Chapter 32: Depression and Schizophrenia

The pagoda tree was exactly the same as the one in Lin Kuo’s memory.
Its main branches alone numbered eight, each with a diameter of about twenty centimeters.
The thick trunk soared upwards, finally halting at more than ten meters—far taller than the villa itself.

Compared to this ancient tree, the villa seemed small and insignificant.
It loomed, silently watching the people inside in the dark night, a predator towering above its prey.

Lin Kuo, staying on the fourth and highest floor, couldn’t see the full appearance of the tree.
All he could see was the grayish-brown bark—rough, weathered.
Its twisted branches curled like ancient knotted fingers.
The trunk, withered by a thousand years of wind and frost, was riddled with tree holes of various sizes.

Looking out his window, those holes looked like facial features—eyes, noses, mouths.
The “eye” holes were pitch black.
Even with the lights on inside the room, he couldn’t see their bottom.
And the “mouth” hole… twisted in the wind, letting out a strange, whispering voice:

Zhizhi… Zhizhi… Zhizhi…

Lin Kuo cursed under his breath.

Now he understood what “Material Story” meant.
Materialization + Storytelling Session.
They were the ones telling the stories, and the instance was materializing their tales.

As for the score—he hadn’t figured it out completely yet, but it wasn’t hard to guess.
Still, he had no time to think.

Whoosh.
He pushed the window open.

The pagoda tree had already grown to reach his window.
Its many branches formed a natural ladder—he could climb down.

Just then, he saw branches slam into Lin Zhi’s room—shattering glass, coiling inward.
He had one foot on the sill, ready to jump—
—and froze.

To face a monster in an instance head-on was like an egg hitting a rock.
Even if you shattered the egg, the rock would remain unharmed.
In the last instance, he’d managed to kill Zhang Sen only because he exploited a death code.

This instance was called Material Story, not Death Code.
But it wasn’t so different.
The “death code” had simply been a fatal weakness.
Maybe the same logic applied here.

He stared at the ancient pagoda tree forcing its way into Lin Zhi’s room.
Then turned and grabbed the box of matches from the coffee table.

The old man had provided everything—luxury rooms, fine desserts, refreshing water…
And, for guests who smoked, each room had premium cigarettes, a designer ashtray, and—fire.

Lin Kuo’s idea was simple.
Even if the tree had been materialized, it was still a tree.
And trees burn.

He dumped out the matches, divided them into two piles, and struck one.
A flame burst to life.
He tossed the burning matches onto the bed, then grabbed all the toilet paper he could find and threw it on top.

Fwoom.
The fire roared to life.

Without waiting for it to grow too large, Lin Kuo ripped off the burning bedsheet.
He strode to the window and hurled it outside.

The flaming cloth illuminated the night.
It looked small against the towering tree—but it worked.

The tree’s branch jerked back from the heat.

Seizing the moment, Lin Kuo climbed out the window and onto the tree.
He dropped from branch to branch, fourth floor to third to second—
—and crashed through Lin Zhi’s window.

“Lin Zhi!”

The room was scattered with rotten branches.
But no Lin Zhi.

Panic seized his chest.

Then—”Bro,” Lin Zhi’s weak voice came.
“I’m hiding under the bed. I’m fine.”

She started to crawl out.

“Don’t come out.”
He didn’t know if the tree would grow more aggressive if it saw her.
After all, this pagoda tree was born from her story.

Lin Zhi stayed put.
“Bro, you… you be careful. If you really can’t save me, then don’t. Our Lin family can’t be wiped out…”

“Shut your mouth.”

Lin Kuo wasted no time.
He tossed all the flammable things in Lin Zhi’s room—curtains, pillows, tissue, anything—into the fire outside.

From next door, he heard a window open.
Then something soft hit the ground nearby. A second later, he saw it—someone had tossed a bedsheet, but it hadn’t landed near the fire.

Jiang Sheng.

Lin Kuo still held a pillow in hand.
He aimed, and threw.

Thump.
The pillow bridged the gap, catching fire and igniting the material Jiang Sheng had tossed.

The fire surged.

A shrill, howling wind tore through the air—
a scream from the ancient pagoda tree.

Branches writhed and flailed.

The three of them had thrown out everything they could.
And finally, flames shot high, entangling the ancient tree.

