IALWFIEG ARC5 c62~71

I’m A Little White Flower In An Escape Game

我在逃生游戏做小白花 ☆ 

《Lost Cruise Ship》

☆ 62

Translator: InkyDragon

51st comment: 【Seeing all the mockery, it suddenly clicked for me.】

60th comment: Don’t worry, mate. There are plenty here who’ve had experiences similar to yours. (lights a cigarette with a world-weary expression)

67th comment  (OP): 【I regret it; I hate it!

If only I’d known the mess it would cause later, I wouldn’t have done it!

But can you blame me? Do you know, the first time I complained about her was when faced with that terrifying red-clothed female ghost covered in blood? She didn’t even hide!

Not only did she not hide, she ran over with a worried look on her face, saying that the ghost had its belly cut open and the child was taken away. It suffered greatly from losing its beloved child!?

Who thinks like that, right???】

88th comment: 【Mate… don’t blame yourself, seriously.

The time I encountered her, she actually pushed the ghost into a pool for a bath. Can you believe it?

Bloody hell, if I hadn’t realised in time, that ghost would’ve drowned, fearing water, I… bloody hell, I would’ve been in deep trouble!】

91st comment: 【Hurry up, mate, I’ve got to get into the game in ten minutes.】

96th comment: 【You stinking guys, don’t you dare say she’s a silly girl!

You’ve lost a girl, but what she’s lost is her trust in others’ goodness~!】

107th comment: 【96, you…】

120th comment  (OP): 【Haha, I just went through the post history and found quite a few people just like me.

I’m not as angry now; I even feel like laughing a bit.

All I can say is that when she suggested helping the ghost find its kid, the ghost stopped attacking us.

That moment felt like a slap on my face; it hurt, and the goddess’s gaze was quite subtle.】

139th comment: 【Here it comes, the typical move to charm a girl!】

147th comment: 【Finally, finally got it! No wonder she’s “that woman”!】

155th comment: 【The world is murky, and so are people’s hearts. She’s just too kind, merely wanting to do what she can within her power.】

156th comment: 【I reckon there are White Lotus devotees upstairs, but I ain’t got no proof.】

162th comment (OP): 【Hahaha, so everyone secretly calls ’em White Lotus, huh? Seems fitting to me!

Ever since I got slapped in the face, the goddess has been siding with her.

After the game, my goddess hasn’t been in touch with me.

I’m curious how they got recruited into that sect, and I don’t get why so many nice girls are following her.

I observed closely—she only asked my goddess about believing in some BS about great love. But darn, my goddess, being too innocent, actually laughed and said she believed. Ugh.】

177th comment: 【Once that woman strikes, she snatches souls and takes lives. OP, you didn’t lose without reason.】

188th comment: 【Ah, that’s how she was when I encountered her, too. She got a particular liking for those phrases?】

199th comment: 【What’s this bunch of idiots blabbering about, talking big? Just a conniving chick, ain’t she? Only has the skills to ace a few C-level games, but y’all idolise her like crazy.】

230th comment: 【Whose mad dog’s out now?】

270th comment (OP): 【Even though she snatched away my goddess, I reckon she’s genuinely skilled. The 199th comment’s curses were way over the line.

Her info searches are quick. Unlike some who deliberately destroy after checking, she smugly tells us the game’s backstory, watching us despairing, wicked players.

Only need 500 points, and you get half the game progress to survive.

I managed to finish ’cause she helped a lot.】

289th comment:【? OP, you forgot your snatched goddess?】

291st comment: 【What’s this fuss about snatching? It makes it sound like OP could bag the goddess without that woman.】

300th comment: 【To the person upstairs, Ouch, that’s a burn.】

310th comment: 【Speaking of which, ain’t the White Lotus Sect full of girls? Could it be ’cause girls are soft-hearted?】

332nd comment: 【I reckon it’s ’cause that woman likes women, not men. I told her I wanted in before I got turned down with “We don’t want men” as her reason.】

350th comment: 【You idiots, believe in love all you want!

Only taking women, ’cause women are weak, right? What guy would respect a team that’s all chicks?】

366th comment: 【Why does it look like some shady stuff crept into our forum?】

370th comment: 【Sorry, everyone. My bad. I didn’t leash my dog properly, and it barked its head off outside.】

380th comment: 【Those few floors are really strange. Softie is, after all, a kind-hearted young girl. No idea how she managed to upset them.】

400th comment: 【Those mad dogs are the “badger” members who broke apart earlier.】

429th comment: 【Hey? Where are you, OP? I’ve exited the game, but your story isn’t finished yet?】

480th comment: 【Another player who ended up kneeling at the feet of the White Lotus Sect…】

544th comment: 【Even if you defame us like this, even if the road is full of thorns, I will still, with my meagre strength, steadfastly protect our love and hope! @Admin03】

566th comment: 【5th floor, 199th floor, 350th floor, do you all believe in great love?】

……

Anonymous Post: 【Oh man, I put a lot of effort into that Post on the thread. How come, after grabbing a bite to eat and coming back, it’s disappeared? Weren’t we all on the same page about spreading some love here? 😢!】

…

Later that night, Ruan Bai logged into her admin account, casually scrolled through the forum and stumbled upon a thread discussing her quite unexpectedly.

The thread was a complete mess, filled with attacks and insults from a handful of people, making the whole thing look like a chaotic battleground.

She peered at it for a while, contemplating her next move. Eventually, Ruan Bai decided to pull the plug on the whole thing.

Her in-game actions garnered some attention, and the criticisms continued spreading like wildfire.

Now, logically speaking, those criticisms weren’t all that terrible. The original poster and others were pretty civil. However, the thread had become a stomping ground for those hurling insults at her and those spreading “love” and defending her, turning it into an all-out warzone.

Realising that these escalating posts were no good for the long haul and under the relentless nagging from the system to close it down, Ruan Bai impulsively exercised her authority and shut the thread.

…And to think, she never expected the system to cause a stir on the forum.

As for the people attacking her, Ruan Bai had a pretty good idea of who they were.

The 400th comment’s hunch was right on the money; they belonged to the infamous “badger” group.

Following Uncle Shen Er’s demise, the badger group split into two factions after a month-long internal clash.

Seven vice-captains and most of the badger members abandoned the original group to continue their aggressive antics in the game, picking on both guys and gals.

Logically speaking, Ruan Bai shouldn’t have been tangled up with them. Even if she knew Shen Qing Yun, her connection with the badgers was minimal. Their attempts to smear her reputation seemed excessive.

Her current tiff with the badgers stemmed from their past misdeeds. In previous games, they wrecked clues and caused chaos, something she couldn’t ignore, leading to conflicts.

Initially, she aimed to safeguard her teammates and prevent other players from meeting pointless deaths within the game. She proposed trading 500 points for game intel, helping others progress through the levels.

This move won approval from She Xiao Xue; she felt that providing free aid to other players wasn’t fair, especially considering Ruan Bai’s growing reputation. Who knows how many players would rely on her for free assistance without developing their skills?

But hey, loyalty, grudges, and personal vendettas—Ruan Bai wasn’t a superhero, especially as the game’s difficulty ramped up. It wasn’t a walk in the park for her either.

If other players were accustomed to her selflessness, her goodwill might become a point of attack for others.

In the other world, when bullies tried to intimidate other girls, she stood up for them, giving those bullies a private thrashing.

Several times, Ruan Bai was interrupted in her “good deeds,” it was only natural that some of the jerks didn’t like her.

Fortunately, most players sided with Ruan Bai. Any murmured objections were quickly silenced.

At first, Ruan Bai loathed those bullies.

The truth was many of them exploited the game’s lawless nature, acting superior and making others miserable wherever they went.

Even though she understood their behaviour was influenced mainly by the survival game and its setup, Ruan Bai’s distaste for them remained unaltered.

If absolving their actions due to being “forced” or oppressed by the game was easy, it would be unfair to the other players striving to complete the game!

Ruan Bai never regretted confronting them, nor did she fear retaliation from the bullies.

She believed that the vast majority of the fifty thousand registered forum players were decent players.

They didn’t know how to break free from the game or when their ordeal in this horror game would conclude, but they refused to give up or compromise their principles easily.

Regarding the so-called “White Lotus Cult”,… they were likely the few new hosts she assisted the system in recruiting. To score points, they played the role of innocent and pure girls enthusiastically, catching the attention of other players as a group of independent-minded girls.

They cunningly adopted this name, which resonated with the system.

However, Ruan Bai hadn’t assembled a team yet, mainly due to a previous lack of sufficient manpower.

Nevertheless, there were already eight new hosts, including her and She Xiao Xue. This contributed significantly to boosting the energy of the White Lotus System.

Ruan Bai sensed it was time to move on from the routine.

Before confirming her departure, she subtly hinted several times to Gu Bu Chao that she wouldn’t linger.

At that time, Gu Bu Chao remained composed, showing no resistance.

Ultimately, Gu Bu Chao didn’t display any anger when she directly expressed her intentions. He simply shook his head gently.

“I know I can’t make you stay,” he remarked lightly. “This place isn’t the right fit for you, and I don’t have much more to teach. It would indeed be a stretch for you to remain here.”

Understanding his nature, Ruan Bai knew he didn’t mind her leaving after learning everything. He also sincerely believed that her departure would be beneficial for her development.

She wouldn’t make any false promises about returning later. After hearing Gu Bu Chao’s words, she nodded and said, “If you ever need me in the future, you know where to find me.”

Unexpectedly, a chuckle slipped from him.

“You know, I might just have to track you down later,” he said. “I’ve got a hunch you’ve been snooping around about the game on the sly.”

He knew? Ruan Bai’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard.

But Gu Bu Chao didn’t elaborate; instead, he waved her off. “Okay, you’re free to go.”

He smirked at Ruan Bai. “Good luck out there.”

Upon hearing that, Ruan Bai smiled back, nodding. “I won’t let you down.”

Since Gu Bu Chao seemed fine, she saw no reason to stick around and stir more trouble than necessary.

She held onto the belief that their paths would cross again, allowing her to repay his earlier help.

Later that day, she packed her few belongings. Amidst goodbyes from her team, she gradually departed from the place she’d called home.

As she left, dusk settled in. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving a soft, orange-red glow that painted the streets.

Glancing back one last time at the ‘Dusk Till Dawn Corporation’ sign, she turned away without hesitation and moved forward.

Setting up a new team required a meeting place—a hub where everyone could convene.

They didn’t all have to reside there, but having a spot for gatherings or temporary stays proved ideal.

After some thought, Ruan Bai designated the house offered by She Xiao Xue as the future team’s headquarters and settled in.

Expecting more members, she cleared several guest rooms and gathered plenty of chairs.

The house was fully equipped when she moved in, making her transition smooth.

After a few days’ rest, she messaged the remaining seven girls and retrieved the Mermaid Bell from the study drawer.

It had been a while since she last used the Mermaid Bell when she recruited and adjusted the game’s difficulty.

Consequently, information about DSAS Corporation, Du Wen Shu, and the others had nearly vanished.

With seven new hosts and a significant increase in the White Lotus System’s energy, she knew it was time to delve deeper into the game’s truth.

Preparing for a highly challenging game today, she pondered and invited She Xiao Xue and another new member. Together, they planned to tackle the game as a trio.

With the mermaid bell dangling around her neck, Ruan Bai settled into the study chair, shutting her eyes tight.

“System, I’m ready to enter a new game,” she thought aloud.

This time, she needed more intel!

As her words echoed in her mind, the system’s robotic voice chimed in—

【Beep! Host confirmed. Scanning now. Host Ruan Bai entering the seventeenth world.】

【Data uploading… Data uploaded.】

【Warning: This world’s risky. Your life, your responsibility. Host, tread carefully.】

【Mission countdown starting—Five, Four, Three, Two, One!】…

After the system’s countdown, darkness enveloped Ruan Bai, and she felt her body twist in the void.

Dizziness washed over her, followed by an icy shiver.

Her feet landed on solid ground, prompting her eyes to snap open.

She’d successfully entered the horror survival game.

Surveying her surroundings through the dense white fog, Ruan Bai noticed the flat, smooth, cemented ground. Somewhere in the distance, the rhythmic crash of waves reached her ears.

The slightly chilly, damp air and a gentle breeze unsettled her.

This had to be the seaside, right?

An experienced player, Ruan Bai narrowed her eyes, scanning her surroundings quickly, then sizing up the other players, committing them to memory.

