Xie Qing expressionlessly closed the shop. It seemed that he couldn’t rely on items—he could only depend on himself. 

But… 

A slight smirk appeared at the corner of his lips. “I like challenging games.” 

“Wife is so dominant! Step on me!”

“Can you at least put on some pants?”

“The pants are already gone, hehe.”

“Wife looks so hot when he gets serious, hehe.”

The chat was instantly flooded with a wave of “hehehe,” making 009 frown. Without hesitation, he muted the entire channel for three minutes. 

As an observer, he could understand the audience’s enthusiasm for Xie Qing. But for some reason, seeing people call Xie Qing “wife” made him a little irritated. 

The manager’s office door was locked tight. Even trying to pry it open with a stiff piece of cardboard didn’t work. Xie Qing sighed and muttered to himself, 

“I’m really not suited for physical labor.” 

Then, he grabbed a chair from the front desk and smashed it hard against the lock. 

BANG! 

The old-fashioned lock broke off instantly. Xie Qing removed the remaining pieces and gently pushed open the office door. 

[Warning! Warning!]

[Player Xie Qing has forcibly entered the manager’s office. The manager will now consider you a hostile target.]

Xie Qing: “Heh~”

The taunt level was instantly maxed out. 

Xie Qing didn’t care what kind of nonsense the system was spewing and focused on conducting a mini house raid in the manager’s office. Within minutes, the entire office was a complete mess. 

The system kept sending notifications: [Manager’s hatred level has increased!] 

“Xie Qing’s mental fortitude is insane. Isn’t he afraid the acting manager will lock him in and kill him?”

“I’m just curious what he’s looking for.” 

“Isn’t he just rummaging through things randomly?” 

“No, no, no. You can tell Xie Qing has a goal. He must have already figured something out earlier.” 

The wallpaper in the manager’s office was hideous—twisting pale pink grooves filled with countless scattered glowing dots, each one connected by thin lines, enough to send anyone with trypophobia into a meltdown. 

Other than that, the office’s layout was so painfully ordinary it was almost boring. 

Two desks faced each other. One was completely empty, while the other held an ashtray and a monitor.

The bookshelf against the wall was filled with various management and promotional books. The desk calendar had handwritten schedules, but the dates were frozen in December 2001. The pages were covered in dust, yellowed, and brittle. 

Xie Qing carefully flipped through the calendar. The schedule was painfully ordinary—arranged purchases, issued salaries, his sister’s right arm rehabilitation, employee training, organizing books donated by guests, visiting his parents’ graves with his sister… 

He opened the manager’s drawer, and inside was a whole drawer full of red-covered notebooks. Xie Qing was instantly thrilled. 

Notebooks were classic horror game items. If a horror game didn’t have at least a few journals revealing the main plot, could it even call itself a horror game? 

But upon opening them, disappointment washed over him. 

“Why is it all just ‘I’m sorry’?”

The notebooks contained no diary entries, only pages filled with countless repetitions of “I’m sorry” in tight, messy handwriting. Some of the strokes had even punctured the paper, the pressure so intense that it was clear the writer had been in an extremely emotional state. 

Unwilling to give up, Xie Qing rapidly flipped through the notebooks. Finally, buried within the sea of apologies, he found a scattered document spread across dozens of pages—The Health Spa Hotel Manager’s Handbook. 

1. The manager’s duty is to ensure the hotel continues operating normally. Whether or not there are guests, the hotel must keep running.

2. The hotel has no elevator.

3. The hotel has no hot spring.

4. You do not have a safe.

5. Every seven days, at least one violating employee must be sacrificed to the goddess of Darkness and Abundance. If no employee has violated the rules, the manager must fulfill their duty by actively luring or forcing employees to break the rules. If there are volunteers, they should be prioritized for sacrifice.

6. The hotel prospers because of you, and you grow stronger because of the hotel.

A notification sound suddenly rang in Xie Qing’s ears. The red exclamation mark on his hatred marker flickered, indicating an update.

