Chapter 4: Peachwood to Ward Off Evil Spirits

“Boss…”

Lin Kuo was still running his fingers along the patterns carved into the wooden door.
Li Yinan, standing beside him, called out softly.
It took him a moment to realize she was speaking to him, and he slowly turned his head.

Li Yinan pointed to a door behind him to the left, her face unnaturally pale.
And it wasn’t just her—everyone’s expressions had grown solemn.

Lin Kuo withdrew his hand and turned halfway, looking at the door Li Yinan indicated.

A middle-aged man was standing there stiffly, watching them.
The muscles on his face twitched as though someone with facial paralysis was trying hard to force out a smile.

“Morning…” he said.

The smile that followed was chilling.

Everyone instinctively lowered their heads, avoiding eye contact.

“This should be the NPC.”
Liang Sihong glanced at the man, then looked at Lin Kuo.

Even though Lin Kuo had bluntly called him a smiling tiger earlier, Liang Sihong had a gut feeling: of all the people in this instance, the only one who could be trusted was Lin Kuo.

When your life’s on the line, the most important thing is to find a strong thigh to hold onto.

“Generally speaking,” Liang Sihong said in a low voice as he approached Lin Kuo, sharing his past experience, “in these survival instances, the NPCs usually provide important clues.”

Lin Kuo subtly stepped away from him and began evaluating the so-called NPC.
From the man’s attire and posture, it was clear he was playing the role of the villa’s butler.

Behind him was a round dining table, and on it sat a full Chinese breakfast—still steaming.

“Please be seated,” the butler said.

Everyone instinctively turned toward Lin Kuo.
And right on cue, Lin Kuo stepped forward first.

He pulled out a chair and calmly sat down.

Li Yinan was just about to follow when she accidentally glanced back at the butler.
Her entire body froze.

The butler’s face was twitching.
That faint smile from before had completely vanished.
Now, his eyes were wide and cold, fixed on Lin Kuo like a predator locked onto its prey.

The moment Lin Kuo sat down, the butler stepped forward to set out the tableware.

Li Yinan opened her mouth to warn him—but Lin Kuo was already eating.

Only then did she steel her nerves and sit beside him, whispering:

“Boss, that NPC’s gaze is terrifying… did you notice?”

Lin Kuo, chewing on a fried dough stick, glanced sideways at the butler.
“Mhm.”

Li Yinan: “…”

Behind them, the others finally nudged each other into the dining room.

The round table was set for eight.
Seven of them were seated, with one chair remaining.
But no one dared touch the food.

Lin Kuo ignored them and continued eating.
Following his lead, Li Yinan reached for a spoon and prepared to eat too.

The dishes were all familiar Chinese breakfast items.

The newbies couldn’t see anything wrong.
And in a place as strange as this, normality felt like the most abnormal thing of all.

Someone asked nervously, “Can… can we really eat this?”

The scar-faced man snapped, “Just eat.”

Wang Miao—the newbie who’d been forced to open the door earlier—said coldly, “Then why aren’t you eating?”

Wang Miao had regained his composure. And now that the initial fear had passed, he wasn’t about to take any more crap from the scar-faced man.

“Trying to use us as test dummies again, huh?”

Caught red-handed, the scar-faced man scowled. “You’re f***ing asking for it.”

Wang Miao wasn’t backing down. “If I die, I’ll make sure to take you with me.”

The word die struck like a whip, making everyone’s already pale faces even more ashen.
The scar-faced man, especially, seemed to flinch at the sound.

He rolled up a sleeve, ready to throw hands.

“Enough!” Liang Sihong stepped in to separate them.

“There’s nothing wrong with this food. Like Lin Kuo said earlier, the NPC isn’t making us choose between soy milk or fried dough sticks. There’s no time limit. This breakfast is part of the plot setup. The real deadly choice is still ahead.”

His own logic being repeated didn’t seem to faze Lin Kuo. He stayed silent and reached toward the eggs.

Then he paused.

Both Liang Sihong and Li Yinan caught the subtle hesitation in his hand.

“What’s wrong?” they asked in unison.

The scar-faced man and Wang Miao stopped their argument. Everyone’s eyes turned to Lin Kuo—then to his hand.

The bullet chat lit up:

[Did the streamer find a problem?]
[I knew it! It’s been almost an hour—no way there’s no twist.]
[Is God S still watching?]
[Calling for God S… whispering his name like a prayer.]
[That butler’s stare is gonna haunt my dreams.]
[God S protect us!]

Among the barrage of scrolling comments, one stood out:

[S: Pretty hands.]

[…]

[???]

Lin Kuo’s hands were striking. With defined knuckles and slender fingers, they looked especially elegant holding a paintbrush—veins and joints perfectly aligned.