The fire lit the entire night sky red.
The shriek from the tree became more and more piercing—until, finally, it faded.
And the fire devoured it.

Lin Zhi’s room had no window now.
Worried the fire would spread inside, Lin Kuo led her to Jiang Sheng’s room.

It was safer there.

Lin Zhi crawled out from under the bed, hair a mess, tear-streaked and pale.
There were faint red ligature marks around her neck.

Lin Kuo looked at her and felt a jolt in his chest.
If he’d been just a little later…

But he didn’t say anything.
He didn’t let it show.

“Let’s go.”

“Okay.”

They walked down the hall to room 4 on the second floor.

“Who is it?” Jiang Sheng called nervously from inside.

Lin Zhi: “Squeak squeak squeak.“

Lin Kuo was both angry and amused.
He heard footsteps—thump thump thump—and then the door opened.

He stepped forward, ready to speak—
—but froze.

Lin Zhi, still shaken, didn’t notice anything wrong.
She walked in casually, calling, “Lin Kuo? Bro?”

But Lin Kuo’s face had turned ashen.

Sweat poured from his forehead.
His lips had gone pale.
His chest rose and fell rapidly from the earlier exertion, but this was more than fatigue.

Jiang Sheng looked at him uneasily.
“Brother Lin Kuo? What’s wrong?”

It took Lin Kuo a long time to respond.
Then, slowly, he stepped inside and locked the door behind him.

In Jiang Sheng’s room, the window was already closed.
The fire outside was roasting the night sky, and the villa’s glass windows blocked the flames that tried to rush in.

Lin Kuo pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Give me a glass of water.”

He was exhausted.

Lin Zhi went to pour the water.
Lin Kuo gulped it down and finally felt a little better. He put down the glass, frowned, and… thanks to Zhang Mengnan, he didn’t know how to normally explain the known clues to the two of them.

He opened his mouth, but not a single syllable came out.
In the end, he had to give up.

Since Lin Zhi and Jiang Sheng had entered the Walled City, they also needed to train their thinking skills.

With this in mind, Lin Kuo took a light breath and said,
“Say whatever you think of.”

Lin Zhi said, “The story I told became real. Damn it!”

Lin Kuo looked at Jiang Sheng. “What about you?”

Jiang Sheng thought for a moment. “I think the same as Sister Zhizhi.”

Lin Kuo said, “Okay. Do you remember the other story?”

It was unclear whether it was Lin Zhi or Jiang Sheng who answered,
“I remember. The story of Miss No. 12 was about a mother with postpartum depression who mistook her own daughter for her husband’s sister.”

The room fell silent.
They had all thought of something.
A strange atmosphere slowly spread.

No one spoke, but they could all hear each other’s nervous breathing.

In the end, it was Lin Kuo who broke the silence.
He pointed at himself.
“Who am I?”

“Lin Kuo.”
“Brother Lin Kuo.”

He pointed at Lin Zhi. “What about her?”

“That’s me.”
“Sister Zhizhi.”

Finally, he pointed at Jiang Sheng. “And him?”

“Little brat.”
“I’m Jiang Sheng.”

“Mmm.”
Lin Kuo said, “But I can’t tell them apart.”

Lin Zhi felt her scalp tingle.
Her brother never joked.
Whatever came out of Lin Kuo’s mouth—no matter how shocking—was the truth.

Jiang Sheng didn’t quite understand.
“Brother Lin Kuo, I… I don’t really get it.”

Lin Kuo said,
“What I’m seeing right now are two ‘Lin Zhis’.”

Jiang Sheng trembled.
Lin Zhi wanted to curse but held back.
“Bro, so the story of No. 12 has also come true, right? But neither Jiang Sheng nor I have been affected. Only you have. Why? Is it related to your room?”

Lin Kuo was silent for a moment.
“I don’t know.”
Afraid of discouraging her, he added, “Perhaps.”

Only two people had told stories today—Lin Zhi and Zhang Mengnan.
Lin Zhi’s story about the ancient pagoda tree becoming a godfather had manifested and attacked her.
But the story of postpartum depression and schizophrenia was told by Zhang Mengnan—yet it was Lin Kuo who was affected.

So the logic that materializations attacked the storyteller didn’t hold.