Her partner, Snowy (She Xiao Xue), and the newbie white lotus Serene (Ning Rou 宁柔: peaceful soft/tranquil gentle/calm flexible) hadn’t arrived yet. 

There were a dozen players around her.

Among them, three were girls, and nine were guys. Not surprisingly, those three girls each bore a fleeting lotus mark above their heads for three seconds.

Of the twelve, about three seemed new, judging by their expressions.

Ruan Bai’s focus zeroed in on those three girls, her fellow female players.

Disappointingly, they didn’t seem like rookies. Their ease hinted at familiarity with this setup.

Veteran players were always warier than newbies, especially the gals. Trusting others for survival was hard, even for someone known as Ruan Bai, a reputed “good old player.”

That made it tricky for her to approach them…

Lost in thought, Ruan Bai’s attention shifted from the gals to the guys.

And one glance completely baffled her.

—Hold on a second. Is she seeing things?

Why did that guy, sporting a bushy beard, vest, shorts, and flip-flops, have a lotus mark on his head!?

☆ 63

Ruan Bai’s eyes widened as she caught sight of him, almost failing to keep up her delicate and innocent facade.

Carefully, she examined the man in the vest, her gaze shifting from his tousled hair to his handsome features and down to the prominent Adam’s apple and his sturdy, hairy legs…

Without a doubt, she swore by her reputation that this was an authentic man!

But that lotus mark on his head—was that real too!?

【Hey host, broaden your perspective a bit,】 the White Lotus System chimed in lazily. 【It’s an equal world now. Your thinking’s too narrow. Can’t a man believe in true love?】

Ruan Bai: “…”

Wasn’t it because you only gave lotus marks to girls before!?

Maybe Ruan Bai’s gaze was too direct, too obvious. A minute later, the man with the lotus mark and a beard turned his head, catching Ruan Bai peering at him.

Spotting a good-looking and delicate girl staring at him, the lotus man bashfully lowered his head, chuckling in embarrassment, causing his entire bearded face to quiver with a sheepish “heh heh.”

Ruan Bai: “…”

No way! This guy is way too rugged, isn’t he?

She’d rather flirt with three veteran girls!

As Ruan Bai and the system continued their banter, the rest of the players gradually trickled into the venue.

Snowy and Serene also appeared, of course.

Amidst the crowd, Ruan Bai instantly recognized them.

They wore simple yet stylishly fresh and cute clothes, standing at a distance, observing others with soft yet cautious expressions.

No need to say much about Snowy; she had deliberately shed her weaknesses after intensive training, focusing instead on honing her skills in gathering information and assessing the overall situation.

Regarding Serene, she was one of the few people in Ruan Bai’s team who progressed the fastest. Bringing her along this time was Ruan Bai’s way of giving her some appropriate exercise.

However, as the players gathered, Ruan Bai didn’t head straight over to say hello, nor did they come looking for her.

This was something Ruan Bai had emphasized before they entered the game.

After several rounds of play, Ruan Bai encountered strange game scenarios. It dawned on them that revealing their team’s bond too soon might not be wise.

Splitting up seemed smarter – gathering information individually and secretly finding ways to communicate later.

They even thought about acting like strangers, joining different teams.

But there were risks. It could stir trouble if caught, especially with some players having malicious intent. Ruan Bai would only risk it if absolutely necessary.

After exchanging glances, Ruan Bai and the others shifted their focus to the other players, discreetly noting their physical features.

There were 18 players: 6 females and 12 males, including 3 newbies.

Among the women, one blended in, dressed modestly without drawing attention. Another, with short hair and a cold vibe, seemed standoffish. With a determined expression and a ponytail, the third caught Ruan Bai’s interest.

But that Lotus Guy?

Sorry, he was not within Ruan Bai’s scope of choice.

Observing them, Ruan Bai’s mind raced.

Yet, unsure if it was just imagination when she glanced at the male players, it seemed a guy in a black hat and mask, his face hidden, looked her way a few times.

Could it be someone who recognized her?

Ruan Bai found herself a bit puzzled, yet there was a hint of satisfaction in being recognized; her newfound fame wasn’t something to dismiss lightly.

This time around, most of the players had some prior experience. So they didn’t form teams from the get-go.

As the group gathered, the thick white fog enveloped them dissipated, unveiling a vast land expanse beneath their feet. Steps descended from the highlands, leading to a distant black ocean. The cold, damp air carried the sound of crashing waves, permeating the surroundings.

Ruan Bai’s earlier speculation was spot-on; a nearby sea was present. A cruise ship lay quietly moored on the surface, entirely black and adorned with densely packed crimson handprints, etched as if by many fervently clawing individuals.

This ominous vessel was unmistakably their gaming arena this time.

Upon the ship’s appearance, – luggage-like items materialized beside each player, bearing tags with their names.

They exchanged glances, guessing that these items were probably props provided by the game.

After a bit of commotion from the three newcomers, they all realized something was off and wisely chose to keep quiet. Observing others, they mirrored the actions, picking up their luggage and obediently following suit as the majority made their way towards the cruise ship.

Just as everyone boarded, a stiff, pale-faced steward in a slightly retro black professional uniform materialized abruptly at the ship’s entrance.

He waited just outside the hall, ready and watching the players intently.

As they walked in, the steward greeted them with an odd grin. “Welcome, everyone.”

His words came with the sudden appearance of a line of red text.

It popped up right in front of all the players, laying out the game’s details in full view:

【Destination 《Lost Cruise Ship》 has arrived】

【Game’s Objective: Survive for two days and uncover the ship’s secret】

【Game’s Countdown: 47 hours 59 minutes 59 seconds】

【Number of participating players: 18】

【All players are in position; S-level difficulty game 《Lost Cruise Ship》 now begins!】

Seeing this system prompt, Ruan Bai felt a jolt.

An S-level game… This was her second go-around.

Despite these red words, Ruan Bai was calm.

The more formidable the challenge, the more she’d learn about DSAS Corporation. She trusted her skills and wasn’t afraid of a tough run.

Unlike the last S-level game, this one’s objective seemed simple: stay alive and uncover the secret within the time frame.

But when the steward greeted them,… Were there other NPC hosts on this ship?

Mulling it over, Ruan Bai sneakily scoped out the ship’s insides.

The decor was fancy. Despite the dreary exterior, the inside was cosy, decked out in warm lights and vibrant decorations.

And smack in the middle of the hall hung an enormous clock.

Its hands moved lazily, giving off a faint “tick-tock” sound.

However, besides them and the steward NPC standing before them, Ruan Bai had yet to look at anyone else in the desolate hall.

The air hung heavy and still, so silent that the faintest shuffle of footsteps echoed.

Confidence wavered among the players, evident in their grim expressions when they realized the game’s daunting S-level difficulty.

A palpable tension encroached, noticeable even to the three newcomers who sensed an underlying unease in the room.

Yet, the NPC steward remained indifferent to the players’ growing wariness.

Approaching with deliberate slowness, the steward fixated his emotionless black eyes on the group.

“The master is delighted by your presence here,” he announced calmly. “To express this joy, the master proposes a small diversion for all of you.”

“What kind of diversion?” inquired a curious player.

A subtle smirk played on the steward’s lips. “A simple one—a game of catching a murderer.”

A murderer?

The mere utterance of the word sent a jolt through every player, instantly putting them on high alert.

The implications of such a word were vast and alarming.

Ignoring the players’ alarmed reactions, the steward outlined the rules for the so-called “catching a murderer” game.

“This game will occur every four hours,” he elucidated. “At the beginning of each round, everyone must retreat to their rooms and wait for fifteen minutes. No one may leave. During this time, we’ll designate one guest as the ‘murderer’ for the game and grant them a unique ability.”

Once the murderer was chosen, everyone could exit the room, enjoying three and a half hours of free-roaming. Their task? To sleuth out the killer using a jumble of clues, all the while, the murderer schemed to strike during this window.

When the three and a half hours ticked away, all had to reconvene in the room. That’s when they’d each receive a scrap of paper. In a mere fifteen minutes, jot down the name of the most suspicious person. The one with the most votes would face the gavel as the murderer, bearing the consequences for the victim. In the event of a tie, both would meet the axe.

Should the finger point at an innocent, the game continued. But if the actual killer was unmasked, the game ended.

The rules seemed straightforward, yet there were apparent gaps in the explanation.

Just as Ruan Bai mulled over this, a newcomer shot up their hand and fired off a question.

“But what if our pick isn’t the real murderer?” they queried. “If they slip through this round, what happens next?”

The steward was quick to retort, “Next round, a new killer emerges. The former murderer reverts to a regular player. However, as a token of appreciation, the new killer is barred from targeting them.”

“— Also, someone who has been the killer is forbidden from revealing their special abilities and killing methods, breaking the rules will result in punishment from the host.”

Having absorbed this intel, Ruan Bai grasped the game’s rhythm.

This was essentially a condensed version of Werewolf. After the killer struck, the flock voted to expose the culprit.

What set it apart from Werewolf was the overlap between the killer’s strike time and the regular folks’ free roam; no separate time was allotted for the murderer to act in solitude.

Moreover, the killer’s murders had to be real, and those eliminated by the vote were also dead for real. 

“We need to crack this mini game and over all mystery, huh…” Ruan Bai mused, squinting with suspicion.

Presenting it as an S-tier challenge didn’t signal a leisurely ride through this game.

Is the host that confident they’ll mess up?

Could it all tie back to that so-called ‘special ability’?

“What about the big boss?” someone prodded, “Will they make an appearance during our playtime?”

Clocking in at four hours per round, even if everyone misses the mark, the game caps at six rounds.

Twenty-four hours down, another day to tough it out in this game.

“The boss will emerge to meet everyone once the game’s wrapped,” the steward responded.

Once these queries were clarified, most players kept mute.

Meanwhile, the steward stood stock-still, resembling a robot designated for query resolution.

A few minutes later, a grating bell sound reverberated through the hall.

“Ding—Ding—”

Players glanced up, noting the grand clock’s hands fixed at four in the afternoon.

“Time’s up; let the games begin,” the steward chirped.

Finally, his voice betrayed a hint of excitement.

☆ 64

The sudden rearrangement of the game threw off all the players’ plans. They had no choice but to follow the NPC’s directives, reluctantly diving into this unexpected game.

Guided by the steward, one by one, the players arrived in the outer corridor. It was lined with rooms on two floors, each door displaying its corresponding room key.

Without hesitation, Ruan Bai and others swiftly picked a room, snatched the key, and entered.

As she shut the door behind her, Ruan Bai took in the room’s typical layout—a bed, a lamp, a wardrobe, a small study area, a separate bathing space, and a toilet.

Her stay here was only temporary in the game. Next, she needed to endure 15 minutes alone. But wait, why wasn’t there a clock in the room?

She narrowed her eyes, realizing the absence of a timekeeping device. In previous games, clocks were omnipresent. The deliberate absence of one in this game struck her as intentional. Maybe elsewhere lacked clocks, too.

The only time reference was the gargantuan clock in the hall. But why this peculiar design choice? Wasn’t the steward concerned that players might struggle without proper timekeeping?

Though puzzled, Ruan Bai only dwelled on it briefly, unwilling to waste precious time pondering the game’s mysteries.

Within a tight deadline, she had other stuff to take care of.

Once she hauled the suitcase inside, Ruan Bai quickly shut the door and eagerly popped it open, hoping to stumble upon something handy.

Since the game handed out this item, it had to serve some purpose.

She delved into the contents, uncovering a bunch of fresh outfits, a bottle of oddly scented perfume, and a letter.

Ripping the letter open, she discovered an invitation card with neatly printed words:

‘Dear Miss Bai Ruan Ruan,

Hello there.

It’s been a while; I wonder how you’ve been.

I’ve heard you’ve recently encountered some minor troubles. As an old friend, I cannot ignore your distress. If you’re willing, please come to a harbour in City A on the noon of X month, X date. There, a cruise ship awaits you.

Of course, alongside you, there will be seventeen other old friends.

I won’t dwell on past grievances. I hope you all will enjoy two pleasant days aboard my cruise ship.

And, if you can stay until the end of the cruise, I’ll fulfil the promise I made to you before.

Your friend,

X year, X month, X date’

That invite sure packs a punch, huh?

Ruan Bai scrutinized the message twice, confirming at least three things.

