Chapter 2: Life and Death Game

Although the game rules for the current instance were already stated in the software, the man with the man bun still repeated them.

“This is a survival instance.
As the name implies, the goal is to find a way to stay alive.
Don’t go looking for death.”

The newbies exchanged glances.
Someone, still unwilling to believe, asked hesitantly, “…Will we… really die?”

The scar-faced man let out a cold snort.
“Why don’t you try it? No one’s stopping you if you want to die.”

The newbie’s face turned pale. “I was just asking…”

The scar-faced man spat out a few more crude words.

“All right.” The man with the man bun cut him off.

There were too many newbies this time, and newbies meant uncertainty.
In the last survival instance, one reckless newbie had nearly caused a team wipe.
That’s why the man with the man bun was giving such emphatic instructions.

“Get a grip. We’re about to go in.”

Lin Kuo put his phone back into his pocket and took out a tissue for the girl in front of him.

“Thank you,” she said. After wiping away her tears, she realized everyone else had already entered the villa—only Lin Kuo was still waiting for her.

Seeing the tears gone from her face, Lin Kuo finally turned and headed toward the villa.

The girl hurried to catch up, cheeks flushed.
“My name is Li Yinan. What about you, mister?”

“Lin Kuo.”

Li Yinan quietly memorized the name.

At the same time, in the livestream titled Only Dogs Would Click This Stream, bullet comments began to float across the screen:

[Forcefully spectating God S.]
[First time running into God S in a stream—screenshotting this for proof!]
[This streamer’s a newbie, huh? Picking such a badass name… does he not want to live?]
[Been watching for ten minutes—what’s so special about this guy that attracted God S? I don’t get it.]
[Would anyone actually click a stream with this name?]
[srds, but that doesn’t stop me from screaming—ahhhhh, God S!]
[Worshipping God S, may he bless me to pass every instance!]

As the top player on the points leaderboard, Sheng Wen had long carried a miraculous buff: “Worship God S for eternal life.”
Because of the system’s mechanics, the activity trail of high-ranking players would appear on the livestream homepage.

Right after Sheng Wen entered this stream,
[S has entered the room “Only Dogs Would Click This Stream”]
flashed across the platform for 30 seconds—instantly pulling in waves of curious viewers.

Sheng Wen opened his settings and adjusted the bullet chat’s opacity.
Once done, the youth’s face—shown from the main camera angle—became clear beneath the clutter.

His features were sharp and symmetrical, his brows and eyes refined and beautiful.
But his cold gaze radiated an aura of strangers, stay away.
Even when showing kindness to the crying girl earlier, that sense of detachment never faded.

“…Lin Kuo,” Sheng Wen murmured.

The seven participants entered the villa.
Lin Kuo walked at the very back.
Fortunately, he was tall, so he could still see clearly.

From the outside, aside from the ominous blood-red full moon, the villa appeared ordinary.
Only upon stepping inside did they realize the entrance hall led to a long corridor, flanked by solid wooden doors at intervals.

The dim corridor was lit by only three or four low-powered wall lamps.

Everyone paused.
At the front, the man with the man bun and the scar-faced man were having a quiet discussion.

The man with the bun counted the doors aloud.
“One, two, three… ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen.”

The moment “thirteen” was uttered, Li Yinan let out a startled shriek.

The scar-faced man glared at her.
“You damn—”

Li Yinan shrank like a quail, afraid to breathe too loudly.

Lin Kuo raised his eyes to meet the scarred man’s.
There was no menace in his gaze, but something about it made the man back down.

Lin Kuo walked past everyone, taking the lead to inspect the doors.

Li Yinan watched his back nervously, then summoned her courage.
“The number thirteen is unlucky. In some Western cultures, it symbolizes evil, disease, disaster…”

She was a journalist—more knowledgeable than the average person.

“Thirteen doors… could it be…”

“Doors of life and death,” the man with the bun finished her thought.
As the name implied: a door of life meant survival; a door of death meant… death.

Li Yinan paled even further.
She wasn’t the only one—everyone else tensed up.

Still, Lin Kuo walked steadily down the corridor.
The doors weren’t symmetrically placed.
If connected by a line, they would form a long, winding S shape.

He examined each one, knocking lightly.

All thirteen doors were identical: the carved peachwood patterns, the scratches, the worn brass knobs—everything matched.

Which was the door of life, and which led to death, seemed a matter of pure chance.

And nobody here looked particularly lucky.
If they had been, they wouldn’t have been chosen by the Main God System to play this twisted game.

Lin Kuo stopped at the last door. He took out his phone.

“f*ck.” The scar-faced man had reached the same conclusion: all the doors were the same.

