X
Seeing that Lin Kuo didn’t respond, Sheng Wen was about to say something to make up for it when the little streamer coughed.
Sheng Wen said with a hint of guilt, “Sorry, I…”
He had meant to ease Lin Kuo’s tension, but the moment the words left his mouth, he remembered—Lin Kuo didn’t like people lying to him.
Lin Kuo replied, “No, I… I’m not against it.”
Sheng Wen let out a sigh of relief and then repeated with deeper meaning, “Not against it.”
Not against it = can accept it = same orientation = mutual affection.
Lin Kuo had no idea Sheng Wen had already made so many connections in his head.
He just gave a quiet “En.”
Homosexuality wasn’t a disease.
Besides, Ah Wen hadn’t lied to him—he’d just misunderstood the other person’s gender.
Sheng Wen smiled faintly, though now wasn’t the time for idle talk.
He said, reluctantly, “The water friends are making a fuss. Brother, you should continue with the instance for now. We can have a good chat after this one’s over.”
“…If I directly block the livestream, will there be any repercussions?” Lin Kuo suddenly thought of it and asked, somewhat uneasy.
“No,” Sheng Wen answered immediately.
“Even if there are repercussions, it’s worth it for you.”
Lin Kuo was stunned.
Though he’d been single all his life, he knew when someone was flirting.
But strangely, this feeling… wasn’t unbearable.
On the contrary, it made his face flush—and his heart race a little.
“Brother, good luck.”
Sheng Wen’s voice softened, ending with a quiet chuckle.
“Bye-bye.”
“Bye-bye…”
Perhaps it was that laugh—it seemed to carry some strange power.
When it brushed against Lin Kuo’s ears, not only did his eardrums tingle, even the edges of his ears turned red.
After the call ended, Lin Kuo rubbed his ear awkwardly and slipped his phone back into his pocket.
Then he looked toward the security door of his home.
After his parents passed, only he and Lin Zhi had remained.
Lin Kuo was just a child back then—and Lin Zhi was even younger.
Worried that someone might target them, the first thing Lin Kuo did was replace the security door.
It was the best cast-aluminum model, filled with solid water-based polyurethane foam.
The most important feature—the mechanical tyrant lock—had more bolts than usual.
Of course, over time, even top-grade performance would degrade.
But it shouldn’t have broken this easily.
A punch from Lin Zhi could probably shatter his skull like glass.
Knowing the instance wasn’t over yet, Lin Kuo didn’t bother seeing Lin Zhi one last time.
He turned and walked down the emergency stairwell, step by step.
Outside the apartment building, Lin Kuo paused.
He looked up at the windowsill of his home.
The window was open, and light poured out.
Lin Zhi’s silhouette occasionally flashed by.
She seemed anxious and furious that he had left, but helpless to act.
All she could do was jump and stomp around in frustration.
The sky had already darkened.
Lin Kuo stood still long enough that the sound-activated porch light blinked off.
In the pitch-black evening, he stared up for a long time.
His expression sharpened—from pure and curious to cold and analytical.
Lin Zhi’s actions reminded him of a wild beast.
Against her raw strength, her intelligence seemed sorely lacking.
But why?
Lin Kuo raised his hand slowly.
His dark eyes reflected his own palm.
This was the hand he’d used to push Zhang Sen away.
Though he was strong, it shouldn’t have been enough to topple a grown man like that.
He moved his fingers, recalling the sensation.
Zhang Sen had felt like a paper doll with physical mass.
And what strength did a sheet of paper have?
Lin Kuo frowned.
Compared to Zhang Sen, Lin Zhi was like the polar opposite.
Lin Zhi—simple mind, strong limbs.
Zhang Sen—cunning mind, weak limbs.
Why?
Were there ranks among evil gods?
Was the reward from eliminating a death password required to be weaker than the original threat?
His crow-feather lashes trembled.
But Lin Kuo immediately rejected both ideas.
He was like a construction site debater arguing with himself—back and forth until only logic remained.
There was no clear superiority between Lin Zhi and Zhang Sen’s types.
And Lin Kuo despised evil gods—he refused to acknowledge their hierarchy.
As for the second theory—clearly nonsense.
Cunning was often more terrifying than brute strength.
Then, a terrifying thought struck him—
Like being dragged to the execution ground, step by step.
Lin Zhi and Zhang Sen… were complementary.
Strength and intelligence. A perfect puzzle.
If pieced together—
They could summon the true evil god.
Lin Kuo’s face darkened.
He thought of some cartoons he’d watched as a child.
One of them was Dragon Ball.
The story revolved around collecting seven magical orbs.