But Lin Kuo also didn’t know why.
This was only the first night of the instance, and the clues he had were pitifully few.

“The room… ah, could it be related to the score and the number?”

“I don’t think so. I really can’t think of any connection between materialization and the score or number.”

Lin Kuo pursed his lips and said nothing.
If Lin Zhi and Jiang Sheng hadn’t added ‘bro’, ‘Brother Lin Kuo’, or their usual verbal tics when speaking, he wouldn’t even have been able to tell who said what.

In his eyes, the two ‘Lin Zhis’ were still discussing.

“But ’12’, ’13’, ‘1’ are connected, like a circle.”

“You have a point. Ah, I know! Could it be because we burned the ancient pagoda tree outside, so the next materialization will directly affect—”

Lin Kuo’s memory drifted back to Death Code.
When Lin Zhi’s emotions were stimulated, she became like Venom.
At this moment, the two ‘Lin Zhis’ were giving him a headache.

“That can’t be said.”
Lin Kuo endured the discomfort in his body and interrupted,
“The ancient pagoda tree was materialized, and the depression and schizophrenia were materialized. It’s impossible to tell which came first. At that time, I was alone in the room. I can’t be sure if I was affected then. And when I rushed to Lin Zhi’s room… let’s not talk about her hiding under the bed—even if she’d been in front of me, I couldn’t be sure either, because…”

Lin Kuo enunciated each word:
“There were only me and Lin Zhi in the room. No third person to verify.
Besides, Jiang Sheng added fuel, but he wasn’t affected.”

Lin Kuo concluded,
“There’s no punishment for destroying the materialized monster. I was affected for another reason.”

What that reason was, he couldn’t say.
The deduction method he used in Death Code was useless here.
No matter how he thought about it, it led to a paradox.

For example, the most pressing issue—
Why did two Lin Zhis appear before his eyes?

The only possibilities he could think of were:

1. His number (13) came after Zhang Mengnan’s (12).
   But then why did the ancient pagoda tree in Lin Zhi’s story only attack her, and not the one who rolled number 2?
2. He destroyed the ancient pagoda tree, so this was a backlash.
   But Jiang Sheng remained unaffected—again, a paradox.
3. It was related to his room.
   Lin Kuo had visited three rooms tonight: his, Lin Zhi’s, and Jiang Sheng’s.
   They were identical in furnishing—as if copied.
   The only difference was the number on the door.
   But that brought him back to possibility 1.
4. Zhang Mengnan was playing tricks.
   But if she had that ability, there’d be no need to give Lin Zhi’s story a ‘5’.

Lin Zhi’s voice tightened.
“Bro, you’re in danger now.”

The two siblings shared the same surname—Lin.
Their personalities were different, but their family genes meant they wouldn’t be too far apart in intelligence.

Lin Zhi said,
“Since the story of No. 12 has been materialized, I think you must be seeing everyone as me now. And they all have ‘selfish’ written on their faces.
The instance rule is that the top three get rewards, so the rest will be punished, right?
Is the punishment death?
If that’s true, they might do something for ranking.
And if they realize you can’t tell who’s who—
That’s very dangerous!”

Lin Kuo had already thought of that.
He knew how dangerous his current situation was.

Lin Zhi thought for a moment.
“How about I make some kind of mark on myself, so you can tell which is the real me and which is Jiang Sheng?”

Lin Kuo asked,
“Did the ancient pagoda tree strangle you?”

Lin Zhi nodded.
She was nearly strangled to death!

Lin Kuo:
“I can see your ligature marks.”

Lin Zhi lit up. “Isn’t that great?”
Saying this, she clasped her hands around her neck, trying to make the ligature marks more obvious.

Lin Kuo shook his head.
“Jiang Sheng has them too.”

Not only that—
Now, the two ‘Lin Zhis’ in his vision were exactly the same, in height and clothing.

He said,
“Don’t hurt yourself.”

Lin Zhi hadn’t expected the situation to be worse than she imagined.
She cursed under her breath and released her grip, frustration bubbling over.

“Damn, damn, damn, I’m useless!”

Lin Kuo frowned and looked at her.
“I have a way.”

The eyes of both ‘Lin Zhis’ lit up.

