Chapter 26: Bro, What If I Were a Man?

Ding—
The elevator arrived at the underground parking garage.

Before Lin Kuo even stepped out of the elevator car, he felt a breeze drifting in from the vent above.
Still, he kept his eyes fixed forward.
Only after walking out and letting the elevator doors close behind him did he finally stop.
Then, he turned and gave the closed doors a complicated look.

He felt watched. That uncomfortable sensation of someone staring at him.
But it was also within his expectations.

He didn’t panic.

Partly because he didn’t want to alert the enemy.
And partly because he didn’t want the ‘person’ hiding in the shadows to feel smug about spying on him.

Holding the shower head like a scepter, Lin Kuo followed the directional signs through the underground parking garage, walking steadily toward the exit.

The residential complex wasn’t large, and neither was the underground garage.
It only took about five or six minutes to walk from the unit’s elevator to the exit.

During that short time, Lin Kuo made a decision.

Almost every rule in the “Death Password” instance served the evil god.
He had always been passive.

And passivity meant giving up control over his own life.
He didn’t like that.

He had to find all of them.
Not just to seize the initiative—he also suspected the clue to breaking the game was hidden on them.

Outside, he glanced up.
Although the complex wasn’t located in the city center, it was still within the third ring road.
Roads extended out in all directions, and the nearby shopping mall brought in endless foot traffic.

In the literature of stalking, this kind of terrain—dense with pedestrians and multiple exits—was a hidden paradise.
It was nearly impossible for the target to detect who was watching them.

Lin Kuo took one quick glance, then pulled his gaze back.

The people approaching or passing by him all seemed in a hurry, going about their own business.
He made sure to keep a safe distance from them, just in case the lurker in the crowd made a move for the death password.

His only protection was gripping it a little tighter.

His mind spun. Soon, he had a plan.

Lin Kuo walked briskly.
It took him nearly thirty minutes to reach the art academy he attended.
All the surveillance cameras along the way captured his figure clearly.

Upon arriving at the academy, he didn’t pause.
It was just after 9 a.m.—the time when the first university class began.

He went straight to the campus service center.

There, as long as you had your ID and student number, you could reissue a campus card.
Nearly every payment in the art academy could be handled through it—including the reissue fee.

Since the staff had just started work, the line was short.
Lin Kuo quickly received his new card and made his way to a certain male dormitory building.

The surveillance cameras followed him in silence.

Outside the dormitory were rows of lockers used for student deliveries.
A crowd had gathered.

Each locker had just one small display screen.
To retrieve a package, students had to input the pickup code sent by the logistics company.

Because the screens were small and the line was long, the area was packed.

Lin Kuo studied the students carefully.
This wasn’t his major’s dormitory, and it was quite a distance from his classes and own dorm.
He didn’t recognize anyone.

He doubted they could’ve predicted his plan and slipped into the crowd beforehand.
If they had… this instance wouldn’t be playable.

With that thought, Lin Kuo stepped forward.
He didn’t line up.
Instead, he approached a locker that was largely ignored.

This locker was different.
Its display screen was twice the size of the others.

Lin Kuo tapped a few times on the screen.
Moments later, a door popped open.

He placed the shower head inside.
His palm rested on the cold metal door.

He didn’t hesitate.
Click.
The locker shut.

Delivery successful, the screen read.

Without another glance at the locker—or the ever-present cameras—Lin Kuo turned away to find something to eat.

He was hungry.

The image of Lin Zhi mincing meat earlier that morning still lingered in his mind.
His stomach churned.

So he got himself a simple breakfast: plain congee and an egg.
He separated the yolk and set it aside, quietly eating the most normal meal he’d had in days.

After finishing, he returned his tray and left the cafeteria without looking back.
Before leaving, he glanced at the wall clock.

Nearly an hour had passed since he stored the shower head.

The cafeteria cameras hadn’t captured him.

A map of the campus formed in his mind.
He followed it, wandering in a deliberate route.