He grabbed a trembling newbie and pointed at a door. “Open it.”

The newbie collapsed in fear, legs giving way like jelly. “I… I don’t want to die…”

Lin Kuo stood silently, observing. The scar-faced man, despite fearing Lin Kuo, felt this was his only option.

“What are you looking at me for? If there’s ever a time to use a newbie, it’s now! You like being a hero so much—you open it!”

Lin Kuo stayed silent.

Snarling, the scar-faced man dragged the newbie forward and forced his hand toward the doorknob.

The newbie whimpered, limp and powerless. “Bro… please, I don’t wanna die…”

His voice echoed in the corridor, sharp as claws against the ears.

No one stepped forward to help.
Some turned their heads away. Others shut their eyes.
Even Li Yinan stayed silent—afraid that she might be next.

Lin Kuo’s face remained impassive.
But that emotional distance now seemed especially cold.

He took out his phone again.

The bullet chat scrolled madly:

[Streamer’s a misogynist, confirmed.]
[Is this what they call same-s*x repulsion and opposite-s*x attraction?]
[What’s the chat talking about? Rewind twenty minutes. This guy saved a girl.]
[What kind of creep saves one person just to ignore another? Waste of a face.]
[No decent person would name their stream that. If God S wasn’t here, I wouldn’t be watching.]
[Thirteen doors, seven people. They could all die and still not find the safe one.]
[Dead end from the start? Anyone donating items?]
[I checked—none of their streams are getting donations.]
[Then how will they survive this? Curious +1.]
[Thirteen is unlucky, right? So maybe doors 1–12 are safe and only the 13th is death?]
[Nah, this is a two-star difficulty instance. No way there’s just one death door.]
[Maybe doors 1, 3, and 13 are bad luck?]
[But how do we even determine door order?]
[You’re all forgetting something—God S is in this stream.]
[!!!]
[God S, please give us the answer!]

Sheng Wen stared at the video.

To him, Lower District instances were a joke.
Just from the instance name alone, he could figure out the mechanism.

He checked the timer.
Twenty-five minutes had passed.
If he stayed five more, he’d get a viewer reward.
But he was starting to regret wasting even that much time.

The chat begged for guidance.
Sighing, Sheng Wen began typing a clue.

But before he could finish, Lin Kuo looked at the bullet chat and said flatly:

“Doors of life and death? Turn off bullet chat to protect your IQ.”

Sheng Wen: “…”

[???]
[Did he just insult us—again?]
[Lol, let’s see how you get past it then.]
[If you’re so smart, open one yourself.]
[Standing there criticizing everyone—have some shame.]

Lin Kuo couldn’t find the bullet chat’s off switch.
Not that it mattered.
He hadn’t opened his phone to read their comments—or to beg for donations.

He stuffed it back into his pocket, gaze shifting toward the scar-faced man and the trembling newbie.

The scar-faced man forced the newbie’s hand onto the doorknob.

Click.

The latch gave way.

Everyone held their breath.

The door creaked open slowly, letting light spill from the room beyond.

“I don’t wanna die—I don’t wanna die—”

The newbie panicked and tried to bolt for the villa entrance.

Lin Kuo blocked him.

“It’s a door of life,” he said calmly.

The newbie froze.

The room beyond was filled with miscellaneous items, plain and ordinary.

“Li…” Lin Kuo said, then paused.

“Li Yinan,” she replied quickly.

Without reacting to his lapse, Lin Kuo said,
“Pick a door and open it.”

Li Yinan hesitated.
But Lin Kuo didn’t push—he just waited quietly.

Something about him, distant as he seemed, made her feel safe.
Like she wouldn’t be alone if something happened.

Taking a deep breath, she approached another door—and opened it.

It led to the living room.

She exhaled in relief and looked at Lin Kuo, eyes sparkling with gratitude.

He remained silent, but somehow, she knew:
He already knew.

Lin Kuo looked at the man with the bun and the scar-faced man.
“Your turn. Who’s opening the next one—him or you?”

The scar-faced man hesitated.

“Scared?” Lin Kuo asked with a faint sneer.
“Then why discriminate against newbies and women?”

The man with the bun’s expression soured.
But he was sharper than Scarface.

Seeing Lin Kuo’s confidence, he guessed the guy had found some kind of clue.

Forcing a smile, he said,
“Can you share your discovery? We’re a team, after all. We rise and fall together.”

Just like that, he redirected the pressure back to Lin Kuo.
The few newbies who had been glaring at the veterans now looked at Lin Kuo instead.

If he refused to share, their stares alone might tear him apart.

“Right, right,” Scarface added quickly.
“There’s no point hiding it. If we all die, you’re not surviving five days by yourself.”