For a host, players were nothing more than passersby in the span of their long lives. Of course, that was putting it nicely—in truth, in the eyes of a host, players were as light as dust.
But later, an exception appeared. His name was Su Er. He wasn’t a passerby, he was a tourist. After sightseeing, he even left behind a souvenir figurine.
On the sixteenth of every month, new players would be drawn into the game. Many hosts were unwilling to take on novice instances. Not so for Mister Rose—he always scrambled to claim them. The mortality rate for newcomers was high, and he delighted in watching the pain and unwillingness of humans as they died.
The rules for novice instances were very simple, and so it was this time. It was called Puzzle. Players had to find hidden puzzle pieces in the room, but every half hour they had to play rock-paper-scissors. Whoever lost wouldn’t necessarily die, but they’d be half-crippled.
At this moment, perched on Mister Rose’s shoulder sat one of the figurines Su Er had left behind—a little clay figure. It had a unique pursuit of beauty, with a rose stuck behind its ear. Unfortunately, its face was so small that the single flower nearly covered half of it.
“Welcome, everyone, to the world of Seven Days, Seven Nights. I am the host of this round, Mister Rose.”
After explaining the basic rules, Mister Rose withdrew into the shadows, ready to quietly enjoy the newcomers’ performance.
Six players—some hysterical, some calm, others shifty-eyed and scheming.
With a twisted smile, Mister Rose tapped the red dot between the clay figure’s brows. “You’ll have new dyes to use soon.”
These people were all quite young. Their blood should be fresh and bright red.
“Do we… play rock-paper-scissors with him?” one player, braver than the rest, pointed toward the center of the living room and asked.
A young boy sat cross-legged on the carpet. His eyes were pitch-black and terrifying, and he was fiddling with snake scales. The snake in his hands trembled and coiled up tightly, too afraid even to flick its tongue. Around his neck and ankles, snakes coiled in knots. Clearly, he was no ordinary child.
Mister Rose nodded. The instance had countless ghosts and monsters, and this boy was one he was seeing for the first time. They were, in a sense, collaborators of a sort.
Sensing everyone’s gaze, the boy suddenly stood up, abandoning his cross-legged posture. He balled up the snake and threw it, laughing with a high-pitched giggle.
Two of the players were girls, terrified of reptiles by nature. They screamed and stumbled backward. The boy clapped his hands, and hissing sounds erupted from all directions. From lampshades, flowerpots, toilets—hundreds of snakes poked their heads out.
One girl nearly broke down. “All snakes? How are we supposed to find puzzle pieces like this!”
She covered her face and sobbed uncontrollably.
Her crying infected the others. They didn’t cry, but their bodies wouldn’t stop trembling.
That spoiled the fun. Mister Rose narrowed his eyes. He’d been waiting for the players to quarrel over who would face the rock-paper-scissors round. Instead, with eyes like he was watching corpses, he spoke in a gentle tone: “The snakes are bound by the rules. Unless you trigger a certain condition, they won’t attack.”
Not everyone feared snakes. Aside from the girls, the calmer players were worried about the boy playing with them.
“As for him…” Mister Rose stepped up to the child and smiled faintly. “Such a cute child, enough to stir pity. Don’t worry. Before rock-paper-scissors, he’ll behave.”
The boy hated too many voices. Even though Mister Rose’s voice was pleasant, in his ears it was like the meaningless chirping of sparrows. He screeched twice, flailing the snake in his hand, and shouted, “My father is Su Er! All of you are trash!”
The phrase rolled off his tongue fluently now, without a single stutter.
“......”a
The sheer stench of childish arrogance hit like a wave. Before the players could react, they saw the once-smiling Mister Rose twist the boy’s head a full one-eighty.
His neck wound like a rope, the boy naturally couldn’t speak. Anyone else would have died instantly, but he only whimpered painfully, still alive.
Mister Rose pulled out a tissue to wipe his hand. From the corner potted plant, snakes hung motionless. Even though this was the perfect chance to strike, they were frozen with terror.
The players exchanged uneasy glances, having no idea what had just happened.
The silence only made the fear heavier.
Only the clay figure on Mister Rose’s shoulder remained innocent and cheerful. It brushed the red flower at its temple and asked in a crisp voice: “We got into trouble, didn’t we?”
