Staying any longer at the transfer station would draw too much attention. After securing the items, Su Er gave Ji Heng a nod, signaling that they could leave.
Returning to the real world took only a few breaths, and a raindrop landed on Su Er’s eyelashes. He looked up at the drifting dark clouds in the sky, realizing that checking the weather before entering the instance was indeed important.
He was still wearing the clothes he had on when entering the game. The long section of hair and bruises on his body had all vanished, though the exhaustion in his eyes remained visible.
Ji Heng said, “Go rest early.”
He then walked to the roadside to help hail a taxi.
“I want to grab a meal first,” Su Er declined his offer, taking out his phone to search for nearby restaurants.
After eating nothing but bread for over twenty days—and not even having bread the day the poisoning incident occurred—his taste buds were on the verge of numbing.
Seeing the helpless look in his eyes, Ji Heng chuckled: “Stop searching, I’ll take you.”
On the way, Su Er rested against the window for a while. When he opened his eyes, he saw a luxurious high-rise. As a well-known residential area for the city’s wealthy, anyone from this city would have at least heard of it.
Ji Heng paid for the ride, and Su Er got out, looking up at the building: “Your place?”
Ji Heng nodded. “Since there’s no rush to go back, I have some files I want to show you.”
The building had a one-unit-per-floor layout with large interiors, and the balcony offered a good view of the night scenery.
Watching Ji Heng take out dried noodles from the cabinet, Su Er honestly said, “Before entering the game, I ate noodles every day.”
Ji Heng then brought out abalone, oysters, large prawns, and so on.
Su Er’s throat moved slightly. “Actually… this isn’t bad.”
Even from a distance, the aroma of the soup was appetizing. Once the dishes were on the table, he patiently waited for the noodles to cool slightly and began to enjoy the fruits of someone else’s labor.
“How’s the taste?”
Su Er replied seriously, “Even if you just threw these ingredients in a pot and boiled them for a few minutes, dipped in sauce, they wouldn’t taste bad.”
Ji Heng laughed on the sofa. After Su Er finished eating most of it, Ji Heng went to the study to fetch a document bag.
Wiping his mouth, Su Er asked while opening it: “What’s this?”
“Your files.”
Those four words made Su Er pause, and he pointed at himself: “Me?”
Ji Heng said, “Last time you asked me to investigate your parents, there wasn’t much useful info, so I decided to start with you.”
He poured the contents of the document bag onto the table. Before looking, Su Er braced himself mentally: “Is it… my biological parents?”
Ji Heng raised an eyebrow, surprised he asked: “Of course.”
The files were detailed, even including records of elementary school essay awards. Scanning them quickly, Su Er found nothing unusual.
“Look carefully at the photos.”
Su Er’s elementary school had a tradition of spring excursions, like collective movie outings. For the excursions, students wrote short essays describing the scenery, with twenty minutes allocated by the language teacher for the task before collection and grading.
Looking at these long-forgotten memories, Su Er exclaimed, “You managed to find these?”
Ji Heng said, “A few were made into display boards, still around.”
His gaze accidentally caught one, and his smile gradually faded. In the photo, the child’s face still had some baby fat, the pencil case carelessly placed at their feet, and chubby hands holding correction fluid, fixing mistakes.
It was just a scene in a photo; identifying details with the naked eye could be inaccurate.
Ji Heng took out a single photo: “This one’s zoomed in.”
Though the pixels were somewhat blurry, it was easier to discern than the previous photo. Su Er could now confirm that the child was correcting a blank space in the top right corner.
When handing in the work, he would habitually write his name there.
It wasn’t unusual for a child to write their name incorrectly. Su Er set the photo aside but still felt uneasy. Old memories stirred by the photo made his brow furrow: “Before third grade, I sometimes wrote the wrong surname.”
Ji Heng asked, “Written as what?”
Su Er’s eyes moved slightly, frozen in thought, his body stiffening like a statue.
“It’s…” he paused for a few seconds. In his mind, a vague outline formed, just slightly unclear.
“Zhou,” Ji Heng suddenly said without warning.
Su Er chuckled, inevitably linking it to Zhou Linjun, and shrugged: “A nighttime horror joke?”
But Ji Heng’s face remained completely serious.
Seeing him like that, the fleeting sense of relief Su Er had just gained vanished instantly. Perhaps due to Ji Heng’s abrupt interjection leaving an imprint on his subconscious, Su Er racked his brain and suddenly realized it really was that character.
He tried writing it on the table with his finger and inexplicably shivered.
Ji Heng brewed a cup of calming tea and placed it in front of him, then went to fetch a clean, loose short-sleeved shirt from another room.
Only then did Su Er notice that his shirt had been soaked with cold sweat without him realizing it—not from emotion, but seemingly a reflexive response of his body.