First, the game hinted that she and the cruise ship’s owner were old buddies or acquaintances.

Secondly, her recent status has faced some ‘minor troubles.’

The final part was her motive; she had requested something from the cruise ship owner before, and now, as long as she could survive till the end of the game, the owner would grant her wish.

With this in mind, Ruan Bai sought a covert spot to stash the envelope before delving back into her suitcase.

She sifted through clothes but came up empty-handed. A whiff of the perfume yielded no revelations.

Finally, her hand probed the suitcase’s interior, then skimmed its surface from the outside in—until she encountered an unusual bulge.

Grabbing a fruit knife from a nearby table, Ruan Bai carefully sliced around the bulge, reaching in to extract a crumpled piece of paper.

It was a newspaper clipping cut out by someone.

Ruan Bai focused on the specific content and discovered it was about a female murderer who hadn’t been caught yet. A month ago, she deliberately infiltrated a family’s house and killed both the elderly and the children inside.

The article included a surveillance photo, capturing the killer from behind, head turned with an arrogant grin aimed at the camera.

Shockingly, the murderer bore an almost identical face to Ruan Bai’s own.

…So, the “minor issue” mentioned in the invitation letter refers to her killing someone a month ago!?

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks. This game had thrust upon her the identity of a murderer. Ruan Bai lapsed into silence, her mind on high alert.

Undoubtedly, this identity could draw suspicion, branding her as the “murderer,” even if she was merely a participant.

After stowing away all incriminating evidence, scarcely fifteen minutes had elapsed.

Convinced she had unearthed all possible clues, Ruan Bai settled onto the bed, a tense anticipation simmering within her, awaiting the passing of the next fifteen minutes.

It felt like an eternity had passed when that piercing, deafening sound of the bell echoed from outside once again.

Ruan Bai knew. The time limit had elapsed.

Throughout this time, nothing unusual around her indicated that in the first round of the game, she wasn’t in the “killer’s” shoes.

As the 15 minutes drew close, everyone emerged from their rooms.

From a distance, Ruan Bai exchanged a glance with Snowy and Serene. They subtly shook their heads in her direction.

When the overseer announced the rules earlier, they only mentioned that the killer couldn’t reveal the “special abilities” gained or their methods of killing. They didn’t specify that the killer couldn’t voluntarily expose their own identity.

Hence, Snowy and the others didn’t need to conceal their identities, nor did they need to deceive her.

Their headshakes implied they weren’t the killer.

This meant the killer was among the other 15 people… the three of them also had the potential to be victims.

“Here’s the plan. To catch the killer quicker and minimize further casualties, for the next four hours, let’s all stay in the hall and avoid going outside.”

At that moment, a male player around 30 years old spoke up.

Glancing around at the others, he proposed, “The killer needs time to commit murder, right? If we’re all in the hall, keeping an eye on each other, the killer won’t get a chance to strike.”

“That’s a good plan,” Ruan Bai thought to herself.

Since the killer had been assigned this identity, they must abide by the game’s rules to commit murder.

To conceal their identity, the best way would be to pick off isolated players.

When the group gathered, there wasn’t a chance for anyone to isolate themselves.

It seemed the others were just as savvy, nodding along in agreement with the guy’s suggestion.

They all trooped into the hall, each snagging their own spot.

They remained seated in complete silence for the following three and a half hours.

Given the nature of the game, sticking together didn’t seem like the wisest move. Ruan Bai and Snowy behaved like strangers, with no acknowledgements or gestures.

With a potential killer still lurking among the 18 players, Ruan Bai refrained from initiating conversations, avoiding any spotlight.

Maybe everyone harboured similar thoughts because not a single soul uttered a word.

Three and a half hours squandered in that dreary hall.

But could this strategy indeed pan out?

It must have crossed nearly everyone’s mind. If catching the killer was that straightforward, would this game still boast an ‘S’ difficulty?

Ruan Bai felt adrift, unsure of what to say.

The game was causing her considerable unease.

It’s as if… it shouldn’t feel this secure, you know?

An ‘S’ grade game shouldn’t be this… safe, should it?

However, these subtle doubts could only be mulled over in Ruan Bai’s thoughts.

At least outwardly, she wouldn’t voice any objections.

Otherwise, she’d be toast if everyone pointed fingers at her during voting.

When the final moments passed, and the hall clock chimed again, nothing peculiar had occurred that entire time.

The room hung in stillness, each person poised in their seat, neither impatience nor anxiety tainting their demeanour.

Suddenly, the steward reappeared, his eyes hollow and drained of life, scanning the gathered group.

“Back to your rooms, please,” he announced, his voice flat. “It’s time to vote. We’ll give you paper and a pen. Just jot down the name of your suspect.”

And so, the players filed back to their rooms.

As Ruan Bai returned and shut her door, a growing unease settled upon her.

Her gut churned, rejecting the male player’s suggestion as ineffective against the looming threat.

A knock echoed against Ruan Bai’s door in a matter of minutes.

“The killer has struck,” the steward’s voice seeped through the wood. “Write down your suspect’s name.”

At the sound, Ruan Bai’s heart plummeted.

A victim had fallen prey to the killer’s twisted game!

Mere moments had passed, yet a murder had been committed!

Since the steward said someone was killed, it meant the victim was undeniably dead, not barely surviving with severe injuries.

After delivering the message, the steward slid paper and pen through the gap beneath the door.

Bewildered, Ruan Bai took the paper in hand.

“Can I abstain from voting?” she inquired, feeling utterly lost.

“Absolutely not,” the steward shot back firmly. “Everyone has to fill in a name, no exceptions.”

Ruan Bai pressed her lips together, taking in the supervisor’s words.

She barely recognized a handful of players, recalling the faces of the rest. Besides Snowy and Serene, only three or four names stuck in her mind.

After a brief pause, she scribbled the name of the guy who suggested gathering everyone initially, sliding it under the door’s crack.

The moment it left her fingers, she slumped on the floor.

From then on, whether it was her or the others, they were all tangled up in this game’s web.

The rules dictated survival for 48 hours and uncovering the cruise ship’s secrets.

Yet, in the last three and a half hours, they’d uncovered zilch, wasting precious time.

Even though nobody forced them, Ruan Bai and the rest had to tiptoe around, avoiding suspicion at every turn.

At the same time, they had to start thinking about who among them might be the real troublemaker to end this game early.

But what options did she have?

Ruan Bai grasped the ‘no pain, no gain’ idea.

But any attempt to break free would draw everyone’s eyes on her, potentially landing her in the hot seat during voting.

This game had thrown everyone off balance, completely messing with their rhythm.

☆ 65

After 15 minutes had slipped by, the votes from all the players in the game were tallied up, pooling together in an anxious silence.

In the room’s dimness, Ruan Bai sat quietly, her nerves tingling as the steward’s ominous voice echoed from the other side of the door.

“The count’s in. 16 guests chose Wang Qiang. Consequently, he’ll be tagged as the murderer and promptly eliminated.”

Wang Qiang, who had suggested them staying togather, a guy pushing 30.

Ruan Bai winced, biting her lip as she absorbed the news.

There were 18 players; one was gone, leaving 17 remaining.

The guy wouldn’t vote for himself, so besides his vote, the other 16 all pointed fingers at him.

As expected. Not much different from what she’d predicted.

Without solid leads, folks usually go for the player who stands out, the odd one, even if they knew it probably wasn’t them.

That realization crushed Ruan Bai.

Before, she’d relied on clever tactics, throwing curveballs into the game and shaking things up when they hit a stalemate.

But now, the strict rules and impending crisis bore down on her weak points, leaving her utterly baffled.

Right after the steward’s last word, a loud bang echoed nearby.

Someone was forcing their way into the room.

Right after, the male player’s distressed cries reverberated.

“I swear, it ain’t me! I didn’t do it! I’m not the killer!”

Shaky and urgent, his voice wavered as if yanked forcibly at times.

But the despair in his tone gripped all the players.

“I just shared my thoughts, I’m innocent… Ahhh!”

Finally, his scream tore through, then abruptly silenced.

The world plunged into eerie quietude, only faint winds mingling with Ruan Bai’s quick breaths.

Moments later, a distant, muted splash reached Ruan Bai’s ears, hinting at something heavy plunging into the water.

The NPCs tossed the eliminated player into that dark, foreboding seawater.

Eliminated.

“The murderer’s out. First round’s done.” The steward’s unshaken declaration reverberated once more, “Please prepare yourselves, guests, the second round of the game is about to begin.”

At the steward’s call, Ruan Bai shut her eyes.

Four hours down, and now, the second round approached.

As a seasoned player with numerous battles, she vaguely comprehended the true horror of this S-level game following the previous round’s end.

From the steward’s staunch refusal to abstain from the vote, Ruan Bai sensed a chilling truth: this game aimed to turn every player into a “murderer.”

Even if they hadn’t wielded the fatal blow themselves, both Ruan Bai and others had unwittingly paved the way for the demise of the male player.

Was that male player indeed the culprit? The odds seemed slim. After all, the actual perpetrator wouldn’t need to orchestrate such an elaborate charade.

Reflecting on the earlier suggestion made by the male player to confine everyone in the hall for four hours, Ruan Bai found it utterly unreasonable at that moment.

It felt impractical, and she wasn’t alone in thinking so. Yet, no one dared voice opposition; fear of being voted out sealed their lips.

This psychological pressure boxed in their actions, rendering them paralyzed.

They refrained from exploring anything else, knowing that any move they made might make them vulnerable. With the true culprit immune in the next round, their choices for the next game were slim.

The directive to “uncover the cruise secrets,” easily met in past games, now seemed indefinitely postponed.

While that task had been a breeze before, uncovering the truth now was far more challenging than survival in the grasp of ghosts.

However, failing to meet this directive would make their survival moot, even if they endured until the end!

The cunning four-hour time limit set for each round served a dual purpose.

It flagrantly devoured the players’ time while also aiming to hasten the game, making the flaws easier to expose. The four-hour span not only blurred the killer’s methods but also tormented the players’ psyche to some extent.

The game feeds on pushing people’s lower and lower boundaries, craving to see how far they’ll go. When death stares them in the face, it’s crazy how easily someone’s limits collapse.

Initially, they were forced by the game’s rules, reluctantly carrying out killings and begrudgingly voting. But after a couple of rounds, with anxiety bearing down on the remaining players, did they start entertaining the idea of becoming the “killer” themselves? Taking an active role in murder just to cling onto the game’s twisted safety net?

It’s like this thing cheats—limits nosediving, swinging between zero and countless times.

And once they’re out of this danger zone, heading toward the next game, facing peril again, but only needing to “sacrifice” one life to survive—what choice will they make?

After all, they’ve killed before, so why would they give a damn this time around, right?

They used to be regular folks, incapable of anything atrocious. They might’ve shown indifference toward others, not bothering to lend a hand or care. But it’s not entirely their fault; when looking after themselves is challenging, why should they risk it to save others?

But now that their limits have plummeted, what will they morph into?

In Ruan Bai’s eyes, if this spreads, it’ll be more terrifying than a world teeming with crises. Because, alongside ghosts and monsters, these players hunger for survival.

And to top it off, Ruan Bai can’t predict what this so-called cruise host might do when they appear.

For Ruan Bai, there’s only one way out now: fish out the real killer before voting.

It’s the most challenging path, but it’s the sole option.

…

After a quarter-hour passed, Ruan Bai’s room stayed hauntingly silent, as if the events prior hadn’t stirred a sound.

This time, Ruan Bai remained excluded as the possible murderer in the ongoing game of deduction.

Following the fallout from the previous round, no one summoned the courage to propose something. 

Naturally, everyone dispersed, assembling teams to scour the area for clues.

Scanning the room deliberately, Ruan Bai spotted the deceased—a newcomer. Maybe the killer favoured fresh faces, assuming they’d be easier targets.

Among the players, the guy sporting a lotus tattoo seemed strangely at ease, lounging in the hall and leisurely munching on some food.

Others exhibited concern about drawing attention and tidyed up their appearances. For instance, the girl with an edgy, cold demeanour removed her skull necklace.

Their attire wasn’t too peculiar; in reality, plenty dressed similarly. Upon entering the game, there were even stranger characters donning robes and wielding wooden swords, but they held little significance.

Aside from the girl with short hair, the guy wearing a hat and mask, who had previously cast multiple glances Ruan Bai’s way, also removed his hat.

