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

At the bottom was a narrow corridor, the compacted earthen floor making a dull thud underfoot. The green light of the oil lamp shone forward for a dozen steps, ending at a wooden door. A thin, dark orange light shone through the crack in the door, not from the lamp, but more like the last embers in a pile of charcoal.

"Is someone there?" Zhao Qiang asked in a low voice.

"Dead people are still people." Zhou Lang walked forward.

Han Yingying glanced back at the staircase behind her—the corridor was unusually clean, without a single ghost. It was densely packed up above, but all the ghosts disappeared here, as if something was hidden in this place, and even ghosts dared not approach.

The wooden door was unlocked.

Zhou Lang pushed open the door, revealing a cave-like room with rammed earth walls. A round table stood in the center, with three candles lit on it. Sitting at the table was something—wearing a butler's uniform, but not the butler himself. He was almost half a head shorter, his hat brim pulled low, and his hands rested on the table, the skin on the back of his hands wrinkled like dried orange peel.

It didn't move or turn its head, facing the wall directly opposite the doorway.

"Come in," it said, its voice echoing as if it came from the bottom of the water tank, "I've been waiting for a long time."

Zhou Lang went straight in.

Zhao Qiang tugged at him, but Zhou Lang ignored him, so Zhao Qiang had no choice but to grit his teeth and follow him in. Han Yingying closed the door behind her.

The butler slowly turned around—the old man's face was slender, his eyes were cloudy, and the corners of his mouth drooped down, making him look like he had lived long enough and was tired enough.

"Who are you?" Han Yingying asked.

"The first steward of this manor," it said. "That one now is what I left behind after I died."

Zhou Lang placed the oil lamp on the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down, adopting a casual, visiting manner: "So, what did you call us here for?"

"I didn't call you; you came of your own accord. But now that you're here, I have something to tell you."

It pulled its hands off the table and placed them on its knees.

"The owner of the manor is not up there."

Zhou Lang pondered the question: "Down there?"

"Further down."

Zhao Qiang took a half step back and whispered to Han Yingying, "Is there something further down?"

Han Yingying ignored him and listened to the old housekeeper continue speaking.

"This manor was built three hundred years ago. It started as just an ordinary house. Later, the owner brought back something, and the manor became what it is today."

"What is it?"

"A coffin," the old butler paused, "there's no dead person in the coffin, but what's inside is far more troublesome than a dead person. It came out of the coffin once, and half the people in the manor died. The remaining half became what you see here now."

The ghosts in the corridor—those lying by the stairs, those hanging from the ceiling—all came from living people.

Zhao Qiang didn't say anything, but Zhou Lang noticed that he had both hands in his pockets, probably because his palms were sweating.

"It went back later, but not completely; it left a trail," the old butler continued. "Every few decades, someone has to come and feed it, otherwise it will come out again."

"What are you feeding?" Han Yingying asked.

The old housekeeper looked at her and paused for a moment.

"people."

The room was quiet for a while. The flames of the three candles were tilted in the same direction, and there was no wind; I don't know why.

"So, the butler killed the players and locked them up here to store food for that thing," Zhou Lang said. "So you're telling us this so we'll go find it?"

"No. I'm telling you this because you're carrying that lamp."

Its gaze fell on the oil lamp on the table, and a slight change appeared in the cloudy whites of its eyes.

"That lamp belongs to it; it's what it uses to find its way."

Zhou Lang glanced down at the oil lamp. The green flame burned quietly, showing no awareness of "I am actually a tool of the evil god".

He got it as a game reward. At the time, he only knew it could be used to spot ghosts, but he didn't expect it to have this other connection.

"I was holding its things, so the ghost went around me," Zhou Lang concluded, "or rather, around this lamp."

"The result is the same," the old butler nodded, "but if you want to continue down, you have to go through the second basement level before you reach the third basement level."

What's on the second basement level?

The old butler didn't answer directly. He turned his head to one side, looked at the mud wall, and his voice became very faint.

"I died there."

The light from the three candles on the table flickered for a moment, then settled back down.

After leaving the room, the three stood in the hallway for a moment, none of them speaking first. Finally, Zhao Qiang broke the silence: "Shall we go to the second basement level now?"

"Go back to sleep first," Zhou Lang said.

"...What?"

"It's almost midnight, and I have to work tomorrow," Zhou Lang said, already heading towards the stairs. "If I don't have enough energy, I'll die even faster. I'd better go to sleep."

Han Yingying caught up with him: "Aren't you curious about what's down there?"

"I'm curious. But I'm not in a hurry."

"...Why aren't you in a hurry?"

"It's never too late to be curious when you're about to die."

Han Yingying: ……

Zhao Qiang jogged to catch up, glancing back at the wooden door. The door was closed, the light from the crack vanished, and the entire corridor was utterly dark, as if no light source had ever existed. He quickened his pace to catch up with the two people ahead.

The ghosts in the corridor were still the same ghosts; they automatically parted when the oil lamp shone on them. Zhao Qiang followed behind Zhou Lang, increasingly feeling something was amiss, and whispered in Zhou Lang's ear, "That old butler... is he a good person?"

"have no idea."

"Should we believe what he said?"

"It doesn't matter whether we believe it or not," Zhou Lang said. "We'll see for ourselves if what he said is true or not; we don't need to rely on trust to judge."

Zhao Qiang thought about it and realized that the logic seemed to make sense.

He shut his mouth, obediently went upstairs, and went back to his room to sleep.

He went to work as usual the next day.

Zhou Lang served tea to the guests with a tray, working as a waiter all day without any apparent abnormality. Around 3 PM, as he carried a stack of plates to the kitchen, he nearly bumped into Zhao Qiang as he turned the corner in the corridor.

Zhao Qiang pulled him aside and lowered his voice: "There's a problem."

"explain."

"Xiong Batian has been watching us all day," Zhao Qiang said. "He even came to ask me this morning if I slept well last night—you know, the kind of veiled question you get?"

Zhou Lang thought about Xiong Batian – on the first day of salary distribution, his evaluation was good, lower than the other three; he was sturdy, didn't talk much, but his eyes were always scanning his surroundings, unlike the behavior of ordinary players.

"What number did he come in?"

"Three days earlier than us."

I entered the dungeon three days ago, and now my condition is stable, and I still have the energy to gather information—I'm not an ordinary player; I've at least figured out some of the rules of the manor.

"What did you say to him?"

"I said I slept very well," Zhao Qiang paused, "and then he laughed and said, 'Really?'"

Zhou Lang placed the plate on the table, leaned against the wall, and thought for a moment. "Then I know."

"What do you know!"

"They know we weren't in the room last night."

Zhao Qiang shut his mouth, his expression grim.