His hands were more like works of art than the art he created.

“One’s missing,” Lin Kuo said flatly, withdrawing his hand.

With nothing blocking their view now, everyone saw it clearly:

There were only six eggs. But seven of them were seated at the table.

Before panic could erupt, the butler rolled over a cart.

On it was a 1.5-liter carton of milk and a stack of glasses.

He opened the carton and began pouring.

One glass… two… three…

When the sixth glass was full, he began pouring the seventh.

Just as the milk touched the bottom, the butler froze.

His face twisted in alarm.

“I—I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I miscounted.”

He hurriedly resealed the milk carton. Then, under everyone’s stunned gaze, he reached out and removed one full set of tableware from the table.

His voice trembled:

“Now… now it’s correct.”

Silence.

Even after the butler wheeled the cart out and the sound of its rolling wheels faded down the corridor, no one spoke.

“What… what does that mean?” Li Yinan stared at the remaining dishes, unable to move her hands.

No one responded. The only sound left in the room was the faint rustle of breathing.

After a long silence, Lin Kuo finally turned to Liang Sihong.

“You said the NPC would give a clue.”

Liang Sihong nodded cautiously. “Did you… find something?”

Lin Kuo didn’t answer.
He simply furrowed his brow.

When he did that, a faint vertical line would appear between his brows.

Liang Sihong assumed he didn’t want to share. Not wanting to rely on the “we’re a team” excuse again, he suggested,

“How about this—let’s each share our thoughts. This clue clearly concerns our survival. If someone’s observation turns out to be the key, it benefits all of us.”

No one objected.

Liang Sihong started: “It’s not just the eggs. Every item on the table comes in six portions.”

Everyone glanced around—he was right.
Every plate had six servings.

The scar-faced man swallowed hard. “There’s something among us that doesn’t belong.”

Li Yinan had thought of that too.
She glanced at Lin Kuo beside her.

Seeing that his brow had relaxed slightly, she felt a little reassured.

Then something struck her, and she frowned.

“No… that’s not right. When we entered the instance, the system said there were seven players.”

She emphasized the wording.

“I remember clearly—it wasn’t just the number ‘7.’ It said: ‘7 players have entered the instance.’ There was a unit.”

She worked in journalism.
Words mattered.

So she was confident in what she remembered.

“That means… we’re all human.”

Liang Sihong nodded. He turned to the rest of the group.

The newbies were still shaken. They weren’t likely to contribute much insight.

He encouraged them anyway. “If you’ve got any ideas, speak up. Sometimes, a random observation solves everything.”

Wang Miao raised a pessimistic hand. “…Maybe the butler meant one of us has to die, so the number becomes correct?”

Then, almost without thinking, he stood up and pointed at the scar-faced man.

“In that case, I vote him.” The scar-faced man grabbed Wang Miao by the collar, lifting a plate with the other hand, ready to swing it.

“I’ll kill you first!”

“Enough!” Liang Sihong stopped him again, looking exasperated.

“You know what happens if we kill someone outside the rules of the game.”

Hearing that, Lin Kuo finally looked up at him.

Liang Sihong took the cue to explain.

“The Main God System doesn’t allow out-of-bounds deaths, including suicide. It disrupts the balance. And the punishment is worse than death.”

Lin Kuo didn’t comment, but he understood.

Balance, of course, meant viewership.

The viewers weren’t watching a horror movie—they were watching a game.
If players could kill each other or off themselves, where was the fun?

It’d be like watching someone stream a game while using cheat codes—boring.

Liang Sihong saw the other newbies couldn’t offer much.
But Lin Kuo… he still had hope for him.

“What about you?” he asked. “What have you figured out?”

Lin Kuo was silent for a long moment.
Then he said:

“The Intruder.“

Everyone froze.

Seeing their confusion, he clarified:

“The carvings on the doors—they were made recently.”

That was what he had been checking when he touched them.

The grooves were deep, but perfectly clean.
If they’d been there long, dirt would’ve accumulated.
These patterns were fresh.

Li Yinan’s eyes widened. “The peachwood carvings?”

Lin Kuo nodded.

“I told you. Peachwood suppresses evil.”

The implication was clear.

The peachwood wasn’t decorative.
It was defensive.

The enemy… wasn’t human.

Liang Sihong paled slightly.
“But didn’t you say Chinese people often carve peachwood patterns on doors?”

Lin Kuo fought the urge to roll his eyes.
Instead, he said patiently:

“I also said—peachwood is used to prevent nightmares.
The fear comes first.
Then the carving.”

He looked straight at Liang Sihong.

“Still don’t get it?”

“If there weren’t ghosts in this house… Why would anyone carve peachwood to keep them out?”