Chapter 9: The smell of blood is accompanied by a strange citrus scent.

Zhang Guan’s brow twitched slightly. “Are you saying… we’re not even in the same spatial dimension as the original town residents?”

“I’m just guessing.” Mao Ziyu glanced at Sang Chen, then edged a little closer to him before turning back to Zhang Guan. “You know I don’t rely on brains to clear games—I just happen to have played a lot of them, so I’ve seen different kinds of spatial setups.”

“The way people die here is just too weird, so I had this thought,” Mao Ziyu continued. “Chang Ting just mentioned that Death movie—you know, the one where people’s deaths look accidental, but in reality, the Grim Reaper is pulling the strings, executing a preordained death sequence.”

“If we really aren’t in the same spatial dimension as the residents of Xiangyang Town… what if they exist on a higher plane? What if, to them, a simple action—like honking a car horn or walking a dog—can cause our deaths?”

Gu Ziyan, who had only just entered the game, was so stunned by this wild theory that her mouth fell open slightly.

Sang Chen rubbed his stomach, looking like someone teetering between life and death—listening to this conversation the way an employee listens to a boss rambling about a bright future: a lot of big talk, but mostly just empty air.

Yan Mo yawned.

Zhang Guan’s team didn’t immediately dismiss Mao Ziyu’s theory. They were still mulling it over when someone’s stomach let out a loud growl. Zhang Guan finally said, “Let’s eat first.”

It was almost noon, and neither team had eaten anything all morning.

They carefully made their way to the fourth floor. The mall wasn’t large, and from the top level, they could see all the lower floors in one glance. There was no sign of other players anymore.

Chang Ting let out a mocking chuckle. “Bunch of cowards. Probably all hiding under their blankets.”

By now, even the slowest players had realized the pattern—every death in this game was linked to an “accident.” As long as you moved around outside, something unexpected could happen. No one knew what kind of accident it would be, so the safest bet was to stay put in a secure place and not move at all.

They didn’t care if someone else went out to look for clues. Surviving came first.

Zhang Guan wasn’t particularly bothered, but his voice was cold. “Haven’t we seen enough of these freeloaders in games?”

At the word “freeloader,” Sang Chen instinctively touched his nose, glancing up to see Yan Mo acting like he hadn’t heard a thing.

If Yan Mo wasn’t a top player, then he was an even bigger freeloader than Sang Chen himself.

But looking at how unfazed he was… he didn’t seem like a freeloader at all.

Sang Chen had been working part-time jobs since his school days and liked to think he had a knack for reading people. Yet here, in the middle of a horror game, he suddenly couldn’t tell the difference between a slacker and a powerhouse.

The two teams entered a restaurant together. Mao Ziyu, without hesitation, pulled out his triple-fold phone and swiped to pay. That was when Sang Chen realized—oh, so you can actually use phones for payments in the game. But obviously not with a regular phone. Mao Ziyu’s phone looked a lot like Shi Jinshui’s—it had to be a special device meant for in-game use.

“Don’t use knives, forks, chopsticks, or any sharp utensils. Don’t eat anything too dry—you might choke. Be careful when you eat.” Zhang Guan laid down the rules like a strict family head, his tone devoid of warmth.

Yan Mo and Mao Ziyu ate like it was just another regular meal—not too fast, not too slow.

Gu Ziyan struggled. After witnessing two gruesome deaths back-to-back, keeping up with the team’s pace was already a challenge. Eating was even harder. She had no appetite, but she knew she had to replenish her energy, so she forced herself to eat, slowly.

Sang Chen wasn’t too affected. He ate quickly, set his wooden spoon down, and quietly waited for the others to finish.

There was one other person who ate just as fast as he did—Zhang Guan, who seemed to be from some long-forgotten era. After finishing his meal, Zhang Guan placed his bowl in a safe spot and looked at Sang Chen. “You haven’t said a word. Got no thoughts about the game?”

