At the end, Su Er's expression instantly darkened.
The game was clearly trying to shape him into a public enemy.
"It was Pu Liu's suggestion," the Gravekeeper's Servant said cheerfully, clearly enjoying tattling.
Apart from bailing someone out from the detention center, Su Er didn’t recall having offended this host.
“That guy likes to have everything under control. He tested out a few rebel players, but still couldn’t rest easy with you as a wild card.”
Su Er was the type who turned whichever way the wind blew—not even needing the wind to push him over, he'd spin on his own 365 times a day if he smelled an opportunity.
“So he cut off your escape route from the beginning,” the Gravekeeper’s Servant gloated. “Soon, he’ll make what happened last night public.”
Su Er sighed. He’d had smooth sailing for too long—he’d almost forgotten what it meant to get his shoes wet by the river.
The Gravekeeper’s Servant was visibly disappointed not to see anguish on his face.
He put away the mirror and disappeared without a trace, just as suddenly as he had arrived.
“Did he come all this way just to roast me?”
What kind of grudge was this?
Ji Heng: “Ignore him—he’s just bored. But be more cautious with Mister Pu Liu.”
Unlike other hosts, Mister Pu Liu had never openly targeted Su Er or gone out of his way to avoid him. This kind of silent maneuvering behind the scenes was the most dangerous.
Su Er sat down. After being interrupted by the Gravekeeper's Servant, his food had gone cold. He took a few bites and asked about the invitation: “You said the invitation had a curse?”
Ji Heng: “It lowers your luck.”
Reduced luck in an instance meant the risk of sudden death increased drastically.
Su Er: “Should we let Zhao Banjin know?”
Ji Heng shook his head. “I’ve got other plans for him.”
Su Er gave a vague hum of acknowledgment and kept eating, but he couldn’t shake the feeling someone was watching him. He looked up—and locked eyes with Ji Heng.
“The core of the Tianji City instance was also fate,” Ji Heng said.
Because of the Cheating Divine Seer’s failure, Su Er remembered it vividly and nodded. "It does resemble this world a bit."
Ji Heng looked at him, then suddenly said, “That eyeball might come in handy.”
Su Er put down his chopsticks and pulled out the mysterious eye from his body.
Compared to before, the surface was much clearer now. The vertical pupil was now sharply visible—it had completely transformed into a serpent’s eye.
Once Ji Heng mentioned it, Su Er got a sense: Zhu Yun seemed to have greater control in fate-related dungeons. Perhaps this time the eye could help again.
The moist, soft eyeball suddenly pulsed in his palm.
Su Er involuntarily shuddered—staring into a snake's eye was far from pleasant—but he forced himself not to look away.
Hiss—
The sound of a snake flicking its tongue echoed in his ears, and for a moment, Su Er felt like he was back in Tianji City, being followed by that grotesque human-faced flower serpent.
“Dual identity. Kill.”
Eventually, Su Er could make out the garbled, twisted voice.
He returned the eye to his body, face now more serious.
Taken literally, it had several interpretations.
Ji Heng: “We’ll only understand once we get to that point.”
Letting go of the issue for now, Su Er recalled something else: to obtain the method to summon the eye from within, he still owed the Gravekeeper’s Servant a hundred tears.
So far, progress: zero.
He rubbed his temples—this task needed to be moved up the priority list.
Two uneventful days passed.
During this time, Su Er focused on training. The vampire ability was to protect others, but the incubus ability could protect himself. He used every spare moment to practice manipulating his incubus powers.
Because weak-minded people were difficult to find, Ji Heng naturally became the practice target.
So, in Ji Heng’s eyes, Su Er turned into a 24/7 peacock on display—just short of jumping straight into his arms. Fortunately, this only lasted a day and a half. The night before the birthday banquet, Su Er sensibly stopped oozing charm.
That night, he didn’t sleep well.
He was genuinely tired, but the eyeball inside his body was restless, a burning sensation swelling in his chest.
Unable to bear it, he suddenly opened his eyes, considering whether to summon the eyeball out.
But the scene before him made him forget all about the unruly eye—at least for now.
On the opposite bed, Ji Heng held a silver iron ball. Around the ball were nine holes, and at that moment, each hole had a small snake slithering out, intertwining in an eerie tangle.
The eyeball throbbed even more violently, seemingly eager to burst out and devour the small iron sphere.
Su Er’s expression turned cold. He warned, “Try charging out recklessly again, and I’ll be happy to flush you down the toilet.”
Only then did the eyeball quiet down.