Though Mister Rose’s expression was still cold, it softened slightly compared to before.
At least the clay figure’s words suggested that if something went wrong, it was willing to share the blame. Whether that was true or not, who could tell?
With a sickening crack, the boy painfully twisted his head back into place. “Fa—”
“Shhh.” The clay figure pressed a finger to its lips, smiling coldly and mercilessly.
The boy didn’t understand human words well, but he could read basic gestures. He quieted down—not from obedience, but because he was tilting his head, wondering if that gesture meant he was supposed to be silent.
“H-host…” one of the female players whispered.
Mister Rose had no patience for her. “The game only lasts seven days. If you want to just stand there, I won’t stop you.”
Realizing her companions were already searching quickly while the boy was dazed, she swallowed her fear and joined the hunt.
Mister Rose wasn’t simply standing idle—he was waiting. Waiting for punishment from the rules, and for a new host to take over.
Suddenly, he looked upstairs. From the second floor came a strange spatial fluctuation. When he went up, in the corner he found a figure in a wide robe, seated on a small stool.
“Since you’ve come, why not take over immediately?”
Divine Seer didn’t arrive alone. On his left was a cage containing a ghostly infant.
A sudden, uneasy premonition struck the Mister Rose—if the Divine Seer came to take over, what about the ghost infant?
Divine Seer quickly answered: “The ghost infant will handle the upcoming rock-paper-scissors. You take the child downstairs and leave.”
Before the other could speak, he added in a calm voice: “This way, the rule’s punishment can be offset.”
Mister Rose frowned: “Punishment can never be offset.”
“Now it can.” Divine Seer stood, briefly leaving his beloved little stool: “Before you, that child nearly got killed by a few hosts. Compared to that, this is minor injury.”
He paused, then said meaningfully: “You’re a smart one.”
When punished by the rules, recovering from severe injury requires an extraordinary price.
Mister Rose didn’t agree outright, but didn’t refuse either: “Why me?”
“Your colleagues feared insufficient restraint, a sudden lethal strike midway.”
Mister Rose quickly weighed the situation and vanished from his spot. When he reappeared, the child playing with snakes was beside him.
This outcome seemed to match Divine Seer’s expectations: “Don’t blame me for not warning you. That child was supposed to grow into a Ghost King but suffered repeated hardships for certain reasons. This consequence—the game—also bears part of the burden.”
Implied: before reaching maturity, anyone who kills by accident will face the game’s extreme punishment.
The child had no awareness of the outside world, completely absorbed in playing with snakes, casually repeating “Father Su Er” as a catchphrase.
Mister Rose’s expression darkened. Suppressing his killing intent, he reminded himself that if he lost control and struck hard, the punishment would be multiples of the original.
“Su Er.”
For the first time, he gritted his teeth and said a name: “He deserves to die.”
“He’s not dead,” Divine Seer said lightly. “He even got into a good university.”
“......”
Divine Seer shrugged slightly: “I figured it out.”
Mister Rose closed his eyes for a long while to regain calm, then left the novice field, deciding to eat and recover.
The biggest difference between hosts and monsters is that hosts don’t rely on yin energy to survive, though absorbing some is beneficial. The game had set aside a special hunting area where hosts could freely hunt. Only the exceptionally strong survived—any misstep could reverse the positions of hunter and prey.
Mister Rose effortlessly harvested prey, when suddenly he noticed an unusual presence.
Amid the mountains of corpses, rivers of blood, and monster roars, someone quietly stood aside, meticulously cleaning their glasses, seemingly unafraid of monsters attacking.
This person’s perception was sharp; hundreds of meters apart, their gaze met the little clay figure midair.
Many hosts didn’t know each other, like the Princess Tea Flower and Mister Rose, who had never interacted before. Princess Tea Flower stared at the little clay figure, eyelids twitching, then sneered: “So Su Er likes giving kids to everyone he meets.”
Then he looked at the snake-playing child with a strange expression: “You really like bringing kids around?”
His tone was mocking; normally, they wouldn’t care for weak beings, often injuring or maiming them in bad moods.
Mister Rose, pinched at a sensitive spot, didn’t get angry but smiled: “Have you heard the news? Su Er got into a good university.”