Lin Kuo said,
“When you speak, add your personal traits. I’ll distinguish you by your language.”

This was a last resort.
Although it sounded good, it was too difficult to implement.
If the verbal tic was too obvious, it might arouse others’ suspicion.
If it was too subtle, others might accidentally imitate it.

Lin Zhi said, “How about I add a ‘damn’ at the end of every sentence? Damn.”

Lin Kuo: “…”

Lin Zhi saw her brother’s expression and knew what he was thinking.
“I’m already in the Walled City. Am I still afraid of not being able to get married? Damn.“

Lin Kuo: “…Mmm.”

Jiang Sheng’s brain wasn’t fully developed yet, but that didn’t stop him from thinking Lin Kuo’s idea was a good one.
He also thought for a moment, then said,
“Brother Lin Kuo, how about I add an ‘Mmm’ at the beginning of every sentence?”

Lin Kuo: “Alright then.”

This matter was finally, temporarily, resolved.
The ancient pagoda tree outside was still burning, and Lin Kuo was still affected by Zhang Mengnan’s story.
So that night, the two siblings stayed in Jiang Sheng’s room.

There was only one bed.
No sheets, no covers, no pillows—just a mattress.
Lin Zhi and Jiang Sheng slept on the bed, while Lin Kuo took the sofa.

Because of the verbal tic rule, Lin Kuo’s ears were constantly filled with “damn” and “Mmm”.
He lay there listening, but his thoughts drifted.

If something happened to Lin Zhi… how would I explain it to Mom and Dad?

The mere thought of it made his heart sink.
Palpitations followed, and an inexplicable sadness and heaviness shrouded him.

This was only the first night of Material Story.
Only two of the thirteen people had told stories so far.

Lin Kuo didn’t know what horrors the remaining eleven would bring.
The more he thought, the more terrified he became.
A voice even crept into his heart—
It’s better to just die like this.

Even if the Main God System’s punishment was worse, it couldn’t compare to watching Lin Zhi suffer or die.

His mind grew emptier by the second.
Time seemed to freeze.
The voice urging him to die grew louder and louder—

Lin Kuo suddenly sat up.
He gasped for air, his face pale as paper.

He knew.
It was the depressive emotion from the materialized Mother’s Post story.
It was acting up.

The suffocating heaviness pressed on him.
He couldn’t breathe.

His sudden movement startled Lin Zhi.
She sat up, eyes wide. “Bro?”

Lin Kuo shook his head.
He wanted to say he was okay, to reassure her—but the words caught in his throat.

Lin Zhi seemed to guess what was happening.
“Bro, distract yourself.”

After a long while, Lin Kuo finally let out a low Mmm.
He lay down again but took out his phone.

He remembered.
He’d promised Ah Wen he would make him his room manager.
The time requirement had already been met—he just hadn’t had a chance to act on it.

He opened his phone and, sure enough, there was a system prompt.
Many people had competed for the position again.

Lin Kuo scrolled through the list of names until he found the three familiar characters: Sweet as the Wind.
He clicked [Confirm].

He didn’t know if Ah Wen was asleep.
He wanted to message him, to say he’d kept his promise…
But he didn’t want to wake him either.

Just as he hesitated, his phone vibrated:

[Sweet as the Wind]: What are you thinking about?

Ah Wen was watching the stream.

Lin Kuo’s mind was blank at the moment, so he replied honestly:

[Lin Kuo]: You.

He didn’t think anything of it.
He really was thinking about Ah Wen.

But Ah Wen didn’t reply.

Lin Kuo stared at the screen, confused.
His thoughts were too sluggish to notice anything strange.

Sheng Wen had noticed.
From the livestream, he could tell that Lin Kuo was suffering from the effects of the materialization.

He typed:

[Sweet as the Wind]: Shall I sing for you, big brother?
[Lin Kuo]: Okay.

Sheng Wen smiled, bittersweet.
Lin Kuo like this was… painfully cute.

But knowing Lin Kuo might be slipping into depression made Sheng Wen feel sick.
He wanted to send Lin Kuo a recovery item—
But he was afraid Lin Kuo would rush into the fourth instance without rest just to pay him back in points.

Sheng Wen was confident in Lin Kuo.
A two-star instance was nothing to him.