He tapped on the marker. The original red garbled text slowly melted into a pool of blood before reforming into readable words:

[The manager’s hatred status is rising. You have been locked onto by the manager. Any attack from the manager will be considered a direct death. Sacrificing the most important person to you in the hotel can remove the manager’s hatred and grant you 24 hours of VIP status. VIP customers are exempt from all rule violations.]

Xie Qing rubbed his fingers, his gaze turning icy.

The hotel already had so many insidious rules, making it ridiculously easy to claim players’ lives, yet it was still obsessed with tempting players to betray and kill each other.

Such a personal and sadistic preference couldn’t be meaningless. It was likely directly tied to how the hotel functioned.

He took out all the notebooks and flipped through them. Just like the first, they were all filled with nothing but “I’m sorry.”

Xie Qing simply pulled the entire drawer out. Using his phone’s flashlight, he shone it into the gap between the drawer and the wall. A small, brown, leather-bound diary had fallen into the crevice.

August 8, 1995

I had a nightmare. I dreamt that Mom and Dad died in a car accident. My sister and I barely managed to keep the family’s hot spring hotel running. Just when business started improving, my sister went missing.

How could I have such an ominous dream?

In the dream, I ate a bowl of meat and drank a bowl of soup. It was so fragrant, the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.

Why did my sister disappear, yet I still found the soup so delicious?

I can’t quite remember the rest of the dream. I just recall that it was freezing cold. The hotel had no heating or lights.

Never mind. Dreams are always the opposite of reality.

—  

August 17, 1995 

My nightmare came true. Mom and Dad really died in a car accident. My sister is still in the hospital. 

Will the rest of the dream also come true? 

I’m terrified, but I can’t show it. My sister still needs me. 

—  

December 3, 1995 

Everything is finally back on track. 

I never imagined that our family’s hot springs could actually heal injuries. I used to be an atheist, but now I understand—gods truly exist. The god of darkness and abundance, Yan Wujiu, has blessed my sister and me. From now on, I will worship him with utmost devotion. 

Ailing is such a wonderful girl. The newspaper ads she arranged brought great publicity to our hotel. She also gets along well with Aijia. I must be truly blessed to have a girlfriend like her.

February 15, 1996 

I never expected things to turn out like this. 

If only I hadn’t asked Ailing to take pictures of the hotel’s snowy scenery, we wouldn’t have gotten trapped in the mountains. 

The power is out. The telephone lines have been crushed by the snow. 

All we can do now is pray that the snow stops soon. 

—  

February 17, 1996 

The nightmare has fully come true. 

It’s so cold. The soup smells so good. 

My sister has disappeared. 

And yet, I feel relieved—at least I no longer have to live in constant fear, dreading the day the nightmare would become reality. 

—  

February 18, 1996 

The first Lunar New Year after Mom and Dad’s death turned out like this. 

Ailing is gone too. 

Now, all I have left is this hotel. 

If someone rescues me, I swear I’ll dedicate everything to running this place properly. 

—  

May 21, 1996 

The hotel has reopened. Business is still great. 

It’s just a little too much work for one person to handle. 

Maybe I should pray to the goddess and ask her to send me a reliable assistant. 

Good business is a blessing—finding sacrifices will be much easier now.

The diary ended here. 

Ding!

A short notification sound rings out, followed by the system’s mechanical voice. 

[Warning: You have five minutes remaining. The manager’s hatred value is at maximum. Please prepare to face the manager’s punishment.]

Xie Qing glances at the bottom right of his vision. Current exploration progress: 59%.

The front desk and manager’s office had already been searched. The safe mentioned in the manager’s manual was nowhere to be found, and even if he found it, he probably wouldn’t be able to open it without a password or key. 

To increase the progress by 1% in just five minutes, the nearest and most promising locations were the book collection room between Room 101 and the front desk or the restaurant opposite Room 101. 

“Xie Qing should have this mission in the bag now, right?” 

“As long as the acting manager doesn’t ambush him at the door, he should be fine.”