“You discovered something, didn’t you?” Su Er asked hoarsely, looking up.
Ji Heng couldn’t have brought it up for no reason.
Ji Heng said, “I mentioned in the instance not to overlook things that are right in front of you.”
Some things are so close that they’re actually easy to miss.
Su Er sipped his tea; the lemongrass aroma flowed down his throat, relaxing his tense body.
“Achievement points.”
When those three words left Ji Heng’s mouth, Su Er quickly recalled the achievement points he already had. After a brief silence, he asked, “Report Zhou Bapi under my real name?”
Ji Heng stood and walked to the window. “Zhou Bapi is a well-known villain in literature. At first glance, it sounds normal, but nowadays ‘Bapi’ has a meaning of exploitation. Using your own surname would be even more fitting.”
Su Er’s heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, he asked if Ji Heng had ever written his name incorrectly.
“No,” Ji Heng said, staring into the boundless night. “But when I was a child, I would often zone out for a few seconds before writing my name.”
He remembered it vividly; teachers would even call on him during exams to remind him not to daydream.
The lingering complexity in Su Er’s eyes faded. Following his principle of not wasting anything, he went to the kitchen to scoop up the remaining noodles and abalone from the pot.
Seeing his huge shift in mood, Ji Heng turned slightly: “Not worried?”
If it were any other player, they would likely feel fear.
Thoughts like Who am I really? Is my identity real? could overwhelm someone like a tide.
But Su Er… at that moment, he was calmly stirring the pot with a spoon, trying to find the “stragglers.”
“Are you afraid?” a voice came from the kitchen.
Ji Heng shook his head the instant Su Er turned around. Fear could erode willpower; the second time he entered the instance, he deliberately ignored that feeling.
“Then I have nothing to fear either,” Su Er said, approaching with soup residue still at the corner of his mouth.
Maintaining a high-risk frequency in the instance twice a month, succumbing to fear over these things would only lower his quality of life.
By the time they finished talking, it was late. Outside, the night sky was so dark not a single star was visible.
Su Er naturally stayed there for the night.
Ji Heng brought him basic toiletries. Su Er brushed his teeth and took a quick shower, and exhaustion immediately hit him. When Ji Heng changed into his loungewear and was about to lead him to the guest room, he saw Su Er had already collapsed on the sofa bed, fast asleep.
The blanket was under him, so Ji Heng had no choice but to fetch a thin one to cover him.
Not going to rest immediately, Ji Heng instead sat on the sofa and began reviewing files of other players, including Qu Qingming and some who had long since died.
During this time, Su Er turned in his sleep, seemingly restless.
Patting him gently through the blanket, Ji Heng sighed softly: “Sleep.”
Even if the sky falls, someone tall is standing in front of you.
The next day was a weekend, yet Su Er’s body clock woke him at seven. Ji Heng, who had woken up half an hour earlier, saw his drowsy expression and asked, “Why not sleep a bit longer?”
“Going home to study.”
“...Very determined.”
There was no bus nearby, so Ji Heng picked up his keychain: “I’ll drive you; we might as well stop by the supermarket.”
The car wasn’t moving fast, and the wind from the window felt pleasant on their cheeks. Su Er squinted in comfort but spoke of a sobering topic: “The host mentioned that Deception is about to open. They’re busy issuing entry tickets.”
Ji Heng glanced at him: “There should be quite a few special instances coming up.”
Su Er’s vision blurred slightly from the wind, remembering that his own entry ticket had also come from a special instance.
“Gou Baopu has…”
He didn’t finish his sentence. The car suddenly accelerated. Su Er instinctively checked the rearview mirror, thinking they were being followed, but saw the cars behind rapidly falling far behind.
With no place to stop, Ji Heng drove quickly to the mall entrance.
Su Er sensed something unusual; his chest felt hot, and his expression changed: “It seems like the game is forcing us in.”
Although time remained unchanged after leaving, the instant transition could make someone momentarily disoriented. Driving would certainly not be safe. Ji Heng braked, and Su Er relaxed.
The burning heat felt as if it was entering his internal organs—worse than any previous teleportation. The city sounds outside blended into a confusing mix, gradually fading until no sound could be distinguished.
For a few seconds, he had no sensation. When he regained awareness, the world had completely changed. They were no longer in the cramped car; the surroundings were shrouded in a faint mist, but visibility was still decent.
Su Er felt something in his palm and looked down to see his entry ticket.
“Where is this… Deception?” a strange voice asked, voicing the confusion in his own heart.
Looking around, Ji Heng was standing right beside him, along with dozens of others—more than in any previous instance run.
“Welcome to the world of Seven Days, Seven Nights,” the voice continued. In midair, a black snake spoke: “I am the host of this session, Teng Snake Lord.”
