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

Zhou Lang was also examining it. He suddenly noticed that the hem of its white skirt was wet, dripping water onto the floor. One drop after another, hitting the wooden floor, making the same sound as before.

Wet. Drips.

Something flashed through his mind, but he couldn't quite grasp it.

"All done!" Zhao Qiang shouted, "The key light is on! We can go!"

A layer of white light emanated from the brass key in Zhao Qiang's hand, enveloping the three of them.

The moment the light appeared, the faceless thing moved. It didn't come over, but instead opened its face—which shouldn't have had a mouth—the skin split open in the middle, revealing a dark, gaping hole.

From that mouth came a woman's voice. Very soft, very even.

"Are you... having a good time here?"

Zhou Lang's heart skipped a beat. The tone of these words was exactly the same as the welcoming speech the manor owner had given during the day.

The white light completely enveloped the three of them, and the manor began to fade before their eyes.

In the last moment before disappearing, Zhou Lang saw clearly what was under the thing's feet—not a wooden floor, but a pool of water, with a lantern floating in it, the lantern's skin made of human flesh.

Then, everything went black.

When they opened their eyes again, the three of them were back in the game lobby.

A cold, white space, with an integration board hanging overhead.

[The "Mysterious House" dungeon has been cleared.]

[Player "Langligelang": Took the lead and took over; rating: Exceeded expectations.]

Zhao Qiang collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. "We're...we're out...we're really out..." He opened his hand; the brass key was still there, slowly transforming into a beam of light and merging into his wrist. He was now the master of that manor.

Han Yingying, however, didn't relax. She looked at Zhou Lang. "That faceless thing from earlier—"

"I know what you're trying to say," Zhou Lang interrupted her. He rarely answered so quickly, but this time he did. "It doesn't belong to that manor. It leaked in from somewhere else."

"Leaked in?"

"There might be connections between different instances." Zhou Lang stared at the scoreboard, his eyes showing no emotion, but his mind was racing. His original plan was simply to bring Zhao Qiang out and find clues about his sister. Instead of finding any clues, he stumbled upon something that could freely move between instances and was of a higher level than the instances themselves.

That human skin lantern, that dripping white dress, that question, "Are you happy living here?"

He silently memorized these things.

"The next instance," Zhou Lang suddenly said, "I want to choose it myself."

Han Yingying was taken aback. "Players can't choose the instance; it's all randomly assigned."

Zhou Lang didn't explain. He just remembered the pool of water and the lantern he'd seen before it disappeared. He had a feeling—that thing hadn't died, nor had it left. It had simply moved to another place and was waiting.

And the place it waits for is most likely the next instance.

The scoreboard suddenly flashed and a new line of text appeared.

An abnormal source of contamination has been detected. A special dungeon entrance has been opened for player "浪里个浪".

[Instance Name: The Mysterious House]

[Instance Status: Destroyed.]

Zhao Qiang looked up, his face pale. "This...this is the name of the guy we just came out with!!"

Zhou Lang smiled.

"Perfect timing." He stood up and walked towards the newly lit entrance. "I still have something to say to it."

Han Yingying and Zhao Qiang exchanged a glance and quickly followed.

Before the light at the entrance swallowed the three of them, Zhou Lang took one last look at the line of text.

Collapse.

He thought, those were the same two words his sister used the day she disappeared. #Chapter 1 The End of the Staircase

At the bottom of the stairs was a wooden door.

The wooden door was half-open, letting in a sliver of light—not the green of an oil lamp, but a yellowish, almost extinguished glow. Zhou Lang raised the oil lamp and shone it into the doorway.

Zhao Qiang leaned close behind him: "There's something glowing inside."

"I saw it."

Han Ying lowered her voice: "Shall we go in?"

Zhou Lang didn't answer. He first held the scissors up to the door frame. These scissors could cut through rusty iron locks, so cutting the door frame should be no problem for him, but the door was open right now, so there was no need to cut it. He put the scissors back in his pocket and pushed the door open with one foot.

Behind the door was a room. The room wasn't big; half the plaster had peeled off the walls, revealing the dark bricks underneath. In the center of the room was a table, and on the table burned a kerosene lamp—just that dim, yellowish light. The wick was short, and the flame flickered incessantly, as if it might go out at any moment.

A person was sitting next to the table.

She stood with her back to them, dressed in old-fashioned women's clothing, her long hair cascading down, motionless.

Zhao Qiang suddenly grabbed Zhou Lang's arm: "A...a living person?"

"What are you doing sitting here?" Zhou Lang brushed his hand away. "Don't panic, just watch."

He took two steps forward. His feet crunched on the ground. The woman didn't turn around.

Zhou Lang stopped and stared at the back of her head for a while. He was calculating in his mind—he had shone the oil lamp on all the ghosts on this floor; the upstairs was densely packed with them, but there wasn't a single one down the stairs. This meant that the things in the basement were not the same as those upstairs.

When the oil lamp's light approached the woman, her figure neither faded nor became more distinct. Zhou Lang realized: this wasn't the kind of ghost upstairs. The oil lamp had no effect on her.

"You two stand at the door," Zhou Lang said. "Don't come in."

"And what about you?" Han Yingying asked.

"I'll go in and take a look."

Zhao Qiang wanted to stop him, but didn't dare to actually do so, so he could only stand at the door rubbing his hands. He watched Zhou Lang walk towards the woman alone, his heart pounding. He had known Zhou Lang for so many years and knew that this man was bold, but boldness didn't equate to good fortune. Last time upstairs, Zhou Lang faced those ghosts stuck to the ceiling without even blinking. Zhao Qiang's legs went weak then, but Zhou Lang walked around like he was strolling through a market. He still couldn't understand how this man's brain worked.

Zhou Lang walked to the woman's side and held the oil lamp in front of her face.

It was a young face, probably in his early twenties. His complexion was pale, his eyes were closed, his lips were chapped, and there was a ring of purplish-blue marks on his neck.

He was strangled. Zhou Lang made a mental note of this.

He looked down at her hands again. There was something stuck under her fingernails, black and red patches. He wasn't sure if it was mud or something else. A booklet lay open on the table, like an account book; the open page had several names written on it, with checkmarks next to them.

"Feed," Zhou Lang said to her. "Can you speak?"

The woman's eyelids twitched.

Zhao Qiang hissed at the door and almost fell to the ground.

The woman opened her eyes. Her eyes were cloudy, as if covered by a layer of gray. She turned her head, looking at Zhou Lang, then at the two people in the doorway. Her lips moved, and a voice squeezed out from her throat, soft and hoarse:

"You...are you here to stay at the hotel?"

Zhou Lang was stunned for a moment.

"Stay at a hotel." The moment the word left her lips, several scattered threads in Zhou Lang's mind suddenly connected. This place wasn't originally a mountain resort. It was an inn, or perhaps a guesthouse. The reviews, salaries, and paychecks upstairs—all set up under the guise of "working while staying at a hotel"—were all designed that way.