At one point, he stopped by a convenience store and used his campus card to buy a sketchbook and a pen.

He kept moving, never stopping.
The sketchbook in his hand slowly emptied—page after page, torn off one by one—until only a single sheet remained.

Then, he returned to the locker.

Someone stood in front of it.
A man.

The man was staring straight at the locker where Lin Kuo had hidden the shower head.

Lin Kuo didn’t approach. He didn’t retreat either.
He simply stood at a distance, watching.

Perhaps his gaze was too obvious.
The man turned around.

He looked about the same age as Lin Kuo—perhaps a year or two older at most.

“Found you,” Lin Kuo said flatly.

The man blinked in confusion at first.
Then, understanding flashed across his face—followed by shock.

“You put the death password here just to lure me out?”

Lin Kuo didn’t answer.

The man pointed at his own temple, a sarcastic look on his face.
“Are you serious?”

Lin Kuo studied him closely.
The man was alone. No companions.

“Where’s the other one?” he asked.

The man shrugged. “I am, but I don’t know.”

He didn’t seem hostile.
But Lin Kuo didn’t lower his guard.

“Let’s find a place to talk,” the man offered. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Lin Kuo remained silent, undecided.

The man grew annoyed.

“If I wanted to hurt you, do you think you could escape? If I wanted the death password, I could’ve just pried open the locker.”
He took a step closer. “Come on, little brother. I’ve already shown my hand. Shouldn’t there be some basic trust between people?”

Lin Kuo said nothing.

The man sighed and walked past him.

“There’s a milk tea shop up ahead. It’s quiet this time of day.”

Eventually, Lin Kuo followed.

The man ordered two cups of milk tea.
When it came time to pay, he awkwardly patted his pockets.

“Uh… do you have any money?”

Lin Kuo: “…”

The cashier looked expectantly at Lin Kuo.

With his delicate appearance, he met the preferences of most girls.

The cashier blushed. “Little brother, the total is 32.”

Lin Kuo coldly handed over his campus card.

After swiping, she returned it with a smile.
“Little brother, your balance is low.”

As long as the balance dropped below ten yuan, the system prompted a recharge.

Lin Kuo nodded.
“Got it. Thanks.”

From the side, the man added, “Don’t worry. What I’m about to tell you is definitely worth 32 yuan.”

They found a quiet seat in the corner.

While poking his straw into the cup, Lin Kuo said, “Start talking.”

The man nodded. “My name is Zhang Sen—”

“Skip the self-introduction.”

“…Right.”

Zhang Sen cleared his throat. “When you left your house, I was already watching you through the surveillance cameras. You must’ve realized that, otherwise you wouldn’t have chosen a route with the most cameras to get to school.”

He paused, watching Lin Kuo’s reaction.

Seeing no sign of anger, he continued.

“I kept seeing you holding a shower head. I figured the death password was hidden inside. Then, when I saw you put it in the locker, I knew you were trying to lure me out. So I rushed here.”

Lin Kuo mulled it over.
There were holes in his story—but he held back for now, planning to ask all his questions later.

“Continue.”

“That’s all,” Zhang Sen said.

“…Give me back the milk tea.”

“…”

Seeing that Lin Kuo was actually going to take it, Zhang Sen quickly backpedaled.

“There’s just too much info—I didn’t know where to start. How about this: you ask, and I’ll answer.”

Lin Kuo paused.

Zhang Sen, not taking any chances, quickly snatched the milk tea back.
To make sure Lin Kuo couldn’t grab it again, he jabbed in the straw and took several huge gulps.

Lin Kuo gave him a complicated look, then began to ask, “This is a solo instance. You’re not a participant. What’s your identity?”

Zhang Sen nodded, then shook his head and explained, “I’m indeed not a participant in this instance. Of course… I probably shouldn’t be an evil god either.”

Lin Kuo caught the keywords: ‘this time’ and ‘probably’.