The familiar feeling of being put on the spot by a superior hit Sang Chen again. He thought to himself, Yan Mo hasn’t said a word either—why am I the one getting called out? But he played along and answered obediently, “I noticed something. That female player who died on the escalator—before stepping on, she took a long, careful look at it.”

Earlier, when the male player was clutching the girl’s lifeless body and crying his heart out, Zhang Guan had scolded them for falling in love during a game, calling them careless. But Sang Chen’s words almost sounded like a rebuttal—like he was saying the girl hadn’t been careless at all.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Chang Ting asked, unable to hold back his curiosity.

“It might be important,” Gu Ziyan said, washing down her food with a sip of water. She backed up Sang Chen’s point. “Xu Feng—the guy who died in the toilet—he also checked the toilet twice before sitting down.”

“You’re saying… they had a feeling? Like a premonition before they died?” Chang Ting got excited again. He took deep breaths in the increasingly thin air. “That’s just like in those Death movies!”

Sang Chen lowered his head, rubbing his stomach. He didn’t say anything.

Mao Ziyu asked, “What about Fang Jing? If she had a premonition, what did she do? Did she cover her ears in advance?”

“She did. She was the fastest to react,” the female player beside Fang Jing answered immediately.

If that was the case, then maybe the players really did get a warning—a gut feeling—before they died.

But if that was true, why did they still sit down on the toilet? Step onto the escalator?

What exactly happened to them in those final moments?

If only they could save just one player before they died.

But saving someone from the game’s death rules—was it really that easy?

Mao Ziyu and Zhang Guan exchanged glances. Mao Ziyu spoke first. “Let’s move together this afternoon?”

Zhang Guan nodded immediately. “Alright.”

For now, the two teams merged into one. Zhang Guan’s team had four members: Zhang Guan himself, Chang Ting, the unconscious Fang Jing, and a female player named Bei Tongyu.

Since they’d be working together, Chang Ting took the lead. “Just a heads-up—I’ve got a short fuse. Sometimes I can’t control it, so bear with me.”

He said he had a bad temper, but as far as Sang Chen had seen, the only time Chang Ting had lost it was when he cursed in the street earlier. The rest of the time, he seemed fine.

Gu Ziyan voiced what Sang Chen was thinking. “I don’t think so. You seem pretty chill to me.”

“Yeah, you’ve actually been really calm today,” Bei Tongyu added in surprise.

As his teammate, she knew Chang Ting all too well. Before entering the game, he’d been a hot-headed street punk. After awakening fire-based abilities in the game, his temper had only gotten worse—flaring up like an actual explosion. They were all used to it by now.

Earlier, when Zhang Guan asked Sang Chen if he had any insights, Sang Chen’s response had sounded a little like he was contradicting Zhang Guan. Normally, with how much Chang Ting respected their captain, he’d have slammed the table and called Sang Chen out on the spot.

But this time, he’d simply—almost mildly—asked what the discovery meant.

Bei Tongyu’s gaze swept across the group, finally landing on Gu Ziyan’s strikingly beautiful face. As if she suddenly understood something.

Chang Ting scratched his head. “Huh, yeah. Another person just died at the escalator, and we still can’t find any clues. Normally, I’d be pissed. The air’s getting thinner, it’s getting harder to breathe, but weirdly… I feel kind of light and relaxed.”

“Same,” Mao Ziyu agreed. “It’s been a while since I played a game this frustrating, where everything messes with your head. But for some reason, I don’t feel annoyed. Must be something about this game’s world setting.”

Yan Mo lazily sipped his water, his heavy-lidded gaze sweeping over Sang Chen’s stomach—which seemed to have grown a little bigger again.

After introducing themselves and chatting briefly to get familiar, they carefully continued exploring the mall.

The only floors that felt remotely alive were the first and fourth. The second and third floors mainly sold clothing and home goods, and they were practically deserted.

