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

The bus swayed along the provincial highway for almost two hours. Han Yingying sat by the window, clutching the automatically generated ticket in her hand—"Destination: Fengling B&B".

There were twelve people on the bus.

Aside from her and Zhou Lang, the other ten were all unfamiliar faces. There was a man who looked like a programmer in a plaid shirt, a young girl with dyed pink hair, and a bald man who was as big as a door panel and kept gnawing on a chicken foot.

This is her fourth time entering the instance.

The first three times, each one was an appalling mess. The first time, she was almost killed by the sewn-mouthed ghost; the second time, she hid in the hospital instance for six whole hours, too afraid to leave her cubicle; the third time—she didn't want to recall the third time.

So this time, she made thorough preparations.

The "Fraudster" entry has been upgraded to Tier 2. Its passive effect is "subtle hints in speech," and its active skill is "implant false information into the target, which is 100% effective when the target's intelligence is lower than the user's."

To put it bluntly, it's a scam.

Or it's a lie to ghosts.

Han Ying turned her gaze away from the window and glanced at Zhou Lang sitting diagonally behind her. He was sleeping soundly with his eyes closed, his long legs stretched into the aisle, and his head tilted against the back of the chair, as if he had never been in a dungeon.

The car rounded a bend, and the lights inside the carriage flickered.

Nobody noticed.

It flashed again.

Han Yingying unconsciously tightened her grip on the train ticket. She noticed that the middle-aged man sitting in the front row—the one who had been looking at his phone the whole time—had his phone screen turned black, and he was frozen in his seat, his mouth opening and closing as if he were talking to something.

But he was all alone.

On that empty seat—

Han Yingying squinted. From her angle, above the back of the empty seat, something black was floating. Hair. A long strand of hair hanging down from the ceiling.

"Something's weird," she whispered, leaning forward as she prepared to stand up.

A hand pressed down on her shoulder.

Zhou Lang opened his eyes at some point, still leaning to one side as if he had just woken up, but the hand on her shoulder was very firm.

"Don't move."

"But that person—"

"Just watch."

Han Ying was pressed back into her seat, her heart pounding. She stared at the middle-aged man in front of her; his mouth was still moving, as if answering a question. After about thirty seconds, the middle-aged man suddenly relaxed, leaned back in his chair, and yawned.

That strand of long hair disappeared.

The middle-aged man rubbed his eyes, took out his phone again, and started swiping, completely unaware of what was happening.

Han Yingying looked at Zhou Lang: "How do you know he's alright?"

Zhou Lang withdrew his hand, shifted his posture, and continued to lean to one side. "The strange thing in the car is just filtering its targets. This question-and-answer style of contact won't be directly fatal. If you rush in, you'll only interrupt its process, and the consequences will be worse than ignoring it."

Have you encountered this before?

"Um."

That's all.

Han Yingying rolled her eyes inwardly. Talking to this person was like squeezing toothpaste out of a tube; they'd answer one question at a time, and even after two questions, they'd still only answer one.

The bus drove for another forty minutes on the mountain road before finally stopping in front of a three-story building. It had wooden exterior walls, a roof covered in moss, and a faded sign hanging at the entrance—"Maple Ridge Homestay".

The door opened.

The passengers got off the bus one after another. Han Yingying followed behind Zhou Lang. As soon as her foot touched the ground, a system notification popped up.

[Loading the copy...]

[Instance Name: The Person in the Painting]

[Instance Type: Puzzle]

[Difficulty Rating: A]

Number of participants: 12

[Background: A sketching class from Fengling Art Academy is creating artwork at a guesthouse for seven days. On the third day, a thirteenth face, belonging to no one, appears in one of the students' paintings.]

[Your identity: Han Yingying, a third-year art student]

[Mission: Find the source of the thirteenth face and survive for seven days]

[Note: Death in the instance is a real death.]

Han Yingying read the prompt twice. It was Level A difficulty, a level higher than anything she had experienced before. Fortunately, her identity was simple and she didn't need any extra disguise—she could draw, having studied sketching for three years in high school.

Upon entering the guesthouse lobby, the twelve people took their seats, and the system assigned each of them a room key. Han Yingying received room 206, the innermost room on the second floor.

She noticed that Zhou Lang was holding 205. Next door.

"Welcome to Maple Ridge Guesthouse." A pale-faced woman stood at the front desk, her voice flat like a machine reading, "Everyone in the sketching class, today is the first day. Please complete one piece of artwork before dark. The studio is on the west side of the first floor; paints and canvases are ready."

The crowd dispersed.

Han Yingying went upstairs to put down her backpack and checked the room—a single bed, a desk, and a window facing the bamboo grove behind—nothing seemed amiss. As she went downstairs to her studio, she passed the corner of the corridor and saw Zhou Lang standing in front of a painting.

It was a landscape oil painting depicting the bamboo forest behind the guesthouse. The composition wasn't anything special, but Han Yingying took a closer look—deep within the bamboo forest, there was a blurry patch of color, like a smear mark.

"You noticed that too," Zhou Lang said.

The use of the word "also" by this person is truly ingenious. Han Yingying walked up and examined the patch of color closely, vaguely discerning its outline—it was a human figure. It had been covered up with paint of the same color family.

"There's something hidden in the painting," Han Yingying said.

"The thirteenth face." Zhou Lang's gaze shifted from the painting. "The strangeness of this instance should be related to the painting. I'll go investigate; you go to the studio first and observe the others."

After he finished speaking, he went downstairs.

Han Yingying watched his retreating figure and couldn't help but mutter to herself: "You always go to investigate while I go to observe; the division of labor is always the same."

The studio was large, with twelve easels. Han Yingying chose a spot by the window, squeezed out her paint, and began to paint. She was really painting—her basic sketching skills were still there, so painting a bamboo forest was no problem.

After drawing for twenty minutes, she began to observe out of the corner of her eye.

The girl with pink hair was drawn very well, at a professional level; she must be a real art student. The programmer in the plaid shirt held a paintbrush, looking completely bewildered; he clearly didn't know how. The bald, muscular man went even further, simply writing two large characters on the canvas—"Bamboo."

Han Ying almost burst out laughing.

Just then, a voice rang in her ear.

"This student, there's something wrong with your composition."

Han Ying turned her head, and behind her stood a young man in a white shirt. He had delicate features, a warm smile, and wore a name tag that read "Teaching Assistant Chen Mo" on his chest. But his skin was too pale, almost bloodless, and his pupils were also a light color.

Surprising.

Han Yingying made a judgment almost immediately. This "Chen Mo" walked over without making any footsteps, and—when she scanned the entire studio just now, this person was not there.

"What's wrong?" Han Yingying asked, keeping her expression steady and speaking naturally.

"Your bamboo forest lacks depth, and the transition between the foreground and background is too abrupt." Chen Mo walked over to her and pointed to the canvas. "You could try adding some blurring to the middle ground."