Once gathered, they could summon a dragon to grant any wish.
This… felt similar.
Lin Zhi and Zhang Sen were pieces of a puzzle.
Once joined—they’d call forth the real evil god.
His heart clenched.
Something felt off.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady the panic in his chest.
Then he mentally rewound everything he’d seen and done in the instance—frame by frame.
This was already Day Two of the instance.
If this were Intruder, the plot would’ve already reached its midpoint.
By Day Two in that instance, they had figured out that they themselves were the intruder, and that the villa was haunted.
But in Death Password, every clue so far had seemed relevant but… useless.
None of these clues helped him solve the instance.
They were more useless than a revealing camera.
…Well, maybe not that useless.
The revealing camera had been a gift from Ah Wen.
It had helped verify the incense ash theory.
I’m sorry, Lin Kuo apologized silently.
Perhaps because his thoughts wandered to Ah Wen, the anxiety faded slightly.
And in that brief moment of calm, his thoughts crystallized.
He mentally rewound even further—back to the confinement room.
That first space served two purposes:
“Instance Rules.
The instance rules are: write down and hide your death password. If the evil god finds your death password, then—”
Once again, the moment he recalled those rules, a strange incongruity crept in.
But this time, the feeling was different than the first time he’d read them.
Maybe it was because he now had context.
Or maybe he was simply thinking clearer.
He mulled the wording repeatedly.
The rules had looked straightforward…
But they were full of traps.
Suddenly, Lin Kuo’s mind halted.
One word stood out—
“Hide.”
A new thought stirred—hazy and uncertain, like looking at flowers through fog.
But it didn’t give him a bad feeling.
Lin Kuo immediately left the apartment area and returned to the grassy lawn where he’d lingered on the first night.
It was evening—just past the time for after-dinner walks.
The children playing were being called home by their parents.
They abandoned the wooden sticks they had used as toys.
Lin Kuo picked one up—it was still warm from a child’s palm.
He found a soft patch of dirt, knelt down, and began writing.
The dirt splattered his clothes, but he didn’t care.
He crouched down to write more easily.
A parent walking behind him scolded their child,
“You’re all dirty again. What other kid’s this messy?”
The child pointed.
“That big brother is dirty too.”
The parent coughed awkwardly and glanced at Lin Kuo.
Seeing what he was doing, the adult said in a more educational tone,
“He’s practicing calligraphy. Look how neat his writing is.”
Lin Kuo ignored them.
His focus was absolute.
He scratched the following lines into the dirt:
The evil god can skip the process of finding the death password and directly test the death password.
The evil god can get a reward by eliminating a death password, and the reward is another monster.
Once they are pieced together completely, a true evil god will be summoned.
Next to them, he wrote the keyword:
“Hide.”
His purpose today wasn’t to solve every riddle, but to study the patterns—to dig into the implications of “hide.”
He stared at the first line:
The evil god can skip the process of finding the death password and directly test it.
He narrowed his eyes.
What was this line hiding?
He thought deeply… but nothing came to mind.
No answer. No summary.
He didn’t like wasting time.
If it’s too hard—lower the difficulty.
So he wrote a new keyword beside the others:
“Ignore.”
‘Ignore’ and ‘hide’ were similar in meaning in some aspects.
After writing down the two words—ignore and hide—Lin Kuo’s thoughts began to flow smoothly.
Then the problems he might have ignored in the conclusions he’d written in the dirt became clear:
As soon as he wrote out those three questions, Lin Kuo had a sudden epiphany.
Since entering this instance, I’ve been too passive. My thoughts were restricted.
Only now did he realize—If I want to take the initiative, I don’t just have to wait or rely on mailing out the death password.
With this new perspective, Lin Kuo reused his old method: forcing himself to brainstorm possible answers to these three new questions, then filtering and summarizing them later.
He looked at the first question and tried to write down: To be determined.
He wasn’t planning to return home, but besides Lin Zhi, Zhang Sen and another reward were still out there.
Moreover, Zhang Sen had even threatened him earlier that day—he’d bring him pain at midnight.
Lin Kuo was prepared to fight, but the outcome remained uncertain.
He didn’t dwell too long on the first question and moved to the second.
That one required more clues—not something he could answer right now—so he skipped it as well and focused on the third.
“Of course you can,” someone suddenly said.
“As long as you have a way to kill the rewards.”
Lin Kuo had thought the same thing.
The rules of the Walled City were known—you couldn’t attack NPCs.
But the instance rules had clearly, unmistakably, used the word “evil god.”
The answer had been there all along, just buried beneath misleading detail.
If rewards could be killed, then the evil god could also be prevented from testing the death password directly.
