Observing the sudden shift in Wang Dong’s expression, Ding Yi raised her hand, gently pushing aside Qin Yuan, who had instinctively moved to shield her. Hunched over, she slowly made her way back to her room, each step a testament to her weakening state.

The longest of the diagonal wounds on her abdomen had reopened, a searing line of pain. The two wounds on her thighs and arms followed suit, the dried blood cracking and fresh crimson welling up. The journey back from the small pond had allowed the initial bleeding to almost cease, but the tearing of the fabric adhered to the wound on her thigh was particularly agonizing.

A significant amount of incense ash remained from yesterday’s attempt at detoxification. She carefully sprinkled it over the reopened wounds, hoping to staunch the bleeding. With Qin Yuan’s silent assistance, Jiang Xianqing managed to tear a strip of cloth from the inn’s thin quilt and wrapped it tightly around Ding Yi’s injured limbs and torso.

Exhausted and feeling the encroaching dizziness of blood loss, Ding Yi collapsed onto the bed.

In her hazy state, she vaguely registered Yan Ming’s loud, worried voice and Feng Baiqiu’s soft sobs as she gently dabbed away the fresh bloodstains with a warm, damp towel.

“It’s okay,” Ding Yi murmured, forcing her eyes open to meet Feng Baiqiu’s red-rimmed gaze, offering a weak, unconvincing reassurance. “It doesn’t hurt that much.”

With Yan Ming’s steady support, Ding Yi slowly sat up against the headboard, her eyes squinting against a persistent dizziness as she tried to gather her scattered thoughts and organize them.

“Don’t talk,” Yan Ming frowned, handing the cup of water to Jiang Xianqing, watching as she carefully fed small sips to Ding Yi. “Sister, just rest here at the inn tomorrow. If there’s anything you need or want done, I’ll take care of it for you.”

“If you’re still worried… I can accompany Qin Yuan,” Feng Baiqiu added softly, her voice still thick with unshed tears.

From the second day of their arrival, the enigmatic guide no longer forced anyone to follow his predetermined path. He simply recited his formulaic lines at the specified time by the inn door and set off, regardless of whether anyone chose to accompany him. He would vanish upon reaching the ancestral hall and reappear at its entrance at the designated hour, repeating his lines before making his solitary journey back to the inn.

Now, the guide’s primary function for them had devolved into that of a rather unsettling human-shaped alarm clock, his most significant contribution being a reminder of the relentless passage of time within this deadly instance.

Ding Yi found a morbid amusement in Feng Baiqiu’s words, a weak smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She was about to respond when someone else’s voice cut in.

“She needs to rest. You all should go.” It was Qin Yuan, his tone brooking no argument.

Ding Yi wanted to protest, to insist that she was alright, but a sudden, inexplicable wave of unconsciousness washed over her, silencing her words.

When she finally opened her eyes again, she was enveloped in absolute, suffocating darkness. A lingering tingling sensation persisted in her eyes and brain, and the oppressive blackness gradually made it difficult to breathe. She instinctively tried to sit up, but a hand gently but firmly pressed her back down.

Ding Yi: !!!!!!

If a heartbeat could be physically audible, then Ding Yi’s must have been deafening in the suffocating silence.

“Don’t move,” His voice, close beside her, sounded slightly more tired and hoarse than usual. “Feeling unwell?”

“I’m okay.” Ding Yi said, carefully lifting the loose arm that was draped across her stomach. A sudden realization dawned on her – he, too, was injured. “How are your injuries?”

The person lying beside her, “Hmm”, his tone laced with a hint of dry amusement. “I would have almost forgotten if you hadn’t reminded me.”

“Have you figured out how to find the umbrella?” Ding Yi asked, her eyes drifting closed once more.

“With fire.”

Qin Yuan’s interest was piqued. “Hmm?”

“When a disaster strikes, like a fire, people will subconsciously prioritize protecting what they deem most important,” Ding Yi explained, her voice soft and slightly strained.

“Parents will instinctively shield their children, misers will clutch their precious money, and those who desperately cling to life will fight to save themselves,” Ding Yi continued. “I plan to create the illusion of a fire and observe where the townsfolk rush to first, what they instinctively try to protect. If we’re fortunate, we might witness them directly retrieving our target.”

“And then we simply snatch it?” Qin Yuan’s tone was casual.

“Directly snatching it is far too risky, and the journey to the small ancestral hall isn’t short. Those… things… move with alarming speed; even you would likely struggle to navigate the terrain smoothly while injured.”

Ding Yi sighed softly. “Not to mention our current state of disrepair.”

Qin Yuan listened intently, then suddenly interjected, “There’s something those three haven’t told you, isn’t there?”

“What is it?”

“Every instance will inevitably have those who ‘pass,’ but not every instance will have those who truly ‘clear’ it.”

Ding Yi frowned, confusion evident in her voice. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“Every instance has a specific minimum number of individuals who will be considered to have passed. Regardless of whether the primary mission is successfully completed, as long as the number of living Wishers is reduced to a certain threshold, those survivors are deemed to have passed. Upon leaving the instance, they will still receive the corresponding star rewards.”

“But those who ‘clear’ the instance are different. Clearing it refers to the Wisher who actively and, most importantly, first completes the designated instance mission. As a reward for this proactive completion, those who clear it receive an additional two stars.”

“You need to understand that completing a C-level instance typically grants a total of only four stars. The extra reward for being the first to clear it – two stars – is a significant bonus.”

“Those people aren’t just aiming to survive; they’re hoping to leverage your progress to obtain those extra two stars. Do you genuinely believe those three individuals are approaching you with entirely altruistic intentions?”

Ding Yi remained silent for a moment, absorbing this new information. Finally, she asked, “What about you? Don’t you want those extra stars?”