Knowing his little streamer was too dazed to pick a song, Sheng Wen didn’t ask.
He chose one he liked and began to sing—seriously, softly, sincerely:

“The fog in the sky comes without warning, the river is as quiet as an oil painting… you are the celebration, you are the sunny day…”¹

He had been in the Walled City too long.
Before he was dragged into this place, this song had been wildly popular.

Sheng Wen didn’t even remember the name.
He just liked the tune.
He couldn’t remember all the lyrics either, so he improvised and pieced it together.

When he finished, he noticed a faint expression return to Lin Kuo’s face.
Relieved, Sheng Wen sent a soft voice message:

“Does it sound good, big brother?”

Lin Kuo was silent for a while.
Then he said, “I’ll teach you how to draw later.”

Sheng Wen: “…”

Lin Kuo added, “I need to use the toilet.”

Sheng Wen: “…”

Very helplessly, Sheng Wen turned off the stream.
Then, with petty and narrow-minded satisfaction, he banned a few bullet comments that had mocked him.

After about five minutes, he messaged:

[Sweet as the Wind]: Big brother.
[Lin Kuo]: Mmm.
[Sweet as the Wind]: Are you done?
[Lin Kuo]: Mmm.
[Sweet as the Wind]: Then I’ll restore the livestream?
[Lin Kuo]: Mmm.

Sheng Wen looked at the string of Mmms.
He wasn’t sure how much of an impact the depression had on Lin Kuo.

After some thought, he tentatively sent a message:
[Sweet as the Wind]: Online date?

Lin Kuo didn’t reply.
Sheng Wen was slightly relieved.
It seemed that although Lin Kuo’s thinking was slow, he hadn’t lost his reason.

Just as he was thinking this, Lin Kuo’s message came in.

[Lin Kuo]: “Mmm”

Sheng Wen’s heart skipped a beat.
He couldn’t help but worry.

[Lin Kuo]: There are double quotes.
[Sweet as the Wind]: ?
[Lin Kuo]: Double quotes represent emphasis.

—”Mmm”

Sheng Wen’s mouth went dry.
He had no idea Lin Kuo could be so flirty.
His heart thumped violently, like it had been hit by a bullet called love.

He took a deep breath and typed:

[Sweet as the Wind]: “Online date?”
[Lin Kuo]: “Mmm”

—”Online date?”
—”Mmm”

It’s over, Sheng Wen thought.
I’m going crazy.

The next day, Lin Kuo was woken up by a knock on the door.
It was the old man’s personal wake-up service, reminding the guests that breakfast was ready.

Lin Kuo was still sleepy.
He wasn’t someone who liked to sleep in.
The reason he couldn’t wake up wasn’t entirely due to depression—
A small part of it was because he’d stayed up chatting with Ah Wen too late the night before.

Actually, it was mostly Ah Wen sending messages.
Lin Kuo had just replied with one word at a time.
Ah Wen had told him his real name was Sheng Wen.

Lin Kuo thought, What a nice name.

He also learned that Sheng Wen was 24, only two years older than him—
But Sheng Wen had already lived in the Walled City for ten years.

Sheng Wen had also said he was looking forward to learning how to draw from Lin Kuo.

Thinking of this, Lin Kuo’s mood improved.
His sluggish thinking from the night before had mostly recovered.
He sent a [Good morning] to Sheng Wen and then put away his phone.

Lin Zhi opened the door and asked the old man for two sets of toiletries.
The old man saw that there were three people in the room but didn’t say anything—
He still smiled and prepared them for Lin Kuo and Lin Zhi.

The three of them took turns washing up.
After Lin Zhi was done, she followed behind Lin Kuo and asked:

“Bro, do you see the NPC as me too?”

Lin Kuo nodded.
Although the depression had faded a lot, he still saw others as Lin Zhi.

Lin Zhi and Jiang Sheng now had a bottom line.

After the three of them finished tidying up, they went to the villa’s dining room.
They were the last to arrive, and everyone’s gaze toward them was… complicated.

They had all seen the wildly growing ancient pagoda tree last night,
But they hadn’t expected Lin Zhi to still be alive.

Lin Kuo’s fingertips tingled.
Everyone around him looked the same.
Anyone would feel a chill down their spine in his place.