Though Ruan Bai had a faint recollection of him, noticing his alteration prompted her to study him intently.

He was ordinary but seemed oddly familiar as if glimpsed somewhere before.

Maybe it is just a typical face?

Though slightly perplexed, Ruan Bai refrained from dwelling on it further.

She stood amidst the gathering, concluded her observations, and discreetly signalled Snowy and the others with a subtle glance.

They nodded cautiously, indicating they understood.

Spotting this, Ruan Bai pretended discomfort and swiftly made her way to the restroom.

She located the innermost compartment, made a subtle mark, and gently shut the door.

After a brief wait, Snowy and Serene arrived separately to join her.

Once everyone gathered, Ruan Bai no longer hesitated. She swiftly revealed her identity and discoveries.

“Any luck?” Ruan Bai whispered, her voice hushed. “Since earlier until now, have you guys discovered anything else?”

Both girls shook their heads in unison.

“The game pegged me as a student who poisoned her roommate out of envy,” Snowy murmured. “I’m in a similar boat to you, acquainted with the host and indebted to him.”

“I’m nearly the same, I killed my stepsister,” Serene confessed. “Seems like all our player identities revolve around taking someone’s life.”

Upon hearing this, Ruan Bai’s mind raced.

The owner of this cruise purposely assembled these ‘murderers.’

But why?

And what does the name 《Lost Cruise Ship》 signify?

With scant information, deductions remained elusive.

“I’m worried, Snowy, you’re too young. The ‘killer’ might easily target you,” Ruan Bai murmured after a pause, her gaze dropping.

Deciphering the game’s progress was vital. Yet, they couldn’t disregard the game of hunting the killer for now.

“In this mess, we gotta split up and cover more ground,” Ruan Bai suggested in the cramped compartment.

“Snowy, your instincts are sharper than mine, especially when it comes to sniffing out leads. You and Serene should dive into the secrets of the cruise ship. I’ll take on the killer solo.”

This round, or maybe the next, she’d go all out to catch the real killer and finish this twisted game for good!

On hearing Ruan Bai’s plan, Snowy and Serene exchanged glances.

The hunt for the murderer gave them miserably few clues compared to the broader progress in 《Lost Cruise Ship》  game.

《Lost Cruise Ship》, at least, offered some vague direction, but this murder investigation left them entirely in the dark.

Ruan Bai had made her decision to go after the killer alone. It was a risky move; it allowed her friends to focus on exploring the game and put her in a dangerous spot.

Sensing this, both girls wore worried expressions.

But in the end, they nodded in agreement, keeping their concerns unspoken.

Concerned about drawing attention, the trio left the restroom quietly, each heading to their assigned tasks without much conversation.

They acted like strangers, trying not to give away any connection between them.

Once Ruan Bai left, without hesitation, she approached the steward directly, asking about the location of the player who’d died in the first round and made her way there.

Her main objective was determining how that player had met their end.

The steward promptly provided the information she sought.

Not only did he reveal the body’s whereabouts, but he also gave Ruan Bai a rundown of how the newcomer had died.

Ruan Bai was stunned by the fact that the new player, who had been killed, was murdered right in their own room.

Stepping inside, the sight that greeted her was harrowing. The room was soaked in blood, and the ghastly remains lay sprawled on the floor.

As the steward had mentioned, the unfortunate soul had been brutally attacked with a random knife, the head gruesomely severed in the end.

The murder weapon turned out to be the ordinary fruit knife provided in every room.

Evidence of a struggle was evident from the chaos in the room, yet it hadn’t been enough to prevent the fatal outcome.

The revelation left Ruan Bai in utter disbelief.

She distinctly remembered that all 18 players had been together when the final 15-minute voting period had begun. She had even seen the victim entering their room.

Following that, the steward revealed information about the murderer outside.

But the murder couldn’t have occurred during those three and a half hours… So, when did it happen?

Furthermore, considering the newbie’s intense struggle, surely the noise would have alerted other players. Yet, when Ruan Bai entered the room, an eerie silence enveloped everything without any noticeable commotion.

Recollections of the steward’s mention of granting the murderer a “special ability” lingered in her mind.

What kind of ability could it be? Silence, teleportation, invisibility, or perhaps some form of illusion or puppetry?

Even if one were to uncover this ability, how could they reveal the murderer in the next round?

Logically, if the game bestowed such a privilege, it must have placed a fatal restriction on the murderer somewhere.

Ruan Bai stood frozen, her mind a whirlwind of confusion, unable to piece together the bizarre scenario unfolding before her.

As she stepped into the room, only two figures occupied the space alongside her. The first was the familiar guy from earlier, his face obscured by a mask. The second figure, a complete stranger, a male player, stood unfamiliar to Ruan Bai.

Cautiously, she navigated the room’s periphery, scouring every corner, yet her search yielded nothing of note.

By the time she concluded her meticulous examination, the unknown male player had already completed his investigation and departed, leaving Ruan Bai alone with the masked individual.

Despite arriving ahead of her, the masked man lingered.

Throughout her thorough exploration, Ruan Bai remained on high alert, a lingering unease festering. The looming fear of a potential assailant haunted her every move.

Her attention honed in on the masked figure, his behaviour setting off alarm bells, particularly his lingering gaze that had once scrutinized her and now seemed fixated upon her every move.

As the room emptied of any other presence, Ruan Bai readied herself to depart. Concealed within her sleeve, she discreetly grasped a small fruit knife, prepared to defend herself should the situation turn dire.

Unbeknownst to her, the moment she tensed in readiness, the masked man’s eyes subtly flickered, catching her subtle movement with a keen observation.

A glint of amusement danced in his eyes as he swiftly reassured her, “Don’t fret, it’s me, Softie.”

His words momentarily halted Ruan Bai’s movements.

Gu Bu Chao’s voice?!

☆ 66

Ruan Bai’s ears perked up, recognizing Gu Bu Chao’s voice.

Immediately, she visibly relaxed upon seeing the Masked Man, a broad smile appearing on her face.

“Oh, it’s you!” she chirped cheerfully. “Didn’t think I’d bump into you here. Honestly, I almost didn’t recognize you.”

While maintaining this friendly expression, she kept her fingers tightly gripped around the knife concealed in her sleeve, refusing to loosen her hold even slightly.

Gu Bu Chao stood out conspicuously. Considering the variety of items capable of altering appearances, it wasn’t implausible to find such things there.

To stay inconspicuous, Gu Bu Chao had shrouded his identity—an understandable choice.

But was this figure truly Gu Bu Chao?

Could the killer possess a “special ability” to mimic familiar players’ voices, using conversation to approach them?

Uncertainty clouded Ruan Bai’s thoughts, yet it didn’t deter her from stepping closer to the Masked Man, aiming to investigate.

“I didn’t expect to stumble upon you either,” the Masked Man’s demeanour retained echoes of Gu Bu Chao, his speech carrying a familiar tone. “I hoped to find you earlier, but the game’s dynamics kept shifting. It wasn’t feasible until now.”

That explanation made sense. Reconnecting was impractical in the hours leading up to the game’s commencement.

Following these words, the Masked Man smirked at Ruan Bai. “How’s life been treating you lately? Any progress on your endeavors?”

Wait, “your endeavors”? Did he mean her quest to uncover the game’s truth?

Ruan Bai felt a surge of frustration, realizing that the Masked Man’s words were intentionally cryptic, leaving her unable to discern truth from deceit.

To say he was Gu Bu Chao would make sense; after all, the truth about the game, that kind of thing, definitely couldn’t be directly said in the game.

Yet, the opposite could hold true; the other person might fish for a spark of conversation…

Ruan Bai’s mind flitted through these notions in mere seconds.

Baffled as she was, she grew reluctant to indulge this individual further.

She needed an unexpected stratagem to unravel this person’s identity thoroughly.

If he genuinely was Gu Bu Chao, it’d be splendid—a new companion in the game.

If not, if he wasn’t the culprit, then he likely abetted the culprit.

“No headway. It’s only been days. What could I possibly unveil?” Ruan Bai creased her brow, feigning a troubled countenance, and sighed.

Then, suddenly, she locked arms with the Masked Man.

Drawing nearer, she gently shook his arm, wearing an affectionate smile as she softly inquired, “So, Gu San, discovered anything intriguing in this game?”

Simultaneously, Ruan Bai scrutinized the Masked Man, seeking any flicker of an unusual expression.

This action came naturally after a moment of contemplation.

Despite her amiable association with Gu Bu Chao, they remained mere coworkers.

For her, Gu Bu Chao was akin to a guiding senior, a dependable teammate.

She acknowledged the playful teasing between many girls and their male friends, but that wasn’t her style, nor did Gu Bu Chao seem to relish such proximity.

Before facing Gu Bu Chao, she couldn’t possibly have done something so intimate.

If this masked individual wasn’t Gu Bu Chao and witnessed her actions, his response would be a telltale flaw.

Sure enough, a visible stiffness overtook the masked man’s body the moment she neared him.

The instant Ruan Bai grabbed hold of him, he instinctively frowned a desire to retract his hand evident.

At this juncture, the masked man’s movements seemed markedly more awkward, likely due to feeling uncomfortable.

Squinting at him, Ruan Bai spotted a large patch of his earlobe turning red.

Ruan Bai: “…”

Absolutely sure now that this guy was an impostor!

Even if he mirrored his tone, any hint of shyness negated his possibility of being Gu Bu Chao.

Considering Gu Bu Chao’s original demeanour and undeniable appeal to girls throughout his life, his behaviour in this scenario was inexplicable. Coupled with his outgoing nature and adeptness at appearing calm, there was no logical basis for such an awkward response to a girl.

In the games Ruan Bai and Gu Bu Chao used to play, even during crucial moments, Gu Bu Chao would confidently pull, hold, and embrace her.

Even she, as a girl who had not experienced romantic relationships before, wasn’t fazed by such actions.

Thus, his masked man must be someone introverted, a virgin who hasn’t even touched a girl’s hand!

After weighing her thoughts, Ruan Bai promptly released his hand, and in the same movement, she lightly shook her sleeve. Precisely as the knife fell out, she firmly grasped the handle.

Courageous of him to choose her, but he’d better brace himself for what’s coming!

Ruan Bai wasted no time. She lunged at the masked man with her trusty fruit knife, aiming straight and fierce!

Her movements were swift as lightning. In a split second, the blade of her fruit knife traced a shining arc through the air.

The masked man’s expression shifted slightly, and he swiftly stepped back.

Though Ruan Bai’s strike missed, she didn’t falter.

With a swift kick aimed at her opponent’s lower body, she wielded her knife and struck fiercely once more!

A sharp “clang” echoed as the masked man’s knife appeared in his hand, clashing harshly against Ruan Bai’s blade.

Seemingly predicting Ruan Bai’s attack, he countered, deflecting her assault with a swift kick.

“Softie?” he glanced at Ruan Bai, puzzled. “What’s up with you?”

Ruan Bai scoffed. “You’re still pretending? How long will that last?”

Underneath her seemingly fragile facade, she wasn’t as weak as she appeared. Anyone who chose her as a target might be in for a shock!

Pretending?

The masked man looked at Ruan Bai and finally caught on.

He evaded Ruan Bai’s next kick, his voice tinged with resignation. “…Ruan Bai, it’s me, Gu Bu Chao.”

He revealed their real names, discarding the game’s aliases.

Despite possessing unique abilities, the killer couldn’t learn their real name.

At the mention of these two names, Ruan Bai’s face shifted.

Her hand quivered slightly, and the knife promptly clattered to the ground.

This… this… Is this really Gu Bu Chao?

Unbelievable, isn’t it!?

“I got a prop to hide my appearance,” Gu Bu Chao explained. “It’s natural for you to be skeptical.”

Seemingly uncomfortable, after his explanation, he feigned a cough and changed the topic, “…You were asking about the intel I gathered. If that’s all, I’ll fill you in now.”

Ruan Bai: “…”

Ruan Bai: “…Okay.”

The way Gu Bu Chao diverted the conversation was really stiff…

She peered at Gu Bu Chao strangely for a moment, sensing a subtle shift in her perception of him…

As she had mentioned earlier, Gu Bu Chao had recruited her into the team, schooled her in the game’s mechanics, and guided her in combat techniques.

To her, Gu Bu Chao was a formidable mentor and a dependable instructor, qualities she admired and respected.

Gu Bu Chao’s demeanour tended to be distant, creating a sense of separation.