It gave an intensely unsettling feeling; black scales covered its body, and the light in its pupils seemed like it had been tempered with poison.
Everyone standing here had entry tickets, each with their own advantages, so they didn’t fear the host like ordinary players. The woman who had just spoken repeated her question.
“Through the Maze, you’ll be able to enter Deception,” said Teng Snake Lord, curling its tail in midair, proudly displaying its greatest creation.
At this moment, the mist had cleared slightly. As everyone focused on what lay ahead, most instinctively stepped back a bit.
The Maze stretched like an endless winding mountain range. Even from just the left and right sides, one could imagine how complex its internal structure was, and how enormous the area must be! Most terrifying of all was the arched gate at the Maze entrance, formed from hundreds of intertwined snakes. The colorful patterns just happened to combine into three characters: Gui Men Guan (Gate of the Ghosts).
The snakes were alive, flicking red tongues as if ready to strike lethally at any moment. Their venom dripped to the ground, lightly corroding the surface.
Teng Snake Lord gazed with satisfaction at the players’ pale faces: “They won’t die—at most, some cuts and bruises.”
This gate took immense effort to create. Arranging the patterns into words was no simple task, achieving both injury and a shocking visual effect.
Many frowned in irritation, but there was nothing they could do.
“You can fly up to look for exits,” Teng Snake Lord patiently advised. “Though I don’t mind if you try.”
A mouse suddenly appeared in its hand, thrown in a parabolic arc above the Maze. Instantly, a nearby wall extended into a red thin membrane, and the mouse was instantly reduced to a puddle of blood.
“Alive… the Maze is alive!”
A low gasp spread through the crowd, and Su Er’s breathing quickened.
Teng Snake Lord said, “Before entering, I will prepare a candle and a box of matches for each of you. As long as the candle’s light reaches, that area will not be consumed by the Maze.”
The snake’s face was expressionless, yet Su Er could feel the cruel smile etched onto its cold features.
“You have one minute to prepare.”
Everyone fell into thought.
Su Er scanned their chest badges—they were all quite high. No one had backed out yet or asked if they could leave under forced summon, demonstrating the mental fortitude of these players.
“Since we don’t know what’s inside, it’s better to move in groups,” someone suggested.
“I agree; it saves candles,” another said.
“No mention of food supplies; we must consider emergencies caused by hunger,” a third added.
At this point, a long-haired player looked up at Su Er: “Do you have any ideas?”
Caught off guard, Su Er hesitated.
“Earning so many achievement points shows you’re capable,” the long-haired player said gently, smiling. “At least in adaptability.”
Receiving this goodwill, Su Er responded politely: “The Maze is huge. Just the visible exterior stretches over a kilometer.”
He emphasized the obvious, almost redundantly, yet no one interrupted.
He continued: “The host was vague, but it seems passing through the Maze will lead to Deception. With such a vast area, mistakes are inevitable, and candles alone won’t suffice.”
It was impossible for dozens of people to form a single line; if there were monsters inside, it would be normal for groups to spread out.
The long-haired player immediately understood: “You think the Maze’s exit is in the middle?”
Su Er nodded.
“The game won’t deliberately kill people,” said someone on the left thoughtfully. “That’s very possible.”
“Each instance has its own world; Deception isn’t confined to a tiny area in the middle,” Su Er said lightly. “If the exit is in the middle, there are two possibilities: it’s a teleport that takes us straight to Deception, or it’s just a prank.”
“......”a
“Snakes are cunning, and the Maze’s design shows a sense of dark humor,” he added with a small smile at the corner of his lips. “Who knows, after all the effort to reach the exit, there might be an unexpected answer waiting for us.”
n midair, Teng Snake Lord’s expression grew grim: “Time for discussion is over.”
Each person received a candle and a box of matches.
Su Er glanced at Ji Heng, who nodded slightly. Stepping forward, Su Er said, “The path is behind us.”
Teng Snake Lord flicked the tip of its tail.
Su Er continued: “I guess the Maze’s exit leaves some kind of information behind.”
If so, it would be extremely cruel—after trudging all the way to the exit, discovering the entrance to Deception was actually behind them, they’d have to find a way back.
Facing such a malicious host in one instance, someone would eventually die. Thinking this, Su Er’s eyes darkened. He raised his voice: “I, Su Er, formally report Teng Snake Lord for leaking information!”
“Nonsense!” The black scales bristled, each sharp as a blade, ready to strike and shred him in an instant.
Pointing at the arched snake gate outside the Maze, Su Er continued firmly: “Throughout history, entering the Gate of the Ghosts has always been a death sentence. Isn’t this a hint that turning back is the true way to survive?”
Pausing briefly, he looked at Teng Snake Lord: “Isn’t that right, host?”
“......”
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