Chapter 38: Third Place Cutoff — 54

The moment the old man finished speaking, the faces of the four who had given Jiang Sheng negative scores turned deathly pale.
They didn’t even have the presence of mind to curse Yan Jie, who had dragged them into this, and stood frozen in place as if struck by lightning.

Yan Jie’s smug expression also stiffened.

It wasn’t because he had just gotten four people killed—one of whom had even been his client.

It was because his team, including himself, had originally had seven members: No. 5, No. 6, No. 7, No. 9, No. 10, and No. 11.
Now, No. 5 had died at Sadako’s hands, No. 6 had defected, and the remaining four had been wiped out in an instant, leaving only him.

How could such a sudden reversal in fortune possibly bring Yan Jie any joy?

Only then did No. 7 seem to register Yan Jie’s existence.
He stiffly turned his head to look at him, then back at the display where the words “Soon to be eliminated” had appeared next to his name.
He turned his gaze back, dazed. “Jie-ge, I got a negative score? I’m about to die… I… I don’t want to die… Save me.”

“I…” Yan Jie started, but before he could finish, he saw No. 7’s skin slowly begin to melt.

Terrified, he staggered backward and bumped into someone behind him.

That person grabbed his arm. “Yan Jie, what’s going on? Am I dying? It hurts so much—it hurts!”

Yan Jie turned around in shock.

Behind him, No. 9 was also melting—just like No. 7.
The two of them chanted Yan Jie’s name, begging him to save them.

Yan Jie stood dumbstruck, watching as the four melted into pools of blood before vanishing entirely.

Their cries ceased the moment their bodies disappeared.

Lin Kuo furrowed his brow.
It was a deeply unpleasant sight. In his vision, it wasn’t just any players melting—it was four “Lin Zhis.”

Lin Zhi tugged on his sleeve. “Ge, don’t look.”

Lin Kuo looked away.

He felt only disgust—nothing more.
Lin Zhi, still rattled with lingering fear, helped cover Jiang Sheng’s eyes and turned to her brother. “Ge, that scared me to death. If…”

She didn’t finish the thought: If Zhang Mengnan and No. 6 hadn’t also given Jiang Sheng a score of 5, Jiang Sheng would have been the one to die.

Instead, she asked, “Ge, how did you know that negative scores meant death? No wonder you were so calm.”

Lin Kuo froze for a second.
He had only just discovered that negative scores led to elimination.

But what Lin Zhi said wasn’t wrong.

When he had learned that Jiang Sheng received four negative scores, he really hadn’t felt anxious.

Aside from his disgust toward those people, it was like… he had known Jiang Sheng wouldn’t die. That was why he’d even had the presence of mind to comfort Lin Zhi at the time.

Why?

The realization sent a chill through Lin Kuo.

While he was lost in thought, the old man recomposed his expression and smiled once more.
Unfortunately, no matter how kind and amiable his smile now appeared, his previous sinister grin was burned into everyone’s minds—impossible to forget.

The old man glanced at the clock and said cheerfully, “There’s still one hour left in the story session. So—who will be our second storyteller?”

Only Lin Kuo, Lin Zhi, Jiang Sheng, Zhang Mengnan, Yan Jie, and No. 6 remained.

Among them, only Lin Kuo and No. 6 had yet to tell a story.

From what the participants understood, once everyone had told their story, scoring would end.
Originally, they had more time to farm duration points, but the sudden elimination of four people today had shortened the timeline significantly.

As of now,
First place, Zhang Mengnan, total score: 87.
Second place, Lin Zhi, total score: 61.
Third place, Yan Jie, total score: 30.
Fourth place, Lin Kuo, total score: 3.
Fifth place was a tie between Jiang Sheng and No. 6, with a total score of 0.

If Jiang Sheng hadn’t already told his story, catching up to Yan Jie would have been relatively easy.
But now…

When no one volunteered, the old man simply smiled and waited patiently for either Lin Kuo or No. 6 to step up.

Lin Kuo pursed his lips, thinking:
As long as one person tells a story, the old man won’t force anyone else to continue.

