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

"The portrait he described is real, and the passageway is real too." Zhou Lang walked towards the stairs. "The old master isn't behind the portrait, but there's something else behind it that will allow me to ask more questions next time I come. This trip was worthwhile."

The old man spoke from behind, his voice urgency for the first time: "If you leave, what about the lock—"

"Keep it." Zhou Lang didn't even turn his head. "I'll think of something for you next time when I'm in a better mood."

The three retreated up the stairs. The green light of the oil lamp shone all the way, and the ghosts that had been lying in the corridor parted to the sides under its glow. The old man didn't chase after them—he was locked up and couldn't escape the stone house.

I climbed to the top, pushed open the first iron gate, and it was already dawn.

Zhao Qiang leaned against the wall, panting, his legs giving way as he sat down on the ground: "I never want to go down to the basement again in my life."

Han Yingying looked at Zhou Lang without saying a word. She was replaying the scene in her mind. Zhou Lang had only broken halfway through the lock when he suddenly stopped, completely dismantling the old man's scheme. She had dealt with Zhou Lang several times and increasingly felt that what was in his mind was different from others. Others entered dungeons to survive, but Zhou Lang seemed to have his own reasons for entering, with survival just a side benefit.

She didn't ask what it was about. She knew part of it—Zhou Lang was looking for his sister. This secret was known to very few people at the moment.

As dawn breaks, the task is completed.

The butler appeared in the hall, his empty eye sockets sweeping over the three people.

"Congratulations to the three of you for clearing this instance." It paused, then its eyes fell on Zhou Lang again. "You little rascal, last night you went to a place you shouldn't have gone."

Zhou Lang replied, "The basement door wasn't locked; it's a loophole in the manor, not my fault."

The butler remained silent for a moment. Zhou Lang waited for it to make its move.

But it said, "...The old master likes you." After saying that, its figure disappeared.

Zhao Qiang whispered from the side, "Like you? That sounds scarier than an insult."

Zhou Lang didn't answer. He memorized the following: the old master, the portrait on the east side of the second floor, and the locked stone house. If he drew this dungeon again next time, he would know where to go.

A white light rose, indicating the settlement. The three people were enveloped in light, and their vision began to blur.

"I'm leaving again." Zhao Qiang grabbed Zhou Lang's sleeve. "Can we stay together this time...?"

Before he could finish speaking, he had already disappeared into the light.

When Zhou Lang opened his eyes again, he was standing in a brightly lit place.

Above was a vast glass dome, and all around were single-story shops with illuminated signs and soft music playing. It was a huge shopping mall.

He looked down at himself; he had changed into a new set of clothes, a work uniform, with a sign pinned to his chest: Cleaning Department. He was also carrying a mop bucket.

"...They've assigned me a floor cleaner again." Zhou Lang put down the mop bucket.

He looked around. There were other people scattered around the mall, all looking bewildered and wearing different identity tags. This was a new instance, a new batch of players.

He looked for Han Yingying and Zhao Qiang first. There were too many people, so he didn't see them immediately.

As he was searching, a voice came from behind him: "Zhou Lang?"

He turned around. It was Han Yingying. This time she was wearing a business suit with a name tag that read "Floor Manager".

"You're here too," Zhou Lang said. "Where's Zhao Qiang?"

"I didn't see it." Han Ying walked over and lowered her voice. "This mall isn't right. Look over there."

She pointed to the panoramic elevator in the center of the mall. The elevator was transparent, allowing you to see inside as it went up and down. At that moment, the elevator was stopped at the bottom floor, the doors were open, and there was no one inside, only a sign standing in the middle.

Zhou Lang walked over to look at the sign. The sign had a line of text written on it:

"Dear customer, the mall's underground cable car will operate as usual tonight. Please proceed to the basement level before midnight to board. Have a pleasant journey."

A shopping mall is a shopping mall; where would a cable car come from?

Zhou Lang stared at the transparent elevator. On the elevator's digital panel, the floors jumped down from the first floor, B1, B2, B3... and kept going down, with the numbers increasing. It didn't stop even after passing B10.

Normal shopping malls don't have such deep underground levels.

Han Ying stood beside him: "Another place where people die."

"Hmm." Zhou Lang took off the cleaning department badge from his chest and put it in his pocket. "But this time, I'd like to take that cable car."

In the distance, a little girl's voice came from the mall's loudspeaker, soft and slow:

"Passengers, please fasten your seatbelts. The cable car is about to depart."

As soon as the broadcast ended, all the lights in the mall went out, floor by floor. From the top floor down, it went dark all the way down to Zhou Lang's feet.

When the last light went out, the doors of the transparent elevator closed by themselves.

The words on the sign inside have been changed.

There are four new characters:

Not a single one will escape. Chapter Ninety-One: Three Locks

The staircase led to a stone chamber. Zhou Lang raised the oil lamp, its green light spreading out, revealing a row of iron hooks on the wall, with something indistinct hanging from them. He didn't look closely, turning his head to look for the door.

At the end of the stone chamber was another door. The lock on the door was larger than the one upstairs.

"How many more dishes are there?" Zhao Qiang asked, his throat tight.

"Three locks." Zhou Lang squatted down to examine the lock. "Butler Sha mentioned something extra yesterday, and I remember it."

"Why would it tell you?" Han Yingying stood behind him, her eyes fixed on the darkness.

"It didn't tell me." Zhou Lang took out the scissors. "It let it slip. It was in a good mood around payday."

Han Yingying didn't respond for a moment. She couldn't understand what a ghost could feel, nor could she understand how Zhou Lang could tell. This man had been different from others from the first day he entered the manor; instead of hiding from ghosts, he studied them. She had followed him all this time precisely because of this stability.

The scissors bit the lock's nose, snap. The second lock opened.

Behind the door was an even narrower passageway. The oil lamp shone through, revealing walls on both sides covered with paper. Names were written on the paper, densely packed, layer upon layer.

"This is..." Zhao Qiang leaned closer for a look, then pulled back, "Someone who lived here?"

"People who have died here." Zhou Lang reached out and peeled off the outermost layer of paper. There were more papers underneath, as if he couldn't peel them all off. He wasn't interested in peeling them all off, so he stuffed the one in his hand into his pocket.

Why are you keeping this?

"It works." Zhou Lang didn't explain and walked forward.

Zhao Qiang and Han Ying exchanged a glance. They both knew it was pointless to ask. Zhou Lang never explained his things—oil lamp, scissors, chainsaw—before entering the manor, no one knew what these things were for, but once there, he pulled them out one by one, and they all matched perfectly. This wasn't luck, Zhao Qiang thought; it was because he had thoroughly investigated this place beforehand.

At the end of the corridor, the third door.

This door is different from the previous two. It's made of copper, and there's no lock on it, only a groove shaped like a hand.

Zhou Lang stopped.

"What's wrong?" Han Yingying asked.

"It needs one hand," Zhou Lang said calmly.

Zhao Qiang's face turned pale: "Whose hand was that?"

"I don't know." Zhou Lang looked back at the row of iron hooks. "But I guess that's what's hanging on the hooks."