deepest part of the corridor, a crack appeared in the wall. It wasn't his doing—the wall cracked on its own, from top to bottom, as if something was pushing it open from the inside.

Black liquid seeped from the cracks.

"What is that?" Xiong Batian reflexively took two steps back.

The black liquid was flowing out of the cracks in the wall, spreading rapidly across the ground. Something was moving in the liquid—not insects, but fingers. Fingers emerged one by one, frantically scratching at the ground.

Zhou Lang immediately put down the brush and took out the chainsaw.

"Back off."

Xiong Batian hesitated for a moment before stepping back to Zhou Lang's side. Zhao Qiang and Han Yingying also stopped what they were doing and ran over.

The crack in the wall grew wider and wider. A hand reached out, then a second, then a third. The hands gripped the edge of the wall and began to climb out—something inside was trying to get out.

"We can't stay in the corridor," Zhou Lang judged quickly. "Let's move towards the lobby."

The four people ran back.

Reaching the middle of the corridor, another problem arose ahead. The previously painted walls began to bulge, one bulge after another pushing out from within the walls, as if someone behind the walls was banging their head against them.

"There are some up ahead too!" Zhao Qiang shouted.

Both ends of the corridor were blocked.

Zhou Lang scanned the area and his gaze fell on the hollow wall he had just marked.

"Over here."

He grabbed a chainsaw and rushed to the hollow wall, smashing it open. The wall crumbled under the chainsaw's cuts, revealing a small room behind it—about two or three square meters, completely empty and clean.

"Go in!"

The four people squeezed into the cubicle. Zhou Lang was the last to enter, turning to face the corridor.

The things that had crawled out of the walls filled the corridor. Not ghosts, but corpses—more precisely, the former servants killed by the murderous butler. They dragged their mutilated bodies through the corridor, aimless, directionless, just crawling on and on.

Zhou Lang took out an oil lamp and lit it.

As soon as the green light flashed, the corpses all stopped. They turned towards Zhou Lang, but didn't approach. The light from the oil lamp kept them at a safe distance.

"How long can it last?" Han Yingying asked the crucial question.

"I don't know," Zhou Lang said honestly. "Oil lamps have a limited number of uses."

The cubicle was quiet for a few seconds.

Xiong Batian leaned against the corner of the wall, examining the oil lamp in Zhou Lang's hand: "Where did this come from?"

"I found it."

"Where did you find it?"

"you guess."

Xiong Batian didn't ask any more questions.

Zhao Qiang squatted on the ground and counted the number of corpses. He stopped counting after seventeen, because the number was still increasing. The corridor was already packed full, with corpses piled on top of each other, and a few at the very bottom were still struggling.

"Zhou Lang, I have an idea," Han Yingying suddenly said.

"explain."

"These are the servants who were killed before, right? Could they be coming out of the wall because we're painting it?"

Zhou Lang did not deny it: "Go on."

"Painting is like sealing. The paint we apply seals them inside the wall. Now that the work is only half done, the seal isn't complete, and that's when they've escaped."

This reasoning makes sense.

"So what do we do? Keep going and finish?" Zhao Qiang's eyes widened. "There are dead people everywhere outside!"

"Let them go back," Han Yingying said.

She stared at the corpse in the corridor and raised her voice: "Go back! We won't bother you anymore after the painting is finished!"

With that shout, something strange happened.

The first few corpses stopped crawling, tilted their heads to look at Han Yingying, and then... actually started crawling back.

One by one, the corpses changed direction and slowly retreated back into the crack in the wall. First came those who came out later, then those who came out earlier, and they lined up to shrink back in.

The whole process lasted about two minutes. Once the last hand disappeared into the crack in the wall, the corridor returned to silence.

Only traces of black liquid remained on the ground.

Zhao Qiang opened his mouth, then closed it again. After a long pause, he finally said, "Sister Yingying, what did you do?"

Han Yingying herself was a little confused: "I just... called out once?"

Zhou Lang looked at Han Yingying without saying anything. But he noticed a detail—when Han Yingying shouted those words, a very faint light flashed in her eyes. It wasn't the reflection of an oil lamp.

"Never mind the reason." Zhou Lang put away the oil lamp. "While they're gone, hurry up and finish painting the walls."

Four people emerged from the cubicle and began painting with utmost urgency. This time, no one slacked off, and Xiong Batian's technique was three times more meticulous than before.

After working until 6 p.m., the entire corridor was finally painted. The freshly applied paint emitted a pungent smell, but the walls looked smooth without a single bump.

Zhou Lang checked one last time to make sure nothing was missed.

"Alright." He put down the brush.

At 7 p.m., the butler appeared as usual.

"Xiong Batian, good rating, salary 200."

"Zhao Qiang, excellent evaluation, salary 300."

"Han Yingying—"

The butler paused, and the slit at the corner of his mouth widened slightly on his expressionless face.

"Perfect review, salary 500."

Han Yingying was stunned for a moment. This was the first time she had received a perfect evaluation.

"Lang Li Ge Lang, perfect evaluation, salary 500. Bonus - 300 for outstanding performance in handling emergencies."

Zhou Lang paused for a moment as he took the money. 800 yuan; adding to what he had before, he now had 2000 yuan.