Having hosted thousands of instances, Princess Tea Flower knew all about the concept of exams; this sounded like a tall tale: “Him?”
Mister Rose nodded, smiling slightly: “Yes, him.”
Princess Tea Flower almost choked on him disbelief.
His bad mood caused yin energy to materialize outward, indiscriminately attacking the surroundings. The clay figure nearby got some damage and dimmed in expression.
Unable even to control basic emotions—how could it be raised properly?
When Su Er left in a hurry, he hadn’t given the figure to the right person. Now, it had to find a new owner itself. Its eyes shifted, showing a different expression, and it looked at the clay figure on the Mister Rose’s shoulder, dazedly saying, “Nice-looking.”
For the clay figure, praised for its appearance for the first time, it was ecstatic—but it still maintained its composed demeanor and whispered to Mister Rose: “It’s smart. Taking it to teach this little brat to talk is good.”
While saying this, it glanced at the snake-playing child: “So it won’t just keep saying ‘Father Su Er,’ annoying you.”
Mister Rose understood the pretense in the words. Essentially, the little clay figure wanted a companion to boast to—but it was mutually beneficial. The foolish child had reached the age for proper instruction.
Half an hour later, one little clay figure sat on each of Mister Rose’s shoulders. Before leaving, he picked up the Princess Tea Flower’s glasses, which had been knocked away, put them on him, and softly said: “If you lack ability, learn to behave. Next time we meet, we’ll still be good colleagues.”
Watching that figure disappear, Princess Tea Flower scowled, reattached his arm, and wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.
A lurking beast tried to take advantage, baring its sharp teeth to pounce.
“Go away!”
Princess Tea Flower’s expression was fierce; his long, slender hand passed through the beast’s skin, plucked its heart, and threw it away.
Teaching someone to speak requires extreme patience. Back when Su Er taught the future Ghost King, he used eggs to coax him, barely managing to teach him that one catchphrase. Now that the child was no longer starving, he had zero patience for learning. On top of that, he was incredibly stubborn, completely ignoring any threat of death.
Here, Mister Rose had dozens of clay figures. Apart from the first-generation and last-generation clay figures, the rest had wildly diverse appearances.
The final clay figure created was particularly clever. Seeing that the child couldn’t be taught through normal methods, it started collecting various films and TV shows to show him.
Sure enough, the child settled down a bit. Besides playing with snakes, he had found a new hobby. Unfortunately, learning ability sometimes depended on talent. His wild instincts dominated nearly his entire brain, and after half a month, he had only learned one sentence from the shows.
One day, Mister Rose passed by to check on their progress. The three of them happened to be sitting in the courtyard, pretending to study.
First-generation clay figure: “In a couple of days, I want to raise my nose a bit.”
Last-generation clay figure: “My hands and feet aren’t flexible enough; I plan to lengthen them.”
Future Ghost King: “Same here.”
First-generation clay figure: “Snow is coming soon. Beautiful things are always worth looking forward to.”
Last-generation clay figure: “Indeed! Winter is coming; even decay has its own beauty.”
Future Ghost King: “Same here.”
Right in front of them, the learning device was playing Romance of the Three Kingdoms. In the video, Zhang Fei delivered the line “Same here” with a resounding force.
Mister Rose’s expression shifted slightly. He walked over, confiscated the learning device, and said coldly: “No matter what method you use, by the end of the month, teach him at least ten sentences.”
With that, he turned and left, his face impassive.
Once he was out of sight, the first-generation clay figure shook its head, hands behind its back, sighing: “Iron-blooded enforcer.”
The last-generation clay figure exhaled deeply: “Cruel tyrant.”
The future Ghost King said expressionlessly: “Old man in midlife crisis.”
“......”
The two clay figures abruptly turned their heads: “You can talk?!”
However, the child continued playing with the snakes, looking completely blank, as if he hadn’t said anything. After some unknown time, the child’s expression suddenly changed. Touching the slick snake scales, he smiled coldly: “The world laughs at me for being insane; I laugh at the world for seeing nothing through.”
“......”
The first-generation clay figure was momentarily speechless: “From all the beatings in the past, it seems he developed a split personality.”
The last-generation clay figure clasped its hands together: “…Life is hard. May the world treat him gently.”
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