Despite growing familiarity and becoming comrades in perilous situations, they hadn’t reached a level of intimacy to share everything.

Ruan Bai still harboured undisclosed secrets, and on his part, real-life obligations constantly occupied him, resulting in frequent phone calls and perpetual busyness.

Ruan Bai marvelled inwardly at the stark contrast between Gu Bu Chao’s confident exterior and the shy interior. 

The way he flinched at the slightest touch, it’s no wonder he’s always surrounded by a bunch of dudes. Could it be he hasn’t found a partner yet?

Lost in her thoughts, she absentmindedly picked up her dropped fruit knife.

Meanwhile, Gu Bu Chao reverted to his usual demeanour and swiftly briefed her on his findings.

“We’re all implicated in murder, each one of us,” he remarked, his tone matter-of-fact. “And we’re acquainted with the owner of this cruise ship.”

Ruan Bai nodded, having already pieced that part together herself.

The invitations sent to the players contained eerily similar content.

“Have you noticed, though?” Gu Bu Chao continued, “All of us received invitations. As wanted individuals, we couldn’t simply buy tickets. Our best shot would’ve been a coach or public transport. So, my hunch is that we were already residing near the harbor where this ship docked. That’s the only feasible way to gather everyone here.”

Ruan Bai mulled over his observation, finding it an intriguing angle.

Her invitation had specified arrival at the harbour on a specific date, and the owner’s invitation bore the same date.

For them all to converge on the same day, within the game’s framework, it implied they were locals.

Not just locals, but their homes had to be suitable by the bay.

“I can’t access everyone’s criminal records,” Gu Bu Chao remarked casually, “but there’s undoubtedly some connection among us. My newspaper snippet lacked any family, address, or school details, hinting that our link might not hinge on those aspects. However, if we’re all from the same place, that would be a significant commonality.”

“I’ve got it! It’s the sea!” Ruan Bai exclaimed. “Places by the sea… Kids love playing there,” she mumbled. “The owner’s cruise ship also sails from there. Maybe we met at sea.”

Gu Bu Chao nodded in agreement. “Exactly, that’s it.”

Ruan Bai’s eyes sparkled.

This new angle gave them a lead for completing the game!

But before she could soak up her excitement, Ruan Bai refocused on catching the killer in the current game.

“Even with a lead, we’re short on time. We’ve got to nab the real killer first,” she sighed.

This phase of the game was perilous. They needed to solve this to progress.

Gu Bu Chao’s expression shifted subtly as he heard her words.

“I’ve been clueless too, until now,” he admitted. “But I might have something that could help. In the last round, I was targeted by the killer. It seemed like they tried to attack me but failed.”

☆ 67

When Gu Bu Chao delved into weighty matters, he swiftly reverted to his typical demeanour—calm, logical, precise, yet audacious.

Discussing the assailant, he tactfully skirted around the fact that he had been attacked, nudging Ruan Bai to brace herself without directly broaching his own ordeal.

“The killer’s methods are peculiar,” he remarked. “If you can, it’d be wise to set up something outside your room that can give you a heads-up.”

In response, Ruan Bai nodded, signalling that she had taken precautions.

Starting from her earlier experiences, she’d discovered ways to expend 10 points in the system’s store to acquire items like lipstick. She created a trap by smearing it on the doorknob and the door’s edges. If someone entered her room, they’d leave traces.

This tactic aided her in dodging ghosts, identifying strange rooms, and striking back at several players with ill intentions.

Observing Ruan Bai’s actions, Gu Bu Chao briefly halted before resuming.

However, when he delved into these specifics, his voice wavered, hinting at his uncertainty: “…The attack on me was bizarre. I can’t recall who it was, only that when we all entered the room during the voting period, they appeared.”

Gu Bu Chao couldn’t pinpoint when the assailant entered or how they exited. He was certain, however, that the attacker had been lying in ambush.

The instant Gu Bu Chao shut the door, the assailant brandished a fruit knife and viciously aimed for his vulnerable spot.

Regarding how Gu Bu Chao managed to evade, he couldn’t recollect.

What unfolded in those fleeting moments felt like a foggy dream, hazy and indistinct.

“It was like I was under a hypnotizis,” he murmured softly. “My awareness, my memories split into two distinct selves—one untouched, unmoving until time lapsed, and the other grappling with that person for almost two minutes until they couldn’t overpower me and hastily fled.”

He remembered his arm being cut, yet upon inspection afterwards, it remained unscathed.

Despite engaging in an extended struggle, he couldn’t conjure the assailant’s face from memory.

It felt like someone had forcefully implanted a memory, both segments feeling overwhelmingly authentic, rendering him incapable of discerning what was false.

The sole certainty for Gu Bu Chao was that immediately after the assailant departed, the voice of the steward NPC resounded from beyond the door.

The steward’s announcement pierced the room: the murderer had just completed a successful homicide. But just a second earlier, the murderer had fled from him in a sorry state.

Upon hearing Gu Bu Chao’s account, Ruan Bai’s brow furrowed deeply. It wasn’t solely due to the content; it was the sheer incomprehensibility of Gu Bu Chao’s experience. If anyone else had recounted this tale, she’d have doubted its authenticity. But Gu Bu Chao’s confirmation erased all skepticism—this was undeniably real!

After a brief pause, Ruan Bai lifted her gaze to Gu Bu Chao, cautiously inquiring, “Brother Ge, do you know who the last round’s killer is? Can you pinpoint them?”

Gu Bu Chao nodded assuredly.

Pointing to the corpse, he calmly stated, “No doubt, the killer from before lives right beside him, to the right.”

Only then did Gu Bu Chao realize that there was merely one room between his and the deceased player’s.

The killer’s choice to target either him or the new victim probably stemmed from their proximity as immediate neighbors.

Initially, this was mere guesswork.

But when Gu Bu Chao glimpsed the sly satisfaction on the neighboring player’s face, he knew his hunch was dead-on.

As for the guy who got voted off initially, he was innocent after all.

Ruan Bai remained silent, nodding in comprehension after hearing his explanation.

As the sound of approaching footsteps signaled the arrival of other players investigating, Ruan Bai and Gu Bu Chao exchanged a glance and swiftly departed.

Soon after, Ruan Bai urgently passed on Gu Bu Chao’s info to Snowy and the other girl, especially warning Snowy to watch her back.

Then she pondered over the flaws in the killer-finding game.

At first, Ruan Bai toyed with the idea of pretending to be an easy target, baiting the killer into revealing themselves.

Regrettably, she had to push the idea away.

Even the victims of the killer couldn’t recall their assailant’s face, leaving Ruan Bai skeptical about the effectiveness of her approach. The killer’s selection used to be random, targeting both Gu Bu Chao and newcomers, likely for the sake of convenience. So, she needed to shift her strategy.

What intrigued her was discovering the killer’s unique ability.

Carefully inspecting the corpse, she confirmed it was a knife that caused the death. This suggested the killer didn’t rely on abilities to execute their deeds. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have redirected their assault after failing to overpower Gu Bu Chao.

Additionally, Gu Bu Chao’s story made her a bit wary.

It wasn’t that she distrusted Gu Bu Chao; rather, she wasn’t certain how much was attributed to the “special ability” versus the player’s own capabilities.

Ever since joining the White Lotus system alongside Snowy and others, Ruan Bai gained a deep understanding of what the Horror Survival System Mall contained.

While most items inside the system mall were geared against ghosts, that didn’t rule out their potential to confuse players.

Similar to her system mall, despite most contents being seemingly useless, using them occasionally could unexpectedly yield incredible effects.

Moreover, during the initial round of the game, Gu Bu Chao explicitly stated being attacked during the voting period, when everyone returned to their respective rooms.

However, that contradicted the rules.

“…Once the killer is chosen, everyone can leave their rooms and move freely for three and a half hours. You all hunt for clues to identify the killer, while the killer must make a kill during this time…”

That’s what the steward announced as the game’s rules back then. Ruan Bai couldn’t have misinterpreted that.

Her fingers tapped slowly on the railing as she walked.

A vague speculation brewed from these fragmented clues, gradually coalescing into a clear line of thought.

Suddenly, she withdrew her hand.

…

During her spare time, Ruan Bai grabbed a quick meal in the hall, but she wandered solo the rest of the time.

She combed through every inch of the cruise ship, not only the hall but also the restroom, clinic, study room, staff dorms, and even the bar – anywhere accessible, she explored.

After meticulously searching these spots, Ruan Bai reached the hall just as the final 15 minutes of voting began, and the bells echoed through the air.

At that moment, other players also gravitated towards the hall, drawn by curiosity.

They all wanted to witness who had met their demise.

However, just like last time, only a single person perished during this round at the final stretch of the voting window.

All 16 players stood nervously in the hall, eyeing each other warily.

Seemingly mimicking the prior killer’s strategy, the current culprit, in a bid to delay exposure, once again opted to postpone the murder until the end, waiting until everyone had retired to their rooms.

Chances were high that someone would meet their end minutes after settling in.

Like the previous round, Ruan Bai calmly observed them all and headed back to her room to ready herself for the vote.

Merely moments later, the steward’s voice reverberated from outside her door again.

“The murderer has struck,” the steward announced, “Write down the name of your suspect.”

So, Ruan Bai scribbled her own name on the slip of paper and slid it through the door crack.

Throughout this time, her room remained peaceful and undisturbed.

When the 15 minutes concluded, the hall’s clock chimed, and a female player was ousted through the vote.

While scouring different corners, Ruan Bai had a hunch that this female player might have been entangled in some conflicts within the group.

Her demise felt more like a set-up than a mere misunderstanding.

Ruan Bai found herself at a loss for words regarding this turn of events.

Amid the game’s second round, fear gripped her harder than she’d anticipated. It seemed human nature was naturally restless. Some players, already adept at twisting the game’s rules, had turned it into a tool for murder.

As the game continued, tension mounted among the players, fueling arguments and escalating friction. The situation only grew more intense rather than settling down.

She wasn’t claiming sainthood; she found it rather sad and unfortunate.

Additionally, she couldn’t shake off the worry about who the next victim of the malicious voting might be—herself, Snowy, Serene, or Gu Bu Chao.

That female player was swiftly executed.

Listening closely, Ruan Bai recognized the pattern: like the male player from the first round, the woman was hurled into the sea. What significance did this execution hold for the host?

With the elimination of the female player, the third round commenced, guided by the overseer’s voice.

This time, the murderer wasn’t Ruan Bai, Snowy, Serene, or Gu Bu Chao.

Normally, Ruan Bai might have felt a tad disappointed. Holding the role of the killer offered a chance to survive, regardless of her genuine emotions.

Yet this time, Ruan Bai felt relief flooding through her.

“Softie, what do we do now?” Serene asked Ruan Bai privately, and her concern was evident. “We’re already in the third round… I’m really worried about you.”

Despite not being the sharpest or the most socially skilled, Ruan Bai was their anchor in these girls’ hearts.

No one knew the true identity of the killer in the third round, nor how the killings were being carried out.

They weren’t naive; they knew the only way to break the deadlock was to uncover the killer before the voting began.

But the killer knew this, too!

They were crafty, waiting until the voting began, denying other players any chance.

Serene’s unease grew palpable. Was it fine to leave Ruan Bai to find the murderer while they delved into the game’s mysteries?

Unexpectedly, Ruan Bai shook her head in gentle refusal, a serene smile gracing her lips. “Don’t fret, go explore with Snowy,” she reassured, her voice light and cheerful.

Little did Serene anticipate this response. Ruan Bai had already deciphered the killer’s unique skill.

☆ 68

Ruan Bai’s keen eye immediately caught onto a perplexing detail—the killer’s uncanny timing with the murders.

Per the game rules, the killer could only strike within three-and-a-half hours. But tragedy struck for two consecutive rounds, precisely in the last 15 minutes of voting.

This defiance of logic clashed blatantly with official reassurances that no error had occurred.

It felt like a cryptic message aimed directly at the players.

Sure, the first round’s circumstances might excuse the timing; maybe the killer used a game item as a desperate “last resort.”

However, the repetition in the second round hinted that the anomaly wasn’t tied to any item; it was linked to the game’s granted “special ability.”

What abilities in the game were time-related?

Without much pondering, Ruan Bai’s thoughts leapt to the possibility of “time travel.”

If the killer possessed the ability to traverse a specific duration, their method of murder would become evident.