Lin Kuo felt even more pressure.
These thirteen ‘Lin Zhis’ were all silently telling him—
If you take one wrong step, the consequences will be unimaginable.

Lin Zhi walked at the front, followed by Lin Kuo, and Jiang Sheng at the rear.
After the three of them were seated in the dining room, the old man served the guests.

During the meal, he stood off to the side, smiling as he watched them.

After everyone had eaten, the old man said:

“It’s a new day. I wish you all a happy time. Oh right, you can all go to the living room to check your scores when you have time.”

Everyone looked at each other.

Only Lin Zhi and Zhang Mengnan had told stories yesterday.
Why did the NPC say everyone’s scores were out?

They all dropped their chopsticks and headed to the living room.

Lin Zhi looked at Lin Kuo.
“Bro, are we going too? Damn.”
Although only the three of them were left in the dining room, Lin Zhi—
To avoid forgetting this characteristic—
Started familiarizing herself with it in advance.

Lin Kuo said, “Let’s go take a look.”

If nothing unexpected happened, this score would provide clues.

The three of them arrived at the living room.
The furnishings hadn’t changed, but there was now an electronic display screen on the wall.

Lin Kuo saw more than a dozen ‘Lin Zhis’ gathered under it, their expressions odd.
So he looked up at the screen.

The display was large, showing everyone’s names and numbers.
Lin Kuo first saw Lin Zhi’s score:

Name: Lin Zhi
Number: [1]
Duration Score: 0
Number Score: 0
Story Score: 15
Total Score: 15
Ranking: 2

Lin Kuo frowned.
There were a lot of 0s on the screen.
Only three people had scores: one Lin Zhi, one Zhang Mengnan, and himself.

Name: Zhang Mengnan
Number: [12]
Duration Score: 9
Number Score: 0
Story Score: 15
Total Score: 24
Ranking: 1

Name: Lin Kuo
Number: [13]
Duration Score: 3
Number Score: 0
Story Score: 0
Total Score: 3
Ranking: 3

Someone asked the old man, “What do ‘duration score,’ ‘number score,’ and ‘story score’ mean?”

The old man replied with a smile,
“The scores for duration, number, and story. Guest, do I still need to explain the total score and ranking to you?”

That person’s face immediately darkened.

What was the difference between asking and not asking?
They could read!

The old man raised his voice.
“If any guests have questions, you may ask me. I will answer them one by one.”

Knowing it would be pointless, no one said a word.

Seeing that no one responded, the old man simply said, “I wish you all a happy day today,” and left the living room with his cat in tow.

Lin Zhi, thinking Jiang Sheng couldn’t read, glanced at the display and read his score aloud.
“All items are 0. Ranked 4th.”

Jiang Sheng didn’t react much.
“Mmm… oh.”

His score was the same as everyone else’s: ranked 4th.
And the instance rule required being in the top three.
Being fourth… was bad news no matter how you looked at it.

The others—their hostility—was now aimed squarely at Zhang Mengnan and Lin Kuo.

Everyone knew Zhang Mengnan’s story score was just ‘15’ yesterday, but this morning, it had suddenly risen by 9 points.
No one knew what she had done.

And then there was Lin Kuo—who hadn’t even told a story—yet already had ‘3’ points.
He was in a group of three.
That alone made it easier for him to rack up a high score.

Zhang Mengnan had been playing the newbie act all this time.
Now that 矛头 were pointing her way, she immediately resorted to crying to deflect.
When the others realized they wouldn’t get anything useful out of her, they turned to Lin Kuo instead—accompanied by curses under their breath.

Lin Kuo couldn’t be bothered.
He focused on the scores on the display screen.

To be honest, he had no idea why he had gotten ‘3’ points for the duration score.
Anyone else might have been pleased, but Lin Kuo wasn’t.

Their group of three was already under suspicion.
Now that Lin Zhi was ranked second, and he was ranked third, they had clearly become everyone’s primary threat.
And that number score on the display only deepened Lin Kuo’s unease.

If this instance was just about rules, then the participants would merely need to strategize ways to boost each other’s scores.
But with the addition of a “number score,” the situation became far more ambiguous.

Lin Kuo even wondered: Was the number score subtly hinting that killing participants was allowed?

If he could think of that, others certainly could too.

He glanced around.

