“It must feel cool outside.” Su Er's mood shifted quickly. He turned his face toward the window, as if genuinely pleased not to be facing the blazing sun.
This sentence wasn’t convincing to either of them, but it barely smoothed things over.
Because of last night’s game, everyone had rested very late. The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, so at this hour, only Su Er and Mister Rose were in the main hall.
After a brief moment of thought, Su Er’s expression grew more serious. “I want to ask a few questions.”
Mister Rose stood still, not promising whether he’d answer.
“Can the host help players cheat?”
The first question was already quite bold. The Gentleman of the Roses finally looked at him directly and gave a negative answer: “There’s one exception.”
Su Er probed, “Exploiting a bug?”
Mister Rose nodded.
Su Er seemed thoughtful. That explained why the Divine Seer had helped them cheat so openly—his very presence in that instance was already a bug in the system.
“Can a host disclose information related to the instance?”
Mister Rose grew tired of the one-by-one questioning and cut straight to the point: “Unless permitted by the game, no host may interfere based on their own will.”
This rule wasn’t a secret. People would figure it out over time.
However, Mister Rose then calmly added, “Just like the game also forbids players from killing each other.”
But that didn’t stop players from using the rules or other methods to kill by proxy.
Su Er already had a general idea of some of this, but he wanted to confirm it completely. Setting other factors aside, Mister Rose was actually the host he felt most comfortable dealing with—the gentleman’s character meant he never lied.
He didn’t have time for more conversation. Less than ten minutes later, a faint noise came from upstairs—some players were already waking up.
At seven in the morning, many hadn’t even had breakfast yet. Mister Rose clapped his hands and declared the start of the recording: “Today’s filming schedule is tight. I hope everyone will understand and cooperate.”
In this matter, players had no say. They were in a passive position, waiting for the host to introduce the day's activity.
“I’m delighted to see everyone’s bonds continuing to grow,” said Mister Rose as the cameraman got into position, starting with a clichéd opening: “Falling in love is easy, staying in love is hard. Next, we’ll film a short drama to help couples deal with potential future conflicts.”
The rules were simple: the guests would be split into two groups and would prepare their own scripts for the shoot.
“On this island, there’s a beautiful and tragic legend. Whichever team’s short drama best reflects the story will win.”
He didn’t tell them the full story, only gave them three keywords: betrayal, treasure, and eyes.
This round of filming was only for the guests. In other words, the blonde woman would be separated from Qu Qingming for now. There were five players in total, so one team would inevitably have more people than the other.
To find out where the altar was, Qu Qingming proactively approached Lu Quanqiu and Man Jiangshan.
Lu Quanqiu, who had suspicions about her, nonetheless gladly welcomed her. The three of them chatted and laughed together—fully embodying what it meant to ‘harbor ulterior motives.’
Because the story wasn’t clear, the settings couldn’t be the same. According to the game rules, the two teams could move independently, as long as they returned to the villa before dark.
“One thing needs to be made clear: staff members are not allowed to act.” As Mister Rose said this, his gaze swept purposefully across a particular direction—strongly implying a warning.
The two cameramen following behind Su Er and Ji Heng let out a sigh of relief. One of them, seeing that Su Er seemed spaced out, even repeated the rule again just in case.
A few minutes later, Qu Qingming’s group set off early, heading deeper into the forest.
Su Er stayed where he was, not moving for the moment. After a while, he folded his arms and sighed, “We’re already at a disadvantage.”
The keyword ‘betrayal’ usually implied a mature love triangle with a third party involved. But right now, it was just the two of them. And the host had specifically emphasized that staff couldn’t play as temporary actors.
“If there’s no preset storyline, we could go with a split personality angle,” Su Er shrugged. “But that clearly won’t work this time.”
The story had to align with the island’s legend.
Ji Heng said, “No rush. Let’s try gathering clues about the legend first.”
“—I swear, I don’t know any legends. If I’m lying, may I die in the line of duty!”
“—I swear too! I’ve never even heard of any love story on this island. If I’m lying, may I be scattered into dust!”
As soon as Ji Heng finished speaking, the two cameramen hurriedly swore oaths, afraid they’d be interrogated under torture.
Su Er helplessly shook his head, thinking the staff were being overly paranoid. Even if he and Ji Heng were powerful, they couldn’t act and film at the same time—so they weren’t going to do anything too drastic.
