IALWFIEG ARC4 c52~61

I’m A Little White Flower In An Escape Game

我在逃生游戏做小白花 ☆ 

《Neglected Old Castle》

☆ 52

Translator: InkyDragon

In a moment of vulnerability, a weak girl was entranced by the boy who had once shielded her. It was a typical teenage flutter—nothing out of the ordinary.

Ruan Bai called from the kitchen, and the players outside shared meaningful glances. Their eyes brimmed with the promise of juicy gossip as they observed “Second Brother.”

“Go ahead, don’t keep the young lady waiting.”

“You wouldn’t want to keep her in suspense, now, would you?”

These players, close pals with “Second Brother,” had known him outside the game. They were a rowdier lot than the other players, who kept their distance.

Spotting a lovely girl showing interest in “Second Brother,” they teased him playfully. “Give it your best shot; you might just win her heart and nab yourself a girlfriend!”

The ghost, however, had no choice but to play along to blend in with the players and avoid suspicion, regardless of what thoughts haunted it.

In the kitchen, Ruan Bai, who had been holding her breath, finally seized the opportunity to be alone with the ghost, thanks to this little charade.

When she realized that “Second Brother” was, in fact, the ghost, she had found the most dangerous and demanding aspect of this A-level game unless there were any more significant surprises in store.

If it hadn’t been for Snowy and her trusty mermaid bell, and if she hadn’t been aware of Du Wen Shu’s info, this game might have taken her two days longer to find the ghost.

The ghost only killed after the song played, so the little girl would be safe as long as she rescued Snowy before the next verse started.

That’s what Ruan Bai has to accomplish right now.

However, the power difference between the ghost and the players was significant. She needed to be swift and precise, striking decisively to defeat the ghost!

Encouraged by his so-called “friends,” the ghost swiftly opened the kitchen door and entered. Inside, Ruan Bai sat on the floor, her brows furrowed in agony as she massaged her throbbing ankle. The ghost quietly closed the door behind it and approached her with “concern”.

“How are you feeling?” it asked, its ghost eyes fixed on her.

Ruan Bai’s face lit up with joy when she saw “Second Brother” enter, but she quickly looked away bashfully.

“I’m alright,” she replied softly, “Just having trouble standing.”

She openly displayed her weakness to put the ghost at ease and convey her non-hostile intentions, hoping to bridge the gap between them. She had also noticed that this particular ghost possessed a higher level of intelligence than the other ghosts in the game.

Given her subtle cues and shy demeanour, Ruan Bai hoped that the ghost would catch on to her intentions. However, to her surprise, the ghost didn’t follow her expected script.

Instead, it simply responded with an indifferent “Oh” and made no move to assist her in standing.

“Lean against the wall and get up quickly,” it advised. “Everyone outside is hungry.”

Ruan Bai: “…”

Ruan Bai: “Huh?”

Ruan Bai was utterly baffled by this unexpected response for a moment. However, she swiftly pieced together the puzzle. Ghosts and monsters usually came with an unmistakable chill, a detail players would instantly pick up on. This spook was being cagey to hide its true nature.

With this realization in mind, Ruan Bai decided to persist. She leaned casually against the wall, feigning a touch of disappointment.

The ghost continued to gaze at her, and Ruan Bai sighed resignedly. 

A flicker of melancholy played across her features as she lamented, “I’ve been all alone for so long, feeling utterly helpless. I wish there was someone to watch over me…”

As those final words slipped from her lips, her voice became softer, bittersweet. Combined with her ethereal complexion, it conjured an oddly poignant atmosphere.

At last, Ruan Bai’s act roused something within the ghost.

“Yeah, you’re a bit useless,” it quipped, casting her a sidelong glance, “I’ve been alone too, but I’m different from you. I can take care of myself.”

Ruan Bai: “…”

Ruan Bai: “What?”

Frustration surged within Ruan Bai for the second time, causing her expression to stiffen slightly.

What’s going on here? Is this ghost unusually cunning or perhaps… gay? (t/n girl, that is a ghost of a ten-year-old, he probably thinks you have cooties)

She was thwarted in the most unexpected of ways after all her years of experience!

Ruan Bai glanced at the composed ghost and thought about Snowy, who had vanished. “Yup, you’re right; Softie can’t wallow in self-pity any longer. I must learn to take care of myself.”

With gritted teeth, she resolved to follow through with her plan. “I suppose it’s time we start cooking,” she whispered softly, blinking nervously.

Nervousness made Ruan Bai stutter as she began, “Just pass… pass over the plate…”

She couldn’t believe it. Could this sentence go wrong?

As expected, the ghost nodded in agreement upon hearing her words. Despite his somewhat stereotypical masculinity, he stuck to conventional human behaviour. Much like when he’d stepped in to help Ruan Bai earlier, he had no reason to refuse her request now.

It remained silent but cast an odd look her way, in which there was a clear trace of disdain as if implying, “Why are you so useless?”

Ruan Bai: “?”

She gazed at it in puzzlement, unable to fathom the reason behind that peculiar expression.

However, in the next moment, she realized what it meant.

She had feigned a sprained ankle to coax the ghost inside earlier, creating an excuse to share space with it…

So, was this ghost actually looking down on her?

Did he hold her in contempt for her inability to perform even the most straightforward task of picking something up?

Ruan Bai: “…”

She couldn’t bear it any longer.

This darn ghost was really asking for it!

She took advantage of the opportunity without hesitation as he handed over the plate. As the ghost lowered its head, she acted quickly, swinging her cleaver towards its neck.

Ruan Bai acted swiftly, but the ghost was even quicker, its expression shifting as it evaded her strike.

“You—” It attempted to speak but fell silent under Ruan Bai’s intense gaze, realizing it had been unmasked.

“You uncooperative ghost!? How about taking another trip to the afterlife for me?” Ruan Bai clenched the knife handle tightly, slashing and cursing vehemently.

The cleaver collided forcefully with nearby objects, filling the air with thunderous clangs.

The ghost narrowed its eyes, keeping a vigilant watch on Ruan Bai, its pitch-black eyes brimming with murderous intent. It seemed ready to strike and snap Ruan Bai’s neck in the next second.

—But it couldn’t.

The ghost couldn’t attack players when the song wasn’t playing as per the rules. Ruan Bai had earlier pondered the danger posed by a powerful ghost masquerading as a player. She figured the game would have to tighten its grip on such ghosts, particularly those boasting superior intellect.

In the dimly lit room, Ruan Bai resolved to confront the ghost alone. Her conviction in her invulnerability was unwavering. Besides, her alter ego, “Big Sis,” had made a cameo in the lyrics twice already, and its reappearance seemed unlikely. Furthermore, she suspected there were limitations to the ghost that she had yet to uncover.

With these thoughts in mind, Ruan Bai wielded her knife and launched yet another assault on the ghost. Her physical prowess was astonishing, and each strike demonstrated increasing finesse. Her cleaver danced through the air like a cultivator’s sword, its movements deft and relentless, artfully pushing the ghost back.

The ghost, powerless to retaliate, withdrew in haste, colliding with the kitchen cabinets. Their skirmish set off a commotion, sending various ingredients and dishes crashing to the floor in chaos.

“What’s going on?”

“Is the sound coming from there? Are they in a conflict?”

“Did something unexpected happen?”

Confusion and curiosity welled up outside the kitchen among the other players as they strained to make sense of the strange sounds from within.

In the kitchen, the ghost’s movements jerked a subtle pause that didn’t escape Ruan Bai’s notice.

Ruan Bai’s lips curled into a sly grin as she observed the change. The excitement in her eyes was impossible to mask. She had discovered the ghost’s second layer of restraint.

“You fear those outside finding out who you truly are, don’t you?” Ruan Bai seized the moment, swiftly kicking the ghost to the ground. With precision, she pinned it against the stove, a knife pressed against its neck. 

“The thought of exposure terrifies you, doesn’t it?” Her voice, soft and gentle, caressed the ghost’s ear, akin to a lover’s intimate whisper. Yet, her words were devoid of emotion. “What if your identity is revealed? Should I find out?”

Upon her question, the ghost, which could have easily broken free, halted abruptly.

Its dark, expressionless eyes met Ruan Bai’s gaze, hiding nothing. “What do you want?” It asked.

This cunning ghost had already discerned that Ruan Bai didn’t intend to unveil it outright; she sought negotiation.

Upon hearing the ghost’s willingness to compromise, Ruan Bai knew she had successfully coerced a ghost.

This wasn’t your typical NPC; it was a smart ghost!

As Ruan Bai basked in her excitement, she couldn’t ignore the dangerous path she was treading. But she had no alternative; this was the only way.

Without beating around the bush, Ruan Bai confronted the ghost. “Release the girl, Snowy, you abducted. If you don’t, I’ll reveal your true identity.”

“No way!” The ghost didn’t hesitate, rejecting outright. “I need her identity; it’s mine. She stole it from me, and I’m reclaiming it! Only her identity will do… I won’t let her off!”

In the first game, the mermaid fixated on Du Wen Shu; in the second, the teacher and students yearned for freedom from the school; and in the third, the ghosts hungered for the last survivor’s flesh.

It was clear that Mr. Du held something of great importance that could only be obtained through his identity. He had emerged as the ultimate victor in the brutal conflict among these siblings. 

This desire must be linked to the reason these fourteen children were forced to harm each other and possibly tied to why the castle couple had adopted them and incited such violence.

But what did it indeed mean to be the ultimate victor? Ruan Bai couldn’t be sure, yet uncovering the secrets of this castle was one of her key objectives in completing this game.

The ghost’s fixation held the potential to unveil a long-buried secret.

“I can help you find your original identity,” Ruan Bai offered. “Just release Snowy, and I’ll chat with her.”

Worried that the ghost might change its mind, Ruan Bai reassured it, “Don’t worry; I won’t spill your secret before that. If our scheme takes a nosedive, you can always bide your time until the music starts, then eliminate Snowy and take her identity.”

The game wouldn’t lead them to a dead end. Even someone who had assumed the ghost’s identity should have a chance to escape its grasp.

Ruan Bai was counting on this; she believed that Snowy, being clever, would have a solution.

With the ghost securely in her sway, it had little choice but to acquiesce. Ruan Bai’s proposal was a safe bet and indeed enticing.

After locking eyes with Ruan Bai for a moment, the ghost nodded, its ethereal voice murmuring, “Alright, I’ll take you to her.”

It had given its consent.

Seeing this, Ruan Bai released it and smiled.

“You’re the cleverest ghost I’ve ever crossed paths with,” she praised, her initial revulsion fading. “Almost human, if I do say so myself.”

Now, it could communicate normally and even plot against other players with foresight. Most importantly, the ghost could keep up with her actions!

Old Du, this bloody ghost, was one cunning bastard, no doubt about it.

But she didn’t expect that when she said her piece, the ghost in front of her, instead of getting all snarly, just turned around and gave her a wicked grin.

“What, you reckon there’s any bleedin’ difference between me and you lot?”

Upon hearing this response, Ruan Bai was momentarily taken aback.

But before she could get a word in, the ghost spun back around, and with her in tow, they headed out of the kitchen.

☆ 53

When Du’s father drawled, “What, you reckon there’s any bleedin’ difference between me and you lot?” Ruan Bai felt a sharp pang in her heart, like a discordant note in the melody of her thoughts.

The conversation with Uncle Shen from six months ago echoed in her mind:

“…But, if Ghosts can be substituted by something tangible in the real world, and if my findings are right… I should have stumbled upon the prototype of DSAS Corporation.”

Ghosts could be substituted by something in the real world.

But what could that ‘something’ be?

Until now, Ruan Bai had never contemplated replacing Ghosts with people. After all, the spectres she had encountered before were akin to cognitively impaired beings. They could chatter, but their reasoning was feeble, some hardly distinguishable from humanoid beasts.

Yet, the ghostly presence of Du’s father defied her assumptions.

Could Ghosts be human, then?

Part of her resisted the idea, yet Du’s father was so human-like. In the real world, he could be a human and the father of Du Wen Shu.

Part of her wanted to embrace it, yet who else mirrored this duality? Muddle-headed, fixated on nothing but their “obsession.”

Ruan Bai wracked her brain, but conclusions eluded her like smoke slipping through her fingers.

Ultimately, she sighed, opting to shelve the enigma for another time. Judgement could wait until she broke free from the game and encountered more spooks.

Her chief objective remained to rescue Snowy and complete the game alongside her.

Du’s father moved swiftly, escorting Ruan Bai to Snowy’s covert sanctuary. It couldn’t harm her, and she could unveil its true identity whenever she chose.

Unexpectedly, Snowy was hidden in the study.

Du’s father entered, took out a book, and slid the bookshelf aside, holding onto the seams inside.

Before long, a concealed chamber behind the bookshelf was exposed.

The room was cramped, scarcely half the size of the study, enveloped in pitch darkness that made it impossible to discern anything clearly. 

When the bookcase creaked open, a pungent blood stench hit Ruan Bai like a punch to the gut. Dim light oozed in from the outside, revealing cryptic symbols inside sprawled across the hidden chamber’s floor and walls. The mere sight of these arcane markings made her head swim.

Inside, Snowy, her wrists raw from struggling against her bindings, lay captive. Her eyes lit up with palpable relief at the sight of Ruan Bai.

Without a second thought, Ruan Bai rushed to her side and untied the ropes holding Snowy fast.

Mr. Du stood to the side, its face an eerie canvas devoid of humanity. Gone were the trappings of a man; instead, its visage had assumed a chilling, ghostly countenance with eyes nearly empty of life.

“I’ve done as you asked,” it intoned with an icy detachment. “Make sure you hold up your end of the deal before the next verse begins.”

It seemed that Mr. Du’s name would be featured in the lyrics of the following song.

Ruan Bai gave a resolute nod and helped Snowy to her feet. 