In fact, it would be best to kill the evil god too.
He dropped the wooden stick and bolted.
The once lively residential area had turned silent.
The sound of wind rustling through grass was painfully clear.
Lin Kuo had long legs, and he sprinted several meters in a flash.
He didn’t dare look back—because the streetlights had already stretched the shadow of the person who’d answered his question.
So long, in fact, that Lin Kuo could see the man’s shadow beneath his feet.
Judging by the shape—it was a man chasing him like a madman.
The shadow had a knife in its hand.
Lin Kuo glanced at the silhouette—a watermelon knife, probably.
f*ck.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
Was it already midnight?!
He ran with all his strength.
Fortunately, this was his own residential area.
He knew the terrain—and soon put enough distance between himself and Zhang Sen.
After confirming that Zhang Sen couldn’t strike him from afar, Lin Kuo began thinking how to hide.
He remembered reading once about a retired armed policeman who said even he would only have a 30% chance of winning barehanded against a knife-wielding attacker.
The advice: Don’t fight. Run to the nearest police station.
Because once you got there, you were safe.
No sane criminal would attack a police officer head-on.
But Lin Kuo couldn’t do that.
Zhang Sen wasn’t a normal person.
He was a fragment of the evil god.
The police couldn’t help—and he might just drag more innocents into danger.
Panting, Lin Kuo realized he couldn’t keep running in the open.
His stamina would run out, but Zhang Sen’s might not.
He couldn’t go back into the apartment building either.
The rooftop was a dead end.
If he died by being “chopped to death” tonight, it would just add another reward to the evil god’s collection.
Thinking quickly, Lin Kuo changed direction—toward the underground parking garage.
That space had multiple exits and vehicles he could use for cover.
He ran into a nearby apartment building and sprinted down the emergency exit.
Once he reached the underground garage, he slowed down.
He leaned on the hood of a car, then vaulted over it and hid behind it.
Moments later, he heard footsteps entering the garage.
Pitch-black.
He crouched lower and pressed tightly against the metal surface, eyes narrowing.
Zhang Sen stood right in front of the car he was hiding behind.
He seemed to have lost his target, but he knew Lin Kuo was nearby.
He stood still… and began a slow search.
In his hand was exactly what Lin Kuo had predicted—
A watermelon knife.
“I know you’re here,” Zhang Sen said with a grin.
“Lin Kuo, do you know what I like the most?”
“Hide-and-seek with smart people.”
“You’re watching me now, right? Just like I watched you… through the surveillance cameras.”
“Isn’t this feeling wonderful?”
Lin Kuo said nothing.
His gaze fixed on the knife—his brows slowly furrowing.
Zhang Sen’s posture was… weird.
His hand trembled uncontrollably, as if holding the knife took real effort.
Like lifting a heavy object he couldn’t quite manage.
Lin Kuo already knew Zhang Sen’s limbs were weak.
But this weak?
He couldn’t even hold a knife properly?
Then why chase someone this far with a weapon?
Wasn’t he afraid Lin Kuo would grab the knife and stab him back?
No—Zhang Sen wasn’t that careless.
There had to be another reason.
He hadn’t chased Lin Kuo into the parking garage blindly.
He had lured him here.
Which meant—
There was another reward down here.
Shit!
Lin Kuo’s instincts screamed danger.
He turned to escape—
Suddenly, someone patted his shoulder.
Twice.
Lin Kuo whipped around—right into the face of…
…a cleaning lady.
“Young man,” she said, chuckling.
“It’s so late. Why’re you hiding here instead of going home?”
Lin Kuo’s heart thudded hard.
She took a step closer.
“Still upset with your sister?”
“I say…”
“Don’t come any closer.”
His mind raced.
Was she another reward?
But… if she was, why had she given him the shower head this morning?
If she wasn’t, then why was she here now?
The cleaning lady paused at his words.
Confused. A little embarrassed.
“Alright, alright, I won’t come closer.”
“Something’s wrong with the access control. I couldn’t get in. Had to come through the garage and saw you crouching here. Thought I’d ask if…”
Splatter—
A wet, metallic sound.
Blood sprayed across Lin Kuo’s face.
He froze.
The knife was already embedded in the woman’s abdomen.
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
She glanced down, stared blankly at the blade sticking out of her body, then fell.
Bang—
She hit the ground hard, revealing the one behind her.
Zhang Sen, still holding the knife.
His hands trembled, but his grin remained twisted and smug.
“No one else here now.”
“You can come out.”
He casually let go of the knife handle and pulled out a bundle of neatly folded papers from his pocket.
He flipped through them one by one.