Suppose the killer could leap back five minutes.

They’d activate this power when everyone entered their rooms, rewinding the clock by five crucial minutes.

At that point, none of the players would be in their rooms yet.

The killer could seize this advantage, slipping into the intended victim’s room and catching them off guard.

This tactic would effectively divert suspicion away from them.

Ruan Bai mused that, during this temporal leap, two versions of the killer might coexist in the same timeline.

There’d be the regular killer in the present timeline and the one from five minutes ago.

What exactly is time, and how can one really define it? It’s a pretty complicated concept.

But here’s the thing: time is a benchmark for comparing events.

Let’s take the starting point of the real-time timeline, the moment the 15-minute voting period begins, as the baseline for this part of the story. When the killer jumps ahead by 5 minutes, they shift into another timeline.

In this alternate timeline, time moves 5 minutes slower than the actual time. Quite cunning, isn’t it? In this altered time frame, our culprit assumes the victim’s position prematurely, spending five minutes there before committing the deed.

During this voting session, everyone remains confined to their positions. No peeking, no investigating, nothing at all.

Consequently, nobody knows the killer’s identity except for the unfortunate person on the hit list.

The catch is the killer targets individuals within this time leap, yet it still occurs within the 15-minute voting period.

However, in real-time, they become a ‘five minutes ago’ killer.

As long as our murderer acts swiftly and completes the task within those 5 minutes, regardless of whether the act happens within the 15-minute voting period, when we consider real-time, it’s part of three and a half hours. 

The killer’s actions effortlessly met the game’s demand of “committing murders within a three-and-a-half-hour time frame.”

Gu Bu Chao’s mind held two distinct memories, likely due to his experience spanning two complete timelines.

However, the killer’s face eluded him, likely due to a tool used rather than a lingering effect caused by time travel.

Driven by fear of failing to kill Gu Bu Chao within a set time, the killer grappled for two minutes before hastily fleeing.

Regarding the second round’s killer, replicating the first round’s killer methods was unnecessary.

The initial killer’s actions were triggered by a suggestion to stay in the hall for four hours, forcing the murder after only 15 minutes had passed.

By mimicking the first killer, the second killer inadvertently revealed their “special ability.”

Nevertheless, they avoided elimination by the vote, salvaging the situation to some extent.

Ruan Bai could almost piece together the events by the end of the second round.

However, it was a speculative guess, relying on her vivid imagination without much concrete information.

With the second round concluded, she now understood what transpired.

Her new challenge lay in uncovering the third round’s killer.

The second round’s killer might have replicated the first one’s actions for two possible reasons:

Firstly, they might have deemed the method effective and worth replicating.

Secondly, the game’s rules might have limited the use of their unique ability to that specific moment.

Ruan Bai had a gut feeling it leaned more towards the second scenario. 

She needed to seize that precise moment and take action to set the stage.

Once the other players had finished inquiring about the deceased player’s room and gradually dispersed, Ruan Bai saw her chance. She navigated the now-empty hall on her own.

Standing at the edge of the hall was the steward, as rigid and expressionless as a pre-programmed machine.

“Hey, steward,” Ruan Bai approached him with a faint smile, “Can I ask, does each game round truly have to last a full four hours? Can’t it be shortened or extended?”

The steward had been observing her since she came closer. At her words, a subtly peculiar expression finally flickered across his otherwise blank face.

“It’s mandatory for it to be a complete four hours,” he responded.

…

Time slipped away, and within what felt like moments, several hours had drifted past.

Around 4 am, the entire cruise ship was cloaked in an eerie stillness.

The third game round had kicked off at midnight. After the initial tension, fatigue began to seep in among many players.

Some formed pairs, taking turns to keep watch, vigilant for any unexpected threats.

Fearing the murderer’s ambush if they were alone, everyone slowly gravitated to the hall after a brief spell outdoors.

Amid the silence, numerous individuals found hiding spots—under tables, on the floor, in corners, and behind curtains—all in an attempt to conceal themselves in plain sight.

In the dead of night, some dozed off while others fought off sleep, their weary faces belying their alert eyes wide open.

Around three in the morning, a faint glimmer sliced through the distant horizon, casting a pale, eerie glow across the inky black ocean beyond the window.

Within the dimly lit chamber, candlelight danced and stretched their shadows with each gust of sea breeze.

In this chilling silence where even the faintest breath echoed, a colossal clock loomed in the hall, ticking away time at a sluggish pace.

Tick-tock… tick-tock… tick-tock…

Finally, the hands halted at the 4 am mark.

“Clang! Clang! Clang!”

At that precise moment, the grand clock shattered the silence with a shrill, ear-splitting chime!

Startled, the hall’s occupants snapped awake, knowing the impending time limit; another round of voting was imminent.

This time, rather than waiting for the organiser, the players, accustomed to the routine, instinctively bolted back to their rooms.

Despair, fatigue, and fear etched their faces, yet an unsettling numbness pervaded the air.

However, amidst them, one figure stood out.

Head bowed, eyes fixed downward, he trailed the others toward the rooms, a troubled expression concealing his true feelings.

Yet, the tightly clenched fists betrayed his excitement, revealing emotions he struggled to contain.

He was the killer this round.

Having been informed by the organiser of his role as the assailant, he knew he would survive, his anticipation almost uncontrollably seeping through.

As long as he could kill someone.

For the killer, emotions like unease, hesitation, or regret were alien concepts foreign to his hardened psyche.

He harboured no complexities in his thoughts; they were stark and straightforward.

Murder, to him, was a means to an end, a simple path to his survival.

He knew that by ending others, he prolonged his own existence.

Survival meant everything, granting him unrestrained freedom.

“The game gives you the ability to move through time and space,” he recalled the steward’s words when they first approached him.

“When the final 15 minutes for voting begin, once everyone retreats to their respective chambers, your unique power becomes accessible.

The trigger for this ability is tapping your room’s door thrice.

Upon tapping, departing from the room allows you to traverse time, returning to a specific moment.

This ability is a one-time use, so act swiftly to eliminate your target during this temporal window!”

Clutching the steward’s instructions close, the killer re-entered his quarters, shut the door firmly, and promptly tapped the door’s surface three times.

With resolve, he swung the door ajar and stepped out.

Since realising his role as the killer, he’d strategised his next move, selecting his mark during the previous free-roam session—a newcomer among the male players with whom he’d clashed.

He’d contemplated targeting some female players, especially the twelve- or thirteen-year-old contestant.

But upon reflection, he reconsidered; a child surviving in such a ruthless game likely possessed an extraordinary skill or an uncanny stroke of luck.

In the horror game, never underestimate the veterans. And just as expected, the killer redirected their focus to the remaining two newbie players.

Gripping the fruit knife tightly, the killer’s eyes sparkled with malice. Striding confidently, they reached the door of the male player’s room and thrust it open without a second thought!

“Ahhhhh!?—”

But what caught them off guard was the room wasn’t deserted!

As soon as the door creaked open, frantic screams echoed from within, startling the killer.

The male player, supposedly dozing off in the corridor, now stood inside the room, staring in terror at the intruder!

What in the world?

The killer was dumbfounded.

Hadn’t the boss mentioned he possessed the ability to leap through time?

Besides, this newbie had been snoozing in the corridor just moments ago.

How did he appear inside the room?!

Though the killer’s mind raced, the others’ reactions were faster.

When the newcomer shouted, three female players flung open doors and dashed toward the commotion!

Finally, the murderer met his match.

It wasn’t just the newcomers holed up in their rooms; all the players were barricaded in their own spaces!

The steward’s supposed time-travel knack utterly fizzled!

But why, though?

Weren’t those murderers successful in the initial rounds?

The murderer couldn’t crack it. But, those few women who bolted out earlier managed to get a good look at his face.

He got caught.

Everything that followed went off without a hitch.

Ruan Bai and the others apprehended the murderer, tied him up, and left him in the corridor.

Peeking through the door crack, the other players witnessed their actions and pinpointed the murderer.

Now, they just needed the steward to arrive to proceed with the voting.

Watching the bewildered murderer sprawled on the floor, Ruan Bai silently exhaled.

The murderer was clueless about the failure of their unique ability, but she knew.

Because it was her doing—the reason behind his ability’s failure.

When she learned of the murderer’s “time travel” power, Ruan Bai schemed to apprehend him before the 15-minute voting period.

From the game’s onset, she noticed something peculiar in her room—there wasn’t a clock.

That struck her as odd because, in previous games, clocks were scattered around to keep players updated on time.

At that moment, she was pretty perplexed, unsure how this game aimed to remind players about time.

She discovered a curious hint within the game: the grand clock in the hall would chime when it was time for the players to act.

Was this some sort of in-game clue?

Ruan Bai had been uncertain before, but now she could state with certainty.

—Because she’d tampered with the hall clock, pushing time forward by a whole half-hour!

Since figuring out the killer’s unique ability, Ruan Bai combed through every corner of the cruise ship, confirming that only the hall boasted a clock.

After consulting the steward, she gleaned that the game was set for a precise “4 hours.” It dawned on Ruan Bai that changing the clock wouldn’t alter the game’s end time.

To neutralise the killer’s unique ability, seizing the moment everyone was engrossed in investigating the crime scene, she quietly adjusted the hall clock by half an hour.

During this window, most players gathered clues outside, and with the late hour, exhaustion had settled in, causing some to doze off while working.

So, when they returned to the hall to rest, surprisingly few noticed the time discrepancy.

In a way, the 4-hour game duration worked in Ruan Bai’s favour.

If the game had lasted only 1 hour, even the most oblivious person would have caught on.

Leaving these thoughts aside, the clock’s chime indicated there was still half an hour before the voting time.

Had the killer been observant, they might have noticed the steward’s absence. Still, perhaps they were too agitated, missing this vital detail and losing an opportunity.

The realisation slowly dawned on the killer as time passed without the steward’s appearance.

Everyone waited silently for half an hour until the steward finally emerged, and the voting commenced.

With the true culprit ousted, the pursuit of the killer came to an end.

Waves crashed against the cruise ship, and the slightly cold sea breeze mingling with the faint light on the horizon crept into the room.

The steward turned, climbing the stairs, exchanged a few words with someone upstairs, then descended the steps slowly.

“The Master is quite satisfied with your performance,” the steward said casually, “You’re now free to move around.”

Free to move… at last, a chance to rest!

Upon hearing this, many players visibly relaxed.

This statement from the steward was what most had been eagerly anticipating.

It marked the end of the killer-catching game and hinted at a new twist in the ship’s tale.

Most importantly, players no longer needed to watch each other’s backs.

They could band together to uncover the game’s next phase!

Yet, as Ruan Bai eyed the steward’s pale, sombre countenance, an inexplicable unease washed over her.

She inhaled deeply, pushing aside the odd feelings, and sought out Snowy and Serene, curious about their progress.

☆ 69

After the steward issued instructions, the players began to scatter.

Experienced players, brushing off their exhaustion, hustled to gather intel. At the same time, some, unable to shake off sleepiness, headed back to their rooms for a quick nap.

But Ruan Bai didn’t opt for rest, and Snowy and Serene followed suit.

Ever since Ruan Bai figured out that the killer’s time of murder was “fixed,” she understood that everyone was safe during the remaining time.

That’s why, in the third round of the game, they simply found a spot to catch some shut-eye before catching the killer.

Even though a little over three hours wasn’t enough to break the deadlock, it sufficed.

In this survival game, sleep was a sacrifice that needed careful consideration.

With only 48 hours in this world, endurance was vital.

During Ruan Bai’s downtime, she pondered the killer’s unique ability or strategized on how to catch them before the killer struck during the voting.

As for the cruise ship’s origin, history, owner, and purpose—Ruan Bai was clueless about it all.

Initially tasked with it, Snowy and Serene were supposed to investigate these matters.

Ruan Bai’s entire focus was on the killer-catching game.

She didn’t expect previous killers to step up and help; the steward had made it clear that former killers couldn’t expose the killer’s abilities or murder methods.

Assisting others would reveal too much.

However, regardless of circumstances, the game had progressed.

Ruan Bai didn’t linger; she swiftly left for the women’s restroom, where she had arranged a private meeting with Serene and Snowy.

The restroom’s location was secluded, and with each player having a private bathroom, hardly anyone frequented it.

Ruan Bai had covertly communicated with Snowy and Serene, so they were already inside, awaiting her upon her arrival.