That meant he couldn’t tell his story today.
Not yet—not until he and Jiang Sheng had accumulated more duration points through materialization.

Lin Zhi had reached the same conclusion and anxiously tugged on his sleeve.

Their scores were far too low.
To catch up to Yan Jie, the best course of action was to stall—no more stories today.
They could wait until Sunday or Monday, giving them time to accumulate enough points.

Zhang Mengnan gave No. 6 a look.

He raised his hand. “I’ll tell a story.”

The old man beamed. “Excellent. We look forward to your tale.”

Lin Zhi’s face darkened. She shot a glare at No. 6 and Zhang Mengnan.

Zhang Mengnan leaned over to the Lin siblings and whispered, “Dalao, if No. 6’s story is self-imagined, and No. 7 is already dead, then the person attacked tonight will be No. 8. If No. 8 dies, the 30-point threshold for third place disappears. No. 6 gets 10 points from population score, and if we all give him a ‘0’, the third-place cutoff becomes just 10. As long as we destroy his materialization in time, he won’t beat Yan Jie’s current score.”

Lin Zhi was stunned.

She hadn’t thought of that.

It had been a long time since Lin Kuo had heard someone call him Dalao.

He recalled the first instance.

They had gone through life and death together.
If it hadn’t been for Zhang Mengnan’s side, he wouldn’t have uncovered the entire instance’s secret on the villa’s third floor.

This was his first real conversation with Zhang Mengnan in this instance.
“Why would No. 6 go along with that?”

“To survive. Once he gets past tonight and kills Yan Jie, he secures third place.”

Lin Kuo gave a cold laugh. “Secure third place? On what grounds?”

Zhang Mengnan froze.

Lin Zhi’s face turned pale as she understood.

Lin Kuo sneered faintly. “He’s only secure if we can’t catch up.”

Everyone wanted to live.

Right now, they were like students who already knew the answers to a test.
But it was a language arts test. Even if you knew the content, no one could guarantee the grade—subjectivity still existed.

So, if No. 6 truly wanted to be safe, he would need a higher score.

He could tolerate Lin Kuo and Jiang Sheng catching up, but he absolutely wouldn’t allow them to surpass him.

They were allies only as long as their interests didn’t clash.

But once you became a threat to his score—could you expect someone who had already betrayed Yan Jie to remain loyal?

A pipe dream.

“You three guests.”

The old man looked at them, displeased. “No. 6 is telling a story. It’s rude to whisper.”

Warned, Zhang Mengnan returned to her seat.

She bowed her head slightly, a bit ashamed.

She fully understood Lin Kuo’s point.

She was willing to help Lin Kuo only because she was in first place, and his goal didn’t threaten her.
But if she were in third place? She would also worry.

The safest move was to raise her own score, making it harder for others to catch up.
Only then would she be truly secure.

Her face flushed with shame.

Lin Zhi wiped her red eyes. “Ge…”

Lin Kuo stopped her. “Listen to the story.”

She fell silent.

Lin Kuo turned his eyes to No. 6.

He pressed a hand to his chest.

Everyone still looked like “Lin Zhi” to him.
Zhang Mengnan’s duration score was still rising, which meant the depressive influence hadn’t faded.

The situation was growing tighter and more dangerous.

Logically, he should’ve felt anxious.

Even without the depression, he should have been worried.

But strangely, he felt calm—like he just knew neither he nor Jiang Sheng would die.

Something wasn’t right.

No. 6 began his story, pulling Lin Kuo from his thoughts.

“The story I want to tell is about a snake. It lives in the rainforest…”

As No. 6 spoke, a vivid picture formed in his mind:

A tropical rainforest. A massive python with plant-like camouflage.

No prey could escape it.

Once it wrapped its coils around you, death was certain—be it a crocodile or another large animal.

And then, the python would feast.
It would swallow its prey whole, a bulge forming along its body, which would slowly dissolve over days in powerful stomach acid…

The thought alone made No. 6 tremble.