Zhang Sen continued, “If no one passes a Walled City instance, it’ll keep existing until someone clears it. That’s how I ended up here. Technically, I should be considered your senior—I participated in ‘Death Password’ before. But… I died in that instance.”

He gave a helpless smile. “Sounds absurd, doesn’t it? But that’s just how it is. I guess you must be wondering how I came back to life. Honestly, I don’t know either. I opened my eyes and found myself in this situation. I was even more confused than you.”

“Once I got past the confusion, I figured someone must’ve picked ‘Death Password’ again. And for some unknown reason, I came back to life.”

“It’s like I temporarily cheated death. I don’t know when the bill will come due. Right now, I’m living with the mentality of a terminal cancer patient—taking it one day at a time.”

He paused.

“But I am scared. I think my resurrection is tied to you. So I figured… if you could hide your death password for one more day, I might be able to live one more day.”

“Three questions,” Lin Kuo said. “Time of resurrection, how you died, and how you were sure I was the participant.”

Zhang Sen replied, “I think it was yesterday afternoon. When I woke up, the sun was setting—around five or six.”

Lin Kuo took a sip of milk tea.

That was the same time Lin Zhi had ruled out happy to death.

Zhang Sen scratched his head. “I swallowed my death password. Who knew the evil god happened to be testing ‘disemboweled to death’ that day? They found it in my stomach. After that, I died… exactly the way the death password said.”

“I can add a bonus answer. My death password was ‘old age.’ I aged rapidly—visibly—and then I just… died.”

He shivered at the memory, then answered the third question.

“It was easy to tell it was you. I live upstairs from you.”

He quickly added, “Don’t ask me why it’s such a coincidence. I was shocked too. There was a commotion at your place last night, right? I even tried to warn you.”

Lin Kuo frowned.

Zhang Sen cautiously prompted, “Remember someone yelling, ‘Grass mud horse, your household registration only has one page, right? Aren’t you afraid of disturbing other people’s rest?’ You didn’t respond, so I opened my window and added, ‘Not sleeping in the middle of the night? Why not go visit your ancestors’ graves?’ Ring any bells?”

Lin Kuo: “I do.”

Zhang Sen: “Hehe.”

Lin Kuo gave him a cold look. “You think you’re very humorous?”

Zhang Sen replied sheepishly, “What else could I do? I didn’t dare say it directly. Those two lines already used up all my courage. A life picked up is precious.”

“Today, I wanted to check your condition, but I didn’t dare go down. I happen to know a bit of hacking, so I used the surveillance cameras to watch you. Who knew you’d misunderstand? I rushed here in a panic. Seeing that you were also here to talk about this—and that you put the death password in the locker just to lure me out—are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Lin Kuo: “That’s not what I meant.”

Just as Zhang Sen was about to say more, Lin Kuo cut him off coldly, “Too many coincidences means it’s not a coincidence. And you think your long-winded speech is funny?”

Zhang Sen’s words froze in his throat.

Lin Kuo continued, voice colder than before, “The evil god in my house has a restricted range of activity. I think you have some kind of restriction too. Reward?”

Zhang Sen hung his head. “If you put it like that, I really don’t have a rebuttal. Maybe I was resurrected because of you.”

“But I can say this for sure: since I came back, you’re the only one I’ve seen. I don’t know anything about any restrictions. If you think I made a deal with the evil god, the answer is no. All I want now is to help you hide your death password—so I can live another day.”

“I really don’t want to die.”

Zhang Sen’s tone was too sincere.

Lin Kuo stared at him for a long time before speaking again.

“If the evil god promised you resurrection in exchange for my death password, what would you do?”

Zhang Sen blinked. “I’m not stupid. If your password is found, I’ll die too.”

Lin Kuo pressed, “What if?”

Zhang Sen held his head in both hands and thought for a while.

“…Then… I guess I’d have to apologize, brother.”

Lin Kuo: “…”

It was the first time he’d met someone this shamelessly honest.

If you thought about it, there was no deception in Zhang Sen’s words.
He hadn’t tried to lie or dodge—he’d even admitted to spying on him.