Ji Heng, aware that Su Er was awake, didn’t stop what he was doing. The small snakes twisted into a flower bud, and with their slithering motion, the bud began to bloom—
Heather.
Su Er recognized the flower.
The snakes retreated back into the iron sphere, and Ji Heng pondered for a few seconds before glancing over.
“Did I wake you?”
Su Er: “No—it was this eye. Its appetite got triggered.”
Ji Heng casually explained, “Monsters strengthen themselves by devouring their own kind.”
Su Er wasn’t worried Ji Heng would do anything to him. If he had wanted to seize the mysterious eyeball, he could’ve done so back in Tianji City.
After a while, Su Er finally voiced the confusion in his heart: “Do you also have the power of prophecy?”
Ji Heng: “Depends on how you define it. I don’t have the ability myself—but I do rely on a certain special artifact.”
Still, the artifact’s effectiveness was far weaker than a true prophet.
Ji Heng used what had just happened as an example: “A real prophet sees fragments of the future. I can’t. The artifact only provides a very limited insight.”
Su Er seemed thoughtful. He could roughly guess why Ji Heng didn’t use that artifact often. If not handled with care, seeing a glimpse of the future might be the start of going astray.
As someone under the game’s spotlight, Su Er sighed and lay flat on the bed.
Same fate-themed ability—but completely different treatment. Some people never even got targeted.
Perhaps sensing his frustration, Ji Heng chuckled: “I never use that ability to push the limits.”
Su Er glanced at him sideways. “Hard to believe.”
Wasn’t this big shot supposed to be all about bold, dominant moves?
Ji Heng calmly replied, “Using the game’s power against the game has a near-zero success rate.”
Su Er mulled over that. It sounded like a concession to the game’s authority, but it also felt like a reminder—if he ever wanted to challenge the game, don’t expect to win by relying on its own tools.
At least not the tools it gave you.
Before dawn, the hallway was already stirring.
As usual, Su Er got up early. On the way to the cafeteria with Ji Heng, someone called out to them.
“Unbelievable...” Zhao Banjin looked conflicted.
Before Su Er could even ask, Zhao Banjin pulled out a video—it was the same one playing on the water screen.
“The host sent it out early this morning.”
No doubt, every player had received it. But Su Er had mentally prepared for this and showed little surprise.
The banquet was scheduled for the evening. As twilight approached, the three of them headed to the address on the invitation.
Despite being a birthday party, the decorations were relatively modest. None of the Lin family elders appeared—only Lin Qian’s older sister, Lin Su, was present. She’d even invited a popular band to cheer up her little sister.
Su Er observed that nearly all the players who received invitations had chosen to attend. “The flower language of Heather seems to imply...”
But a wave of commotion interrupted him.
A cake shaped like a princess dress was pushed to the center of the hall. Each ruffle of the gown represented a layer—ten in total. Lin Qian stood beside it in a red dress, her presence a striking contrast to the white cream cake.
“Thank you all for coming.”
A male student suddenly shouted, “To the prettiest little princess!”, which instantly livened up the mood.
Lin Qian personally cut the cake.
As she raised the knife, Su Er held his breath for a few seconds. Images of horror movies where corpses were hidden in cakes flashed through his mind.
But the cake remained pristine, cleanly sliced in two. The rest was handled by staff, who cut it into evenly sized pieces and distributed them.
Since players were allowed to harm each other in this instance, Su Er naturally worried about possible poisoning.
Lin Qian seemed to be watching him intentionally or unintentionally. Not eating a single bite would seem too out of place.
After some thought, Su Er’s gaze landed on Ji Heng.
After a few seconds of silence, Ji Heng said flatly: “Don’t smear it on my clothes.”
Su Er casually dabbed some frosting onto Ji Heng’s face, playing it off like a joke between classmates, then returned to their earlier topic: “Heather…”
Ji Heng: “I know.” He wiped some frosting on Su Er’s face in return.
The cake was only the opening act. Soon, powerful drumbeats filled the villa.
The lights dimmed and flickered, jumping between red, blue, and purple. The hall had fully transformed into a dance floor.
Suddenly, the villa was plunged into darkness. The band’s music came to an abrupt halt.
“Next, let’s play a little game. I’ll be the ghost in this hide-and-seek.” A playful voice rang out: “Wanbaolin has recently acquired quite a few treasures. Anyone who doesn’t get found within an hour gets a prize.”
The sound of noisy chatter rose around them—young people eager for thrills, with prizes on the line. They quickly began groping through the dark, searching for hiding spots.
But for the players, the mood was completely different.
They knew that if they didn’t hide well, this could become a deadly game.
