Chapter 7: “He’s so strange.”

Sang Chen stared at the tri-fold phone. Just like on the time-space train, he showed no visible reaction to the extravagance of the wealthy, but his gaze lingered a little too long.

Mao Ziyu subtly shifted his body away, avoiding eye contact, but he didn’t move the phone. He left it in a spot where all three of them could see it.

That was the advantage of a tri-fold phone. It was compact enough to slip into a pocket, easy to hold, and when unfolded, the screen was large enough for four people to watch at the same time.

This one was even better than what Mao Ziyu had seen online—probably futuristic tech, definitely expensive.

Sang Chen stared at it for a while and came to that conclusion.

The ultra-clear display made it feel like they were right there, walking with Xu Feng toward the bathroom.

The rest of his teammates were asleep. Xu Feng didn’t turn on the lights. Even though the room was pitch black, he carefully felt his way toward the bathroom. People who grow up walking carefully tend to be overly considerate.

Only after closing the bathroom door did he finally turn on the light. The warm yellow glow should have been comforting, but it was too deep a shade. Against his yellow-toned skin, it cast an eerie, lifeless waxy sheen.

They’d already examined the bathroom earlier—just a sink, an unremarkable toilet that looked normal even after being dismantled, and a section of dark green tiles behind the toilet, deliberately different from the rest of the decor.

Xu Feng glanced into the toilet first before pulling down his pants. After undressing, he looked again—this time, for several seconds—before finally sitting down.

For about a minute, the video remained still. Xu Feng didn’t look relaxed. His waxy yellow skin seemed almost like hardened candle wax, his chapped lips taut, half-pressed together.

Then, suddenly—

His mouth opened wide.

His eyes did too.

His pupils trembled violently, and before they could react, a series of sharp, bone-snapping cracks sent shivers down their spines. The grating collision of skin against porcelain followed, and in the blink of an eye, Xu Feng’s lower body was sucked into the toilet.

His hands clawed frantically at the air, grasping at nothing. But just like his feet, they were pulled in, his head the last thing visible as he disappeared down the drain.

The camera didn’t capture what was inside the toilet. There was no sound of screaming. Only after he was completely gone did a soft gurgling noise echo through the silent bathroom, like a fish blowing bubbles—except louder.

The next scene was what they had already witnessed that morning. Xu Feng’s head and parts of his limbs were all that remained in the toilet. His teammates, desperate for clues and trying to recover his body, had dismantled the toilet—only to find his other body parts completely shattered inside.

The footage didn’t reveal any obvious leads. There was no clear indication of whether something inside the toilet had pulled Xu Feng down.

Gu Ziyan spoke first. “Xu Feng looked at the toilet twice.”

Mao Ziyu nodded. “Yeah.”

They had watched the footage twice now. If Xu Feng’s captain had handed it over thinking there was a clue, then that clue was most likely the fact that Xu Feng had looked into the toilet twice, the second time lingering for a while.

Gu Ziyan hesitated. “Do you think… maybe he felt something was off?”

Those four words—something was off—made Sang Chen’s scalp prickle. Since yesterday afternoon, he’d been haunted by that exact thought.

Mao Ziyu replayed the moment Xu Feng checked the toilet. “If he thought something was wrong, why did he still use it?”

He could have chosen another toilet. He didn’t even need to use one. In horror games, survival mattered more than dignity.

Besides, if Xu Feng had sensed something was off, then his death wouldn’t connect with Cai Chang’s. Cai Chang had died without warning, his death sudden and unavoidable.

“…Yeah, that’s true,” Gu Ziyan muttered, suddenly realizing. “Maybe he was just cautious by nature. Bathrooms are prime spots for hauntings—it’s normal to be a little wary.”

Mao Ziyu couldn’t figure it out either. He glanced at Sang Chen, only to find him resting his hands on his stomach, wearing a blank, almost dazed expression.

He turned to Yan Mo instead—only to see him mid-yawn. The moment he finished, his long neck drooped like a swan falling asleep.

Mao Ziyu: “……”

He was starting to regret his decision.

Had he been too cocky picking two newbies and a pretty boy as temporary teammates? Now they were stuck in a high-difficulty game, and he had to carry the whole team. He could already imagine his usual squad laughing their asses off when they heard about this.

Mao Ziyu rubbed his temples, then grinned, his eyes curving into little crescents. “Alright, let’s keep looking for clues. Let’s check out the mall in the town center next.”

The best thing about two newbie players and a pretty boy? They follow orders without question. Tell them where to go, and they’ll go—no complaints, no opinions.