He glanced at the Mirage—its third eye was watching him.

He exhaled in relief.

But then, a shiver ran through him.

At midnight, the Mirage would turn the python from imagination into reality.

“My story is finished.”

His face was grim.

So was everyone else’s—except Lin Kuo’s.

Yan Jie shouted and rushed over, throwing a punch at No. 6.

The blow snapped No. 6 out of his fear.

He looked at Yan Jie with cold hatred, the thrill of revenge glinting in his eyes. “Scared? You can tell The Ring, but I can’t tell Anaconda?”

Yan Jie spat in his face.

No. 6 wiped the spit, ready to retaliate, but paused.

Yan Jie would be dead soon.

Why waste the effort?

Instead, he turned to the old man. “My story is finished.”

Only then did the old man speak, brow furrowed.

“This is the most terrifying story I’ve ever heard. Against a python like that, we’d be helpless—it could swallow us whole in one bite. Terrifying…”

Snakes were a common fear, and giant pythons did exist.
Their realism only made the horror worse.

Everyone could picture a python like that.

The thought alone chilled their blood.

Lin Zhi shut her eyes.

Jiang Sheng shrank back—he was terrified of snakes.

The old man handed out the scoring sheets.

After the old man finished his commentary, he began to distribute the papers. “Alright, now let’s score No. 6’s story.”
Lin Kuo gave a ‘0’.
Lin Zhi gave a ‘0’.
Jiang Sheng, returning a favor, gave a ‘5’.
Zhang Mengnan held her pen for a long time without writing anything.

If Yan Jie dies, she thought, then I’m next—No. 12. I raised a tiger that may bite me.

Her heart hardened.

She owed Lin Kuo.

And it was her own fault for leaking what she had overheard.

So, after peeking at the scores of Lin Kuo’s group of three, she quickly wrote ‘-10’ on her scoring sheet.

After everyone submitted their scores, the old man collected them.
After tallying, his face darkened for the second time that day. “Why? Why would such a wonderful story still receive a negative score?!”

No. 6’s expression changed drastically.
He instinctively looked at Yan Jie, who also seemed surprised—then delighted.
He glanced at No. 6 as if looking at a dead man, and spoke with a malicious smile:
“Oh my, oh my. Looks like your story rubbed everyone the wrong way. What should we do about that? We’ve been through an instance together. After I get out, I’ll burn some incense for you during Qingming every year. No need to thank me—I’m actually a good person.”

No. 6 was stunned.
It wasn’t Yan Jie.
Right—how could it be Yan Jie?
Yan Jie only had 30 points. How could he possibly give a negative score with that?
Then who was it?!

No. 6’s gaze swept over everyone, finally landing on Zhang Mengnan.
And suddenly, he understood. “b*tch… slut…”
He lunged toward Zhang Mengnan, but Yan Jie stopped him.
Zhang Mengnan kept her head down, not daring to speak.
Yan Jie looked up. “Brother, hitting women is a bad habit. Don’t be so hasty. Aren’t there three people sitting over there? What if they gave you points? Then you’d be like this little kid here—and you wouldn’t have to die.”

No. 6 fell silent.
He looked toward Lin Kuo’s group of three.
Lin Kuo was staring coldly at him.
No. 6 instantly understood.

The story he’d prepared last night wasn’t the one about the anaconda that he just told.
He hadn’t expected Yan Jie to rally others to give Jiang Sheng negative scores, nearly wiping out Yan Jie’s team completely.
What should have been ten people had instantly become six. Of those six, only two hadn’t yet told a story.

No. 6 was an old hand—he knew time was tight.
How many points could he gain from duration alone?
But population points were worth ten times more, and the dead wouldn’t count toward the final ranking.

So, he changed the story.
And after finishing it, he knew Lin Kuo’s group would never give him points.
No. 6 figured he could do without story points.
The giant python could make up for it with population points.
The more people who died, the higher his rank would climb!