蠢蠢欲动.
They were itching to move.

The Walled City usually restricted killing among teammates.
But they were all clearly waiting—waiting for someone to make the first move.
The moment someone crossed that line and the rules didn’t stop them, this place would erupt into a massacre.

Aside from their trio, everyone else was solo.

Lin Kuo put himself in their shoes.
If he were acting alone and this instance allowed killing, the smartest thing would be to unite with the other solo players and take out the group first.
After all, a group of three was the biggest threat here.

Lin Zhi seemed to have thought of the same thing.
She gently tugged on Lin Kuo’s sleeve, signaling him to hold back for now.

Lin Kuo looked at the other ‘Lin Zhis’ and asked,
“What do you want to know?”

“What did you do last night?”
“How did you get your duration score?”

All questions Lin Kuo couldn’t answer.

“I don’t know,” he replied.

Naturally, few believed him.

He watched their mouths move as they asked, accused, speculated.
Headache.
That suffocating feeling of depression pressed on his chest again.

Irritated, Lin Kuo snapped,
“If I actually knew what was going on, would I have only given myself ‘3’ points, drawn attention to myself, become everyone’s target, and handed No. 12 ‘9’ points?”

That finally shut them up.

Just then, someone spoke.
“I have a few discoveries.”

The room immediately grew tense with interest.
Even Lin Kuo turned to look.

Lin Zhi whispered next to him,
“Number 8. It’s a man.”

Lin Kuo’s irritation didn’t ease.
His brow remained tightly furrowed.

Number 8 said calmly, “Everyone remembers the story told by No. 1, right? Last night, the ancient pagoda tree from their story appeared in real life. That matches the instance’s title. I think all the stories we tell will eventually materialize. Everyone here has some experience with instances, so I won’t explain what ‘materialize’ means.”

He paused deliberately.

“When the ancient pagoda tree appeared, it was 12 AM. And the time when No. 13 set it on fire was 3 AM. That means the tree existed for exactly 3 hours. When the NPC announced the scores just now, I looked at the time. It was 9 AM. That means the thing materialized by No. 12 has been around for 9 hours.”

Lin Kuo pressed his lips into a tight line.
He’d been too worried about Lin Zhi last night and hadn’t paid attention to the time—so he’d missed that clue.

Number 8 continued,
“I have a theory. The stories we tell become real, and their existence time determines the ‘duration score’ shown on the display. As for why No. 13 got ‘3’ points, and No. 12 got ‘9’ points—I have another theory.”

“The longer the materialized thing exists, the higher the score. But—if someone else destroys it, the time it existed before destruction is counted as their score.”

Suddenly, everything made sense.

Number 8 added, “Of course, that’s just my personal theory. If anyone else has other ideas, feel free to share.”

But no one did.

Nothing else explained it better than his theory.

Then, someone else spoke up.
Rubbing his chin, he said thoughtfully,
“If the stories really are materialized, then we all saw the ancient pagoda tree from No. 1’s story. But we haven’t seen anything from No. 12’s story. It still earned 9 hours’ worth of duration. So… where is it hiding?”

Zhang Mengnan immediately retorted, “I don’t know! I didn’t hide it. Everyone saw last night that the ancient pagoda tree attacked the storyteller—it’s impossible the thing I materialized would be kind enough to let me go!”

Her defense wasn’t unreasonable.

Number 8 said calmly, “No one said you hid the thing from your story. Don’t get agitated.”

Zhang Mengnan fell silent.

The group began discussing where her materialized object might be.

Then, Number 8 raised his hand. “Has anyone noticed—No. 1’s story didn’t actually focus on the ancient pagoda tree?”

As he said this, his gaze briefly landed on Lin Zhi.

“Miss No. 1 just wanted to share a personal experience. In her story, the real main character is the water ghost in the artificial lake. But what the instance chose to materialize was the ancient pagoda tree. Why?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

“Because the tree is the most powerful presence in her story. It’s strong enough to suppress even a restless water ghost. So—if we apply this same rule to No. 12’s story…” His tone grew serious. “Yes, the mother might have had the most screen time. But she’s not the strongest element. The truly terrifying things in that story were—depression and schizophrenia.”

At that moment, many people began to understand.

Someone said, “So what materialized from No. 12’s story… is depression and schizophrenia?”