By morning, Xiangyang Town was livelier than when they’d arrived the previous afternoon. But just like yesterday, the townsfolk greeted them with either blank indifference or slow, assessing stares. Some whispered among themselves, but there was no outright hostility—just an eerie detachment.

Trying to strike up a conversation was a lost cause. The moment they got close, the residents would just stare at them, their expressions a mix of mild surprise and faint displeasure. Up close, the pressure of their scrutiny was even more suffocating.

It was an unsettling feeling. Maybe it was the town’s ever-present fog, casting a hazy veil over their faces, making them seem distant and unreachable. Or maybe it was just that their cold, watchful eyes cut through the mist like knives.

Then—

“Beep! Beep! BEEEEEEP!”

The ear-piercing sound of a car horn blasted through the air.

The three of them instinctively clamped their hands over their ears, wincing in pain. Yan Mo, slower to react, quickly followed suit.

The noise wasn’t just deafening—it sent sharp stabs of pain through their skulls. Sang Chen and Gu Ziyan crouched down, hands pressed tightly over their ears. Even Mao Ziyu bent forward, his body curling in on itself as a natural reflex against harm. Yan Mo, all long limbs and towering height, blinked at them, then hesitated before squatting beside Sang Chen.

As the car rumbled away into the distance, Sang Chen looked up, still pressing his hands against his ringing ears.

Through his blurred vision, he saw the town’s residents standing around them, staring down in silent observation. Their faces, cold and impassive, were unreadable through the mist.

“They’re so weird,” someone muttered.

“Why are they so scared?”

“Have they never seen a car before?”

None of the four dared to let go of their ears or stand up. The memory of Cai Chang’s death was still too fresh. What if the car horn was some kind of omen, a death trigger linked to their hearing? Only after the crowd lost interest and dispersed did they cautiously rise to their feet—ears still covered, just in case.

Then—

“Woof! WOOF! WOOFWOOFWOOF!”

The moment the barking started, the four of them dropped into a crouch again, hands flying back to their ears.

A massive black dog came charging toward them, its frantic barking sharp enough to make their skin crawl. Behind it, a man struggled to hold onto its leash, practically being dragged forward as the dog lunged. Just as it was about to pounce, its hot breath already close enough for Sang Chen to feel, the owner yanked it back at the last second.

They couldn’t make out what the man was saying to the dog, their ears still covered against the noise. But his furious, exasperated expression was enough to tell them he wasn’t happy. After a brief struggle, he forcibly dragged the dog away.

Even though the immediate danger was gone, the four of them remained crouched on the ground for a while, shaken.

It wasn’t that the dog itself was terrifying. But its bark—so shrill, so aggressive—sent a wave of unease crashing over them.

Three minutes passed. One by one, the others slowly stood up. Only Sang Chen remained crouched.

Gu Ziyan peeked at him, concern flickering in his eyes. Noticing Sang Chen’s pale face, she hesitated, then asked, “Are you okay?” Her gaze dropped to Sang Chen’s stomach, worry deepening. “Your stomach…?”

Sang Chen shook his head. His hands relaxed slightly over his ears but didn’t fully drop away. “Don’t you think the air here feels… off? Like it’s harder to breathe?”

He’d noticed it for a while now. At first, he thought it was just the added weight in his stomach making things uncomfortable. But the feeling was getting stronger, and now, he wasn’t so sure.

Gu Ziyan immediately nodded. “Yeah, I feel it too. It’s worse today than it was yesterday. Could it be because of the smog?”

From the moment they arrived, the town had been shrouded in a thin layer of mist. Today, it seemed thicker.

“Oh… you might be right,” Mao Ziyu murmured, focusing on the air around him. As an experienced player, his body had been trained to endure all sorts of environments. That’s why, at first, he hadn’t noticed anything. But now that they pointed it out, yeah—the air definitely felt… off.

Frowning, he pinched his nose in thought. “This game hasn’t given us any direct hints. No set time limit. If the air itself is a clue, then…”

Gu Ziyan’s expression tightened. “Then what?”

Mao Ziyu exhaled. “Then the air is our timer. You said it’s getting harder to breathe, right? That means it’ll keep getting worse. If we don’t clear this game and board the train out of here in time, we’ll suffocate to death.”

A heavy silence fell over them.

“And worse,” Mao Ziyu continued grimly, “once the air gets too thin, it won’t just be hard to breathe—it’ll mess with our heads. Our thinking will slow down, our reflexes will dull… We’ll be sitting ducks.”

Gu Ziyan, who until now had mostly been scared but not panicked, suddenly felt a cold chill run down her spine.

“Then we need to hurry,” she said, voice urgent. “While we can still think straight.”