He looked toward Ji Heng with that in mind, but the latter calmly shared his true thoughts: “If the cameramen are gone, we’ll just get another.”
The implication was clear—he really had planned to use the nearby staff as a narrative tool.
From the moment Ji Heng said his first sentence, one of the cameramen had already started trembling as he held the equipment.
Su Er, worried that the footage would end up all shaky, casually offered a few words of reassurance. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a few water ghosts hidden among the trees, seemingly waiting for the right moment to strike back.
Ji Heng said, “Should we just take care of them all at once?”
Su Er thought for a moment. “Forget it. These water ghosts wouldn’t dare go too far.”
Once they breached the rules, even if he stood idle, the instance wouldn’t tolerate it.
Still, some debts had to be settled—eventually.
Mister Rose stood cloaked in the shadow of a large tree, so quiet he might’ve been mistaken for a tasteful shrub. Su Er walked over and waited until Qu Qingming and the others had gone far enough before speaking: “The altar that Lu Quanqiu and Man Jiangshan found—it’s a fake.”
He paused, then added helpfully, “Also, I made it.”
Mister Rose frowned slightly, unsure why Su Er would go out of his way to confess something that sounded suspiciously like trolling.
Su Er’s train of thought veered off the tracks with practiced ease. “We’re heading east to scout some filming spots. Want to come?”
A rhetorical question, if there ever was one. The answer was, predictably, a resounding no.
Mister Rose, who generally found human interaction mildly irritating at best, certainly didn’t wish to spend more time than necessary with these two. His natural disposition, like a cat watching mice squabble, preferred seeing players unravel themselves in mutual suspicion.
Su Er and Ji Heng? No unraveling in sight. Disappointing, really.
Without so much as a courteous farewell, Mister Rose vanished.
Even after he left, Su Er maintained his usual serene smile.
Ji Heng approached. “A deliberate move?”
Su Er simply smiled in response.
Ji Heng didn’t press. He glanced at the newly risen sun and said they could set off.
The morning air in the forest was exceptionally fresh. Along the way, the cameramen instinctively maintained a respectful (and possibly life-preserving) distance from the two players known affectionately by production staff as “The Specters of Death.”
Su Er wandered aimlessly, but soon realized Ji Heng wasn’t meandering—he had purpose. A direction. A mission. Like a GPS with a grudge.
With no other players around, there was no need to tiptoe around sensitive topics.
Su Er asked a question that had lingered in his mind for days: “Why did you suspect Qu Qingming from the very beginning?”
Ji Heng replied, “She got a rash on her neck while killing the toad monster.”
Su Er blinked. “That’s suspicious?”
Ji Heng said, “The toad’s blood is poisonous, true. But I tested a little of it myself—there’s no immediate reaction unless her physical condition is significantly worse than average.”
Su Er was momentarily stunned. Most people, upon seeing someone break out in a rash, would simply avoid the allergen. This man, however, chose to roll up his sleeves and experiment.
Ji Heng continued, “Once you have a suspect, it becomes easy to spot inconsistencies in their behavior.”
Su Er realized the critical role of small details and said quietly, “Honestly, I still can’t say for certain whether Qu Qingming is alive or dead.”
That night, using the eye embedded in his own body, he’d glimpsed a face right out of a horror film—but looks alone couldn’t be considered proof.
“Dead,” Ji Heng said definitively. “She doesn’t have a heartbeat.”
Su Er’s eyes darkened with meaning.
Ji Heng then revealed everything about the infamous “What a delightful night” incident. Su Er listened with a face that went through more expressions than a Shakespearean actor and finally choked out, “So that night... everyone knew what happened between me and the blonde woman?”
Ji Heng nodded.
Even someone with skin thicker than a bunker wall couldn’t help but feel embarrassed recalling it.
Ji Heng added, “When she was pretending to act, I pressed a blade to her chest. All her attention was on the blade. I was holding her wrist with one hand—can’t fake a pulse.”
Su Er gazed up at the sky as if hoping divine intervention might erase that memory. “No wonder everyone looked weird when I was writing that thousand-word romantic scene.”
“It’s all in the past,” Ji Heng said—an attempt at comfort so bland it might’ve been boiled cardboard. He wisely pivoted back to business. “Let’s find a high vantage point.”
Su Er, predictably, shelved the traumatic flashbacks for now. “You want to see the whole island?”