Ji Heng murmured, “Killing isn’t the goal.”
Su Er nodded. If it were, they would’ve been taken out one by one—it wouldn't make sense to go to all the trouble of gathering them here. That would only make things harder.
Still, since the game had already begun and the other party's objective was unclear, all they could do was play along and look for a place to hide.
The closer to Lin Qian, the more dangerous it would be. Su Er circled around from the side, intending to head upstairs—he wasn’t the only one with that idea.
Thanks to his awakened vampire identity, Su Er's night vision was far superior to a normal person’s. He saw clearly that no matter which direction anyone stepped in, it was like they were trapped in a looping maze—not returning to their original point, but somehow ending up in the backyard, where everything around them transformed into countless mirrors.
A mirror maze—familiar, yet this time there was no Gravekeeper’s Servant to guide the way.
“What the hell is this?” someone muttered, accidentally stepping into water—his shoes were instantly soaked.
Su Er scanned each face in turn, confirming that everyone trapped here was a player.
A scream suddenly tore through the air.
Warm blood sprayed from the body of the player who had just spoken. His legs vanished first, then half his body disappeared. The sound of something chewing followed shortly after.
Those nearby quickly backed away, but within two seconds, another person among them met the same fate.
“I advise everyone not to act rashly.” A voice Su Er found extremely familiar rang out. “You’re all now in the villa’s backyard, where we keep crocodiles, guard dogs, and other ferocious beasts.”
“Zhao Banjin.” Su Er’s eyes sharpened as he looked in the direction of the voice.
Zhao Banjin smiled. “Sorry.”
But his tone lacked even a trace of apology.
Su Er instinctively glanced at Ji Heng. The latter didn’t look particularly surprised—it seemed he’d expected this.
Zhao Banjin reiterated the danger: the space appeared to be a large mirror maze, but in reality, it was a deadly backyard, filled with wild animals. One wrong step could mean death.
“There’s only one way to survive—join us and fight against the game.”
Someone in the darkness called out, “We could just catch you and force the truth out. That’d get us out too.”
Zhao Banjin smiled calmly. “Dare to come over here, then?”
He was positioned a fair distance from everyone else. After witnessing two players die, the rest were far too scared to make a move.
“So that’s your goal.” Su Er narrowed his eyes. “You don’t want to kill—you want submission and loyalty.”
After all, one person alone couldn’t stand up to the game. To challenge it, you needed a team of capable players.
“What I don’t get is—why?”
“You’re not the only one with a dual identity,” Zhao Banjin replied evenly. “My other identity is a Prophet. It just doesn’t register on the test, so it’s not shown.”
“So from the start, you planned to collaborate with those in the instance who also had precognition?”
Zhao Banjin nodded.
Ji Heng, who hadn’t spoken much, suddenly asked, “Who’s your collaborator?”
Zhao Banjin sighed. “Telling you would complete the instance’s mission.”
Why would I be that stupid?
He changed the question: “The future constantly changes—how can you be sure the players who agree to join you will stay loyal?”
Zhao Banjin gave a twisted smile. “There’s a way. But I’m not telling you.”
A bad feeling crept up in Su Er’s heart.
Sure enough, the next moment Zhao Banjin’s eyes locked onto him. “The game seems to favor you. Your achievement points say as much.”
In other words, this variable needed to be snuffed out early.
“You’re Zhao Sanliang’s cousin—we could’ve been friends.”
Zhao Banjin: “We are friends. But I’m still going to kill you.”
Suddenly turned into a live target again, Su Er composed himself and said sincerely, “Actually, I’ve only been pretending to support the game. We could have a wonderful collaboration.”
Zhao Banjin shook his head. “In the future I foresaw, you left this instance alive. And you earned several achievement points. So Su Er…”
His tone turned cruel. “You’re the key to breaking the game. As long as you die, that future can be changed!”
“…Did you foresee anything else?”
Zhao Banjin was surprisingly honest. “One scene nearly got me killed. But it was enough.”
The instance’s mission was to find the true culprit. If Su Er left alive, it meant Zhao’s partner failed. But if the breaker died early, there might still be a chance to turn things around.
Silence fell.
None of the trapped players stepped up. They quietly watched the situation unfold, weighing their options.
After a long while, Su Er muttered, “Actually… I was sent by the Prophets too.”
Zhao Banjin paused, then sneered, “You’ll say anything to stay alive, huh?”
Then, with a mocking glance at Ji Heng, he added, “Why not say he’s a Prophet too?”
Su Er fell silent.
…Because he actually was.
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