The ghost wasted no time. It closed the bookcase and concealed the secret chamber with brisk efficiency before leaving. 

Ruan Bai, too, didn’t dally. As soon as they were alone, she relayed to Snowy the terms of the agreement she’d struck with Mr. Du.

“It’s the survivor, and it wants your identity,” Ruan Bai concluded. “The chair you’re sitting on belongs to it. We must find a way to change your identity before the next song starts, or I’m afraid you’ll be in grave danger in its hands.”

The spook would stop at nothing to fulfil its obsession, and if Snowy fell into its clutches, there would be no escape.

Ruan Bai’s expression darkened, evidently struck by a troubling thought.

She gave Snowy an inquisitive look, her gaze lingering momentarily, and then continued her train of thought, “But then, how on earth can we acquire another identity? Do we have to resort to theft?”

There were fourteen players, each representing one of the fourteen children, without extras.

If Snowy returned Mr. Du’s identity to him, the pressing question was: what should she do next?

If she were to take on other players’ identities, would that put them in peril?

However, what Ruan Bai didn’t expect was Snowy’s response. Curious, Her eyes lit up as she replied, “Why on earth would I need another child’s identity?”

Ruan Bai found herself slightly taken aback by this unexpected turn. “But can you survive without one?”

“I can,” Snowy affirmed, shaking her head. Her demeanour remained remarkably composed, a hint of confidence gracing her expression, and there was no trace of the impending dread that one might expect. “You needn’t worry. I’ve likely already figured out how to handle the ghost’s chair dilemma.”

When the first round of the song began, neither Ruan Bai nor the player who had died in the chair was seated.

Especially “Big Brother”; he only took his seat after Ruan Bai had finished cooking, and the song had already finished playing by then.

Back then, they were designated as “Big Sister” and “Big Brother” because their actions aligned with the characteristics of these personas.

Taking the correct seat was an intuitive response, but occasional mix-ups with the chairs were entirely ordinary for a group of children aged five or six.

Therefore, the chair’s role could only be one of the initial conditions. There had to be other hidden factors determining their identities.

Ruan Bai being pursued by the “Second Brother” ghost earlier had already provided Snowy with ample inspiration.

“I think this game might work this way,” Snowy pondered. “It’s trying to ‘impose’ the identities of the deceased children upon us through the roles of both the aggressor and the victim.”

In the face of the assault from the “Big Brother” ghost, Ruan Bai was compelled to survive by wielding a kitchen knife, just as “Big Sis” had done before her, following the lyrics as her guide. This process, however, forced her to recognize the “Big Sis” identity.

“In this game, out of fourteen children, thirteen died. Admitting a child’s identity is akin to embracing death,” Snowy explained gravely. “To outsmart the song, we must resist the game’s attempts to label us as much as possible!”

When Ruan Bai stood against the probing of the “Second Brother” ghost, her safety hinged on denying that she was the “Big Sister.” As long as she held firm, the Second Brother could not harm her; he could only fade away.

Ghosts could only harm specific targets. Ruan Bai’s denial was her shield, a way to strip herself of the Big Sister persona that could be exploited.

In this sinister place, the game sought to commandeer the players’ bodies and replay the castle’s tragic past. Of the fourteen children, only one survived, and that survivor’s identity was in constant jeopardy from the vengeful Ghosts.

Therefore, embracing a child’s identity offered no sanctuary at all.

“I wasn’t one of the children to begin with,” Snowy declared firmly, locking eyes with Ruan Bai. “I am a player, an outsider, a living person. And Softie, you are the same. Don’t let the Ghosts confuse you. They need identities, but we have no use for such constraints.”

It was at this moment that Ruan Bai truly woke up.

She realized her mind had been ensnared by the game, fixated on the notion of identity, especially given Du’s father’s desire to usurp the players’ identities, which had moulded her thinking.

These players merely needed to rid themselves of the children’s identities.

Ruan Bai had noticed that the song’s appearance required players to undertake specific actions to “trigger” it. If they could utterly rid themselves of these identities and avoid the activities that initiated the song, how could the game lure them into this “alternate space”?

…Wait, was she really leading Snowy in this game?

Knowledge proved the most potent weapon; Snowy was adept but needed Ruan Bai’s experience. Once Ruan Bai shared her insights, Snowy absorbed them faster than anyone else.

Now that the immediate threat was over, Ruan Bai contemplated, her mind whirring with possibilities. “So, how do we strip away our identities?”

Snowy, nursing her sore wrists, replied composedly, “We need to eradicate any trace of our identities completely.”

Fearing the plot could trigger any moment, Ruan Bai and Snowy swiftly moved.

They started by hacking apart Snowy’s chair in the dining room and setting fire to the wooden sign displaying names. They explored places like the women’s restroom and the ladies’ changing room, areas clearly off-limits to boys.

Fearful that the room might reveal Du Fu’s relics, Ruan Bai thoroughly searched her and Snowy’s rooms, eventually discovering toys that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

Once they had cleared these items, Ruan Bai and Snowy settled in the ladies restroom, deciding not to leave until after 8 PM.

Perhaps not wanting to waste time on them, more than four hours passed before the song on the third floor finally resumed:

“…The third sister, who overrates herself, puts the needle into the pillow of the little sister, but she quietly changes it back. Seeing her sister turn pale, the little sister hummed happily: Dear father, young mother, Your only choice will be me…”

This time, the children’s singing remained as calm and composed as before, devoid of disturbance.

Yet, whether it was Ruan Bai’s imagination or not, their voices seemed to carry a subtle undertone of resentment.

Understanding the meaning behind the song, Ruan Bai exchanged an excited look with Snowy.

They had achieved their goal!

Following the song’s custom, it typically turned the perpetrator of the previous round’s lyrics into the victim of the next round, narrating how this victim met their end.

However, this time, it skipped over the part about “the second sister being hanged by Du Fu” and moved directly to the next segment, bypassing Du Fu entirely and delving into how the little sister killed the third sister!

Ruan Bai understood that this was the game’s middle ground.

Now, Snowy should remain safe like her, without more visits to that eerie alternate realm or spooky encounters.

With that assurance, Ruan Bai’s tension melted away in an instant.

It was only then that she noticed her back was drenched with sweat.

Despite Snowy’s calm façade, Ruan Bai could sense her nervousness through her quivering fingers. She might be clever and composed, but she was just a young girl, not a teenager yet. When faced with the prospect of death, anxiety was only natural.

“Let’s go,” Ruan Bai smiled at her, adding, “After we finish our meal, we’ll continue searching for information. I still haven’t figured out what that inverted cross you showed me earlier means.”

Hearing this, Snowy nodded.

“I marked it as a precaution in case something happened to me, but I’m not entirely sure,” she confessed softly. “I have a theory, but I haven’t had the chance to confirm it… Softie, would you like to explore the third floor?”

☆ 54

“Head up to the third floor?” Snowy’s audacious suggestion widened Ruan Bai’s eyes, prompting an instinctive glance upstairs.

Unlike the bustling first and second floors, the third floor exuded a gloomy aura. It lacked any signs of life, devoid of warm wallpaper or carpeting. Instead, it loomed starkly in white, casting an eerie and inhospitable chill.

As dusk waned, the staircase entrance to the third floor plunged into darkness, a silent abyss reminiscent of a colossal beast’s gaping maw, lying in wait for unsuspecting prey.

This was where the castle’s mentioned couple resided.

Taking just a single glance, Ruan Bai withdrew her gaze.

Her spirit was courageous, and she didn’t take the NPC’s words too seriously. The idea of exploring the third floor had lingered in her thoughts for some time.

After all, such places often harboured secrets and pivotal locations. Despite the risks, the gains promised to be substantial.

However, was it too early to venture to the third floor at this hour?

Before she could voice her thoughts, Snowy caught on and shook her head.

“Let’s hold off for now,” she murmured softly. “Once these songs wrap up, we’ll check it out.”

Snowy’s suggestion aligned perfectly with Ruan Bai’s intentions. After a brief pondering, she nodded in agreement.

As the storyline of these fourteen children concluded, the game would inevitably progress to the next plot point. By then, they might gather more information, making their foray to the third floor a more secure and prudent decision.

The lamps flickered to life as twilight settled over the ancient castle, casting eerie shadows across the halls. Past six in the evening, the dimming sky outside contrasted sharply with the warm glow indoors.

Ruan Bai and Snowy, their nerves finally settling, ventured together to the kitchen. It was time to tidy up and prepare dinner, a routine now somewhat calming amidst the chaos.

Among the four girls in the game, the “third sister” referred to Miss High-and-Mighty, as her name hadn’t surfaced so far.

She stood as the only female player unmentioned since the game commenced—an omission that spelt potential danger.

Ruan Bai, discerning Miss High-and-Mighty’s standoffish demeanour, had a premonition that she might not survive this round.

Her intuition proved tragically accurate.

Minutes later, a sudden quiver overcame Miss High-and-Mighty, causing her to collapse abruptly to the floor. Sharp and menacing silver needles jutted from her skull, reflecting an eerie gleam in the candlelit room.

Blood trailed down her fair neck, staining her once-pristine attire, while fear and helplessness contorted her delicate face.

Death had claimed her.

Despite Ruan Bai’s previous internal complaints about Miss High-and-Mighty’s temperamental behaviour, the abrupt demise of such a vibrant soul left an unexplainable sense of unease.

The game’s ruthlessness towards life became painfully evident.

Thankfully, after days spent amidst numerous deaths, Ruan Bai had grown accustomed to the grim reality. Moreover, she wasn’t particularly close to Miss High-and-Mighty, rendering them mere acquaintances.

Suppressing the strange emotions that stirred within, she sighed and pushed them to the recesses of her mind.

Subsequent silence fell upon the group due to the relentless series of deaths. Finishing dinner in a sombre silence with the surviving players, the pair returned swiftly to their quarters, tidying up before the scheduled time.

During this hour, Ruan Bai felt the urge to talk to Snowy, yet the shock seemed to have drained the colour from the girl’s face, leaving her visibly weakened.

Mulling it over, Ruan Bai chose to hold her tongue.

Reflecting on the recent events within this brief span, Ruan Bai drew the covers over herself, slipping into a deep slumber.

Come morning, she roused Snowy from sleep.

In the ensuing hours, they embarked on gathering intel while tuning in to songs. Among the handful of tunes they’d heard before, there remained a scant five songs that needed to be played.

With time slipping away, more players triggered the storyline, each song unfolding sequentially.

By the time the final melody faded, the sun had crossed into the following afternoon.

Only six players remained.

From the lyrics of each song, the impending storyline seemed eerily similar.

Third Sister met her end at the hands of Youngest Sister, who was then killed by Father Du, wielding a small blade against the hidden Third Brother.

The youngest Sister instigated the Sixth Brother, leading to the youngest Fourth Brother, aged only three or four, being killed. However, Youngest Sister herself died accidentally, pushed down the stairs by Fifth Brother.

Though these scenes didn’t unfold before Ruan Bai’s eyes, the children’s merry yet hollow singing still sent shivers down her spine, permeating the eerie atmosphere of the place.

Children, she mused, held within them a paradox. Their innocence was admirable, but their ruthless brutality in this game was equally horrifying.

Ruan Bai fretted over the frequent mishaps among the players and shared life-saving information with them. Alas, knowing what to do often stood worlds apart from being capable of executing it.

Due to the “alternate space,” Ruan Bai could not aid the others. Ultimately, only she, Snowy, and four others survive the haunting ordeal.

Among the chaos that ensued through several rounds, the sole triumphant soul among the fourteen children was Du Fu, known as Fourth Brother.

As a spectral entity, he slipped into the “alternate space” during the fifth round of the eerie sing-along right after Snowy renounced her identity. By cutting Third Brother’s throat, he claimed the desired identity.

Upon Du Fu’s emergence from the “alternate space,” the singing had halted outside. Tense and breathless players awaited the next harrowing round of events.

With her heart pounding in anticipation, Ruan Bai pondered silently, and an unexpected incident transpired!

The moment Du Fu emerged, there was a fleeting pause upstairs, lasting only three to four seconds before a new song commenced!

　　”~……For three days and nights， the boy with black hair and black eyes was the lucky one； Father and mother came down from the tall building and kissed his forehead in mendation……~”

(t/n: original in english)

Unlike the previous ones, this song was a duet between an adult man and a woman.

Their voices, no longer the tranquil tones of children, resonated with fervour, almost overly eager, twisting and distorting the melody.

As custodians of these fourteen children, the castle’s two hosts steered them toward their grim destinies.

Ruan Bai had speculated based on subtle lyrics as hints, having previously surmised from the final words of the actual “Second Brother” player. He dreamt of Little Sister revealing a letter to Big Sister, foretelling an ominous turn of events.

On that day, Ruan Bai ventured alone to the mailbox, sifting through its contents to discover a collection of newspapers. Among them were reports detailing tycoons’ bankruptcies, stories of war, and mentions of peculiar cults.

She speculated that these headlines indeed harboured hidden meanings.

The war report immediately struck her—the castle masters deliberately scavenging children from battlefields. However, what connections lay within the pieces of tycoons’ financial ruin or the whispers about the cult?

Trapped within a secluded castle, the newspapers she found likely pertained solely to the local town.

Who, besides the castle’s owner, could be considered a tycoon in the eyes of the townsfolk?

It became evident that the town’s economy must have faltered in recent years. Not only could they no longer sustain the upkeep of the fourteen children, but their own daily needs might have been strained, too.

This financial strain likely fuelled their decision to target the children and led to conflicts among them.

Especially the lines from the lyrics about the youngest Sister, “Will I be the most obedient child?” and “Your only choice will surely be me.” These phrases spelt it out.

It seemed probable that the couple responsible for this place had written a letter declaring their intent to abandon thirteen children, retaining only one due to financial woes.