He also knew that next up was the first-place holder, Zhang Mengnan.
No. 6 slumped onto the sofa and withdrew his hopeful gaze.
With death imminent, he was no longer flustered.
He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

The old man announced, “Guest No. 6 has received three ‘0’s, one ‘5’, and one ‘-10’. The final score is ‘-5’. What a pity. Guest No. 6 is eliminated.”

No. 6 took a drag of his cigarette, feeling his body consumed by a burning heat.
As he melted, he glared viciously at Zhang Mengnan. “b*tch, I’ll be waiting for you in hell!”

Zhang Mengnan dared not utter a sound.
Just like the others, No. 6 melted into a pool of blood.
The fallen cigarette butt landed in the blood, and the red glow sizzled out.

The old man looked at the time. “There are still ten minutes left. It seems there isn’t enough time for another story. Let’s wait ten minutes, and then enjoy lunch.”

Lin Kuo pursed his lips and asked, “What if I want to tell a story?”

The old man smiled. “As long as you’re sure you can finish telling it and scoring before lunch is delayed.”

Lin Kuo thought for a moment. “Then I won’t tell it.”

The old man kept smiling. “Alright. Then we’ll wait ten minutes. After that, everyone can go to the dining room for lunch.”

The five people in the living room wore varied expressions.
Lin Zhi asked Lin Kuo, “Ge, are you hungry?”

Lin Kuo shook his head slightly.
Lin Zhi asked, “Then?”

Lin Kuo said, “We’ll talk later.”

Because five people had died, the last ten minutes of the story session were particularly hard to endure.
When the clock finally struck 12 PM, and the session ended, the survivors went to eat.

After lunch, Lin Kuo’s group of three returned to their room.
To avoid being overheard, they spoke in much lower voices.
Even for the three of them, it was a struggle to hear each other, let alone for anyone eavesdropping outside.

Lin Zhi asked in a small voice, “Ge, what do we do?”

The next story session would be on Sunday.
Each session required at least one story to be told.
After Lin Kuo told his story, everyone would have gone, and the scoring would stop.

But Lin Kuo and Jiang Sheng had too few points—
One had 3, the other 0.
Catching up to Yan Jie’s 30 seemed nearly impossible.

Lin Kuo shook his head. “I asked the NPC deliberately earlier.”

Lin Zhi and Jiang Sheng recalled the question.
Lin Kuo explained, “If my story being told meant the scoring stopped immediately, the NPC wouldn’t have said it would delay lunch. I think the last story can still be materialized, but that last materialization will have a time limit.”

Lin Zhi breathed a sigh of relief, then tensed again. “A time limit?”

“Yes,” Lin Kuo said. “The instance can’t go on forever. The deadline should be 10 AM the day after tomorrow.”

Lin Zhi asked, “Why?”

Lin Kuo asked, “Out of seven days in a week, why use Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday—four days—for story sessions?”

Lin Zhi and Jiang Sheng thought for a moment.
Jiang Sheng said, “Because 1, 3, 5, and 7 gives one more day than 2, 4, 6.”

Lin Kuo nodded. “Exactly. They’re spaced by a day, leaving time for materializations to farm duration points. If that were the only reason, the NPC could’ve just said sessions are every other day—but he didn’t. Sunday is immediately followed by Monday. So I think Monday is the deadline.”

Just like in Death’s Cipher, the rules didn’t specify a survival time.
If participants thought there was more time, and completed assembling the evil god, they’d be doomed.

Lin Zhi frowned. “The NPC lied to us. He clearly said every week!”

Lin Kuo replied earnestly, “I told you from the start: never fully trust what NPCs say.”

Lin Zhi was speechless.
It was the first time her brother had lectured her about trust, and for a moment, she felt wistful.

But the worry quickly returned.

“Ge, you’ll tell your story on Sunday. It won’t materialize until midnight, and ends at 10 AM Monday. So you’ll get 10 duration points at most. Even if I, Jiang Sheng, and Zhang Mengnan all give you 5 points, that’s only 25 total.”

Still 5 short of Yan Jie’s 30.
She did some quick math.