Zhang Sen gave a sheepish smile, his white teeth showing. “I’m really not interested in your password. Even if you wanted to tell me what it was, I wouldn’t want to know. I only care whether you’ve hidden it well.”

He grew animated.

“But seriously, are you treating that locker like some kind of Swiss bank vault? In front of the evil god, even the most secure safe can be torn open. I’ve tried everything just to survive, and you’re out here doing…”

Lin Kuo: “Whose fault is that?”

Zhang Sen deflated like a balloon. He didn’t dare make a sound.

Only then did Lin Kuo say, “I’m not as dumb as you think. I already took the death password out of the shower head and put it in another locker.”

“…Oh.”

Zhang Sen blinked. “That’s… actually a beautiful move. A real feint to the east, strike to the west. I’m impressed.”

“But I do want to ask—what’s the difference? Isn’t it still in a locker?”

“There is.” Lin Kuo looked him in the eye. “Do you know which locker it’s in?”

Zhang Sen choked. “Little brother, you still don’t trust me.”

Lin Kuo didn’t answer.

Zhang Sen sighed. “Fine. I get it. It’s normal to be cautious. Just… does my face really scream ‘bad guy’ that much?”

Lin Kuo’s milk tea was finished.
He stood up to leave.

Zhang Sen hurried after him. “Hey, hey, where are you going?”

Lin Kuo: “To find the other reward.”

Zhang Sen offered to help.

Lin Kuo gave him a sideways glance. “Do you have a connection with them?”

Zhang Sen closed his eyes like he was focusing, testing something deep inside.
After a moment, he opened them with a regretful look.

“No such connection.”

Lin Kuo ignored him and walked out of the milk tea shop.

Zhang Sen followed like a tail.

Lin Kuo walked a few steps, stopped, and turned to glare at him. “Don’t follow me.”

Zhang Sen pouted. “I just don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t know the area. That thing is still downstairs in my building, and I’m scared.”

Seeing Lin Kuo’s expression grow darker, Zhang Sen wisely backed down.

“Alright, alright, I won’t follow. I’ll check the school lockers instead, see if anyone suspicious shows up. Oh—and let me be clear, I’m really doing this for you. I’m not after your password.”

“Give me your number. I’ll call if anything happens.”

He pulled out his phone.

Lin Kuo considered it, then gave him the number.

Zhang Sen noted it down.

Before parting, he dropped his goofy act and looked at Lin Kuo seriously.

“Little brother, be careful.”

“Mm.” Lin Kuo replied flatly.

Zhang Sen waved, watching Lin Kuo walk away.
He muttered, “Hai, this guy…”

A few dozen meters ahead, Lin Kuo finally paused.
He didn’t turn around—just lowered his head and looked at his phone screen.

He seemed to be wondering if Zhang Sen’s call would actually go through if something happened.

To test it, he lit up the screen.

His livestream appeared.
The bullet comments were going wild:

[????]
[Why can’t I understand this scummy streamer’s move?]
[No way, no way, are you really trusting this “Zhang Sen”? I’m dizzy.]
[My filter’s breaking. Don’t do this. Didn’t you learn from Li Yinan?]
[The scummy streamer is going down. Whether he trusts him or not, he told Zhang Sen the death password is in a locker!]
[Has his IQ dropped?]
[@Like Sweet Wind, rich lady, send him a sobriety card!]
[@Like Sweet Wind @Like Sweet Wind @Like Sweet Wind]
[Am I the only one who thinks this seems… fine?]
[Even if Zhang Sen’s innocent, one more person knowing = one more risk!]
[Is Zhang Sen sus or not? Can someone summarize?]

Seeing everyone tagging Ah Wen, Lin Kuo muttered with a wooden face, “It’s my own business.”

[Scummy streamer, you’re going to die!]
[We’re doing this for your sake, you know?!]
[Move the password, quick! Zhang Sen’s sketchy!]

Lin Kuo’s expression darkened. “Crocodile tears? Not needed.”