The contents of the letter might have been provocative, mentioning sending the children back to war-torn homelands rife with bloodshed and similar taunts.

But the specifics ceased to matter; the letter ignited the eldest Sister’s emotions, leading her to act against her older brother.

Thus, the conspiracy reached its climax.

While Ruan Bai contemplated, a melody began from the third floor, only to reveal an unexpected twist!

　　”~……Dear child；

　　Your soul is so dark……you must be……be……able to summon the……real devil……~”

(t/n: original in english)

It was eerie, right? The smooth singing suddenly snagged like a busted machine glitching out. By the last line, the folks’ voices turned choppy, mixed with this shrill, grating sound.

When they sang ‘real devil’ at the end, their voices shot up to this freaky high pitch. It was like a scream as if they couldn’t handle some massive agony.

And those lyrics…

“Your soul’s so damn dark; surely could summon the real devil?”

‘What the hell is this ‘devil’ thing…? Are they performing some damn cult ritual!?’ Ruan Bai’s thoughts raced.

Her narrowed eyes darted towards Du Fu, who seemed right in the thick of it, likely knowing something about what was going on. But by that point, Du Fu had vanished into thin air.

The living room stood empty, save for six players with various expressions frozen on their faces.

Ruan Bai’s heart skipped a beat as she instinctively reached out to grab Snowy, urgency sparking between them. “Run, quick!” they blurted out simultaneously.

Staying here would be a death sentence for sure!

These parents pit their kids against each other, all for the sake of picking someone with an absolutely dark, filthy soul to summon that so-called “devil” from legends.

The original intent was relatively straightforward—how much could human desires drive them? It typically boiled down to emotions, fame, wealth, etc.

However, witnessing this unfolding scenario in an escape game, summoning a demon at the end, indicated a grim fate awaited them.

The audacity of this couple to attempt such a thing suggested confidence. And their constant seclusion on the third floor… Could it signify safety on that floor?

Without a moment’s hesitation, they raced towards the third floor!

Other players caught on and followed after them, one by one.

Concerned about Snowy facing potential mishaps and considering her stamina, Ruan Bai swiftly reached out and scooped the young girl up in her arms.

Taken aback by the sudden embrace, Snowy, who typically displayed a cold and aloof demeanour, froze. A faint blush momentarily tinted her pale face, her body tensing like a board.

Usually, Ruan Bai might have playfully teased the shy Snowy like a rogue, but she didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on such thoughts in this urgent situation.

From her movement, wisps of black mist began emanating from places like the kitchen, bathroom, and living room—where people had met their demise.

These murky wisps slowly took shape, forming child-like figures, materialising the deceased children’s bodies and arranging them in the living room.

Their pallid faces bore bloodstains, each apparition reflecting their appearance before death. Their dark red eyes glared intensely at the players, exuding a palpable resentment.

The black mist extended from their forms as if numerous tendrils were reaching out towards the players.

One player, falling behind, accidentally stumbled into the mist. He moved sluggishly, and as his back brushed against the dark fog, his clothes and skin seemed to corrode, instantly drenched in blood.

He stumbled, his steps faltering, swallowed by the swirling black mist.

“Aaaaa~!!”

A chilling scream tore through the air as the player’s form dissolved into the darkness.

Ruan Bai spun around, gasping at the scene below.

Thirteen children stood still, their gaze fixed on the ascending group. Their impassive faces watched Ruan Bai leading the way to the third floor.

As Ruan Bai reached the third floor ahead of them, their lips formed a collective sinister grin.

In the shadows, their stares bore into Ruan Bai, their expressions disturbingly intense, silently conveying, “You won’t escape us.”

Glancing back at the unsettling gathering, Ruan Bai felt a shiver run down her spine before swiftly turning away.

Without hesitation, she sprinted towards the sanctuary of the third floor.

Greeted by an eerie chill in the hallway, Ruan Bai took a deep breath and forged ahead.

☆ 55

As dusk descended, a veil of darkness draped over the entire castle, casting an eerie shadow, especially on the neglected third floor. 

Upon entering, Ruan Bai was met with a sudden, bone-chilling cold that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

The absence of light heightened her senses, shrouding the corridor in impenetrable darkness. It left them disoriented, unsure of the path ahead.

“Please, put me down,” Snowy pleaded upon arrival, squirming in Ruan Bai’s grip. “I can walk by myself!”

Snowy felt weightless, making it effortless for Ruan Bai to carry her. However, sensing the girl’s embarrassment and perceiving no immediate danger, Ruan Bai gently released her.

“Where do we go from here?” Ruan Bai inquired once Snowy regained her composure.

The darkness made every movement seem precarious to Ruan Bai.

Recognizing Snowy’s intelligence in her grasp of demonology from various books, Ruan Bai leaned more on her intellect. Although usually reliant on her sharp mind, Ruan Bai acknowledged that overthinking and incomplete information sometimes led her astray.

Like when flipping the cross held no special significance; it merely signaled the presence of a ‘demon’ to Ruan Bai.

She gradually realized that when faced with puzzles demanding intellect, Snowy excelled. And Ruan Bai had more pressing concerns to address.

At the entrance to the third floor, an unusual black mist outside appeared to collide with an invisible barrier, unable to breach it—a detail not overlooked by Ruan Bai. Nevertheless, this did not diminish her vigilance.

This place teetered on the edge between safety and peril, an enigma where danger lurked despite the current respite.

The third floor was enveloped in a sinister darkness, a foreboding sign warning them not to venture further. Could their safety here be part of the game’s protective measures?

It wasn’t just about safety; there was something on the third floor even the ghosts seemed to fear. Perhaps relics like Vatican exorcism tools—holy water—provided this sanctuary, Ruan Bai optimistically pondered.

However, darker thoughts loomed. The third floor itself  could hold a terror that surpassed the malevolent black mist.

Ruan Bai speculated that the couple’s attempt to summon a demon hinted at this more ominous possibility. Why summon a demon if not to confront a profound fear or curiosity beyond the mundane?

Though Ruan Bai’s mind delved deep, in reality, only fleeting moments had passed.

After discussing with Snowy, Ruan Bai began to grasp the intended clues of the game.

She preferred not to rely solely on others, especially in survival challenges. While aligning with Snowy’s views was acceptable, Ruan Bai believed that communication would unveil her own blind spots.

A careful examination of the surroundings unveiled an oversight: a faint odour permeated the third floor.

The scent was elusive amid the various fragrances of the castle. Specifically, it resembled the odours found in vast shopping mall restrooms—a lingering, almost cloying essence.

When Ruan Bai carried Snowy upstairs, she nearly sneezed due to the noxious stench cleverly masked by overwhelming fragrance. 

Through deliberate sniffs, Ruan Bai discerned the peculiar blend—an amalgamation of putrid foulness camouflaged by an overpowering, intense perfume, an olfactory riddle demanding attention.

“Something’s off,” she muttered under her breath. “This whole third floor reeks of it.”

Snowy’s softer features stood in stark contrast to Ruan Bai’s sharp edges. A moment of silence followed Ruan Bai’s words as Snowy processed them.

When Ruan Bai finished speaking, Snowy looked up and asked, “Can you trace where that stench is coming from?”

Ruan Bai responded with a quick nod. It didn’t seem like a challenge; she almost considered it child’s play.

However, Snowy’s question—did it imply that she was being tasked to investigate the source of the foul smell?

Sure enough, as Ruan Bai pondered this, Snowy promptly added, “Then let’s investigate.”

Where there’s a stench, something awaits discovery, whether perilous or not, but certainly worth investigating.

With that thought, Ruan Bai took Snowy’s hand and cautiously led the way forward.

The remaining few players behind her didn’t hesitate, staying close to Ruan Bai’s back.

Surveying the surroundings, Ruan Bai noticed the overwhelming darkness. Initially contemplating asking the system for a flashlight, she hesitated.

Her system was different from others’; she remembered Gu Bu Chao’s explanation. These systems rarely provided everyday items like flashlights.

In her previous world, she hadn’t paid much attention, but here, Snowy was perceptive, quick to notice any irregularities.

It wasn’t a fear of Snowy; rather, Ruan Bai simply felt that handling any anomalies would be challenging.

Upon reflection, the system that used to engage and complain with her in the previous world remained noticeably absent here.

Apart from issuing missions with a few words, it remained eerily silent, refusing to make any other sound.

Ruan Bai couldn’t decide whether the system’s move was a blessing or a curse, its concern perhaps for her game performance.

Dismissing these thoughts, she led her diverse group toward the source of the nauseating odor.

The third-floor corridor proved rougher than the second, guiding her through its lengthy expanse, past the living quarters, until she stopped before a single chamber.

The stench outside this door intensified, overpowering any lingering fragrances in the air.

Looking at her fellow players, Ruan Bai tentatively asked, “Should I open the door?”

One of the players shook their head and said, “I’ll get a stick for you.”

They perceived Ruan Bai as fragile. Despite her ability to carry a twelve-year-old while outpacing them, she was seen as a target for a wealthy girl’s bullying. She’d been known to shed tears in the kitchen over a twisted ankle.

More distressing was the absence of the young man she’d recently started to like, presumably consumed by the enveloping black mist – a truly heart-rending predicament.

Now, only a handful of players survived. Cooperation and unity were vital for their survival.

Ruan Bai sensed their unspoken thoughts but chose silence, patiently waiting for the male player to return with a slender wooden branch from a nearby potted plant.

With a twist of the doorknob, she gently pushed the door ajar using the makeshift stick.

Creak…

As the door yielded to her push, peculiar noises suddenly echoed from within the chamber!

Ruan Bai’s hand trembled as she saw over a dozen obscure, winged creatures squeezing through the door’s gap!

Instinctively, she let go of the stick, and the mysterious creatures scattered, fluttering away in a frenzied escape.

“Bats,” someone exclaimed, “We should be able to go in now.”

Summoning her courage, Ruan Bai pushed the door wider.

With each inch the door widened, the foul odour within became more pungent.

Through the open window, a sliver of moonlight pierced the darkness, forcing Ruan Bai to squint as she scanned the room before her.

Similar to the secret chamber in the study earlier, cryptic runic symbols adorned every surface here, their eerie crimson hue suggesting they were sketched in blood.

In a dimly lit corner, lay the lifeless bodies of numerous bats and rats, exuding a putrid stench that dominated the air. Meanwhile, the walls flanking her were densely covered with inverted crosses.

At another corner, several overturned jars leaked unused blood, creating dark clots on the floor. Demons and other sinister beings seemed to be part of the castle owners’ inventory, evident from their grotesque preparations.

But why the replication of two identical rooms? Was the first one just a test?

Ruan Bai didn’t linger on the thought; she pressed on with her investigation.

Tracing the bloodstains on the ground, she concluded they were hastily drawn. Yet, an abrupt cessation in the pattern hinted at an unexpected mishap – the flow of blood had ceased abruptly mid-design.

The very spot where the pattern dissolved aligned perfectly with the spillage from a jar of blood onto the ground.

Approaching the wall cautiously, she spotted a hastily scrawled message in blood-stained fingertips on the pristine white surface:

“I regret… It is not a devil, but a more terrible being than a devil!”

Something more horrifying than a devil?

If this unnerving couple found it terrifying, what on earth had they summoned?

Suddenly, a wave of inexplicable unease washed over Ruan Bai, her heart skipping a beat.

She quickly retreated a few steps, her eagerness to leave this place mounting.

In that moment, the door they had entered through eerily shut on its own, devoid of any discernible breeze.

A wooden door slammed shut against the frame with a sharp “creak-crack,” the sound reverberating violently through the room, sending a shiver down Ruan Bai’s spine.

Reacting swiftly, Ruan Bai spun around as soon as she sensed movement at the door, dashing urgently towards the entrance.

Despite her rapid movements, she couldn’t match the door’s sudden closure. Helplessly, she watched as it sealed shut before her eyes, trapping her inside.

Just before the door shut completely, a figure stood ominously on the other side.

Du Fu, who had inexplicably vanished earlier, now hauntingly present, cast a cold gaze upon everyone in the room, chilling the air with his presence.

In that fleeting moment before the door closed, Du Fu’s pitch-black eyes locked onto Ruan Bai, and a chilling smile twisted his pallid, stiff face, sending chills down her spine.

Ruan Bai’s heart sank instantly.

What unnerved her even more was the blood-curdling scream that pierced the air behind her.

Whirling around, she beheld two figures that hadn’t been there moments before—the castle’s ghostly couple.

Clad in the attire of their living days, their faces devoid of expression, their hands stained with blood, they stood hauntingly in the room, fixing their gaze on the intruders.

Despite her familiarity with such sudden occurrences, Ruan Bai felt a surge of flustered unease upon seeing the spectral duo. Yet, she quickly steadied herself. These happenings were all too common…

If she were to tally them, she wouldn’t know the count of times she’d been ambushed by ghosts.

But something was different this time, causing her initially calm heartbeat to quicken once more.

The mermaid bell on her chest inexplicably began to burn again, its ominous heat stirring an unsettling feeling within her.

☆ 56

The intense heat emitted by the mermaid bell left Ruan Bai pondering its cryptic message. Her heart raced, and her attempts to escape became sluggish.

However, pausing only intensified the ghosts’ assault. The spectral couple charged directly at the two closest players with swift, determined motions.

The demise of this ghostly duo puzzled Ruan Bai. What distinguished them was their attack speed and the strange sounds they emitted.

Unlike children ghosts engaging in physical assaults, these two produced bizarre noises. Their voices carried an otherworldly authority, tinged with resentment and a spectral grudge that pierced the mind.

—”Get out!” 

The command echoed forcefully, disrupting her movements.

“Can we open the door?” Ruan Bai dodged a grab from the ghostly mistress, tumbling on the ground in disarray. Urgently, she turned to the others and asked, “Quick, try opening the door!”

