Chapter 3: Mental Strength

[Although the newbies are being unreasonable, I still have to say—well done.]
[Streamer: Why discriminate against newbies? Newbies: Don’t speak for us.]
[Low EQ: Why discriminate against newbies and women? High EQ: We are a team.]
[Hahahahaha, that’s brutal.]
[I’m still very curious what clue the streamer actually found.]
[He let the girl pick any door. Wasn’t he afraid she’d pick a death door? Or is this guy just using other people’s lives to look cool?]
[Is this the legendary B King?]
[Some god-tier person said earlier that doors ‘1’ and ‘3’ could be death doors. I looked—and no matter how you sort them, the two doors opened so far have nothing to do with ‘13’. I’m starting to believe this theory.]
[The clue the streamer has is probably this: Li Yinan was standing in front of the 8th door just now. I guess the streamer has studied psychology; people usually choose what’s closest.]

Sheng Wen watched the stream.
In the video, the handsome streamer stood silently, facing the group.
The newbies were now trying to pressure Lin Kuo with moral guilt, hoping to force him to reveal the clue.

Sheng Wen stretched and sat up from his bed.

The games in the Walled City were just like this: life above all else.

His time in this stream was almost up—just under 30 minutes.
Before leaving, Sheng Wen decided to leave a trace behind and typed out a bullet comment:

[S: There are no death doors.]

The bullet comment, accompanied by its special golden marker and sound effect, floated across the top of the screen.

The chat fell silent for five full seconds:

[???]
[I recognize all four words in “no death doors” but I don’t understand them together.]
[God S, God S, God S—forever my god.]
[No death doors? Then what about the number 13? That can’t be a coincidence, right?]
[Person above, are you questioning God S?]

“You guys are going too far.”

Anger made Li Yinan forget her fear for a moment.
“Lin Kuo found the clue. It’s his choice whether to share it or not. How can you be like this?”

The newbies muttered in response, “If he really wants to help us, then he should just say it. Keeping quiet like this—who knows what he’s thinking.”

The scar-faced man agreed right away, “Yeah, don’t you want to be a hero? This is your chance. If you tell us the clue, you’re not just a hero—you’re a savior.”

The man with the man bun waved his hand, signaling for silence.
He still wore a gentle smile.

“Lin Kuo? My name is Liang Sihong.”

Lin Kuo looked at him indifferently.

Liang Sihong continued, “Newbie or veteran, since we’re in the same instance, we should help each other, right? I’m not trying to force you—”

“How many instances have you passed?” Lin Kuo interrupted.

“This is my third,” Liang Sihong replied, pausing a moment before also introducing the scar-faced man.
“This is his second.”

“Oh.” Lin Kuo’s tone was flat.

Liang Sihong: “…”

There was a look in Lin Kuo’s eyes that practically said, No wonder you’re so useless.

Still, he gave them some face and didn’t directly expose their lack of skill.
Instead, he asked plainly, “Are you sure you want to know?”

The scar-faced man snapped, “Hurry up and tell us!”

Seeing Lin Kuo part his lips, Li Yinan’s eyes welled up with tears again.
She felt useless—unable to help Lin Kuo at all.

“There are no death doors,” Lin Kuo said.

Silence.

Liang Sihong’s smile stiffened.
“…What do you mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Lin Kuo replied.
He didn’t like talking much.
Having to explain everything now only made him frown.

“Or rather,” he added, “there’s no such thing as doors of life and death. You’re just scaring yourselves.”

Liang Sihong stroked his chin thoughtfully.

His first instance had also been survival-type.

Back then, choosing the wrong door meant instant death.

That instance hadn’t even been rated for difficulty.

This one, The Intruder, was a two-star instance.

Add to that the ominous number 13, and caution was understandable.

But Lin Kuo continued, calm and confident:

“The villa’s exterior—with its large glass panels, simple linear forms, and clean palette—is typical of Neoclassical architecture. But this particular design carries an exaggerated novelty. It’s the work of a domestic designer named Liu Hao.”

Everyone blinked in confusion.

Li Yinan’s eyes lit up. She immediately looked more carefully at the villa’s interior decor and furnishings.

“The corridor inside?” Lin Kuo went on. “Also standard domestic design. And these door patterns—peachwood.”

He ran his hand lightly across the carved doors.

“A peach wood bow and thorn arrows to ward off evil. According to Nanhua Zhenjing, hanging peachwood on your door protects children from nightmares. That’s why Chinese people often carve peachwood patterns into door designs.”

The scar-faced man frowned.
“…What does this have to do with life-and-death doors?”

“This is a Chinese-style building,” Lin Kuo said flatly.
“What does that have to do with the Western superstition of ‘13’?”

Scar-faced man: !

Everyone’s expression shifted. They suddenly understood.

Still, Liang Sihong didn’t fully let his guard down. “…But ‘13’ is too much of a coincidence. How can you be so sure there’s no trap, based on design and wood carvings?”

“In survival instances, there are traps—sure. But look at this one. No countdown. No system pressure. No objectives.”

Liang Sihong’s expression changed.

He understood now.

There was no time limit. No event to push them into making a choice. When Lin Kuo had looked at his phone earlier, it hadn’t been to beg for help—it had been to check the time through the stream.