“I have high hopes for Xie Qing. If he clears this dungeon, the Great Wall Guild will definitely rush to recruit him. I still don’t know which timeline he’s from.” 

Amidst the lively atmosphere of confidence and celebration, 009’s grim expression in the lower-left corner of the livestream screen appeared starkly out of place. 

A sharp-eyed viewer noticed and asked in the chat, “Are we overlooking something? The observer looks really serious.”

009 read the comment and, for once, spoke up: 

“Xie Qing’s current identity is a hotel employee. Entering the office is a violation of the rules. If he tries to leave and continue exploring, the black-clad enforcers from the security department will likely show up immediately to take him away.”

Following a structured exploration of valuable areas was the optimal solution—the real challenge lay in determining which areas held value. 

However, for Xie Qing, the challenge was his body. 

His fractures and lack of stamina prevented him from systematically exploring, which was why he bet everything on the front desk and manager’s office. 

59% exploration progress—a cleverly designed trap. 

The acting manager’s absence may not be a coincidence. He anticipated this outcome, believing he could simply wait for Xie Qing to fall into the exploration trap on his own. 

In short, all of Xie Qing’s possible escape routes had been cut off. 

Unless he could find crucial information in these last few minutes, he would be left with only one option—to sacrifice the most important person to him. 

Both 009 and many viewers came to the same realization. 

“This quest was designed from the start to push players into sacrificing each other.” 

“Look at the diary entries—cold weather, being trapped, delicious soup, the missing sister. Isn’t it hinting that the manager ate his own sister?”

“He sacrificed his own sister, so now he wants to force the players to sacrifice the person most important to them?”

“Qin Shen’s die-hard fans must be losing it right now.” 

“If Xie Qing really sacrifices Qin Shen, the Great Wall would probably grind him into mincemeat.”

“Xie Qing is a newcomer—he doesn’t even know what the Great Wall is.” 

The audience was on edge—some worried about Qin Shen, others about Xie Qing. 

Xie Qing had performed exceptionally well so far. He was brilliant yet fragile, a delicate beauty whom the viewers both admired and pitied. They didn’t want to see him fall here, nor did they want him to lose to the manager’s malice. 

But Xie Qing? 

He seemed completely unaffected by their growing anxiety. 

At this life-or-death moment, he casually settled into the swivel chair, crossing his right leg over his left, leisurely bouncing his foot. 

Completely at ease. 

In the doorway, the acting manager leaned against the frame, his golden eyes glowing dimly as he observed Xie Qing. 

Watching a clever person’s desperate struggle was always entertaining—it even enhanced the flavor of the soul. 

But someone like Xie Qing, who showed no signs of struggle, had a unique taste of his own. 

It was impossible to tell if Xie Qing simply hadn’t realized his predicament or if he had already figured out a way to win.

Under the assistant manager’s gaze, Xie Qing narrowed his eyes slightly and picked up the landline phone on the desk. 

The livestream audience had no idea what he was trying to do. 

“Is he… making a call? To whom?”

“Look, I love shipping CPs as much as the next person, but if Xie Qing is calling Qin Shen for help, I’m going to be really disappointed.”

“Are you stupid? Surviving a horror game is hard enough—now he’s not even allowed to ask his teammate for help?”

While the viewers were still arguing, the acting manager, unseen by them, suddenly realized Xie Qing’s true intentions. 

His phone rang out with a manic chant: 

“You will meet a terrible end! You will meet a terrible end! You will meet a terrible end! YOU WILL MEET A TERRIBLE END!” 

Then— 

A fierce, burning melody erupted near the doorway, as if igniting the air itself. 

At the same time, a phone buzzed loudly in vibration mode. 

The audience finally caught on. 

In the dim lighting, the acting manager’s figure flickered into visibility. 

Xie Qing sat calmly in the swivel chair, lazily turning to face the desk. 

Holding the receiver to his ear, he spoke, his voice smooth and unhurried— 

“Hello.”

He leaned back into the chair, his posture relaxed, his expression unshaken—not a hint of fear in his eyes. 