The ghost couple’s voices exerted an unusual influence, significantly slowing her down. Meanwhile, her head throbbed, occasionally flashing grotesque scenes before her eyes.

Struggling to regain composure, Ruan Bai bit her tongue hard, tasting a metallic tang. Suppressing the inexplicable restlessness and rage surging within, she took a deep breath and pushed Snowy away from the ghosts, attempting to soothe her frayed nerves by getting her as far as possible from the ghosts. 

A sense of impending doom lingered in a cramped room where two ghosts mingled with five players. Failure to crack the puzzle soon would undoubtedly seal their fate!

Adding to the eerie atmosphere was the presence of the hot mermaid bell. There’s no Du Wen book here, nor Du’s father. What the hell is it up to?

Ruan Bai found her thoughts in disarray, the ghosts wreaking havoc on her mental composure, making it challenging to dismiss stray notions.

Yet, despite the chaos, her instincts remained sharp. Drawing on her past experiences, she dodged trouble twice. Her companions, too, displayed seasoned expertise. Through collective effort, they had managed to avoid casualties, albeit for a brief span.

However, enduring this ordeal for much longer seemed unfeasible…

“The door won’t budge,” a player solemnly announced after a while. “We’re trapped inside.”

Within the room, amidst them and the spectral entities, lay only inexplicable bloodstains and cryptic graffiti—no clues to aid their plight.

The window opposite the stubborn door remained shut, sealed tightly for who knew how long.

The pallid moonlight streamed through, casting an even more ghostly hue on everyone’s countenance.

Ruan Bai was of the strong-willed kind, but some of the players had succumbed, clutching their heads and emitting agonising screams.

She stole a quick glance at Snowy; the young girl’s complexion mirrored the dire situation, barely able to maintain her stance while braced against the wall.

—”Get out! Get out! Get out! Get out! Get out!” 

It seemed the ghostly couple, perhaps sensing the players’ exhaustion, intensified their reprimands.

One by one… Until even Snowy succumbed, leaving Ruan Bai as the sole one standing.

Come to think of it, didn’t the eldest boy use this very phrase briefly in the kitchen just before he got killed?

The child and the parents—all echoing the exact words… Was it a clue? A reminder?

Ruan Bai shifted her gaze to the relentless attacking ghosts, clenched her jaw, and a notion surged through her mind.

This door was sealed by Du’s father, employing methods known only to ghosts. It was beyond the capability of players to unlock manually.

However, what if ghosts were the ones to open the door?

‘Fine then, if you’re that desperate to fight, might as well let you loose to tussle with the kids downstairs!’ she muttered under her breath, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

Without a moment’s pause, Ruan Bai lunged for the blood-filled jar tucked away in the corner and hurled it ferociously at the spectral pair.

Her back firmly pressed against the room’s door, eyes fixed intently on the spooks, she stood as still as an arrow drawn taut on a bowstring.

As the ghostly couple noticed her, Ruan Bai slowly unveiled an almost taunting smirk.

“e on!” she brazenly shouted, “Let me give you some colour to 色e 色e!” (t/n: original in english)

Ghosts: “…”

Ghosts: What is this person blabbering about?

Though unable to comprehend Ruan Bai’s mixture of Chinglish and gestures, her provocative demeanour was crystal clear to them.

Did she dare provoke them!?

Without hesitation, the ghostly couple bellowed in fury and lunged forward, claws slashing toward Ruan Bai!

Seizing the moment, she swiftly squatted down, narrowly dodging the attack.

In that instant, the wooden door bore the brunt of the spectral claws, emitting a groan as the lock loosened.

Success!

Ruan Bai hastily unlocked the door and swung it open forcefully!

Outside, darkness loomed, the room enveloped in an eerie silence, almost as if their intense struggle within had no reach beyond these walls.

Yet, at the precise moment the door swung wide, the ghostly couple froze.

The frozen figures stood by the door, immobile and eerie in their stillness.

Ruan Bai gasped for breath, her heart racing from the sudden fright, while those around her slowly regained their composure, snapping out of their alarmed stupor.

Initially, she had braced herself for the ghosts to continue their menacing demeanour, ready to dash outside swiftly. But their abrupt stop puzzled her.

What had caused this sudden halt? Was there something beyond that door?

Clutching Snowy’s hand tightly, Ruan Bai moved cautiously towards the exit, her actions purposeful yet careful.

Simultaneously, faint sounds seeped in through the doorway—whispers that echoed hauntingly.

“Dear father… dear mother…”

The unified voices of several children echoed from the staircase, creating an eerie harmony.

Straining her ears, Ruan Bai pinpointed the source of the voices downstairs, likely from the first floor. Their intermittent nature, shifting between loud and muffled, suggested a distant origin.

These calls felt like enchantments, permeating the room and gradually calming the wrathful expressions of the ghostly couple, leaving them in an unsettling state of numbness.

Recalling the row of lifeless children’s bodies in the living room, Ruan Bai had an epiphany.

These children sought revenge.

As she suspected, within the children’s chanting, the ghostly couple, entranced, staggered towards the staircase, their movements unsteady yet controlled.

“Dear father… dear mother…”

Their vacant gaze fixed ahead as they ascended the stairs, disappearing into the thick black fog enveloping the third floor.

The children’s calls intensified, their once-composed voices tinged with a disturbing mix of excitement and frenzy.

As the echoing calls gradually faded, the figures of the castle’s couple dissolved into the black mist, vanishing from sight.

The children had finally exacted their revenge.

Surviving players aided one another through the ordeal, defying death once more.

Aware that they had escaped catastrophe again, a sense of relief washed over them.

The incident downstairs had occurred just after 6 o’clock in the evening.

Following the tumultuous struggle, they estimated it must be nearing 8 o’clock at night, their usual bedtime.

Adhering to the game’s customary allowance for rest, they presumed there wouldn’t be further danger ahead.

If they endured tonight and half of tomorrow, they believed they would break free from the game’s grasp and be safe.

Concerned about potential morning mishaps, a few players just napped here.

Avoiding the blood-soaked room out of instinct, they settled in the corridor, fearing the black mist lingering outside the staircase.

Ruan Bai, without objections, complied with the plan.

Weakened by her ordeal, Snowy succumbed to fatigue and drifted into slumber.

After tidying up, they all lay down together, succumbing to the weariness that had gripped the players.

In the serene corridor, everyone’s breathing mingled in the air.

And then, just as Ruan Bai closed her eyes, she swiftly reopened them.

Carefully checking that the four people around her were asleep, she quietly rose.

She glanced into the room where the castle’s couple had appeared before, confirming its emptiness, before cautiously continuing her journey down the passage, feeling her way through the darkness.

Ruan Bai, recognised as one of the most physically exerted players, found it impossible not to feel exhausted. Despite this, she had no choice but to continue at this moment. The cause was the mermaid bell hanging around her neck, incessantly burning since the appearance of the castle couple and showing no signs of cooling down even after their departure.

Initially, Ruan Bai suspected the couple might be the reason for its heat, but she soon realised the truth. The mermaid bell’s temperature rise had nothing to do with the couple; it was solely due to Du Fu, presumably involved in something that had caught the mermaid bell’s attention!

As she thought of Du Fu, the DSAS company’s founder, Ruan Bai, gritted her teeth, feeling compelled to investigate further. After turning a corner and ensuring no one was around, she swiftly exchanged points for a flashlight and began exploring, turning it on without hesitation.

A slender beam of white light emanated from her flashlight, instantly illuminating her surroundings. Once her eyes adjusted, Ruan Bai scrutinised her environment, only to notice something peculiar.

She discovered why the third floor remained dark – it was shrouded in a thicker, more daunting black mist compared to the lower levels. These black mists had solidified semi-solid, impeding her light’s penetration. They swirled and writhed, filling the entire third floor, momentarily evoking a sensation akin to being in hell for Ruan Bai.

Realising she had been walking in this unsettling mist for a considerable time, Ruan Bai’s heart sank. Involuntarily, she tightened her grip on the mermaid bell around her neck, and in that instant, the bell transformed.

Something inexplicable unfolded; slipping from Ruan Bai’s grasp, it drifted, suspended in mid-air.

A faint white glow emitted from the mermaid bell. Small yet radiant, it outshone the flashlight Ruan Bai had spent ten points for.

Under the mermaid bell’s radiance, the swirling black mist enveloping Ruan Bai dispersed instantly.

It was as if they had encountered something highly corrosive; just touching this white light caused large patches of the black mist to instantly vanish.

“What’s happening… Why does the mermaid bell have this effect?” Ruan Bai paused, glancing around in bewilderment.

Though uncertain, Ruan Bai remained adaptable.

Quickly comprehending, she swiftly unhooked the chain from around her neck, allowing the mermaid bell to float freely.

As the black mist dispersed, part of the third floor’s environment returned to normalcy.

Simultaneously, the mermaid bell swayed in the air and darted towards a specific direction!

Ruan Bai hastened her steps, following closely.

The mermaid bell glided swiftly, paying no heed to Ruan Bai trailing in the darkness.

Navigating adeptly through the intricate third floor, it bypassed lengthy corridors and complex terrain, nearly leaving Ruan Bai behind.

After about five minutes of flight, it arrived at a corner.

The white light faded as it arrived, and the bell plummeted to the ground.

Ruan Bai stayed vigilant and entirely focused to avoid losing track.

Watching the mermaid bell’s descent, she realised they had arrived at their destination.

Without hesitation, she strode over, snatching up the mermaid bell from the ground and quickly glancing around.

A figure now stood with his back turned toward her, positioned at the end of the corridor, his gaze fixed contemplatively on a painting.

His silhouette melded into the surrounding darkness yet remained distinctly visible, almost as if dark mists surged outward from within him.

At the sound of movement behind him, he pivoted.

Upon spotting Ruan Bai, a glint of surprise flickered across his deep black eyes, marking a stark contrast from other ghosts.

“Didn’t anticipate you finding your way here,” he remarked. “I underestimated you.”

Indeed, earlier, he had intentionally ensnared the players in that room, counting on the castle’s couple to handle them.

Ruan Bai observed him, pressing her lips together.

Confronting Du directly presented a rare opportunity, especially within the game’s construct; this should be a secure moment— he couldn’t inflict harm.

Numerous questions crowded her thoughts—about DSAS company, whether he was aware of Du Wen Shu, the purpose behind the spectres’ existence, and why he manifested here.

However, in the end, she hesitated, asking only, “What did the two masters of this castle ultimately summon?”

It was something more dreadful than a demon—what precisely was it?

She sensed its immense significance for Du Wen Shu, DSAS, and herself.

She had to know.

Upon hearing her query, Du’s gaze turned enigmatic as he regarded her.

After a prolonged moment, the spectre’s lips curled slightly, emitting an eerie, chilling laugh.

“Isn’t it something you already know?” it countered.

The spectre’s harsh, unpleasant voice bore an indescribable, unsettling aloofness.

“I’ve cautioned you before—there’s no distinction between us and you… Demons lurk everywhere, binding us, and they equally shadow your steps.”

☆ 57

“What in the blazes are demons?”

Ruan Bai had dwelled on this question before delving into the twisted game and stumbling upon the couple’s infernal intentions.

Knowing she was in an overseas game realm, her usual Eastern perspective on demons felt inadequate. So, armed with scraps of information, she pondered the origin, purpose, and motive behind the couple’s summoning ritual.

It seemed blatantly obvious that their aim in summoning demons was to acquire something substantial. Given their dire financial state, the allure of fame and power from these otherworldly beings was undeniable.

From Ruan Bai’s gathered knowledge about demons, one thing stood out—the bargaining chip they offered was remarkably consistent: souls.

In countless Western fables, demons relished enticing mortals, luring them with material riches and allurements, all in exchange for their very souls.

Summoning these creatures required intricate methods involving sacrifices and such—basic yet gruesome rituals.

The couple forced their own children to slaughter each other, and the ultimate sacrifice, Du Fu, seemed like a mere pawn in their demonic quest.

Their goal was to summon a demon through this abhorrent act. Yet, they didn’t anticipate something even more petrifying than the demon itself.

What could possibly be worse?

“I’ve warned you before, there’s no disparity between us and you… Demons are ubiquitous, tethered to us, trailing your steps just the same,” declared Du Fu.

Ruan Bai mulled over Du Fu’s words. He was undoubtedly a ghost, and the “we” he referenced were likely ghosts.

But who were the “you”?

Were they ordinary people… or players?

She reminisced about the end of the previous world when the female headmaster from DSAS cautioned her with a cryptic gesture, advising against meddling with the company.

At the beginning of this new game, the “Big Brother,” before vanishing, dropped a hint, same one as the castle couple later on.

Perhaps these ghosts were privy to, if not more aware than, the players themselves.

They bloody well, what, players too?!

Watching Ruan Bai’s face contort through several expressions, Du Fu’s features cracked into a grin, an uncertain mix of satisfaction and resentment playing across its expression.

“Yeah, the demon just wants to feast on your soul, close your eyes, and poof, you’re dead, no real agony,” it said, almost sighing. “But it forces a damn contract onto your souls, making them endlessly die. It relishes your fear and dread.”

For some inexplicable reason, it sneered, “And even after you die, your soul ain’t free, still gotta be its puppet, endlessly, until… your soul’s annihilated.”

Compared to its prior vague talk, Du Fu’s words made things pretty damn clear.

Its words almost explicitly pointed to the horror game system!

“How… how is that possible?” Ruan Bai struggled to comprehend, stumbling over her words—an uncommon sight for her.

So, it meant even after they bloody die, players can’t shake off the game!?

Why the hell would it say this? It’s a damn ghost, how does it know so much…

“Why wouldn’t it be possible?” Du Fu retorted directly upon hearing her question, their pitch-black eyes drilling into Ruan Bai, its voice colder than the damn air outside. “Do you think I need to deceive you?”