Gu Ziyan sighed. “Malls are like this nowadays. Only the food courts and movie theaters have people. Clothing stores are dying out.”

Mao Ziyu peeked into a store. “Yeah, business looks rough. They stack clothes at the entrance to make it look full, but inside, the shelves are mostly empty. Just trying to keep up appearances.”

Following Mao Ziyu’s gaze, Sang Chen looked at the stores. Absentmindedly, he drummed his fingers against his stomach.

Descending back to the first floor, the rich scent of butter and milk filled Sang Chen’s nose, bringing back a sense of warmth and life.

“Doesn’t seem like there’s much here,” Mao Ziyu said. “And no other players in sight.”

Just as Chang Ting had predicted, death struck suddenly and unpredictably. Most players had found a safe spot to hide.

Even Mao Ziyu was starting to pause between sentences to catch his breath. He knew that if they followed suit and just hid, the game would be doomed. They needed to hurry and find clues.

The thinning air was messing with everyone. Chang Ting, who had been carrying Fang Jing the whole time, was getting dizzy. “The streets are packed with cars. Maybe we should check the residential buildings first? At least put Fang Jing down.”

Mao Ziyu asked, “Have you guys searched the place you’re staying at?”

Zhang Guan shook his head. “We found a place late last night, checked that it was safe, but we didn’t do a deep search for clues.”

Same as them, then. Mao Ziyu made a quick decision. “Let’s start there.”

Wrapped in a thin layer of gray fog, the two teams made their way toward the left side of town.

It wasn’t a leisurely stroll—they simply couldn’t move any faster. If they did, their breathing couldn’t keep up. The two newcomers were already lightheaded, and even Chang Ting, who was carrying Fang Jing, was struggling.

Along the way, they only passed a few indifferent Xiangyang Town locals. As they neared the mall at the town center, a figure inside a building waved at them through a glass window.

Sang Chen saw it. So did Mao Ziyu and Zhang Guan. They ignored it.

But the person started waving more frantically. When they still didn’t respond, he rushed out of the building and shouted desperately, “Bosses! Another one of us died! What the hell is going on?!”

His voice was filled with fear and panic. “It was our captain! He’s dead!”

Hearing that someone had died—especially a captain—made everyone stop.

Mao Ziyu said, “I want to check it out. What about you guys?”

Zhang Guan nodded. “Let’s see if there are any clues.”

Only Yan Mo leaned lazily against a railing. “I’ll wait here.”

No surprises there.

So Chang Ting left Fang Jing with him and followed the others inside.

Seeing Mao Ziyu approach, the player almost cried with relief. He looked genuinely terrified, wiping away tears as he led them in.

Outside, the fog was thick. Inside, the only light came from a dim night lamp—not much brighter than the misty gloom outside.

The player knew exactly what they were here for. Without hesitation, he pushed open the first door on the right.

The room was dark. Before they even saw anything, an overpowering stench of blood hit them—tinged with an eerie hint of citrus.

“We came back from lunch at the mall,” the male player explained. “Our captain told us to stay in our rooms and do nothing. We followed orders. It wasn’t until we smelled blood that we realized something had happened.”

In other words, they had no idea how or why their captain had ended up like this.

And when Mao Ziyu shone his phone’s flashlight into the room, they finally saw it.

Chang Ting’s face twisted in horror. The others didn’t look much better.

This death was completely different from the previous ones. It wasn’t an accident—not even close. It shattered their earlier theory about the deaths following a ‘Final Destination’ style chain reaction.

Lying on the bed was the skinny man who had snatched Gu Ziyan’s phone back on the Time Train.

Now, he looked even thinner—practically mummified.

A seed had taken root inside his stomach. Sprouted. Grown. Burst through his body.

Orange-yellow tangerines hung from the branches, vibrant and full of life.

The rich, sweet citrus scent filled the room.

A stark contrast to the frail, broken corpse beneath it—drained of all life.