From midnight tonight to Monday, Jiang Sheng could earn a max of 58 duration points.
If they could control that number to stay at 30, fine. But what if they couldn’t?
Then the person in last place would be Jiang Sheng—with 58 points.

Worse, Jiang Sheng’s materialization sounded fragile, and it would attack Yan Jie.
Yan Jie was smart—he’d figure out its weakness.

Then there was the giant python from No. 6’s story.
Even though No. 6 was dead, no one knew if the python would materialize.
If it did, it could attack ≥2 people a night.
It might wipe them all out in one night.
They wouldn’t even be enough to fill the gaps between its teeth.

If it didn’t materialize, Jiang Sheng’s duration points could be wiped out by Yan Jie.
It was too risky.

Lin Zhi was like an ant on a hot pan.

Lin Kuo thought for a moment. “Tonight, we go to Room No. 5.”

They’d deal with the rest later.
First priority: ensuring Jiang Sheng’s materialization reached at least 30 duration points.

That night, they moved to Room 5 to block Jiang Sheng’s materialization from skipping the three empty rooms (5, 6, 7) and reaching Yan Jie in Room 8.

They waited in Room 5 until midnight.
At midnight, they fell silent.

A ball of white mist appeared on the table.
Slowly, it condensed into three test papers.

Lin Zhi picked one up.
On it were words written in blood-red:

[Death if the test is not completed by dawn. Death if the score is less than a perfect 100.]

 “…”

 “…”

Jiang Sheng looked a bit embarrassed.
Scratching his head, he explained the weakness of the materialization:
“It’s probably tearing the test paper.”

“…”

I expected that. Still speechless.

Then came something even more speechless.

Lin Zhi gasped. “Ge! These questions are so hard!”

Lin Kuo took one and scanned it. All math. No higher than fifth grade.
His face darkened. “What part is hard?”

Lin Zhi pointed:
1. Two pipes fill a pool—15 tons/hr and 11 tons/hr. After 5 hours, the pool is full. How many tons is the pool?

2. A truck takes 8 hrs A→B. A bus takes 6 hrs B→A. Truck starts 2 hrs early. They meet 30km from the midpoint. What’s the distance?
3. Build a pigpen against a wall. Total wood: 9 meters. How to build it for max area?

Lin Zhi said, “I think I’m going to die.”

“I’ll deal with you later.”

“Wuwuwu.”

Lin Kuo looked out the window.
The trees outside swayed violently in the wind.
His heart sank. The giant python had probably been materialized.
But no time to deal with it now.

He turned back. “Dawn is at 6:30 AM. Don’t finish early. Wrap up at 6:28.”

Jiang Sheng nodded. “Got it, Lin Kuo-ge.”

Lin Kuo eyed Lin Zhi. “Six and a half hours. You still can’t finish?”

“…”

Even with 600 hours, she couldn’t.
Luckily, the tests were identical—and copying wasn’t forbidden.

Lin Kuo relented. “Jiang Sheng, write first. I’ll check it. Then she can copy.”

“Gege is the best.”

Jiang Sheng started.
While waiting, Lin Kuo took out his phone.

The live stream’s bullet comments flooded the screen:

[Big brother-in-law, be nice to my future wife!]
[Big brother-in-law, don’t be mean to Zhizhi.]
[How much is the bride price for our Zhizhi?]

???

He looked at Lin Zhi.
She was focused on Jiang Sheng: “You know all the answers?”

“Yeah.”

“So amazing. Are you a top student?”

Jiang Sheng thought. “Zhizhi-jie, all the students in my class can do them.”

“Just keep writing. Pretend I never asked.”

“…”

His Weixun chimed.

[Sweet as the Wind]: Your little sister-in-law is so cute.
[Sweet as the Wind]: But in my heart, my boyfriend is the cutest.

Lin Kuo’s ears turned red.
[Lin Kuo]: Thanks.
[Lin Kuo]: You too.

Since Jiang Sheng was cautious, he worked slowly.
When he finished each scratch answer, Lin Kuo would check it and copy it.
Lin Zhi, clearly experienced in copying, wrote each answer before she was even told.