[…]
[…Clown’s actually me.]
[Good intentions treated like malice—classic scummy streamer.]
[Like Sweet Wind: Go for it, brother. (Room Manager tag)]
[The rich lady has appeared!]
[Rich lady, feed me pls.]

“Okay.”
Lin Kuo coldly put down his phone and continued walking.

He wandered the campus all day.
By evening, as he was wondering where to sleep, Zhang Sen’s call finally came.

He picked up.

Before he could say anything, Zhang Sen shouted, “Holy crap, it actually went through!”

Lin Kuo flinched. His eardrum almost burst.

“If you’re just testing the call, I’m hanging up.”

“Hey, hey, wait—”

Zhang Sen lowered his voice.
“Don’t be so quick. I’ve got something.”

Lin Kuo’s expression sharpened.
“What is it?”

“I just saw someone taking stuff out of a locker.”

Silence.

“Which dormitory building?”

“I’m not sure,” Zhang Sen said, looking around. “I think it’s Dormitory Building 1.”

Lin Kuo’s voice slowed.
“Was he wearing a green work uniform? Driving a tricycle or a van?”

Zhang Sen sounded stunned.
“How did you know?”

Lin Kuo said coolly, “Can you see what’s written on his clothes?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“…EMS, and four Chinese characters… China Post???”

Lin Kuo: “Hanging up.”

Zhang Sen: “These lockers are… for sending mail? You’re going to mail the death password?!”

Lin Kuo: “Do you have a better suggestion?”

Zhang Sen was silent for a long time before suddenly saying, “Although your method is actually pretty good… I don’t want to rain on your parade, little brother, but how can you be sure the deliveryman isn’t an evil god?”

Lin Kuo fell silent.

It was a long time before he finally said, “…If the evil god can guess in advance that I’m going to mail the death password, predict my thoughts, and disguise itself as a deliveryman… then this instance is unsolvable.”

Zhang Sen sighed.
“Little brother, I’m not trying to scare you. Just listen to what I’m about to say.”

“First of all, I genuinely hope you survive and keep fighting that evil god forever. After all, this instance doesn’t have a time limit, right?”

Lin Kuo pursed his lips. “Go on.”

Zhang Sen said slowly, “You’ve been calling me a ‘reward,’ and I’ve never denied it… because I can’t guarantee that there isn’t an evil god living in my body—or that it can’t use my five senses.”

“You’re smart. Since you could think of mailing the death password, you should also understand what I’m implying.”

Lin Kuo did understand—instantly.

Every word Zhang Sen had spoken was trying to transmit one message: Zhang Sen had his own consciousness.

Under normal circumstances, he was a subjectively good person.

But even he felt that his resurrection was too strange.

He couldn’t guarantee whether or not he was sharing his body with an evil god.

If an evil god really did reside inside him… it might be able to see what he saw, hear what he heard.

For example—right now.

Zhang Sen’s real point was this: he didn’t know for certain whether the evil god inside him had seen the deliveryman collect Lin Kuo’s death password.
And if it had… it might act.

It was logical.

When Lin Zhi had attacked him at home yesterday, she briefly regained her own consciousness.

Otherwise, she wouldn’t have said: ‘Yesterday you lied about going to Hainan. I looked for you for so long…’

Lin Kuo said nothing.

Zhang Sen added, “But don’t worry. I saw the deliveryman take out a folded piece of paper from locker C-101, third row from the left, fourth locker. That’s the death password, right?”

“But I didn’t feel anything strange in my body. So, you can relax. If I was an evil god, I’d have rushed over and snatched it by now.”

From the phone’s earpiece came the rumble of a tricycle leaving.

Lin Kuo hesitated, second-guessing his clever idea of mailing the password.

“You just said there’s a high chance you’re sharing a body with an evil god. If you’re right… then I might as well wait for death.”

“…Don’t be so pessimistic.”
Zhang Sen paused, then offered, “Why don’t you check the logistics info later? If there’s tracking data, it proves there’s no evil god in me.”