It had already been nearly 30 minutes since they entered the villa.

Make players choose between 13 doors without pressure or context in 30 minutes? If that’s really how this game works, then it’s garbage design.

Everyone seemed to realize this at the same time.

And the two doors they’d already opened had been perfectly safe.

The scar-faced man finally exhaled, but still grumbled, “If you knew there were no death doors, why didn’t you say so earlier?”

Finally. The question Lin Kuo had been waiting for.

His brows relaxed.

“It’s simple,” he said. “To see what kind of people you are.”

His voice remained calm and cold, but at the tail end, a hint of satisfaction lifted his tone ever so slightly.

“A murderer, a smiling tiger, a fence-sitter… didn’t they all just show their true colors?”

Liang Sihong: “…”
Scar-faced man: “…”
The other newbies, aside from Li Yinan: “…”

Lin Kuo’s answer was so righteously blunt, it left them all speechless.

An awkward atmosphere settled over the corridor.

The others quietly turned to open the remaining doors.

Li Yinan walked over to Lin Kuo’s side.

“Boss…”

Lin Kuo was tracing the peachwood carvings with his finger.
He turned when she called him.

“Boss.”
Her voice was soft now.
After everything, she’d subconsciously begun addressing him with respect.

She hesitated before asking, “Why go through all the trouble to test human nature?”

People are selfish, she thought.
Especially in life-and-death situations like this. They’ll do anything to survive.

She couldn’t believe Lin Kuo had done it just for fun.

Lin Kuo didn’t respond immediately.
He stared at her in silence.

Li Yinan quickly waved her hands.
“Boss, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just a curious person. If I don’t figure something out, it nags me. You can ignore me…”

Lin Kuo turned back to the door’s carvings.

Li Yinan winced, blaming herself for overstepping.

“…A vaccination,” Lin Kuo said.

She blinked.
“…Huh?”

He didn’t elaborate.
Just kept tracing the wood.

Vaccination?

She didn’t understand.

But Lin Kuo didn’t explain further.
He had an image to uphold, after all.

The truth was—he trusted people too easily.

He’d been lied to all his life.
Over and over.
By the same people.
By “friends” who stabbed him in the back, again and again.

Eventually, he’d learned to isolate himself.
And when he had to work with others, he gave himself a dose of mental “vaccination” first.

At least now, he thought, I know what kind of people I’m with.

Even the viewers watching the stream—he’d already filed them away in his mind.

They’re all dogs.

But of course, the viewers didn’t know that.

[What riddle is he speaking? I don’t get it.]
[Impressive—even if I don’t understand.]
[But he’s really awesome. His conclusion was exactly the same as God S’s.]
[Time to worship God S again.]

Sheng Wen’s viewing time hit the 30-minute mark.
He received the point bonus.
But… he wasn’t in such a hurry to leave anymore.

Truthfully, Lin Kuo’s performance was every bit as good as Upper District streamers.
And for a “newbie,” it was unexpectedly impressive.

Sheng Wen thought for a moment, then spent 20 points to purchase Lin Kuo’s data.

__________________________________________________________________

[Streamer Profile Page]
Name: Lin Kuo
Gender: Male
Age: 22
—Click here for details—

[Streamer Ability Page]
Stamina: 75
Agility: 80
Attack: 40
Intelligence: 90
Mental Strength: ——
—Click here for details—

[Overall Assessment: C]
[Projected Final Destination: Lower District, Area B]

__________________________________________________________________

Sheng Wen blinked.

That low?

He scrolled again.
The mental strength column was blank—no system evaluation.

That was the first time he’d ever seen such a thing.

He forwarded the file to his friend Guan Miao, a tech working for the Main God System.

__________________________________________________________________

[Guan Miao]: ??? You’re bored enough to be watching Lower District streams?
[Guan Miao]: And now you’re invested in some little newbie?
[Guan Miao]: Do you even know what you did to the servers? The viewer spike when you showed up almost made the system crash.

[Sheng Wen]: A system crash would be good. (Profanity detected, automatically censored)
[Sheng Wen]: good. (Contextual analysis indicates profanity, automatically censored)

Sheng Wen tried again.

[Sheng Wen]: About this newbie—was the missing mental strength stat because of the crash?

[Guan Miao]: Nope.
[Guan Miao]: I’ll send you two video clips. Then you’ll understand why the system couldn’t evaluate it.

[Sheng Wen]: Okay.

[Guan Miao]: [Video][Video]

__________________________________________________________________

Sheng Wen opened the files.

The first was from real life—a painting studio.

The same distant aura lingered around Lin Kuo.
He was covered in splattered paint, lost in his work.
Then his phone lit up.

A text from an unknown number:

“Lost my wallet. Haven’t eaten in 3 days. Please send 50 yuan if you’re kind. I’ll pay you back. Alipay: 135XXXXXX.”

Lin Kuo glanced at the message, ignored it…
…then picked the phone up again and sent 50 yuan.

Sheng Wen: “…”

Cute.

The second video was of Lin Kuo first arriving in the Walled City.
He walked alone in the alleys.

The Walled City app auto-downloaded onto his phone.

He glanced at it.

Not surprised at all.
Expression: completely blank.

[Guan Miao]: Got it now? Got it now?
[Sheng Wen]: 1