Number 8 nodded, eyes falling on Zhang Mengnan, his gaze now filled with something complex.

“If I’m not wrong, it should be. And I think one of us here already has a psychological problem. Just like the character in the story… someone who can’t tell who’s who anymore. Isn’t that right, No. 12?”

Zhang Mengnan picked up on the implication instantly and shook her head frantically.
“I don’t have it!”

She was no rookie.
A veteran survivor of multiple instances, she knew that denying things wouldn’t convince anyone. So she added firmly, “I can prove it.”

She began pointing at people, listing them off confidently:

“Number 1—female, around 1.7 meters tall, about 18 years old.”

No one interrupted. Everyone watched her self-verification quietly.

“Number 13—male, 1.82 meters, very thin.”

As soon as she pointed at him, Lin Kuo’s chest tightened.
His breathing hitched.
His palms were suddenly damp with sweat.

Sensing his reaction, Lin Zhi quickly stepped in.

She wasn’t as tall as Lin Kuo, but she picked up Jiang Sheng, and the two of them worked together to physically block Lin Kuo from view.

To divert attention, Lin Zhi pointed at Jiang Sheng and asked in a deliberately suspicious tone,
“What about him?”

“Number 4!” Zhang Mengnan answered quickly. “I remember clearly. He’s the only child among the thirteen of us.”

Lin Zhi nodded. “Mmm.”

Zhang Mengnan continued:

“Number 2—male, a newbie.
Number 3—male, also a newbie.”

Then she turned toward Number 8.

“You, Number 8. Your name is Yan Jie. You’re ranked first on the Lower B District leaderboard. You have more than enough points to enter Upper B, but you’ve chosen not to. You’re that Yan Jie!”

At this point, Zhang Mengnan no longer pretended to be a clueless newbie.
To prove her thinking wasn’t muddled by depression, she struck back with sharp clarity:

“I think the reason you don’t want to enter the Upper District is simple—you’re a bridge between Lower B and Upper. Residents of Lower B use you to connect with the Upper District—for livestreams, item donations, support.
You entered this instance to bring Number 7 in, didn’t you?”

She turned toward Number 7.
“Do I need to keep proving myself?”

Number 7 looked slightly embarrassed.

Yan Jie, however, remained calm.
“No need to look at me like that. If I wanted to harm anyone, I wouldn’t have shared my discoveries. I am helping Number 7 through this instance, yes—but we haven’t even formed a group yet. And according to the rules, the storyteller can’t score themselves. I’m just one person—I can only give Number 7 a ‘5’ at most.
But…”

He casually shifted the spotlight.
His gaze landed on Lin Kuo’s group of three.

“I did notice one of the three of them acting strange. When No. 12 was proving herself, he looked really scared. Why is that? Could it be he’s the one with the psychological problem?”

Whoosh—

Multiple gazes locked onto Lin Kuo’s trio.

Lin Kuo’s mind buzzed in panic.
He hated this.
Hated those eyes that looked at him like he was some kind of monster.

Yan Jie hadn’t accused him directly.
And since Lin Zhi had remained calm earlier, most ruled her out.
Their eyes now darted between Jiang Sheng… and Lin Kuo.

Yan Jie turned his eyes on him.

“Number 13. Do you want to prove you’re fine?”

He emphasized the word want.
No one was being forced.
Zhang Mengnan had chosen to prove herself of her own accord—to defuse suspicion and protect herself.
Everyone knew now: if materialized objects could be destroyed for duration points, then being targeted was dangerous.

Lin Kuo understood this clearly.

He had too few clues.
Eleven people still hadn’t told their stories.
This instance already made his head ache.

If anyone targeted him now, he wouldn’t be able to defend himself—not with his mental state.

He wasn’t scared of something happening to him.
What he feared… was what might happen to Lin Zhi and Jiang Sheng if he was gone.
And Sheng Wen… he hadn’t even met Sheng Wen yet.
He thought, With such a nice-sounding name, Sheng Wen must be really handsome too.

“I…”

Lin Kuo opened his mouth.
He tried to sound calm, but his voice trembled.

“I don’t have a problem. How do you want me to prove it?”

Yan Jie replied,

“Then let’s do it the same way No. 12 did.”