Ruan Bai cautiously surveyed the area, ensuring no one was around, and quietly shut the restroom door behind her.

She entered and softly inquired, “Any discoveries?”

Both nodded subtly.

“While the second round was ongoing, I explored several places,” said Snowy, “and I stumbled upon something. The owner seems to have a fondness for all sorts of mythical tales and eerie supernatural stories.”

The cruise ship comprised five floors, and it appeared that the owner made the topmost level their home.

Snowy had yet to venture to the fifth floor, but she had explored nearly all other areas.

She noticed the ship’s layout was far from modern. There was no internet or signal despite having televisions, and even the TV cables were cut off.

Moreover, the common hangout spots on the ship were eerie, showing little sign of human presence.

Entering the bar, Snowy found ancient decor, old liquor bottles, and barrels gathering dust as if it had been a while since anyone had cleaned.

In these circumstances, finding entertainment meant turning to books.

Snowy headed to the ship’s library and discovered several well-worn volumes.

All the books centred around maritime legends and myths.

“The owner seems pretty hooked on tales about mermaids,” Snowy remarked.

“Mermaids?” Ruan Bai’s heart skipped a beat.

Her intuition hinted that the name resemblance couldn’t just be a coincidence.

Since the game scenario at the ancient castle where Mermaid’s bell led her to Du’s father, Ruan Bai felt that something wasn’t right about this bell.

She had seen the bell glowing and dispersing the black mist in the air.

Initially, she had thought this bell was the heart of the Mermaid Grandma, but now she sensed its secret went deeper.

Du Wen Shu’s initial death might not have been as simple as it seemed.

This time, she activated the Mermaid Bell again.

It had brought her into this game—what message did it hold for her?

“Yes, indeed, mermaids,” Snowy confirmed, nodding. “He kept going back to those chapters; the corners of those pages were all worn from being turned over so much.”

Later, she summarized the plots related to mermaids.

Snowy had an exceptional memory; she could recall their general plots with just a glance at those books.

“Most of these involve mermaids rescuing people,” she said. “Usually, it’s on stormy nights during a shipwreck. The cruise or boat gets lost at sea, people are helpless, without food, struggling to survive, and the fortunate ones…”

Fortunately, within the tale, they all came across mermaids without fail. Mermaids, kind creatures, boasted human-like upper bodies paired with fish-like lower halves, a sight of extraordinary beauty. Their domain spanned the seas, and they possessed an innate sense of shore locations.

Legends spun tales of mermaids selflessly aiding stranded souls, guiding them back to land, offering food, pearls, and paving their way to a life of abundance and joy.

“Is that all?” Ruan Bai inquired, sensing Snowy withheld more than she spoke.

Snowy’s demeanour subtly shifted at Ruan Bai’s query, a rare flicker of uncertainty crossing her countenance. She glanced at Ruan Bai, a fleeting moment of hesitation gracing her features. “I’m just… not entirely certain if what I’m contemplating aligns with the circumstances of this game.”

The sole individual granted access to peruse the ship’s literature, known as the “host” to the players, had repeatedly delved into mermaid lore, almost imprinting his fingerprints onto the slightly yellowed pages.

Typically, these marks denote the host’s fondness for these sections. Yet, Snowy perceived it differently. To her, the host didn’t relish these chapters; instead, he held an underlying resentment toward them.

His dislike ran so deep that whenever he turned to these pages, his inability to control leaving crumbled pages spoke volumes. But these assumptions were nebulous at best. A rational thinker, Snowy relied on her instincts but refrained from voicing such conjectures without substantial evidence, avoiding needlessly disturbing others’ thoughts.

Observing Snowy’s hesitation, Ruan Bai blinked, affectionately patted the young girl’s head, and chose not to pry further.

“This cruise ship’s contents evidently date back ages; it likely seldom docked,” Snowy remarked, shifting the conversation, “I stumbled upon newspapers in the study and estimated the ship’s infrequent docking times based on their dates.”

Numerous newspapers were present; each time the host docked, he procured a month’s supply. Snowy verified that the intervals between each stack of newspapers averaged about ten years. Furthermore, all these newspapers hailed from a specific coastal town.

“Our roles in the game were linked to the host from times past,” Ning Rou added, “I combed through prior newspapers and uncovered one article.”

The article wasn’t anything special, just a piece about a school arranging a trip for kids to sail and see the sea during a holiday break. But luck wasn’t on their side. The morning was calm, but by afternoon, a fierce storm struck. Waves flipped their boat. Over 200 people—teachers and students together—vanished without a trace.

Naturally, such a significant incident rattled everyone. Rescue teams dispatched by the government scoured the area while newspapers buzzed with updates for an entire week. Along the shoreline, anguished parents desperately searched for any sign of their children in the sea.

Then, on the seventh day, hope emerged—18 kids were found alive. Yet, the old newspaper abruptly ended its story there, offering no details about their rescue, just the account of fishermen spotting them near the shore a decade ago.

“Isn’t that number kind of spooky?” Ruan Bai mused. “What if we, the players, are those 18 kids from back then?”

Snowy and Serene exchanged nods. “18 kids, 12 boys, 6 girls—it fits perfectly,” Serene remarked. “Perhaps the owner and we knew each other from that shipwreck.”

They likely survived, thanks to the owner’s intervention. But now, a decade later, those once-rescued kids have all become murderers. Quite the twisted coincidence.

Thirteen hours into the game, the owner was still far from sight. They’d gleaned as much information as possible.

Ruan Bai nodded decisively. “Let’s not stick around any longer. Stay sharp and watch your backs, okay? This place is dangerous.”

Snowy and Serene agreed with solemn nods.

In the dangerous game of catching the killer, the rules used to be crystal clear. Once you spied them out, all safe and sound. But now, danger lurked around every corner, threatening to strike at any misstep, risking lives for real this time.

As they sneaked out of the restroom one by one, the trio still kept up the act of being strangers, returning to the hall in staggered groups. By then, many players had already started teaming up, playing the buddy system.

With the killer-catching game over, folks no longer have to eye each other suspiciously. The hunt for allies was on in the face of potential danger ahead. 

People wanted backup, someone to watch their backs. And in this swirl of alliances, Ruan Bai had somehow become a prime target.

What Ruan Bai hadn’t bargained for was getting intercepted after just a few paces. 

A glance up, and she met the eyes of another female player. This one was low-key in appearance, kept to herself mostly, trying hard not to stand out.

Ruan Bai recognized the type—an experienced player, maybe even more seasoned than herself. Not every player with a lotus mark above their head was a potential ally, especially in a deadly game. Drawing too much attention could easily spell out a one-way ticket to the afterlife.

Her gut told her that these silent, under-the-radar veterans, especially the women, were usually very smart and extremely hard to approach. Yet, here stood this enigmatic female player, willingly stepping into Ruan Bai’s path.

“You’re the one who nailed the killer in the third round, huh?” The female player flashed a friendly grin at Ruan Bai. “I gotta say, you’re pretty sharp. How about teaming up?”

☆ 70

Team up?

Ruan Bai blinked, taking in the woman’s friendly expression. Usually, she’d have agreed without a second thought. It was an opportunity to connect with another female player, seamlessly blend in, and ensure her association with Snowy remained under wraps, shielding it from prying eyes.

But when the woman dropped the words “the third round’s killer,” Ruan Bai’s defences shot up instantly. She knew that no one had caught sight of her when she tampered with the clock. 

Besides, even though she had subdued the killer, most players wouldn’t automatically assume she was the one who caught him. Because, frankly, it was unnecessary. Revealing oneself in the game wasn’t a clever move. In this murder-solving challenge, the player who cracked the case only had to unveil the killer’s identity; there was no need to personally capture or restrain them.

Previously, the chaos caused by the killer and the newcomer had been substantial. Players, peeking through door cracks or craning their necks, had easily spotted the culprit. 

At this juncture, going after the killer felt less about catching them and more about protecting the newbie. Ruan Bai was exploiting the ingrained thinking patterns of the players.

This mentality was widespread among seasoned players. They believed in self-preservation, understanding that those who often stood out weren’t necessarily the true experts. 

So, how did this discreet female player, who always stayed low-key, know about Ruan Bai’s role as the captor? Could she possibly be the killer from the second round? Someone who had been a killer might possess insights about managing the situation or the game’s rules that ordinary players wouldn’t have.

In the gaming world, the rule was simple: input something, get something out.

This female player approached Ruan Bai so boldly.

Is she really that confident Ruan Bai won’t turn her down?

Ruan Bai was sure she hadn’t crossed paths with this female player before. Yet, the player seemed oddly familiar with her, understanding her tendency to be friendly with other women.

Ordinary gamers who knew Ruan Bai might tease her, but they wouldn’t go as far as spreading her pictures or profiles. After all, bringing phones or any personal stuff into the game was a no-go. It’d take considerable effort for a regular player to snag her photos or anything like that. They’d probably treat it as a jest rather than bother with the trouble of sharing her details widely.

So, was this female player genuinely just an ordinary gamer genuinely concerned about her, or did some hidden grudge simmer between them?

These thoughts swirled, yet she straightened them out in mere seconds.

Watching the female player keenly, Ruan Bai couldn’t help but let a smile sneak onto her face.

“Sure, why not?” she replied with a glint in her eyes, adding cheerfully, “I was thinking of teaming up with another girl!” But then, her expression turned serious. “However, you see, I’m still clueless… I’ve been wrapped up in tracking down the murderer.”

The female player didn’t seem taken aback by Ruan Bai’s words. “It’s fine, I know a few things,” she assured. “You don’t need to fret.”

With that assurance, the female player comforted Ruan Bai, proposing they could gather information and collaborate to conquer the game or something along those lines.

Ruan Bai: “…”

Hey, can’t you get what I’m implying here? At least throw me a bone with some helpful info, huh?!

But that pretty much confirmed she was likely from the Badger Clan, Ruan Bai thought. She wondered what they were thinking, assuming she was some real ‘white lotus’ who would lose her mind at the sight of another woman.

The female player was obviously trying to trick Ruan Bai, but she wasn’t that gullible.

Amidst  Ruan Bai’s persistence, she pried out some details from the female player, more or less.

For instance, the female player once stumbled upon a timetable, noticing the master’s routine here was steady—up at 6 every day, knocked out by 10. So, for the time being, the steward let them roam freely without bringing up the master, mainly because the master was likely still snoozing. But come 6 o’clock, a whole new storyline would unfold.

And yeah, the master had a massive thing for stories, especially those about mermaids. Ruan Bai had learned about this from Snowy, but she got a fresh perspective from the female player.

The female player hinted that since the master was into stories when they next met the players, spinning tales might get them closer to and please the master.

Hearing this from the female player caught Ruan Bai off guard; she hadn’t figured out the player plan that far ahead. But considering it, this girl might be from the badger, but navigating through so many games suggests she’s got some serious skills.

It’s a shame that when the female player spilt the beans, it wasn’t out of pure kindness. As for her true intentions, well, that might only surface once the master shows up.

Ruan Bai’s mind raced, but she put on a grateful face, thanking the female player multiple times.

After a quick chat, Ruan Bai made an excuse to call it a night and head back for some shut-eye. 

The female player didn’t try to stop her. Maybe she’d already accomplished whatever she wanted, as she never seemed keen on Ruan Bai sticking around. 

Ruan Bai was totally okay with that and left without much fuss. 

But just as she turned, something caught her off guard. She spotted a guy lurking in the corner of the staircase, eyes fixed on them. He seemed to be listening in on their conversation while waiting for someone else. 

Ruan Bai recognized that bearded face; she vividly remembered this person—the male player marked by the White Lotus system with the lotus insignia on his head, the Lotus Guy. What was his deal?

Noticing Ruan Bai eyeing him suspiciously, the Lotus Guy scratched his head awkwardly and flashed a smile at her. “Um… hey,” he began, pausing and stuttering, “lady, the player you were just talking to seems to have quite a good relationship with a few other players…”

His voice dropped toward the end, “Um, lady, maybe watch your back a bit more?” 

It turns out he wanted to give her a heads-up.

Ruan Bai was taken aback by what the Lotus Guy said. Despite looking like a dodgy uncle, she hadn’t expected him to be fundamentally decent—a rarity in the game. 

Even she, if the system hadn’t forced tasks upon her, wouldn’t bother extending a helping hand, let alone stirring up trouble between others.

The costs outweighed the gains, making it easier to offend someone.