Qin Yuan chuckled softly. “What I truly desire cannot be quantified in mere stars.”

Speaking of desires, Qin Yuan’s interest seemed to reignite. “What about you, little artist? What brought you to this bizarre new world? Money? The preservation of human life? Whatever grand wishes people make here, they invariably boil down to those two fundamental desires.”

Wishes?

Ding Yi felt a pang of genuine confusion.

She honestly had no recollection of making any wish at all.

After Qin Yuan posed his question, he received no immediate response. Hesitating for a brief moment, he groped in the darkness, pulling the quilt, which had become tangled around them, up a little higher, before closing his eyes contentedly.

Ding Yi, now covered practically head to toe: …

Mr. Strong, if you harbor any grievances, you could voice them directly. This passive-aggressive suffocation tactic is quite unnecessary.

Ding Yi’s sleep that night was far from restful.

Primarily because of the persistent, throbbing pain.

The reopened wounds repeatedly tore and worsened with every involuntary movement. By the latter half of the night, a low fever had even begun to take hold, adding to her discomfort.

However, after a night of fitful rest, the overwhelming dizziness had lessened considerably. Following the consumption of two plain steamed buns, a small measure of comfort finally returned.

No one had perished during the night, and the atmosphere in the inn the following morning was noticeably more relaxed and harmonious than it had been in the preceding days, a fragile truce born of shared survival.

After Ding Yi patiently explained the crucial distinction between those who merely ‘passed’ an instance and those who actively ‘cleared’ it, Yan Ming, Jiang Xianqing, and Feng Baiqiu’s conviction that Qin Yuan was no ordinary individual solidified even further.

Yan Ming once again muttered darkly about his supposed light sleeping habits, questioning how he could consistently lose consciousness completely at critical junctures and remain utterly oblivious to his surroundings.

The trio immediately resumed their hushed warnings to Ding Yi, urging her to exercise extreme caution in her words and actions moving forward, emphasizing the need for constant vigilance.

Upon hearing Ding Yi’s lingering doubts, Jiang Xianqing immediately frowned, her protective instincts flaring. “Just wear a hat that covers your ears properly. You and Qin Yuan are the ones who have to do the legwork to get the clues, and you haven’t even secured the objective yet. If I were in your place, I would have died countless times by now.”

“I can’t offer much practical help,” Feng Baiqiu added softly, her gaze earnest. “It’s enough if you don’t think I’m slowing you down. Let’s just… forget about trying to steal any extra rewards.”

Yan Ming nodded firmly in agreement. “My sister always says you have to have a conscience.”

Feng Baiqiu echoed his sentiment with a resolute nod. “Yeah!”

Ding Yi raised her eyes, her gaze meeting Qin Yuan’s across the room. She saw him raise a questioning eyebrow, a faint smile playing on his lips before he lazily closed his eyes, propping up his chin on his hand, seemingly unconcerned by the hushed conversation.

Ding Yi finished the last bite of her steamed bun. “Don’t worry. If everything goes according to plan—”

Just as she swallowed and was about to elaborate, Wang Dong, accompanied by a man and a woman she hadn’t spoken to before, glanced surreptitiously at Qin Yuan, who was now comfortably ensconced in the grand master’s chair with his eyes closed, and cautiously approached her table.

Ding Yi raised her eyes, picked up another steamed bun, and offered it to Wang Dong. “Want one?”

Wang Dong shook his head. “Girl, is what you said yesterday… is it really true?”

“Of course.” Ding Yi said, placing the steamed bun back on her plate.

“Then,” the woman standing slightly behind Wang Dong ventured, her voice hesitant, “have you… have you thought of a way to actually find that umbrella?”

“Is there anything at all that we could possibly help with?” the man beside her added quickly, his eyes fixed on Ding Yi.

“Look at you, so seriously injured, such a young girl. It’s truly heartbreaking to witness,” the woman continued, her tone overly sympathetic. “If you have any ideas, please just tell us. We’d be more than willing to carry them out for you, so you can finally get some much-needed rest.”

The other Wishers gathered in the lobby appeared to be largely indifferent to the unfolding conversation, yet a closer observation revealed that they were all subtly leaning in Ding Yi’s direction, their bodies angled in various poses of feigned nonchalance, their ears straining to catch every word.

The vigilant trio of Yan Ming, Jiang Xianqing, and Feng Baiqiu immediately straightened their postures, a subconscious desire to shield Ding Yi from this sudden influx of attention evident in their movements.

Just as she was about to respond, she heard Ding Yi’s voice, surprisingly calm and even. “Really? That’s… that’s wonderful to hear.”

Ding Yi offered a shallow, almost ethereal smile. The blood loss had left her face pale, giving a nearly translucent quality to her already fair skin, which lent her an air of fragile beauty.

Her features were striking, with a hint of exotic allure in the shape of her eyebrows and eyes. A distinctive brown mole punctuated the delicate curve between the corner of her eye and the bridge of her nose. When she wasn’t smiling or speaking, she exuded a slender, aloof grace, like untouched snow clinging to the highest branches of a tree. But when she smiled like this, a soft, almost grateful curve of her lips, it held a disarming charm that could easily flatter the unwary.

“My initial plan was to set fire to the ancestral hall and hopefully draw out everyone in town. The goal was to observe which umbrella they instinctively moved to protect first. Originally, I was concerned that setting the fire might attract the monsters before the townsfolk, which would present a significant complication.”

Ding Yi’s expression remained serene, a gentle smile gracing her lips, her tone conversational. “But now that you’re all so willing to assist me, that’s truly excellent. Whether it’s the townsfolk or the inevitable monsters that appear, your task is simple: hide within the ancestral hall and clearly observe which umbrella they prioritize protecting. I’ll meet you all outside.”