Then picked a page—and tossed it at Lin Kuo’s feet.
“Chopped to death. Drowned to death. Burned to death. Played to death. Tired to death. Bloated to death.
Scared to death. Cried to death. Laughed to death. Sad to death. Hanged to death. Suffocated to death.
Uncomfortable to death. Pained to death. Heartbroken to death. Drunk to death. Pleasured to death.
Choked to death. Sickened to death. Bitter to death. Fainted to death. Sick to death. Old to death. Sweet to death.”
Lin Kuo’s chest tightened.
He understood.
The package he mailed earlier—even with same-city delivery, it would only arrive the next morning.
And yet—
Zhang Sen had already found all 24 of his death passwords.
The murder of the cleaning lady was just… the first demonstration.
“I don’t think the 24 passwords are correct,” Zhang Sen said calmly.
“I thought about it later. Maybe the real one is still inside the shower head.”
He tossed the papers to the ground.
“I’m guessing you used a fake address and recipient—but forgot one thing.”
“If no one picks up the package, it’ll be returned.”
“I can wait. But while I wait, I can also try these passwords—one by one.”
“You wrote them yourself, after all. I like fulfilling participant requests.”
Lin Kuo’s head buzzed.
He forced himself to stay calm.
Zhang Sen was too cunning.
But that wasn’t the reason for the dizziness.
One: the cleaning lady had just died in front of him.
Two: he had implicated an innocent person.
Three: what did Zhang Sen mean by—“There’s no one else here now”?
Four: Where was the second reward?
That question was soon answered.
The darkness in the garage twisted, condensed into a shape.
Something vaguely human.
A shadow.
It didn’t have a body, but its darkness stretched and warped as it walked.
By the time it reached Lin Kuo, the black fog had formed legs and feet.
It pulled the knife from the cleaning lady’s body—forming arms to do so.
Then it raised the knife and swung down at Lin Kuo.
—Two seconds later—
Zhang Sen casually shrugged.
“So it’s not ‘chopped to death’ either.”
The shadow formed a mouth.
Its tongue was long—like Lin Zhi’s.
“Send him back,” it said.
Zhang Sen sighed.
“I don’t have the strength. I should be resting.”
“I’ll go with you,” said the shadow.
Zhang Sen glanced at the two corpses on the ground.
“Alright.”
The next morning, Lin Kuo’s eyes flew open.
The familiar ceiling swam into view.
His first reflex?
Reach for his phone.
During the instance, the phone always returned to his pocket to maintain the livestream connection.
He opened his phone and looked at it.
The bullet comments had already filled the entire screen:
[Scummy streamer… are you okay?]
[You finally woke up.]
[Dad was scared to death. Holy crap, do you know your head just rolled off like that last night?!]
[No, this instance is too scary.]
But that wasn’t what Lin Kuo wanted to see.
He remembered what had happened last night—vividly.
He opened Weixun. As expected, a pile of messages waited—all from Ah Wen.
After reading through them all, Lin Kuo finally let out a sigh of relief.
Perhaps because his first impression of Ah Wen was so gentle, Lin Kuo had assumed he was timid. He had worried the bloody scene from last night would scare him away.
But judging by the messages, Ah Wen wasn’t scared at all.
He comforted Lin Kuo, telling him not to be afraid or burdened.
As long as Lin Kuo passed the instance, he could apply to the main god system to resurrect the innocent passersby who died during it.
Through the live stream, Sheng Wen’s face finally looked better after seeing Lin Kuo wake up.
He had already guessed Lin Kuo’s death password, so he knew these evil gods couldn’t really hurt the little streamer.
But he was still angry.
If it weren’t for the clues hidden in these evil gods, he thought, I would have blown them up already.
Then, a reply came from the little streamer:
[Lin Kuo]: Thank you.
Those two simple words temporarily soothed Sheng Wen’s anger.
He paused, then typed:
[Like Sweet Wind]: Brother, do you need outside help?
[Lin Kuo]: No need.
[Like Sweet Wind]: But I want to help you.
[Like Sweet Wind]: Brother, don’t you want to see me?
[Lin Kuo]: No. Don’t overthink it.
[Lin Kuo]: I probably know how to break the game now.
[Like Sweet Wind]: Brother is so amazing. Go for it, brother.
Lin Kuo put down his phone.
There was noise outside the house, but he ignored it.
He rolled out of bed, found a pen and paper, and copied the unresolved question he had written in the dirt the previous night:
If it can be prevented, what method can be used to prevent it?
