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

The dungeon entrance is located in the factory's basement.

When the iron gate was opened, a damp, musty smell wafted out. Zhou Lang noticed dark red rust marks on the edge of the door frame, unsure whether it was iron rust or something else.

"Everyone, enter in groups!" Li Feng shouted.

The fifty-odd players were divided into ten groups. Zhou Lang, Zhao Qiang, and Han Ying were assigned to the seventh group, along with two other people—a tall, thin man wearing a baseball cap and a short-haired woman in a windbreaker.

"My name is Uncle Lin," said the man in the baseball cap. He looked to be in his forties and had a scar on his face.

"Fang Yuan," the short-haired woman simply announced.

The five people didn't exchange any extra pleasantries.

Stepping into the basement, the scene before me began to distort. Walls, pipes, dust—everything seemed to be churned into a washing machine, spinning wildly.

Zhou Lang closed his eyes, and when he opened them again—

He was standing on a mountain road.

As dusk fell, the sky turned a golden hue. Dense pine trees lined both sides of the road, and a mountain breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the scent of pine resin. Not far ahead, a three-story wooden building sat on a platform halfway up the mountain.

The sign reads: Songxi Inn.

"What's going on here?" Zhao Qiang looked around. "Isn't this an abandoned factory?"

Zhou Lang didn't answer. This wasn't the first time he'd encountered a situation where the scenes inside a dungeon didn't necessarily correspond to those outside.

[System notification: Welcome to the A-rank dungeon 'Ghost Realm'.]

[Instance Rules: Survive for seven days in Songxi Inn to complete the instance.]

[Note: Please do not leave the room after sunset.]

That's it?

Zhou Lang frowned. The rules were too brief; this kind of copy meant there was a lot of hidden information—or rather, a lot of traps.

"Seven days..." Han Yingying counted the items on her body, "I only have enough potions for three days."

"Let's go inside first and talk." Uncle Lin had already started walking towards the inn.

Zhou Lang followed. He noticed that there was only one mountain path, and going back was shrouded in thick fog; once you went in, you wouldn't be able to get out.

Pushing open the inn's door, it was warm and cozy inside.

The lobby wasn't large, with six square tables set up. Behind the counter hung a lantern with a strangely colored shade—neither paper nor cloth, but a soft material that emitted a pinkish glow.

Behind the counter stood a man in his early fifties, with a round face and eyes that narrowed into slits when he smiled.

"You've arrived, sir?" he greeted. "There are rooms upstairs, one room per person, free for a seven-day stay."

for free.

Zhou Lang looked around the lobby and noticed a few people sitting in a corner.

A woman in her thirties, wearing a floral apron, was wiping a table. She had delicate features, but heavy dark circles under her eyes.

A young couple sat by the window; the man was looking at his phone, and the woman was drinking tea. They looked to be in their early twenties, like college students.

There was also a girl with a ponytail sitting at the top of the stairs reading a book, with a cup of coffee in front of her.

And—a huge woman poked her head out from the kitchen, at least 1.85 meters tall, with shoulders broader than Zhao Qiang's. She was wearing an apron and carrying a fish.

"Dinner will be ready soon," the giant woman said in a deep, booming voice.

The owner waved his hand with a smile: "My wife is a great cook, you are all in for a treat."

The whole scene was so cozy that it didn't feel like a dungeon.

But Zhou Lang felt uneasy.

He counted—there were six "people" in the inn, including the owner and his wife. They seemed normal during the day, but the rules stated that they couldn't leave their rooms after sunset.

What will these six people become at night?

"Choose a room." Uncle Lin said expressionlessly and went straight upstairs.

There were ten guest rooms on the third floor and ten on the second floor. Zhou Lang chose the innermost room on the third floor. Zhao Qiang and Han Ying stayed on either side of him.

The room was small, containing a bed, a wardrobe, and a window. The window was nailed shut and couldn't be opened. The door lock was an old-fashioned bolt lock that could be locked from the inside.

Zhou Lang checked all the possible entry points—there was a gap about two fingers wide at the bottom of the door, and there was a faucet in the bathroom.

"Bandages," Zhou Lang said in a low voice.

"I'm here." The bandaged man's voice came from his wrist, muffled.

"Did you sense anything?"

There was a few seconds of silence.

"There are six unclean things in this building," the bandaged man said. "But strangely, they're quiet now. They won't make a move during the day."

"And at night?"

"At night..." the bandaged man paused, "you'd better seal the cracks in the door."

Zhou Lang didn't ask any more questions. He took out the defensive talismans from his backpack and stuck one on each of the four corners of the door frame. He stuck the last one above the bathroom faucet.

It got dark very quickly.

By 6:30, it was completely dark outside. There were no streetlights in the mountains, and apart from the outline of the pine forest, nothing could be seen outside the window.

Zhou Lang sat on the bed, the chainsaw beside him, and the oil lamp on the bedside table. He didn't turn on the oil lamp—it consumed oil with each use, so he had to use it sparingly.

It's exactly 7 o'clock.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor.

The sound was not human footsteps.

The sound was very soft, like something dragging on the floor. It moved slowly from one end of the corridor to the other, pausing for a few seconds as it passed the doorway of each room.

Zhou Lang held his breath.

The footsteps reached his door—and then stopped.

A ray of pink light shone through the gap under the door.

He remembered the lantern in the lobby.

The light flickered outside the crack in the door, as if someone was crouching down with a lantern, peering inside.

Then--

A soft sigh.

The woman's voice, trembling with tears, pleaded, "Let me in...please..."

Zhou Lang remained motionless.

The pink light outside the door lingered for about thirty seconds before slowly moving away.

The footsteps continued forward.

Zhou Lang breathed a sigh of relief. The first night, the ghost couldn't get in. But the voice—it didn't sound like an evil spirit, but rather like a desperate living person.

Zhao Qiang's voice came from next door, sounding muffled through the wall: "Brother Lang, what's the situation on your end?"

"There's something moving around in the hallway," Zhou Lang said. "Don't open the door."

"Nonsense, I'm not stupid."

The noise in the corridor continued for most of the night. Zhou Lang heard different sounds—the sound of dragging, the sound of dripping water, and a low sob, as if coming from a very far place.

He wasn't asleep. Not out of fear, but because he was thinking.

Seven days. Survive for seven days to clear the dungeon. Logically, if the ghosts can never get in, this dungeon would be too easy.

Therefore, it will definitely be upgraded.

The question is, how do I upgrade?

As dawn approached, Zhou Lang finally dozed off for a while. When he woke up, it was already bright outside.

He opened the door. The hallway was quiet, and the floor was spotless, as if nothing had happened the night before.

Go downstairs to the lobby, and all those "people" are there.

The boss was wiping the counter, the woman in the floral apron was mopping the floor, and the proprietress of the Giant View store was busy in the kitchen. The young couple was still sitting by the window, and the girl with the ponytail changed her book.

Business as usual.

But Zhou Lang noticed a detail—there was a faint red mark around the neck of the woman in the floral apron. It looked like she had been strangled by something.

There was no trace of this yesterday.

"Breakfast is ready!" The proprietress brought out a large plate of steamed buns.

Zhou Lang sat down, not in a hurry to eat. He was waiting for the other groups.