Ji Heng smiled. “More precisely, its shape.”
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the forest, team dynamics were... less collaborative.
Qu Qingming was artfully steering the conversation toward the idea that Ji Heng was the love-killer. Man Jiangshan, who had previously been suspicious of Ji Heng, found her surprisingly easy to talk to.
“Surprisingly,” of course, being the keyword. In truth, Man Jiangshan had already conspired with Lu Quanqiu last night: Today, they’d start by taking Qu Qingming down.
“Let’s rest a bit,” Qu Qingming suggested. “And figure out how we want to shoot the story?”
“What a waste of time. Can’t we talk while walking?”
Lu Quanqiu’s tone was harsh—ever since acquiring the immunity coupon, he’d been on edge. He himself realized it. The coupon seemed to be amplifying his negative emotions like a cursed mood ring.
He took a deep breath and forced out an apology.
“No problem,” Qu Qingming replied generously.
Right on cue, Man Jiangshan’s stomach growled. She gave an awkward laugh. “Skipped breakfast... kinda hungry.”
Qu Qingming said, “I’ll go pick some wild berries for you.”
Man Jiangshan quickly waved her off. “Don’t trouble yourself.”
Qu Qingming’s smile was charming without being overbearing—her beauty never came with arrogance. “I’ll gather more so we can all share. Filming takes a lot of energy.”
Man Jiangshan made a show of wanting to go with her but was politely refused.
“It’s just picking some fruit. I’ll be back soon.”
As soon as she left, Man Jiangshan’s expression turned serious. She walked over to Lu Quanqiu. “Stick to the plan.”
Lu Quanqiu was irritable. “What if Qu Qingming isn’t the love-killer?”
“At the very least, we’ll eliminate a false lead,” Man Jiangshan cut her off. “Players can’t kill each other, but you have the immunity coupon. You can act.”
Besides, they already knew the location of the altar. It was worth taking the risk.
Lu Quanqiu snapped, “Don’t act like I don’t know what you’re up to.”
She wanted him to do the dirty work while she reaped the rewards.
“The immunity coupon clearly affects mental state. The longer you carry it, the worse it’ll get for you,” Man Jiangshan said coolly. “And I already promised to give you an item in exchange. You’re not losing anything.”
Lu Quanqiu was resentful, but he had to admit she had a point. He had a creeping sense that the coupon’s effects were irreversible… An impulsive, hot-tempered person—if he didn’t die in this instance, he’d eventually be destroyed in the next game.
Better to use it now.
Seeing his hesitation, Man Jiangshan pressed her advantage: “Strike first. I’ll draw Qu Qingming’s attention, you wait for the right moment.”
Lu Quanqiu gave a cold snort but nodded.
On the other side, Qu Qingming wasn’t idle either. She caught a venomous snake and forced out its poison, smearing it around the berries.
“Even if they don’t eat them, it doesn’t matter…” she lowered her eyes, voice soft, “there are plenty of ways to make someone suffer.”
It was clear she planned to drop all pretenses and force the altar’s location out of them.
According to the instance’s rules, she could kill in two situations: first, if a player failed the game and landed in last place; second, if a player definitively knew the altar’s location.
She’d once complained about how strict those rules were. Players who learned the altar’s location would obviously keep it hidden. She hadn’t expected those two fools to expose themselves voluntarily.
If Su Er had been there to hear her thoughts, he might have felt the game was being unfairly maligned. In truth, this instance offered a relatively fair balance between players and ghosts.
The ghost didn’t know the altar’s location either. They also had to piece together clues from the game, step by step.
Flicking back her long hair, Qu Qingming smiled as she gazed toward Mister Rose, hiding in the shadows. “Once the altar is destroyed, the full wipe win condition is met. So easy.”
Mister Rose remained silent.
Thinking victory was within reach, Qu Qingming hummed a cheerful tune as she walked away. Meanwhile, Mister Rose’s expression turned sour—he finally understood why Su Er had asked multiple times that morning whether the host could intervene in the game, and why he had made a point of clarifying what was real.
All for a fake altar, players were planning a counterattack, and the werewolf was about to self-destruct!
The players weren’t strong enough to take down the ghost. The ghost was bound by the rules and couldn’t kill the players.
So what was the point of this mutual slaughter? Absolutely nothing!
And him—he knew the plot but wasn’t allowed to give spoilers.
It was infuriating!
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