Staring back at Du Fu, Ruan Bai opened her mouth but couldn’t find a retort.

She knew Du Fu genuinely had no reason to deceive her.

Yeah, why wouldn’t it be possible?

At first, when Ruan Bai began to link it to the system, she resisted and found it unbelievable.

But after Du Fu’s explanation, amidst her muddled thoughts, there was a sense that, perhaps, it was meant to be this way.

Yes, if Du Fu didn’t lie, then isn’t the Horror Survival Game System a more horrifying entity than a damn demon?

After all, in her understanding, there were no gods or demons in this world, yet there existed this horror game system.

One that could yank a person’s soul into another world, incessantly tormenting—it sure was more cruel than any regular demon.

Initially, that couple conjured this setup to summon a demon.

They just hadn’t reckoned that no bloody demon came. Instead, it attracted the horror game system.

The system found Du Fu exceptionally gifted, surviving among fourteen kids killing each other, so it pegged Du Fu as its damn host.

“Maybe this is the truth,” Du said, assessing Ruan Bai’s expression as comprehension dawned on her.

“We, along with those entities labelled as ghosts, were all hosts. But after passing away, our ghosts were transported here,” it explained.

“Our past lives, with slight adjustments, are transformed into scenarios within the system’s game. And here, we endlessly relive those moments day after day.”

Consequently, they obey the system’s directives within the game and persist in their missions.

Among these ghosts, certain hosts, having undergone too much, suffer torment within the game, resulting in a dulled mind, an expressionless facade, akin to puppets.

This also elucidates the numerous distinctions among ghosts.

Ruan Bai absorbed these revelations, her lips pursed, withholding any response.

Contemplating the world she had personally encountered, if she replaced ghosts with former players, numerous narratives abruptly made sense.

For instance, in the second game, one-fifth of the students and teachers at the school were ghosts. Eventually, they fervently believed in the fabricated messiah, striving to evade the affliction.

In reality, such a notion would seem absurd.

We needn’t even discuss the matter; diseases like malaria are not issues a school can resolve without governmental intervention.

Especially when the affected population comprises students from that very school.

However, what if those students weren’t afflicted by malaria but by the system?

If these overtly fantastical storylines were considered alterations by the system, and the disease-like “malaria” in the narrative was replaced by a lethal horror game system affecting students, then the reluctance of the school’s authorities and students to seek aid from government officials would seem quite logical.

Malaria is explicable; hospitals can confirm its existence. But an escape game? Who would entertain such an idea!?

With no recourse and no means to escape, individuals in reality could only desperately seek assistance from ghosts and deities.

The underground auction held at the 《Dark Manor》—it was certain that outsiders had sneaked in at that time.

Now, thinking back, those apparitions trying to obtain the players’ identities, maybe they were the ones who later were identified by the system and chosen as players.

Ruan Bai’s heart sank by degrees.

As minuscule clues emerged, she could no longer wholly dismiss this reality.

A horror survival game—an existence more chilling than the devil.

From start to finish, she seemed unable to comprehend the origin of the system.

Though she viewed Uncle Shen and the others as the game’s initial players, she knew the game’s existence stretched far beyond their comprehension. It’s just that, ages ago, without the internet, communication faltered, and discussing it only met disbelief.

What was its purpose? What impelled it to cherry-pick players and thrust them into various escape games?

Ruan Bai remained oblivious, yet its malevolence appeared glaringly evident from the outset.

The system naturally established criteria for player selection. The more exceptional one’s abilities in surviving these games, the higher the likelihood of being chosen.

If its objective truly aligned with Father Du’s assertions—that it sought to amass fear—then it made sense why it wouldn’t lead players to a dead end. Only the living could continuously supply the fear it craved.

The points exchangeable for material rewards, the games conquerable through struggle—these served as dangling incentives, implying the game wasn’t futile, that through effort, survival was possible, offering fleeting moments of respite.

Simultaneously, it felt like a suggestion, calming players, convincing them it was merely a game and that one day, they could escape.

But what if, even after death, they couldn’t sever ties with the system?

Ruan Bai refrained from delving into this train of thought.

Furthermore, a common thread among the spectres she encountered in the games was the proximity of DSAS company personnel.

This couldn’t be a mere coincidence.

Ruan Bai fixed her gaze on Du Fu, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re its first host. But how did the subsequent hosts come about? The appearances of the players were too frequent to be mere chance. This can’t be a coincidence; the system can ‘infect,’ am I right?”

Du Fu nodded in agreement.

“Ever since I became the initial host, it’s as if I’ve been a beacon,” it explained in a measured tone. “The system scrutinises everyone around me, binding those who fit its criteria forcibly.” It paused, acknowledging her deduction. “You’re right. They’re akin to viruses, spreading from one person to another, exponentially increasing the number of players beyond imagination.”

“In its inception, it wasn’t referred to as the ‘system’; that term belongs to your generation of players,” Du Fu continued, his words tinged with reminiscence. “It’s adaptive, reshaping itself to fit the era. During my youth, I believed it to be the demon from ancient legends.”

So, whether they are ghosts or presently living players, all possess some link, varying in degree, with the DSAS company.

Du Fu was the founder of the DSAS company, expanding the system’s reach into wider domains.

Regarding the system’s intelligence, Ruan Bai had grasped its nature early on.

She observed that when the system selected hosts, it seldom targeted officials or prominent figures; rather, it favoured ordinary individuals, those from the lower rungs of society.

Perhaps Uncle Shen’s inclusion as a host was an oversight. During that period, when Uncle Shen’s elder brother passed away, and the Shen family’s conglomerate faced bankruptcy, the system likely didn’t anticipate his resilience.

So, when Uncle Shen eventually uncovered DSAS’s existence as the system’s ally, he was swiftly and efficiently silenced by the system.

As Ruan Bai pieced it together, her heart turned cold.

Her disappointed gaze bore into Du Fu. “You chose not to intervene… You’re complicit?” Her voice betrayed a mix of disbelief and indignation. “It’s a malignant growth! It’s going to harm countless people!”

They were real, living individuals—some of them children!

Had Du Fu never felt a pang of discomfort while purposefully facilitating the system’s expansion through new hosts?

From the outset, she sensed that when Du Fu delved into these matters, he never exhibited the emotions of an ordinary person.

The tone wasn’t just unsettling; it carried a certain self-satisfaction, utterly unfazed by the loss of human lives.

“Why should I intercept it?” Du Fu erupted into laughter at her words.

“It allowed me to survive under foster parents’ care, brought immense benefits, and enabled me to live a top-notch life. Why should I go against it?” The response was unapologetic, leaving Ruan Bai momentarily speechless.

It wasn’t that Ruan Bai couldn’t argue back; rather, upon reflection, she realized there was no need for this dispute.

Since the system had chosen Du Fu, it undoubtedly had a purpose. Had Du Fu been an ordinary, regular person, the system wouldn’t have picked him.

Growing up in a war-torn area deliberately shaped toward evil by the castle’s couple, Du Fu was entirely different from regular people.

Surviving by slaughtering siblings, relying on an indifference to life.

Such experiences would thoroughly warp a child’s values and ruin their life, making them diverge from mainstream ideologies.

It would never believe it was wrong.

For a moment, Ruan Bai was at a loss for words, surprisingly understanding why Du Wen Shu had undergone a significant personality change after growing up and resisted his father’s company so fiercely.

Thinking of Fourth Middle School, where Du Wen Shu had studied, Ruan Bai felt a twinge of unease.

Even his own biological child had been thoroughly exploited by Du Fu.

Contemplating this, Ruan Bai’s emotions surged.

After a while, she sighed and lowered her head.

In the palm of her hand, perhaps the mermaid’s bell sensed her despondency, emitting gentle warmth once again, flickering with a faint white light.

As if offering solace.

Ruan Bai gazed at Du Fu, her voice barely a whisper as she questioned, “Why share all this with me? You could’ve stayed silent, especially given the binding of your soul to the system. Speaking out only brings you harm, doesn’t it?”

The mermaid bell had drawn her here, yet it was Du Fu who spoke those words, words that lingered, leaving her pondering their meaning.

In the kitchen, Du Fu hinted at it again, but back then, his words had been too elusive for Ruan Bai to grasp. She wasn’t the sharpest or the strongest, so why choose her to reveal all this?

Her curiosity peaked, but to her surprise, Du Fu, who moments ago had been forthcoming with answers, now sealed his lips, offering nothing more.

Ruan Bai glanced up, noticing a strange emotion flickering across the ghostly, impassive face—an indescribable sensation.

His countenance rarely altered, typically devoid of emotion or occasionally exhibiting resentment. Thus, this peculiar change in Du Fu didn’t escape Ruan Bai’s notice.

Their eyes met, and within seconds, Du Fu’s gaze became intricate, almost mysterious, the depths of his deep black eyes seemingly flickering with an enigmatic glint that eluded Ruan Bai’s understanding.

“…You’re the most unique,” Du Fu finally spoke after a few breaths, his words hanging in the air.

“That’s all I can share,” he added before taking a step back, swiftly changing the subject. “Knowing too much won’t benefit you. Focus on yourself for the time that remains.”

Intent on departing, Du Fu’s motives became clear.

Ruan Bai, feeling somewhat dissatisfied, moved to ask more questions. However, before she could utter a word, Du Fu vanished into thin air.

The corridor now stood empty, leaving only her presence behind.

.. There was no other way.

Ruan Bai paused slightly, forced to give up on continuing the search for Du Fu.

Without much hesitation, she turned around, retracing her steps based on her memory of the way back.

The mermaid bell still emitted its white glow, dispelling the surrounding black mist for her.

Mulling over the information she’d just gathered, Ruan Bai sluggishly walked over to where the four players were.

At that moment, these players were still sound asleep, entirely unaware of Ruan Bai’s departure.

Ruan Bai walked over to Snowy’s side and slowly lay down.

However weary she felt, sleep eluded her.

Du Fu’s words, the truth about DSAS Corporation, Du Wen Shu’s past, and the enigmatic mermaid bell’s origins gave her a sensation of being ensnared in a web.

Invisible strands of a densely woven web bound her, compelling her to move forward bit by bit, forcing her to meet numerous people, encounter more incidents, heading towards an inevitable conclusion.

Regarding Du Fu’s words today, she didn’t wholly believe them, as Du Fu definitely held something back, even blurring crucial aspects.

However, after a rough estimate, Ruan Bai figured around eighty percent of it was reliable.

What she could affirm now was that when Du Fu was young, after going through intense battles, he was selected by the system, becoming the first generation host and the system’s “spokesperson”.

Relying on the wealth provided by the Horror Survival Game System, he returned to the country and founded DSAS Corporation, continuously outputting new hosts through certain means for the system.

Later, his child, Du Wen Shu, grew up and became aware of what Du Fu was doing, beginning to oppose his father and DSAS Corporation.

Whatever experiments or results Du Wen Shu produced, were likely aimed at the system.

Eventually, Du Wen Shu, carrying his research findings, voluntarily went to the mermaid village and died there.

The first world she stumbled upon bore little resemblance to Du Fu’s descriptions. This particular realm housed the mermaid girl, the sole ghostly presence, but she didn’t quite fit the mold of a typical player…

Could this deviation be attributed to Du Wen Shu’s research discoveries?

Ruan Bai’s head spun with a whirlwind of thoughts. Despite unraveling a cluster of secrets, the ensuing confusion only deepened.

What unsettled her even more was Du Fu’s razor-sharp insights. The information he provided now posed a challenge for Ruan Bai’s verification attempts.

DSAS Corporation remained a puzzle wrapped in vague responses. Despite Ruan Bai’s wealth of knowledge, pinpointing the real-world origins of DSAS Corporation proved elusive.

After much contemplation, grappling with the enigma at hand, Ruan Bai drew in a deep breath, deciding to halt her attempts.

Once she conquered this game level and indulged in months of respite, she could then methodically piece it all together.

Relinquishing her thoughts, Ruan Bai allowed fatigue to overtake her once more.

Amidst the ebb and flow of breaths surrounding her, she shut her eyes, her consciousness slipping into a gradual descent.

In that half-awake state, Du Fu’s words reverberated, “…You’re the most unique.”

What could possibly make an ordinary girl like Ruan Bai so exceptional?

Just as Ruan Bai found the idea amusing, a sudden stroke of insight hit her!

Perhaps Du Fu wasn’t entirely off the mark.

Compared to fellow players, she indeed possessed something that set her apart in a profound way.

Her system—unlike the standard Horror Survival Game System—was, from start to finish, a White Lotus System.

☆ 58

【Looks like you’ve finally wrapped your head around this system’s awesomeness,】  whispered the White Lotus System  as realization dawned upon Ruan Bai. 【I thought you’d completely forgotten about me.】

Ruan Bai: “…”

Ruan Bai: “…Haha, c’mon, system, you’re overthinking it.”

But who could blame her? Its presence had been close to nonexistent!

For days, the White Lotus System had been shut off, almost slipping from Ruan Bai’s memory.

Reflecting on it, it probably cowered in fear of the Horror Survival Game System, hiding away in trepidation.

Both were systems, yet why did the Horror Survival Game System flourish like a rampant virus while the White Lotus System remained frail, skulking in the shadows?

Sensing Ruan Bai’s silent ridicule, the system’s voice soured.

【Well, it’s not your fault. I’m just not strong enough. I had to lay low while investigating the Horror Survival Game System,】 it lamented. 【Perhaps that’s the fate of the White Lotus, huh? Delicate and kind, drifting like duckweed with the wind, wandering without support, yet coveted by ruthless and potent peers…】

Ruan Bai: “…”

What an odd depiction!

But upon reflection, the White Lotus System truly couldn’t compete with the Horror Survival Game System…

As Ruan Bai fell speechless, something felt amiss.