Ruan Bai sensed it but couldn’t let it show too much. The badger tried to pull one over on her, but she was ready to flip the script.

Despite understanding the truth deep within, Ruan Bai feigned innocence and naivety, countering, “No way, Sister has been nothing but kind, sharing a lot of information with me.”

The Lotus Guy didn’t seem surprised by her response. Observing Ruan Bai’s disbelief, he didn’t push further, emitting two chuckles, tapping his nose, and departing. 

Ruan Bai gazed after him for a while, contemplating. This dude… might have a decent vibe?

If the Lotus Guy’s future moves and vibe checked out, she wouldn’t mind having him in her girl gang…

Anticipating potential dangers ahead, she prioritized a good rest instead of futile speculation. With this thought in mind, Ruan Bai swiftly retreated to her room, on the way readjusting the time on the grand clock in the hall.

Afterwards, Ruan Bai promptly slept for over an hour. She trusted what the girl player had said about the host showing up at 6; it should be on the money.

Indeed, at the stroke of 6 o’clock, the hall’s sizable timepiece resonated with a chime, prompting all players to assemble swiftly, with the steward already seated for some time.

In the vast hall, aside from the steward, a man held court at the very front. He was draped in black, lounging casually with his back against the players, an enigma concealed within the folds of darkness. 

Ruan Bai strained to catch a glimpse of his face. The steward’s deferential gestures hinted that this shadowy figure was likely the master of this damned cruise ship.

The players hurried in one by one, swiftly securing their positions within the gathering. The steward finally roused from his stillness as the last of them settled.

“The owner isn’t too thrilled with how things unfolded in the first round,” he muttered blandly, glancing over the assembled players. “Your performance didn’t quite stir his interest.”

Confusion rippled among the players. Not pleased? Did the owner imply they took too long to unmask the killer in the third round? Or perhaps they had wrapped things up too hastily. The owner seemed to hunger for something more, something that involved a more bloody thrill.

“To appease the owner, a second game is on the table,” the steward continued, indifferent to the players’ befuddled expressions. “Some of you might know the owner’s fondness for stories, right?” he added. “The second round is straightforward: take turns spinning tales for the owner. If you manage to craft a yarn that tickles his fancy, the game concludes.

— Of course, there’s one condition though: the stories you tell can’t be ones the host has already heard,” declared the steward.

Stories? That’s the second game?

At the mention of storytelling, Ruan Bai’s eyes narrowed. She glanced at a fellow female player nearby and caught the woman’s gaze.

The woman responded with a subtle smile and a nod as if urging Ruan Bai on…

So, the host favours tales of mermaids rescuing folks—was that the expectation from this woman?

But why?

Puzzled by this, Ruan Bai’s thoughts raced. However, the steward swiftly concluded the rules before she could dwell further.

The players’ mission was clear-cut now: spin a tale that pleased the host to dispel his discontent.

But what if someone’s story didn’t cut it for the host?

And what exactly was the host up to?

The first game’s outcomes could be overlooked, but the host’s intentions were laid bare with the second round, stretching time needlessly.

It was chilling. The players found themselves trapped, without any say.

Ruan Bai clenched her jaw, her grip tightening.

Before she could ponder further, the game commenced.

After clarifying the rules, the steward casually singled out a male player. “Alright, let’s start this game with you, then go in order,” he directed.

Oddly enough, Ruan Bai found herself directly behind this chosen player, though whether it was by chance remained uncertain.

☆ 71

As dawn broke, the sea lay calm and peaceful, enveloped in tranquillity. A blanket of silence settled among its occupants on the gently swaying ship.

The steward’s gesture toward the man ahead of Ruan Bai prompted a collective hush. The man’s complexion paled noticeably, revealing his anxiety. He now faced the daunting task of spinning a captivating tale never heard by their host.

Creating an original story took precedence over recalling an existing one. Yet, not everyone possessed the storytelling skill; most were only familiar with crafting 800-word essays from their school days.

Caught off guard, the man’s expression twisted further, his lips trembling in nervousness. A tale… he needed a story…

Given the boss’s fondness for mermaid rescue stories, why not weave something reminiscent of that theme? Clenching his fingers, he stuttered, “I—I’ll  tell a story, about a mermaid…”

In a wavering voice, the intended tale began to trickle into the ears of all present. 

As Ruan Bai had anticipated, conjuring a story on the spot proved challenging; at best, he could modify an existing narrative slightly. Hence, what unfolded was a rendition of the familiar tale of the mermaid.

“Once upon a time, deep in the ocean, a mermaid kingdom thrived, ruled by a mermaid king blessed with six princesses…”

Within the circle of six princesses, the youngest was the stories mermaid. Her heart tangled in love’s net for a prince lost at sea; she braved the waves to rescue him. The price she paid for her human legs—her lilting voice, traded away. Yet, with each step on land, agony sliced through her feet, a cruel reminder of her sacrifice.

Constrained by a sparse lexicon, the male player briskly summarized the mermaid’s saga. However, in the tale’s twilight, he wove an altered destiny for the mermaid.

“The mermaid’s presence stirred fragments of the prince’s forgotten past,” he ventured cautiously. “In the end, it was he who fell for the mermaid, and they found their happy-ever-after.”

As the tale concluded, anxious glances darted toward the figure seated, their back turned to the assembly. What manner of stories kindled this enigmatic individual’s delight? Could this narrative suffice to appease them?

Amidst the crowd’s whispered speculations, the figure responded, a soft chuckle escaping their lips. “A sweet and cuddly tale,” they remarked casually. “I hold a fondness for such stories.”

That sparked a flicker of joy on the player’s face! 

However, catching everyone off guard, after praising the story, the individual emitted an odd, mocking laugh.

“It’s just peculiar, isn’t it? Someone who has taken lives telling me such a story… Doesn’t that strike you as rather repugnant?”

Ruan Bai’s heart sank upon hearing the announcement, knowing immediately that trouble loomed. It was clear—the master favoured tales far removed from simple, cheerful narratives. While the master might appreciate stories of joy, narratives from murderers themselves risked provoking the master’s ire. Sensing the potential danger, Ruan Bai realized the details shared by the female gamer were ones she probably shouldn’t explore any further.

Lost in thought, Ruan Bai observed the man sitting in front of her, noticing that he had already reached his conclusion. The master’s disdain for his story was evident; there was no room for discussion. Following the master’s directive, the steward approached the man, intending to usher him away.

“I-I’m not a killer!” the player pleaded, “I swear! Please, don’t hurt me!” He thrashed about, fiercely resisting the steward’s grasp. His eyes, filled with despair and bitterness, scanned the other players, his demeanour exuding gloom and suspicion as if harbouring dark intentions.

Sensing imminent trouble, Ruan Bai instinctively moved away, seeking to avoid involvement. In such precarious situations, many players on the brink of demise often attempted to shift blame onto someone else, further complicating matters…

Despite his struggles, the steward easily caught hold of the player’s hand. With his dull, grey eyes fixed on the player, his voice remained calm, almost chilling: “Let’s go.” 

It was as if that command held an odd power, swiftly calming the agitated player. The player’s expression slowly emptied as he stared back into the steward’s eyes.

“Let’s go,” he muttered, “I’ve got to leave.”

Dazed, he rose, following the steward’s instructions and leaving his seat. 

Ruan Bai watched from afar, noting his natural gait—no puppet-like stiffness. Strangely, this casualness unsettled her more than any rigid demeanour would have.

With a muffled thud, that player was eliminated, plunging into the water. The sea breeze rushed in, instantly chilling the warm hall by a few degrees.

The first round of tales ended, and now it was Ruan Bai’s turn. Glancing at the departing master, she took a deep breath. Post the last round, she grasped the type of story to spin.

It was evident the master favoured mermaid narratives. He’d just mentioned his fondness, hinting that a mermaid-themed story would suffice. The murderer’s hint about repelling saccharine tales led her to contemplate the opposite. Hadn’t Snowy mentioned the master’s fascination with shipwreck tales where mermaids saved people, gifting them fortunate lives?

Tweaking the ending could crack this test. Lost in these thoughts, the master suddenly spoke up.

“I’m hoping for a story that’ll grip me,” he announced. “So, whoever spins a yarn that does the trick, I’ll oblige with an answer.”

Ruan Bai and the others were startled by this declaration.

But this pledge…

The others’ eyes glinted; impatience and excitement brimmed on their faces.

Yet, the host’s words troubled Ruan Bai deeply.

Stalling the host was undeniably stalling.

Her earlier hunch hadn’t misled her!

“Host, may I share my story sooner?” Another player sprang up, intercepting Ruan Bai: “Must the story tellers stick to a set sequence? Can they be disrupted? I’d prefer to be the second storyteller!”

The host chuckled knowingly.

He seemed to have expected this moment. “Of course,” he nodded.

And so, with the host’s nod, that player slipped past Ruan Bai, ready to tell their tale second.

This was a seasoned player, exuding confidence.

Ruan Bai sensed he held considerable knowledge about the cruise ship, perhaps familiar with the mermaid story Snowy had mentioned earlier.

Perhaps he even toyed with the same idea as her, planning to twist that shipwrecked mermaid tale before narrating it.

And Ruan Bai’s speculation proved true.

“I’ve got a mermaid story linked to a shipwreck,” the player confidently began, “set at sea, aboard a different vessel. I’m convinced this tale will meet your expectations.”

Once he commenced his narration, the tale unfolded just as Ruan Bai had anticipated. It all began with a group stumbling upon a shipwreck and finding themselves submerged in the water.

Luckily, merciful merfolk emerged, rescuing the stranded souls, ferrying them back to shore, and even gracing them with abundant pearls.

But as the story advanced, its trajectory swerved sharply, careening into unforeseen darkness.

“The precious pearls made everyone rich beyond measure, and faced with immense wealth, everyone’s mindset twisted,” he said. “Consequently, in pursuit of the pearls once more, people resorted to their old tricks.”

Upon hearing this, Ruan Bai narrowed her gaze, exchanging a telling glance with Snowy nearby. Both clearly recollected the news of the entire school outing gone awry, where 200 individuals had encountered a shipwreck.

Frankly, the idea of an entire school excursion, with such a massive loss of students and not a single soul venturing into the sea to search for them, struck them as bewildering.

With storms on the horizon, there’s always a weather forecast available. Even if the sudden rain caught them off guard, it wasn’t a tsunami. Swift reactions could have potentially saved lives.

If 200 people perished at sea, it signalled that the ship was undoubtedly far from the safety of the coastline.

…It seemed deliberate—a deliberate voyage into the treacherous deep sea.

While Ruan Bai contemplated this, the gamer’s tale flowed on uninterrupted.

Per his account, driven by avarice, people repeatedly orchestrated “encounters” with sea disasters to seek the merfolk and their coveted pearls.

“Ultimately, the merfolk grew repulsed by their insatiable greed,” the gamer conveyed. “During the final catastrophe, they simply observed from a distance as people struggled in the water, withholding their aid.”

At this juncture, the saga of merfolk and humans reached a decisive conclusion.

Disheartened, people ceased troubling the merfolk, and the merfolk, in turn, never graced them with their presence again.

“My story is finished,” the player said. “Master, I await your judgment.”

Confidently, he spoke, seemingly unfazed by the potential disdain he might incur from the master.

“Such a marvelous tale,” the host exclaimed, his words weaving a symphony of praise that thoroughly delighted the gamer. “Intriguing and far more captivating than the previous ones. I sense you have some understanding of me.”

The gamer’s face lit up with even greater enthusiasm at these words.

“However, your story doesn’t quite align with my preferences,” the host abruptly interjected, veiling his expression by turning away from the gamer and shrouding his emotions from the room.

Despite the outward flattery, the host’s tone carried a subtle mockery toward the gamer: “What I crave are narratives of novelty, tales uncharted by my knowledge… Your story, regrettably, is too familiar, failing to spark my interest.”

The steward had mentioned while laying down the rules that the player’s tale must engage the host first and be entirely unknown to the host.

Although the gamer’s story held merit, it infringed upon the second rule by hinting at too much familiarity.

“Kindly escort him out,” the host casually ordered, signalling the transition to the third round of storytelling.

As the second player faced elimination, a wave of restlessness washed over the group. Their countenances turned pallid, gazes flickering with hesitation, no longer eager to step into the limelight.

Finally, it was Ruan Bai’s moment to spin a tale.

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