The sharp honking and frantic barking had long since faded, but Sang Chen only now lowered his hands from his ears. When he looked up, he saw Gu Ziyan reaching out a hand, as if he were too weak to stand on his own.

His stomach was definitely getting bigger, but whatever was inside didn’t seem to weigh much. It wasn’t like a normal pregnancy, where the extra weight dragged you down and left you feeling frail. He didn’t actually need the help.

But then he remembered last night—the way Gu Ziyan had glowed, that almost holy light radiating from her like she could purify even the worst of spirits. So instead of refusing, he placed his hand in hers. “Thanks. They say people who do good deeds tend to have good luck.”

Gu Ziyan was still pale, but at his words, she managed a smile. “My luck’s not too bad.”

If you ignored the whole boarding-the-time-traveling-death-train thing.

Because they suspected that sound might be tied to the deaths, they didn’t dare move for a while. When they finally stood up, they realized they weren’t the slowest ones around.

Up ahead, on the path leading to the small shopping mall, a man in a black rain-slicked coat stood in silence. In front of him, a teammate was crouched on the ground, hands clamped over their ears. Two other players stood nearby, frowning at the crouching figure.

Mao Ziyu’s gaze lingered on the man’s coat for a few seconds before he curved his eyes into a grin and called out, “Zhang Guan, what’s up?”

The man turned at the sound of his name. He was indeed Zhang Guan, the one Mao Ziyu had addressed. “One of our teammates isn’t doing well.”

The teammate in question was a female player named Fang Jing, still crouched there with her hands over her ears.

“What happened?” Mao Ziyu asked.

One of Fang Jing’s teammates glanced at Zhang Guan before speaking. “You know how the car horn and the dog barking were ridiculously loud just now? We all instinctively covered our ears. Fang Jing did too—she crouched down and covered them like the rest of us. But when the car and the dog left, we let go. She didn’t.”

“Fang Jing? Fang Jing!” Her teammate called her name twice, raising their voice.

No response. Not even the slightest flicker of expression.

But she was definitely alive. She was still breathing normally.

“Fuck this,” the male player beside Zhang Guan cursed in frustration. “What the hell is going on?!”

No one could blame him. Three players had already run into trouble, and they were still completely in the dark. No clear pattern, no logical hints—just weirdness piling onto weirdness.

In the distance, another car approached. Reflexively, everyone clamped their hands over their ears again.

It was still morning, so the town was livelier than it had been at night. More people, more cars. Zhang Guan made a quick decision. “We can’t stay out on the street. Let’s get her inside the mall.”

The frustrated teammate didn’t hesitate. He picked up Fang Jing—who remained stiff and unresponsive—and carried her toward the shopping mall.

Sang Chen followed behind, his eyes lingering on Fang Jing’s face. She seemed young, with large, pure-looking eyes. A gust of wind blew a few strands of hair across them, but her eyelashes didn’t even twitch.

It was like… she had lost all sensation.

At first, the problem seemed to be her hearing. The noise had been so painfully sharp that she instinctively blocked it out, but once it was over, she never regained sound. That much made sense.

But now it looked like she couldn’t feel anything either.

Xiangyang Town’s shopping mall was an unusual structure—long and narrow, shaped like an elongated oval. It wasn’t large, only four stories tall, but it had an oversized white door that stretched from the ground all the way to the fourth floor.

Restaurants were concentrated on the top floor. Zhang Guan and his team likely hadn’t eaten breakfast yet, so they were heading up.

Gu Ziyan suggested, “Should we take the escalator? Let’s avoid the elevator. Feels like the kind of place where ghosts might show up.”

Sounds logical, plenty of horror stories featured haunted elevators. Since they still had no clue what was going on, they needed to be cautious.

They walked toward the escalators, just as a group of players was coming down from the second floor. Maybe they had the same idea—better to take the open escalators than risk the enclosed elevator.

At the front of the group was a man and a woman, chatting as they descended. They seemed relaxed, even happy, smiling at each other like they were sharing a joke. The woman glanced down at the steps before stepping onto the escalator.

Sang Chen lifted his foot, about to step on as well—

Then came the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. A thud, followed by a sharp scream.

His head snapped up.

Half a corpse tumbled down, twisted in a grotesque pose, blood splattering across the escalator landing.

For a moment, the entire mall went silent.

Sang Chen calmly put his foot back down, placing it neatly beside his other foot. “…Old Zhang, you don’t think this is one of those ‘rules horror’ instances, do you?” Mao Ziyu exhaled sharply—part sigh, part dry laugh. “Like one of those where you have to step on the right foot first, or flip the toilet lid up before you go, or some ridiculous shit like that.”