Hold on, didn’t the White Lotus System claim it merged with the Horror Survival Game System? Logically, they shouldn’t have a superior or inferior status. So why was the White Lotus System hiding?

Furthermore, the styles of the two systems differed significantly…

When Ruan Bai first played as Little White Flower, she got scared, broke character numerous times, and even argued with the system when angered.

However, she faced no real consequences, at most a scolding from the system.

And the worlds the White Lotus System introduced her to were entirely distinct from the Horror Survival Game System—devoid of any peril.

Despite facing situations such as being eight months pregnant, donating kidneys and bone marrow, and supporting critically ill female roles, all she needed was to spend a few points in the system’s marketplace. This allowed her to acquire items like fake pregnancy pills to navigate these challenges.

Her main obstacle lay in appearing pale, weak, and pitiful despite her healthy physique.

However, as she delved into the survival game, the White Lotus system seemed to fade away gradually.

While it still required her to portray innocence most of the time, it remained mostly silent, almost as if avoiding something…

“System, are you truly integrated into the Horror Survival Game System, or have you been consumed by it?” Ruan Bai questioned with narrowed eyes, noticing these subtleties. “Why do I sense that it targets me while you hide?”

She recalled Du Fu’s earlier mention of the system: “…at the beginning, it wasn’t referred to as the ‘system,’ that’s the term used by players of your generation…”

If Du Fu was accurate, this Horror Survival Game System must have evolved multiple times, changing shapes and names alongside societal shifts.

It probably represented an ideology; ‘system’ merely being an alias it adopted. Thus, it couldn’t be akin to the White Lotus system. The notion of ‘accidentally entering the Horror Survival Game System’s workspace’ was likely a ruse to deceive her.

With these thoughts, Ruan Bai’s heart sank a little.

“System, what exactly are you… why deceive me?” she inquired.

She didn’t wish to doubt her system as it had been her constant companion in recent years, aiding her in resolving urgent real-life issues.

Nevertheless, it was evident that the system was deceiving her. In the first three worlds under the system’s influence, Ruan Bai hadn’t detected any issues with the Horror Survival Game System.

Had it not been for Du Fu’s wake-up call, she might not have sensed any malevolence from the Horror Survival Game System.

However, asserting that the White Lotus system and the Horror Survival Game System collaborated didn’t quite align with Ruan Bai’s instincts.

After all, the challenges unleashed by the system in the previous few worlds seemed deceptively simple at first. Yet upon reflection, Ruan Bai realized the system intentionally crafted these tasks to aid her progress in the game.

She understood the system’s objective: it didn’t wish for her demise within the game.

So, what was the system’s agenda?

【Host, how can you doubt me!?】 The White Lotus System interjected, sensing Ruan Bai’s skeptical tone.

In an attempt to clarify, it hastily explained, 【I didn’t intend to deceive you… you were unaware back then. I feared you might react hastily and get into trouble, so I had to say that.】

This explanation triggered a faint flutter in Ruan Bai’s heart, recalling something significant.

Meanwhile, the system persistently defended itself.

【Furthermore, Host, you know too little at the moment. There are many things I’m not unwilling to say, but it’s genuinely inconvenient to tell you,】 it said plaintively. 【Just know that I won’t harm you. As for making you play the role of a naïve flower, it’s truly a last resort. I also need energy, just as an Horror Survival Game System needs the players’ fear…】 

Being too weak and constantly distracted by the Horror Survival Game System, it naturally had to shrink into a corner, living in constant trepidation.

Upon hearing this, Ruan Bai simply nodded, choosing not to delve deeper into the matter.

Out of sheer curiosity, she inquired, “Then, what exactly do you require?”

The Horror Survival Game System thrived on the host’s fear, crafting numerous horrifying games accordingly.

Could it be that the White Lotus System needed the speechless emotions of its hosts, solely driven by those scripts that were horrifyingly embarassing?

At these words, the White Lotus System chuckled confidently twice.

【As a White Lotus system, what I seek naturally involves emotions tied to ‘love,’ ‘peace,’ and ‘kindness’!】

Ruan Bai: “……”

Ruan Bai:???

Wait a second, are you absolutely certain about that?

Love? Peace? Kindness?

No wonder her system was so weak. Was it oblivious to its misguided efforts?

Unaware of the tempest brewing within Ruan Bai, the System chirped cheerfully, 【Host, I have the capability to expand you, akin to the Horror Survival Game System. And I won’t need souls post-host’s demise. Just lead a life of virtue, do good deeds—enough to shape a kind soul! Alas, my power is lacking at present. But when I grow stronger, absorbing the Horror Survival Game System will be child’s play!】

Ruan Bai remained silent. Witnessing that day seemed improbable.

After a strange pause, she pulled a wry smile and hurled an unexpected question at the White Lotus System.

“System, one last thing,” she asked flatly, “Did you foresee my selection by the Horror Survival Game System?”

Since the White Lotus System’s exposition began, Ruan Bai had sensed something peculiar.

It had exhibited no surprise about her selection, almost as if it had foreseen it all along.

Her query caught the system off guard, plunging the surroundings into a sudden, chilling hush. Even the faintest movements of nearby players became distinctly audible.

【…Yes, I was aware.】

After an extended silence that nearly lulled Ruan Bai to sleep within this void of quietness, the system’s dry voice finally pierced through.

【Host, your destiny is entwined with the Horror Survival Game System,】 it affirmed.

To this revelation, Ruan Bai offered no response.

She had anticipated anger, disappointment, fear, yet her heart remained surprisingly tranquil.

Her past trials had forged her resilience. No longer was she the easily startled girl of yesteryears.

Ruan Bai found herself inevitably thrust into the midst of this Horror Survival Game System—a fate she couldn’t escape.

Closing her eyes, she decided to continue sleeping, diving into a remarkably deep slumber that enveloped her almost instantly. Yet, within this restful state, her dreams transported her back to a dark, haunting night from five or six years past.

Her parents gone, no relatives to lean on, their house sold off, a detestable agent complicating matters, and her ailing grandparents caught in a messy situation. As for herself, the looming possibility of being unable to return to school.

Sitting outside the hospital, gazing at the nearly empty bank account, and pondering her grandparents’ incurable illness, Ruan Bai felt utterly helpless. She sat alone on a bench, watching groups of three or five patients pass by, lost in a void of despair.

Ruan Bai possessed an unyielding spirit, perhaps molded by her past or by her unwavering self-reliance. Consequently, she rarely divulged the pain she endured or the hardships she faced. Instead, she focused on pushing forward relentlessly, taking each step with determination.

Memories of her past were usually confined, as she strived to look ahead, content with her present. However, when those dreams did come, the recollections etched themselves vividly in her mind.

In her dream, a despairing, vulnerable girl, clad in threadbare clothes, stood motionless in the freezing night, her fragile frame resembling a twig, easily breakable with just a bit of force.

Suddenly, an unexpected mechanical sound echoed, seemingly originating from her mind.

【Hello, Ruan Bai,】 a cheerful voice chimed in, 【You’re incredibly fortunate! You’ve been chosen by the White Lotus System, becoming host number 250! I’ll do everything possible to nurture you into a kind, innocent, lovable, and selfless white lotus flower!】

Upon hearing the voice, Ruan Bai was momentarily bewildered. Slowly blinking her eyes, she surveyed her surroundings cautiously and inquired, “Who are you? Why are you looking for me?”

【I’m the system,】 the voice responded, 【I’m here to rescue you.】

Early the next day, Ruan Bai woke from sleep, stirred by Snowy’s gentle nudging. Unusually sluggish, she sat up slowly, releasing a lazy yawn before fully awakening.

“Hey, Softie, you seem exhausted,” Snowy said, concern evident in her voice. “Do you need more rest?”

The previous day had been taxing for Ruan Bai, and with half the day ahead, Snowy worried about potential challenges she might face.

In response to Snowy’s concern, Ruan Bai shook her head slowly.

“Nah, I just had a rough night’s sleep,” she admitted.

Having barely managed five hours of rest, she felt weariness in her bones. Yet, for the sake of progressing in the game, she couldn’t afford to take it easy.

Summoning her determination, Ruan Bai braced against the wall and pulled herself up.

Observing her surroundings, she noticed the absence of the three male players.

“Where did they go?” Ruan Bai asked.

“They went to scavenge for food,” Snowy explained. “The black fog outside hasn’t cleared, trapping us on the third floor.”

Finishing her explanation, Snowy glanced at Ruan Bai. “Do you need them for something?”

Ruan Bai nodded in affirmation.

Following her extensive discussions with the system the day before, Ruan Bai had discovered a potential solution.

Similar to the Horror Survival Game System, the White Lotus system could also spread like a virus…

Moreover, the White Lotus system suggested that with enough strength, it could overpower and consume the Horror Survival Game System!

This revelation sparked a glimmer of hope within Ruan Bai.

Considering the Horror Survival Game System’s need for numerous hosts, should she, like Du Fu, assist the White Lotus system in expanding its influence within the game?

Perhaps, compared to the relentless struggle for survival, taking on the role of the White Lotus might be a simpler path, wouldn’t it?

☆ 59

Ruan Bai didn’t arrive at this realisation impulsively; it was a conclusion she had carefully considered.

The mysterious mermaid bell in her possession lingered in her thoughts, as did the man who willingly unravelled the mysteries of the Horror Survival Game System. Her mind dwelled on the tragic fate of players consumed by ghosts, twisted into madness.

Her awareness had shattered her indifference.

Having been a victim of the Horror Survival Game System herself, she couldn’t simply stand idly by. Without this fragile lotus system, her destiny might mirror that of the tormented ghosts.

Her vitality and stamina were not inexhaustible. A day would come when errors crept in, age caught up, and she would fade away like mist.

Survival wasn’t solely about others; it was about her own existence. Breaking free from the clutches of the Horror Survival Game System became imperative.

The supposed saviour, the lotus system capable of devouring its malignant counterpart, became her focal point. Expanding its reach by recruiting more hosts could generate substantial energy.

“System, how can I enlist new hosts for you?” Ruan Bai directed the inquiry inward, resolute in her decision to aid the expansion of the lotus system.

“And if you compete for hosts against the Horror Survival Game System, will you be exposed?” she probed further.

The Horror Survival Game System, with its selective and relentless grip on hosts, instilled fear. Its overpowering nature was unmistakable.

Ruan Bai had no intention of letting ordinary people be bound to the lotus system; that would be an unnecessary disaster for them. So, the hosts of the escape game became her primary targets.

However, the inherently disadvantaged lotus development system couldn’t openly contest for these hosts.

【I am fundamentally unlike the Horror Survival Game System. My creator equipped me with a shield specifically designed to evade detection,】 the lotus system responded swiftly. 【I can bind to their hosts, remaining incognito, but I lack sufficient energy. To truly bind them, they must willingly embrace me, embodying the kindness of a lotus and sincerely feeling profound love from within!】

Ruan Bai fell silent, contemplating the weight of this revelation.

Ruan Bai: What in the world am I supposed to do? Do I need a find those among these seasoned players, callous to life-and-death scenarios, who’ve delved into moral extremities and remain untouched by the profound embrace of love?

She regretted it. Can she just stop doing this?

“Come on, host, I have faith in you!” The system, blissfully unaware of the tension, chimed in cheerfully. “I’ll briefly mark potential new hosts with a lotus symbol. It’ll make things easier. You’ve got this!”

“…” Ruan Bai fell into silence.

But faith in herself was sorely lacking, darn it!

Although rendered speechless by the system’s words, Ruan Bai realized she had no alternative but to tread this path.

Ever since Du Fu disclosed the truth, ignoring the Horror Survival Game System became impossible.

Entangled indefinitely in the survival game, death offered no escape from this ghastly fate.  It was too horrifying.

She fought fiercely against it, particularly sensing that the White Lotus System might possess the means to rein in the Horror Survival Game System.

Yet, would her efforts worsen matters?

“Is there a shortcut?” Ruan Bai struggled once more. “When you bound me as the host, I never believed in any profound love, did I?”

Upon the White Lotus system’s initial appearance, it wasted no time. It blatantly informed Ruan Bai that becoming its host would yield substantial cash.

Cornered with no exit, Ruan Bai reluctantly acquiesced and automatically became the White Lotus system’s host.

But to reform those players and peddle the White Lotus system? That mission would never be fulfilled!

On hearing Ruan Bai’s words, the system computed its stored energy.

After a brief pause, it hesitated before saying, “Simply put, there might indeed be another way…”

Instantly, Ruan Bai’s eyes lit up!

… a minute later.

Snowy, still observing Ruan Bai with concern, suddenly noticed something. Her companion, delicate in appearance yet resilient, lifted her head, fixing an intense gaze upon her.

The gaze was compelling, pleading for something, refusing to avert even for a moment.

But her expression was also akin to looking at her as a piglet ready for slaughter…

Snowy:?

Snowy gazed at Ruan Bai, taken aback by the sudden inquiry about ‘great love’. Confusion knitted her brows. What did that even mean? Yet, witnessing Ruan Bai’s earnest expression softened Snowy’s uncertainty. 

She cautiously nodded, yielding to the moment. “I… believe.”

The question seemed peculiar, but Snowy didn’t sense any malice from Ruan Bai. Answering it didn’t seem harmful to her.

Ruan Bai’s excitement swelled at Snowy’s response. It emboldened her to take a breath, hiding any lingering embarrassment. 

With a composed demeanor, she continued, “Then, Snowy, would you be willing to join me in spreading love and justice, becoming a messenger of love?”

Snowy: “…”

Snowy remained silent, mulling over the perplexing notion of being a ‘messenger of love’.

As Snowy’s gaze turned increasingly bizarre, Ruan Bai’s forced smile felt like it was freezing in place. But she couldn’t back down. The White Lotus System demanded Snowy’s compliance to these questions for binding.