The acting manager pressed a finger to his phone, silencing the ringtone. 

He made no effort to hide the glint of admiration in his gaze. 

“You’ve got guts.”

Now, he was certain—Xie Qing had a way out.

“How do you plan to escape?” The acting manager didn’t beat around the bush. 

Xie Qing curled his finger in a beckoning gesture. 

The assistant manager took a step toward the door, then paused. “I’m not a hotel employee, so I’m not restricted from entering the manager’s office. If you’re thinking of using that against me, let me tell you now—it’s useless.” 

Xie Qing chuckled, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “Do you really think I’m that stupid?” 

The assistant manager narrowed his eyes slightly before laughing in delight. 

A pet—whether truly intelligent or just cunning enough—was enjoyable as long as it provided good entertainment. 

But a clever one was always the best. Even if Xie Qing caused some unexpected trouble, it would only add to the fun before he was inevitably swallowed whole. 

Only foolish masters liked foolish pets—perhaps because they feared being outmatched in intelligence. 

The acting manager finally closed the distance. Xie Qing lazily raised his hand, grasped the man’s tie, and pulled him down to his level. 

At this proximity, he could see every intricate pattern in Xie Qing’s blue-gray irises. 

Xie Qing tilted his head slightly, leaned closer to the acting manager’s ear, and whispered, “Don’t you want to punish me?”

The acting manager’s Adam’s apple bobbed. 

He had never been particularly sensitive to human appearances, but he had to admit—Xie Qing was breathtakingly beautiful. 

The kind of beauty that could even enchant a god. 

Xie Qing’s fingers pressed lightly against the acting manager’s tie, pushing him back slightly. He lifted his chin just a little—just enough. 

In his gaze, the acting manager saw his own reflection. 

Then, a sudden and intrusive thought surged into the acting manager’s mind.

Under the dim light, Xie Qing’s eyes gleamed silver-gray. 

The second thought that crossed the acting manager’s mind was, How should I punish him? 

There was no doubt—the acting manager should act in place of the manager and punish Xie Qing for trespassing into the manager’s office. 

But Xie Qing was too entertaining. 

Sure, punishing him would be fun as well, but his body was already in terrible shape. If he accidentally killed him… wouldn’t that be his own personal loss? 

“I’m quite interested in you,” the acting manager finally said, “so, for now, I don’t plan to do anything.”

Xie Qing shrugged. “What a pity.” 

His voice was incredibly soft, and whether intentional or not, the way his lips and teeth brushed against each syllable carried a subtle, lingering sensuality. 

A faint shiver ran through the acting manager, spreading from his ears down his spine. His gaze drifted toward Xie Qing’s lips—such a small, ordinary organ that every human possessed, yet somehow, Xie Qing’s made him feel…strange. 

Xie Qing’s lips curled slowly into a smirk. He hooked a finger around the acting manager’s tie, pulling him closer again. 

Then— 

In the next instant, Xie Qing struck. 

With a fluid, well-rehearsed motion, his hand—rigid like the edge of a blade—stabbed straight toward the acting manager’s throat. The hidden knife in his palm slashed effortlessly through the carotid artery. 

A fountain of crimson sprayed into the air. 

Before the acting manager’s body could react, Xie Qing twisted his neck with practiced ease, snapping it in a single, decisive motion. 

The acting manager collapsed in a boneless heap. 

Xie Qing looked down at his lifeless eyes, his own expression still languid and amused. 

“You should have punished me.”

The acting manager’s gaze remained cold, his dark golden eyes filled with an icy amusement. 

There was no killing intent in Xie Qing. 

His attack didn’t feel personal—just a necessary course of action. 

The precise, glacial edge of the blade, the crisp, decisive execution—it was a display of refined, brutal beauty. 

Never before had he been so close to death. 

And in that fleeting instant, a strange pleasure slithered across his skin, mixing with an almost electric tremor—a sensation as sweet as it was intoxicating. 

It wasn’t unpleasant.

If anything, it only made him desire Xie Qing even more. 

Completely.