It was a good suggestion.

But Lin Kuo looked at his phone.

The fact he could even receive Zhang Sen’s call was already a miracle.

The phone was still in Walled City mode—its normal calling functions disabled.

Zhang Sen seemed to realize this too.
“Where are you? I’ll come find you. My phone still works.”

Lin Kuo looked around and gave him his location.

Zhang Sen replied, “You’re still at school? I don’t know where the south gate is… I’m not familiar with the campus. Why don’t you come find me? I’ll wait by the lockers.”

Just as Lin Kuo was about to say okay, something occurred to him.
He forced down the response.

“You come to me. If you don’t know the way, ask someone. I’m too lazy to walk.”

Zhang Sen: “…Alright.”

About half an hour passed.

Just as Lin Kuo was starting to suspect Zhang Sen had gotten lost, the guy finally arrived, panting and sweaty.

“If my life weren’t tied to yours, I swear… I’d fight you right now.”

Still gasping, Zhang Sen handed over his phone.

The keypad already had a number entered: 11183, the national China Post customer service line.

“I looked it up on the way here,” he said.

“Thanks.”

Lin Kuo took the phone and dialed without hesitation.

Zhang Sen watched anxiously.

“The customer service line doesn’t shut down this early, right?”

“Probably not.”

Lin Kuo didn’t look back at him.
His gaze was focused on the road ahead.

Through the voice prompts, he reached an operator.

“Hello, I’d like to check the logistics information of a package.”

“Okay, please provide the sender’s and recipient’s names and phone numbers.”

“The sender and recipient are both ‘Lin Kuo,’ number is 184XXXXXXXX.”

“And the addresses?”

Lin Kuo glanced at Zhang Sen.

Zhang Sen politely turned away.

Then Lin Kuo answered, “Sending address: XX Province, XX City Art Academy. Receiving address: same province and city, Xingfu Community, Building 7, Unit 3, Room 404.”

“Alright, please wait a moment…”

Then, the voice changed.
It laughed cruelly:

“Sorry. There is no logistics info for now, and there won’t be… because I’ll be taking it myself. Hahahahaha—”

Lin Kuo’s expression didn’t change.

He looked at Zhang Sen.
The man had already turned around to face him with a twisted grin.

He was mouthing the words, but the voice still came from the phone.

“Little brother, you’re very cautious. You noticed me spying through surveillance, so why’d you put the death password in a locker you knew was being watched?”

“I knew there was nothing in the shower head—that was a decoy.”

“You deliberately lured me out… You’re gutsy. To invite me out like that—how could I say no? Since you want to mail the death password, let’s play. You’re more fun than any participant I’ve ever met.”

“But… didn’t expect I’d take your clever idea and trap you with it, did you? Now—let me enjoy that expression of despair.”

Lin Kuo frowned. “You talk too much.”

Zhang Sen was furious at how calm he was.

“This isn’t the reaction of someone betrayed!”

Lin Kuo: “Oh? Then why don’t you teach me what it should be?”

With that, he handed Zhang Sen the phone.

“I’ve given you all the info. Why don’t you try calling customer service?”

Zhang Sen narrowed his eyes.

Lin Kuo was too calm.

He must be bluffing.

Still, Zhang Sen dialed the same number again, right in front of him.

No matter what—he had the death password now. Lin Kuo couldn’t run.

“Hello, China Post. How may I help you?”

“The sender and recipient are Lin Kuo. Phone: 184XXXXXXXX. Address: XX Province, XX City Art Academy to Xingfu Community, Building 7, Unit 3, Room 404. Please check logistics info.”

“Okay. Please wait a moment…”

“…Hello. I’ve found a total of 24 logistics records. All 24 packages have already been sent.”

Zhang Sen: “…”

Lin Kuo raised a brow.

“Is that your reaction of being betrayed?”

Zhang Sen hurled the phone aside.

His gaze burned with rage.