Beneath the question, he listed three names:
Lin Zhi
Zhang Sen
Black Shadow (code name)
Then, he drew lines after each name and wrote down their traits—their fragments of the evil god’s body:
Lin Zhi — Power
Zhang Sen — Cunning / Mind
Black Shadow — Form
So far in the instance, Lin Kuo had always felt Lin Zhi’s intelligence was lacking.
No—not lacking.
He could now say with confidence: Lin Zhi had no intelligence at all.
She was stupid enough to be distracted by a garbage bag when trying to search his body for the death password.
Stupid enough not to search the house again after only one sweep.
Stupid enough to reveal countless clues, and finally, to be tricked by Lin Kuo into letting him escape with the death password.
Just as he’d written:
She possessed only power.
She could smash doors in one blow, catch him in an instant—but nothing more.
Meanwhile, Zhang Sen had obtained the mind of an evil god. He was extremely cunning.
He spied on Lin Kuo through surveillance.
He deduced the mailed death password would be returned due to a fake recipient.
But he had no strength.
So when he wanted to test “chopped to death,” he forced Lin Kuo into the parking garage, then left the attack to his companion—the Black Shadow.
As for the Black Shadow?
It was the form of the evil god.
Not as strong as Lin Zhi, but still more than enough to kill a human.
Last night, another death password had been eliminated, so the new reward was—unsurprisingly—another piece of the evil god.
And Lin Zhi had repeatedly said:
No matter where the death password is hidden… it will be found.
The reason was simple.
Once enough passwords are eliminated and the evil god is pieced back together—
Wouldn’t the complete evil god easily find a slip of paper?
Lin Kuo’s gaze shifted back to the only question on the paper.
What method could be used to stop the evil god?
After thinking for a moment, he continued to write:
Lin Zhi — Power — Restricted range of activity
Lin Zhi possessed brute strength, but her movement was limited.
That was a rule of the main god system—a way to balance the instance.
Based on this restriction, Lin Kuo tried to deduce the conditions for the other two fragments.
The main god system balances the game based on their traits.
Lin Zhi—power—was confined to a zone.
But Zhang Sen and the Black Shadow could move freely.
Then what balances them?
Lin Kuo pursed his lips and thought hard.
Zhang Sen is the mind. Black Shadow is the form.
What limits were imposed on them?
After two minutes of serious thought, Lin Kuo wrote:
Lin Zhi — Power — Restricted range of activity
Zhang Sen — Cunning/Mind — Restricted waking time
Black Shadow (code name) — Form — Cannot appear in human line of sight
The live stream camera showed the paper in front of Lin Kuo.
Bullet comments exploded:
[Scummy streamer, I’m kneeling to you.]
[Although I’m reluctant… scummy streamer is 666.]
[So Zhang Sen represents the evil god’s mind, and only when he’s asleep does it stop working? PS: Like Sweet Wind, room manager, don’t ban me. The clue was revealed by the scummy streamer.]
[Does that even need confirmation? That’s obviously what he meant.]
[Wait—how was the Black Shadow’s restriction confirmed?]
[Did you forget? After Zhang Sen killed the cleaning lady, he said:]
[“There’s no one here now. You can come out.”]
[Holy crap. That’s terrifying. I’ve got goosebumps.]
[So with these restrictions… what now?]
[Counter-kill!]
[!!!]
[!!!]
Lin Kuo stared at the content on the paper.
There was still a fog in his mind—questions he couldn’t shake.
Why the real world? Why was Lin Zhi made into an evil god?
He knew those answers were crucial, but for now, out of reach.
Still, now that he knew the restrictions of each piece, it was his turn to act.
With that thought, Lin Kuo folded the paper.
Just as he was about to place it in the drawer—
A voice echoed in his mind.
“One is missing.”
His movements froze.
He looked at his phone.
The bullet comments were still flying—but none had reacted to the voice.
They hadn’t heard it.
“You didn’t hear wrong,” the voice said again. “Someone is indeed talking.”
“Is my voice familiar? Think about it. Who do I sound like?”
Lin Kuo didn’t respond.
The voice chuckled, sounding lazy and a little amused.
“Alright, I see you don’t want to play games. Then I won’t keep you guessing.”
“Let me introduce myself.”
“My name is Lin Kuo. I’m your sub-personality.”
“In the form of your paper, I am also—”
“The evil god’s five senses.”
The adventure continues! If you loved this chapter, Miss Tentacle Monster Demon God Insists on Being My Maid is a must-read. Click here to start!
Read : Miss Tentacle Monster Demon God Insists on Being My Maid
If You Notice any translation issues or inconsistency in names, genders, or POV etc? Let us know here in the comments or on our Discord server, and we’ll fix it in current and future chapters. Thanks for helping us to improve! 🙂