Lin Kuo frowned.

[Sweet as the Wind]:  Don’t be angry, don’t be angry.
[Sweet as the Wind]:  Mwah.
[Lin Kuo]: …How embarrassing.

Following Lin Kuo’s instructions, the three of them answered the questions in room No. 5.

***

Meanwhile, in Room No. 12—Zhang Mengnan’s room.

She had specifically left the window open.

A rustling sound reached her ears.

It wasn’t the wind—she could tell just from the sound. When the ancient locust tree had first risen from the ground on the first night, the wind it stirred up hadn’t sounded like this.

Zhang Mengnan’s heart tightened.

She hadn’t expected that even with No. 6 dead, the materialization would still continue.

But she didn’t regret it.

Even if the giant python was materialized, at least No. 6 was out of the game—his score wouldn’t increase anymore.

With that in mind, Zhang Mengnan turned back and closed the window.

She started to walk back toward her bed but froze after just a few steps.

The giant python was No. 6’s materialization… So it’ll go for No. 8, Yan Jie, first. But the difference in strength between a person and a giant python is too great—even ten Yan Jies couldn’t beat it. If Yan Jie dies, then I’m next.

She needed to be ready to escape.

Zhang Mengnan reopened the window, hoping that if Yan Jie screamed, she would hear it and know to run.

But the moment she turned around—she froze.

Right in front of her, a giant eye stared directly into hers.

The massive eye had a dark vertical pupil, covered with a transparent layer of scales.

Zhang Mengnan’s mind buzzed.

She couldn’t quite describe what she felt—it was as if the fear in her chest had turned into a sticky membrane, like the scale covering that pupil, wrapping around her entire body.

She forced herself to calm down.

She remembered an old report she had written about a python at a zoo. A staff member had told her:
Snakes are actually nearsighted.
Their eyes are fixed; to see things clearly, they need to contract their eye muscles to push the lens forward.

Zhang Mengnan looked up, trembling.

The eye in front of her was enormous—larger than the window itself. And now she could see the muscles around it contracting.

The lens slowly pushed forward—closer and closer—until it almost touched her body.

Her scalp tingled with terror.

The giant python had definitely seen her.

It was observing her.

She had never felt a moment so close to death.

She quickly lowered her head.

The zoo staff member had also said that giant pythons don’t usually attack humans—they’re too small to make a satisfying meal. The key was not to make eye contact. That would trigger the snake’s perception of you as a threat.

And never panic. Don’t make any noise.

Zhang Mengnan stayed still, head down.

She could still feel that monstrous gaze above her—but it was just a gaze.

It really seemed like the zoo staff had been right.

She heard a rustling sound.

The giant python seemed to be losing interest.

It was… leaving.

Only then did Zhang Mengnan dare to lift her head.

The giant eye had disappeared, replaced by the sight of yellowish-brown scales slithering away.

She let out a deep breath.

The python was leaving.

But why had it come to her room?

She and Yan Jie were both on the third floor, and she hadn’t made a sound.

Why her?

Zhang Mengnan was still thinking this through when—

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Someone knocked violently on her door.

Her heart skipped a beat.

The rustling outside paused for a moment—then grew louder again.

It’s back!

She didn’t dare to move.

But the knocking continued.

“Zhang Mengnan!”

A voice called her name through the door.

Zhang Mengnan recognized it immediately—Yan Jie!

“Zhang Mengnan, are you in there?”
He kicked the door. “Still alive? Hahahahahaha.”

What the hell did that mean?

As if reading her thoughts, Yan Jie added gleefully, “Let me tell you a secret. I can read—lips. You convinced No. 6 to betray me, huh? You must be smart. You understand what that means, don’t you?”

Zhang Mengnan’s legs gave out beneath her.

So Yan Jie had been reading her lips earlier when she whispered to Lin Kuo’s group.

With that ability, he could’ve guessed everything.

Yan Jie slammed the door again, laughing wildly—deliberately making noise to attract the python.