Lin Kuo calmly said, “24 packages. Which one do you think is the real one? Try your luck. I don’t think Lady Luck favors evil gods.”

What Zhang Sen didn’t know was that, after luring him away from the shower head locker, Lin Kuo had gone and bought a sketchbook and pen.
He wrote 24 different ‘death passwords’ on 24 separate pages.

The real password?
Still inside the shower head.

It had already been collected earlier that day by a legitimate deliveryman.

Everything—name, phone number, recipient address—had been fabricated.

25 packages in total.
His campus card was nearly maxed out.

Zhang Sen was trembling with fury.

“When! When did you know I was lying?!”

Lin Kuo recalled Zhang Sen’s behavior.

Every sentence had sounded absurd… but not wrong.
And Zhang Sen had anticipated every question, answered them in advance, created immersion—even manipulated sympathy with that “late-stage cancer patient” metaphor.

But that was also his biggest flaw.

Lin Kuo’s gaze grew colder.

How could someone that cunning die so clumsily in a puzzle-solving instance?

Swallowing the death password, knowing the god would test it?

It didn’t add up.

He had let Zhang Sen approach. Let him think he was winning.
All to let him see those 24 decoys and burn days chasing ghosts.

Zhang Sen trembled.

Even passing students were starting to avoid the two of them.

Suddenly, Zhang Sen screamed and lunged at him.

“Lin Kuo! Only a few hours until the next round starts! I won’t let you go—I’ll make you suffer!”

His roar drew everyone’s attention.

“What’s going on?”

“A gay couple fighting?”

“But they’re both so hot. Especially the quiet one…”

“Did they say his name’s Lin Kuo?”

“Lin Kuo?! You mean that Lin Kuo from the painting department?!”

Lin Kuo’s face paled.

He bolted just as the crowd started closing in.

He shoved Zhang Sen away like a piece of paper.

Ran all the way home without stopping to breathe.

At his door, he stared at the dents and scuffs—remnants of Lin Zhi’s violent smashing.

He leaned against it, gasping for air.

The real death password had already been loaded onto a delivery vehicle, headed to another province.
It lay quietly inside a small cardboard box.

Written in black ink on white paper—Social Death.

That was the password he had written, using a loophole in the rules.

A ridiculous, yet somehow fitting, answer.

And he had just lived it out.

What would happen now… Lin Kuo didn’t know.

He always prepared for the worst.

If this was considered the password being found, then at least—he wanted to see Lin Zhi one last time.

The livestream exploded with confusion over Lin Kuo’s sudden escape.

Sheng Wen immediately sensed something was wrong.

He messaged him:

[Like Sweet Wind]: You’re scared.
[Like Sweet Wind]: What happened?

Lin Kuo really did need someone to talk to.

He bit his lip and tried to suppress the tremor in his voice:

[Lin Kuo]: I might be dying soon.

[Like Sweet Wind]: I’m blocking the stream. Pick up the call.

Before he could reply, a call came through.

Lin Kuo answered.

The warm, magnetic voice on the other end inexplicably calmed him.

“I think I’ve figured out your death password. You took nearly 20 minutes to return from the art academy.”

“Brother, you know what that means, right?”

Lin Kuo: “Mm.”

The instance hadn’t ended.
His death password wasn’t found.

“I was too anxious,” he admitted. “My head wasn’t clear.”

Sheng Wen said softly, “You care about your sister. I understand.”

“…I haven’t paid you back your points yet.”

Sheng Wen didn’t expect that.

He regretted bringing it up before.

“The points I spent on you… I never planned to take them back. I just want to stay connected to you.”

The atmosphere shifted.

Lin Kuo felt it.

Sheng Wen: “It’s just as you think.”

Lin Kuo was stunned. “…”

Sheng Wen: “Will you hate me, brother?”

Lin Kuo replied awkwardly, “…No. I won’t have a problem with you over something like that.”

In his mind, Ah Wen had always been a kind girl.

Sheng Wen: “Brother, what if I’m a man?”

Lin Kuo: “…”