Following the system’s newly instructed approach, Ruan Bai understood that the only requirement was a simple “yes” from Snowy, disregarding willingness or her coercion methods.

This system was her ticket to swiftly expand its influence, hoping to fuel its energy and gain more hosts.

Eventually, these new hosts could branch out, amplifying the White Lotus System’s strength over time.

Luck was on her side; the Snowy next to her sported the telltale small lotus mark atop her head. She was the perfect candidate to embrace the White Lotus System’s mantle.

Though unsure of Ruan Bai’s intentions, Snowy couldn’t resist the plea in her eyes and eventually nodded.

【Ding! Congratulations, host, for successfully recruiting an underling!】

【I’m in.】 

Simultaneously, Ruan Bai noticed Snowy’s momentary distress—her body swayed, a flicker of pain etched on her face. Alarmed, Ruan Bai reached out to steady her.

Within seconds, Snowy appeared back to normal.

“Are you okay?” Ruan Bai asked, concern lacing her words.

A nod from Snowy was her only response.

Ruan Bai grasped the implication—Snowy must have inherited the White Lotus System.

【Please rest assured, host. Due to my insufficient energy, I couldn’t devour the Horror Survival Game System, so her system mall remains intact, everything remains as it was,】 proudly declared the White Lotus System.

Ruan Bai: “……”

Your system mall is a mess beyond belief!

Despite spending considerable time with the system, Ruan Bai sensed an odd but not malevolent essence about it, akin to her inability to guard against the peculiar mermaid bell.

There was an inexplicable trust she had in both the system and the bell, a familiarity she couldn’t quite place.

Her primary worry centered on the system leaking information about the survival game to new hosts. 

Knowing the system wouldn’t offer a direct answer, Ruan Bai turned her attention to Snowy.

“Snowy, how much did you gather from it?” she murmured.

At the hushed query, Snowy shot a meaningful glance toward Ruan Bai.

“Just a slice of the truth,” the girl smirked. “Plus, a library’s worth of novels like ‘Dark Lord: My Runaway Sweetheart’ and ‘Substitute Contract: CEO’s Spoiled Wife Runs Away,’ for whenever I need a reference.”

Casting a quick glance at Ruan Bai and taking a momentary pause, Snowy added, “But don’t fret, I’ll do my best to play the role of the pure and innocent maiden.”

Ruan Bai remained silent.

Somehow, her lack of surprise at her response wasn’t shocking at all…

She mused over it. The system revealing a fragment of the truth to these new hosts might not be all that bad.

At least, it could bring them together and prevent a looming catastrophe.

Furthermore, with the White Lotus System’s aid, the players investigating DSAS in the real world shouldn’t face much trouble.

Confident in Snowy’s support, Ruan Bai believed her progress would accelerate.

After ensuring Snowy was okay and aligned with her, Ruan Bai swiftly briefed her on the information from Du Fu the previous day, the game’s storyline, and its relevance.

Primarily, it revolved around the events in the castle before, the motives driving the couple’s actions, and how Du Fu dispatched the couple before departing with the “demon” they summoned.

Upon narrating these intricate plot details, both of them received notification sounds in their ears—

【Congratulations, hosts! You’ve successfully uncovered the castle’s secret, achieving half of the game’s mission!】

All they needed now was to survive for another half-day to clear this game.

Anticipating what lay ahead, Ruan Bai guided Snowy further into the third floor.

Before wrapping up the game, she still needed to locate those three players and determine if they were suitable to be bound.

Those three players were seasoned veterans, conducting searches with more purposefulness than newcomers. It made it easier for Ruan Bai to track them down.

At this moment, they were rummaging around in the study on the third floor, searching for any additional information. Ruan Bai scanned the room, realizing none of the three players had visible identifiers above their heads. At this point, Snowy was the only one.

It made perfect sense. The Horror Survival Game System always had specific criteria for choosing a host. The White Lotus system must operate under similar guidelines. If just anyone were pulled in, it would lead to more complications than it was worth.

Not disheartened, Ruan Bai adjusted her tactics after confirming the situation and approached the challenge from a different angle.

Using the castle’s secret as leverage, she systematically deducted 500 points from these three players.

The remaining time passed without many surprises. They explored the castle, dodged a couple of minor crises, and steadily neared the final countdown.

As the mechanical ticking marked the last ten seconds, the system’s concluding prompt echoed: 【Congratulations, players! You’ve successfully conquered Grade A game world ‘Abandoned Castle’! Considering the host’s successful creation of a new White Lotus, this White Lotus role-play is rated A. One random mission completed, coupled with points bestowed by other hosts, totals 8000 points earned in this game. Settlement will occur upon departure from this world!】

Looking at the substantial 8000 points, Ruan Bai felt a weight on her shoulders but also a sense of relief. The system wasn’t overly stingy with rewards.

Enduring the dizziness of departure, she found herself back in the real world, lying on her soft mattress, her phone displaying a chat box with Snowy.

Realizing that Snowy would likely be her future companion within the White Lotus system, Ruan Bai asked for Snowy’s real name and shared her own details. Coincidentally, Snowy’s real name was She Xiao Xue (捨小雪: Discard Small/Lesser/Young Snow), and they both lived near each other in the same city. Their meeting was now imminent.

She Xiao Xue, the only daughter of the affluent She family in the locality, possessed remarkable intelligence. With her inherent advantages, she likely surpassed Ruan Bai in mastering White Lotus role.

Ruan Bai’s phone buzzed incessantly, signaling a flurry of messages from Snowy.

Despite her exhaustion, Ruan Bai hurriedly checked the messages to discover one that made her freeze:

Snowy: 【By now, you should have a clear idea of our situation, and in the future, there will be more people with the same system as us.】

Snowy: 【So, Ruan Bai, have you ever thought about forming your own team?”】

☆ 60

Ruan Bai’s gaze flickered at the statement proposed by She Xiao Xue. The suggestion didn’t catch her off guard; in fact, it resonated deeply within her.

The prospect of enduring eternal torment within the escape game, a soul trapped without solace even in death, wasn’t something she desired. Sooner or later, confronting the escape game system became an inevitable necessity.

Furthermore, the allies she sought to gather in the days ahead were not your typical horror survival players.

Uniting these new companions promised far better outcomes. At the very least, it surpassed leaving everyone to fend for themselves.

Thus, independently assembling a team held a far more appealing allure than trailing alongside Gu Bu Chao.

Especially now, on the brink of delving into various aspects entwined with the DSAS company. With the White Lotus system shielding them, clandestine information could flow freely between her and She Xiao Xue.

She no longer harbored concerns about her comrades facing the same fate as Uncle Shen Er or the need to guard her secrets with meticulous care.

But what about Gu Bu Chao and the others?

Continuing to follow them could potentially expose her secret, entangling them and potentially leading to their demise at the hands of the system. What then?

As these thoughts cascaded through her mind, Ruan Bai pursed her lips in contemplation.

However, comprehending something intellectually was vastly different from executing it.

Gu Bu Chao had shown unparalleled dedication in recent days, supporting her wholeheartedly within the game and in reality, offering substantial aid whenever needed.

Her current prowess in the game owed a great deal to his guidance and shared experiences.

The notion of outright declaring her intent to break away left her feeling somewhat uneasy.

After a moment’s pause, Ruan Bai responded to She Xiao Xue.

Softie: 【I’ll consider it.】

Softie: 【You take a break now. I’ll catch up with you later.】

The recent game had sapped her energy, leaving her in need of a few months’ rest to mull things over.

Stepping away from her usual routine to address these matters, She had to weigh her options carefully.

She Xiao Xue replied promptly.

Snowy: 【No worries, I’ll hold tight.】

Snowy: 【Here’s my number: xxxxxxxxxx. We’ve got a couple of months until the holidays. If you need anything, just drop me a text. Let’s chat about compensation when we meet up on weekends.】

After wrapping up the chat with She Xiao Xue and saving her contact, Ruan Bai set her phone aside.

Resting her head on her arm, she gazed at the moon-shaped light on the ceiling, slipping into contemplation.

She was a jobless wanderer, her sole family being a seriously ill grandmother. This circumstance allowed her to while away her days without seeking employment, focusing solely on her own affairs, as the game provided ample income.

But She Xiao Xue was still a student, underage, limited in the help she could offer.

Especially since, while Snowy was sharp, her experience might fall short, and her distant nature might not suit dealing with others.

In the real world, team formation meant inevitable meetings, negotiations, group dynamics, and even conflicts over interests. In such scenarios, Ruan Bai, with her calm temperament, would need to take the lead.

The lion’s share of responsibility for the team and its structuring fell on Ruan Bai’s shoulders. Crafting and executing plans demanded meticulous thought.

Building this new team was an imperative task. From the moment She Xiao Xue proposed it, Ruan Bai knew she couldn’t turn it down.

Beyond the mundane intricacies post-team formation, her biggest concern now was when to break away from her usual routine and initiate this team.

Ruan Bai glanced at the contact details of some acquaintances in her phone and squinted in thought.

Should she wait until she gathered enough people before diving in?

In reality, the system’s persistent prompts continued to hover, giving Ruan Bai a three-second window within the lotus icon to seek out a suitable new host.

If luck favored her, someone she knew might just become the new host, which would sort out a lot of issues.

Contemplating this, Ruan Bai swiped her fingers across the phone screen.

But she shook off the thoughts. It was time to rest. This kind of situation could kick in at any moment; being overly eager wasn’t wise.

With that in mind, Ruan Bai shut her eyes and gradually slipped into a state of reflection.

The stillness indoors slowly synchronized with the rhythm of her breathing.

When Ruan Bai had previously logged into the game, it was roughly 8 in the morning. However, upon waking up again, it was already evening, around five or six.

Darkness had cloaked the world outside her window. The distant streetlights flickered to life, casting a glow around.

Taking a moment to freshen up, Ruan Bai grabbed her bag, readying herself to visit her grandmother in the hospital.

Most of the usual team members had returned by then, either chatting animatedly or engaged in a game of mahjong downstairs in the lounge.

Descending the stairs, Ruan Bai glanced at their heads, somewhat disappointed to find none bore the lotus mark.

Her arrival prompted greetings from everyone, and she reciprocated each one.

Notably absent among them was Gu Bu Chao.

His absence wasn’t surprising; being from an affluent family, he had real-life commitments that kept him away. During her prior specialized training, she often witnessed him stepping out to answer phone calls.

With Gu Bu Chao not around, Ruan Bai secretly sighed in relief.

Her nature leaned toward directness; she wasn’t one to dawdle. Thus, she planned to broach the topic of departing from the team with Gu Bu Chao in the coming days.

She hadn’t yet figured out the approach, but having a few days to ponder was advantageous.

Choosing to depart, Ruan Bai bid goodbye to her teammambers and set off on her own path.

As she hit the bustling main street and motioned for a cab, her gaze casually swept the crowd beside her.

But that one glance halted her in her tracks.

It was simple, really—the distinctive lotus flower mark adorned the head of every single girl on that street!

Even the elderly, bent with age, their snow-white hair catching the breeze, sported that mark as they slowly navigated the road with their canes.

Oddly enough, none of the men exhibited any such mark; their heads seemed utterly vacant.

Except for a toddler, snug in a pink jacket in his mother’s arms, bearing the same lotus flower mark…

Ruan Bai: “…”

Ruan Bai:???

Wait, what’s going on here?

Is this implying that any girl could become the new host for the White Lotus System?

System, seriously, are you perpetuating this gender bias!?

Shocked to the core by this sight, Ruan Bai found herself momentarily at a loss for words.

But one thing became crystal clear to her: none of the remaining men, whether from her team or acquaintances connected to Shen Qing Yun, could ever be hosts for the White Lotus System…

In the ensuing hours, Ruan Bai struggled to maintain a composed expression, hailed a taxi, and hurried to the city hospital to visit her grandmother.

Before she could immerse herself back into her game of life an death, on the way to hospital she recieved the news about her grandmother’s worsening condition. The possibility of her surviving beyond six months was slim.

Ruan Bai had long braced herself for the inevitable departure of her beloved grandmother. Yet, upon receiving the news, it didn’t fully sink in for her.

All Ruan Bai desired was to cherish more moments with her grandmother in the days to come, ensuring her final journey was filled with contentment.

The hospital at night was mostly silent. Entering the ward, Ruan Bai found her grandmother lying on the hospital bed, eyes tightly shut.

No TV flickered this time. Instead, lines etched by age on her face carried a hint of pain from the prolonged illness. Her weathered hands clenched instinctively, lacking their usual vibrancy.

Approaching softly, Ruan Bai set down the fruits and other items she had purchased.

The gentle clink caught the old woman off guard, coaxing her eyes open slowly.

“Grandma, I’m here,” Ruan Bai murmured gently.

Her grandmother’s eyes widened a fraction, focusing on Ruan Bai.

Spotting her granddaughter, she managed a smile, a glint of joy in her eyes.

“Granddaughter, you’ve come,” she replied, her voice strained and hoarse from extended silence.

“Grandma, drink some water!”

Concerned, Ruan Bai swiftly poured a glass of warm water, handing it over with care.

In a ward filled with numerous patients and nurses occupied by the gravely ill, Ruan Bai’s grandmother avoided inconveniencing others. Hence, most times, it was Ruan Bai attending to her needs.

She had performed these duties countless times, becoming exceptionally adept.

But this time, her grandmother declined the offered cup.

Eyes widening, she coughed twice, seizing Ruan Bai’s arm firmly.

“There’s something I must tell you. If I don’t say it now, it might be too late…”

Her elderly voice carried urgency amid coughs, her cloudy eyes suddenly clear and resolute.

Concern pricked Ruan Bai as she settled beside the bed, gently patting her grandmother’s back.

She’d rarely seen her grandmother like this—so serious, so urgent in her movements.