“The ‘Mirage’ wasn’t looking at No. 6. It was looking at me! Didn’t you notice the python isn’t green like No. 6 described? It’s yellow! When he was telling the story, I was standing right next to him.”

He laughed again. “Still alive? You should be. What else should I say?”

He kept pounding on the door, as though afraid the python wouldn’t hear.

Zhang Mengnan could barely make out what he was saying anymore.

Because at that moment—

CRASH!

The python smashed through the window glass.

Its long, forked tongue darted toward her with lightning speed.

Panicked, she bolted toward the door—but Yan Jie was holding the handle from outside, trapping her inside.

“F*ck!” she cursed, then dashed into the bathroom.

She could hear bricks falling and walls shattering as the python slammed violently into the building.

I’m dead, she thought.

But it was in moments like this that people sometimes discovered their hidden potential.

She spotted an aromatherapy diffuser beside the sink.

She paused.

She remembered something else the zoo staff had told her:
Snakes have an extremely sensitive sense of smell.

Without hesitation, Zhang Mengnan grabbed the diffuser and hurled it across the room.

It shattered—releasing a strong burst of fragrance.

Her last-ditch hope was that the scent would mask her presence.

She had no idea if it would work.

But Lady Luck smiled on her.

The python stopped.

It flicked its tongue but couldn’t pick up her scent.

Its only option now was to use its eye muscles again—to try to see her.

Zhang Mengnan held her breath in the bathroom, not daring to move.

She remained hidden the entire night.

Only when dawn finally broke did the python slither away.

She collapsed to the floor, completely drained.

When she finally stood, she realized her face was covered in dried tears.

***

That morning wasn’t a story-session day, which meant everyone was temporarily safe.

By 6:30 AM, the three people in Room No. 5 had completed their test papers.

The papers began grading themselves.

Lin Zhi’s heart pounded. She was terrified—if even one answer was wrong, they might be eliminated.

Of the three, only Lin Zhi looked this nervous.

Lin Kuo and Jiang Sheng, on the other hand, thought the grading was too slow.

Lin Kuo glanced at Lin Zhi’s trembling figure.

He wanted to say something… but chose to stay quiet.

That’s the fragility of a poor student, he thought.

Finally, the grading finished.

All three papers showed a perfect score—100.

Lin Zhi let out a joyful gasp.

Lin Kuo said, “Let’s go downstairs. Time to check the leaderboard.”

They had all heard the python crashing into walls the night before. Lin Kuo wanted to see if that had affected the scores.

Downstairs, Yan Jie was already sitting casually in the living room, sipping tea.

He greeted them. “Good morning.”

Lin Zhi whispered to Lin Kuo, “That’s Yan Jie. Not Zhang Mengnan.”

Lin Kuo frowned.

He didn’t have time to wonder how Yan Jie had survived. His eyes immediately locked onto the display screen:

On the display screen:
Name: Lin Zhi
ID: [1]
Duration Score: 26
Population Score: 20
Story Score: 15
Total Score: 61
Rank: 2

Name: Jiang Sheng
ID: [4]
Duration Score: 7
Population Score: 0
Story Score: 0
Total Score: 7
Rank: 4

Name: Yan Jie
ID: [8]
Duration Score: 7
Population Score: 0
Story Score: 30
Total Score: 37
Rank: 3

Name: Zhang Mengnan
ID: [12]
Duration Score: 103
Population Score: 0
Story Score: 15
Total Score: 118
Rank: 1

Name: Lin Kuo
ID: [13]
Duration Score: 3
Population Score: 0
Story Score: 0
Total Score: 3
Rank: 5

Yan Jie took a sip of tea and smirked.

“Well, Zhang Mengnan didn’t die, but I still benefited. Did you little rookies notice the third-place threshold went up by 7 points?”

He chuckled. “By midnight, I’ll have 54 points. Even if my materialization gets destroyed, I’ll still have those 54 points. Hahahaha… Let’s see how you and that moody brat plan to catch up now.”