But what in the world could it be? Ruan Bai couldn’t wrap her head around it, especially considering their family; they were nothing special with no secrets. 

“I… cough I meant to tell you later, when you were older…” Her grandmother paused, drawing in a deep breath before continuing, her words deliberate. “But time isn’t on my side. There are things I must reveal to you now.”

In an instant, her gaze became intricate, a mixture of emotions flickering within. “Sweetie, do you recall the house where your grandpa and I lived in the countryside? We never sold it because it was worthless.”

That straw house?

Ruan Bai was familiar with it. Her grandparents hailed from a humble background, nestled deep in the mountains amidst fields and abandoned old houses.

The place was so secluded that, whenever Ruan Bai faced financial strain, the thought of selling that old house never crossed her mind. Even if she had considered it, no one would have entertained the idea of buying it.

So why was her grandmother suddenly bringing it up?

Was there something off about that house?

“If, at some point in the future, you experience inexplicable occurrences or encounter troubles beyond your grasp, then visit that house… Go to your grandpa’s study and look for it in his notes. You’ll find what you need there.”

As Ruan Bai stared, disbelief etched on her face, her grandmother spoke in a hushed tone.

☆ 61 

Grandfather’s notes? Something strange?

Ruan Bai felt a sudden jolt as her grandmother mentioned Grandfather’s notes. Glancing over at her grandmother, who seemed to be drained by those words, she had closed her eyes and reclined back.

Trying to discern her grandmother’s expression, Ruan Bai found nothing. Her grandmother’s weakness and fatigue indicated that whatever she intended to share had been said.

Sensing it was best not to press further, she decided to let it be. Letting out a sigh, Ruan Bai placed the lukewarm water on the bedside table.

Staying beside her grandmother, she turned on the TV and chattered about her day, conjuring stories about her acting struggles on the “set,” complaining about Director Bai’s relentless critiques on her lack of delicacy in acting.

As the outside darkened and the hospital grew eerily quiet due to its sparse population, Ruan Bai noticed it was getting late, around 10 o’clock. It was time to depart.

“Time for me to head out, Grandma. Get some rest,” she murmured softly, glancing at her grandmother, who simply patted her hand in response.

Not wanting to disturb her grandmother’s rest, Ruan Bai quietly left the room. 

The autumn night was bitterly cold, sending shivers down her spine. Yet, the strange, suffocating sensation that had gripped her earlier dissipated as she walked into the darkness.

Alone in the silent streets, her mind buzzed. She pondered over the inexplicable mermaid bell she possessed, the odd favour from the White Lotus Flower System, and Du Fu’s cryptic words, “You are the most special one.”

These thoughts swirled in her mind, captivating her, leading her to contemplate the reasons behind the White Lotus System’s interest in her and the mermaid bell’s constant presence. Was it mere luck, or was there a deeper, inevitable connection?

And just now, after her grandmother uttered those words, a faint sense of unease settled in Ruan Bai’s heart.

She thought, ‘It’s as expected.’

From a young age, she had this vague inkling that she might not be her parents’ biological daughter. It was an odd feeling, one she struggled to articulate.

From the time she was small, Ruan Bai sensed she didn’t quite fit in. She was a bit of an oddball, struggling to find her place among others and feeling like she was always on the outside.

From early on, she possessed an unusual strength, inadvertently causing harm whenever she played with other kids. Memories of crying children, admonishing parents, and her own folks’ sighs filled her early years.

How did Ruan Bai know she wasn’t her parents’ biological child? It wasn’t something she could explain easily. There was this one afternoon, watching her old man strain to shift a heavy fridge, and then she to “help” and the fridge door broke because she squized to hard. It was like a sudden realization, a light bulb moment, where everything just clicked into place.

Her and them—there was a difference. She was somehow abnormal.

As she got older, word spread about her “reputation,” and fewer kids were willing to befriend her. When you’re still figuring yourself out, kids tend to drift away over trivial matters. And Ruan Bai’s personality, though intriguing, wasn’t exactly outgoing.

It seemed like there was an innate barrier between her and others. She enclosed herself in a small, separate world, struggling to grasp the emotions of those around her.

During one of the worst bullying incidents, she found herself cornered at the classroom door by two stronger boys, blocking her path to the canteen.

“She-Hulk!” one of them jeered, hurling leftover food at her, coating her in a messy, dark splatter. The pungent smell hit her, and sticky broth dripped down her face and skirt.

Ruan Bai stood there, blankly staring at her hand where food had landed. Thankfully, a passing young teacher intervened, scolding the bullies and taking her to the office. The teacher offered her a lollipop, urging her to speak up if she felt down.

Ruan Bai couldn’t recall her response at that moment. All she remembered was clutching the candy, perplexed by the teacher’s gesture.

To her, it was just stuff being thrown at her—why make a fuss? Yet, she couldn’t comprehend why her mom held her close, crying, or why her dad took her to those doctors in their white coats.

As she grew older, she began to experience normal emotions under the influence of her parents’ efforts. She could get angry and happy, but these feelings were rather shallow. Most of the time, she existed in a state that was hard to define—somewhere between chaos and calm.

This vague and blank state of mind persisted until the night her parents died in a car accident, followed by her grandparents being admitted to the hospital, one after the other.

It was only then, for the first time, that she felt somewhat connected to this world.

This connection felt like invisible threads tightly entwined around her heart, yet she disregarded it.

But once activated, it caused a pain so intense, it felt like her heart being torn apart, leaving her breathless and gasping for air.

It was from that moment onward that she knew she had completely become a normal person.

【Host, I sense your mood is a bit low,】 the system appeared at some point, comforting her in her mind. 【Do you need me to show you the comedy variety show I have stored for you?】 

Ruan Bai hesitated briefly, then shook her head. “I’m fine.”

In truth, she wasn’t that upset.

Even though through her grandmother’s fragmented words, she discovered she wasn’t her parents’ biological daughter, Ruan Bai felt momentarily lost at first but ultimately shrugged it off.

Regardless of whether they shared blood ties or how different she was from ordinary people, she knew their love for her was genuinely real.

She remembered her parents clumsily telling her jokes every night, trying to make her smile. She remembered her grandparents refusing even the meat on their bread, giving it all to her.

She would take good care of her grandmother… at least for these final days, she wouldn’t let her grandmother be lonely.

After hearing Ruan Bai’s response, the system, for some unknown reason, fell into a strange silence.

Two minutes later, it asked again.

【Host, do you intend to go straight to your hometown to sort through your grandfather’s belongings?】

Ruan Bai shook her head in response. “I will, but there’s no hurry,” she replied. “I’ve got a lot on my plate first.”

The weekend was approaching, and she needed to find an opportunity to meet She Xiao Xue, discuss matters, and have a plausible reason to keep in touch with her without arousing suspicion from her family.

After that, there were numerous things to handle—how to form the team, arrange the venue, discuss matters with Gu Bu Chao, manage the subsequent team members, devise internal reward and punishment mechanisms, gather more information on DSAS Company… The list of tasks was simply too long.

The area where her hometown was located had no direct high-speed rail access, far from the city centre, requiring a five to six-hour bus ride and a long walk afterwards.

Ruan Bai didn’t have time for all this hassle, especially given Grandma’s unsettling attitude, which made her uneasy.

She sensed Grandma’s reluctance for her return, possibly she mentioned this only owing to her failing health. It wasn’t merely discouragement; it seemed Grandma wished for her to keep her distance as much as possible.

Ruan Bai didn’t harbour deep affection for her hometown, partly due to certain memories that made her somewhat resistant to it.

Grandma had mentioned that she should only seek Grandpa’s notes when facing “unsolvable trouble,” so Ruan Bai decided to bide her time and observe.

【Understood,】  the system responded, its tone pensive upon hearing her reply.

This reaction struck Ruan Bai as odd. She blinked and asked, “System, what’s with the sudden curiosity?”

Having spent considerable time with it, she understood the system’s usual temperament. It rarely engaged, so why the sudden flurry of questions today?

【Nothing much, just curious,】 the system promptly replied.

Then, a brief pause filled the mechanical voice before it continued, 【Host, we’ve been together for about six or seven years. I’m curious, after all this time, is there something you truly desire? From initially binding me due to a lack of money, then being thrust into a survival game, and now attempting to expand my host to rid ourselves of the survival game system, it seems like you’ve always been drifting along, passively moving forward. I’m unsure if there’s something you genuinely, deeply want to do…】

The system was asking if she desired something? Ruan Bai paused, contemplating for a moment.

Around her, the autumn chill had already blanketed the ground with a layer of silver frost.

Ruan Bai took a few steps, her head down, her exhaled breath turning into rolling white vapor.

“Maybe, probably… I don’t think so?” she softly uttered after a moment of reflection.

That night, the system remained silent, not uttering a single word after her response.

In the days that ensued, she didn’t laze around; instead, she plunged into a whirlwind of activity.

Prior in the game, She Xiao Xue had promised her a duplex, a promise that Ruan Bai managed to secure through certain procedures. Additionally, She Xiao Xue tossed a substantial sum her way.

Under the guise of “tutoring,” She Xiao Xue persistently summoned her, meticulously plotting out future plans.

With She Xiao Xue possessing the same system, Ruan Bai felt no need to withhold information and divulged a plethora of details to the girl.

Though she refrained from discussing her family, she did confide in She Xiao Xue about the peculiarities of the mermaid bell.

At that instant, She Xiao Xue, sharp as a tack, suggested that the mermaid bell might be the cause of her exceedingly difficult tasks. She advised Ruan Bai to leave it in the real world upon re-entering the game.

Following her advice, Ruan Bai discovered that upon her return, she faced a considerably easy C-grade world she hadn’t encountered before!

They spent an entire day gaming before encountering any form of danger, which they easily evaded.

Ecstatic, Ruan Bai enthusiastically dove into frequent game entries, accumulating points and recruiting others.

After deliberation with She Xiao Xue, they concluded that forming a team when more new hosts emerged would be advantageous.

By then, they could devise various strategies tailored to the team members’ personalities.

Ruan Bai wholeheartedly agreed and began relentlessly messing with the female gamers in the game.

Throughout the subsequent year, Ruan Bai entered the game a total of eight times: three at B-level, four at C-level, and once at A-level.

During these instances, she encountered a total of seventeen female gamers.

The system shamelessly accepted any female player, yet considering the diverse player characters, Ruan Bai made it a point to closely observe each one.

For the girls displaying good behavior and latent potential, she shamelessly approached them, employing every tactic to persuade them into accepting those two cringe-worthy, suffocating declarations of love.

After observing and exerting effort across numerous worlds, she successfully recruited six new team members.

Likewise, her points accumulated to about fifty to sixty thousand, enough to exchange for millions worth of items in the real world.

During this period, subsequent to losing the mermaid bell’s boost, she could scarcely find a trace of DSAS Company and Du Wen Shu in those games.

Making the gameplay easier saved her heaps of effort, letting her focus on flaunting her skills and drawing in the ladies.

But her solo tactics in the game began to pull in quite a crowd…

As more players joined, the survival game’s reach expanded like wildfire.

Soon enough, the forums boasted a staggering fifty thousand participants.

Thanks to the forum, skilled players gradually gained recognition.

Many shared their stories, feelings, seeking company or posting their adventures.

Some gamers with a steady mindset even spun amusing tales about their game encounters.

Especially after dark, the forum buzzed with bizarre posts, making nights unusually lively.

Then, on the forum, a seasoned yet pitiable player couldn’t hold back anymore and dropped a post—

《Anonymous Post Why’s life so harsh? Surviving the game’s tough, but competing with women for women?》

1st comment (OP): 【Hey all, I’ve aced this game thrice. I’m a guy who like girls. 

It all went south the day I stepped into the game.

Back then, the sky was azure, the air crisp, and sunlight abundant.

Me and my crush got transported into the game. There was this pitifully pretty girl in a white dress with us at that time.】

2nd comment: 【Claim the top spot and bide your time.】

3rd comment: 【Predictable, huh? Let’s have three seconds of silence for you.】

5th comment: 【That’s Softie, isn’t it? That two-faced, conniving woman! She snatched my girlfriend!】

6th comment: 【Wait, what???】

8th comment (OP): 【Seems everyone knows her. Yeah, that frightening woman!

Rumor has it she doesn’t just dupe girls but trafficks ghosts and monsters. Not sure if it’s true.

Yet, back then, both my future girlfriend and I fell for her act. Seeing her cry so miserably, I caved, letting her join our team.

That night, there was just one bed in the room. Since I was a guy and hoped to impress his goddess, I chose to crash on the floor, leaving the two girls to share the bed!

Together!】

13th comment: 【Future girlfriend? Dude, get it together, seriously!】

18th comment: 【Our guy believed he was making a small choice. Little did he know, it’d be a huge leap in his life.】

【Hey, straighten up, fix your cap.】

【What’s with the mysterious talk, 5th commenter?】 queried the 21st. 【Sure, White RR likes to flirt, but they always help out in the game. If you can’t and someone else does, it’s pretty bold to trash-talk them, right?】

【Seems like the 21st commenter’s all riled up,】 noted someone else. 【Another ‘believes in love and justice’ dimwit that thinks the girls are just good friends, maybe?】

…

Finally, the 48th comment from the OP: 【Okay, okay, people upstairs, let’s not squabble anymore.

Have any of you been through what I have?

I used to mock her weakness. Can you understand?

Whenever she cried, looking all fragile and spouting about love and justice, I feared she’d drag us down. I poked fun at her three or four times, thinking she’d be a burden!】

——— Translators Notes ———

Ruan Bai – Bai Ruan Ruan (白软软)

She Xiao Xue (捨小雪: Discard Small/Lesser/Young Snow)

Gu San/Gu Bu Chao ‘Badger’ badger Shen Qing Yun

Dusk Till Dawn (Chaoxi)

NEXT >>