Chapter 33: Japanese Horror Stories

Number 12’s method was to identify each person in turn, just like Zhang Mengnan, to prove that his mind wasn’t faulty and that he was still in a clear state of mind.

Lin Kuo nervously swallowed.
His usually bright pupils were now covered in a thick haze.
He tried his best to maintain a calm and composed expression, but in reality, a storm of unease had already begun to surge within him.

“Okay,” he said, clenching his fists.

Lin Kuo knew the choice to prove himself—or not—was in his own hands.
If this were a solo instance, or if he were the only participant, he wouldn’t be in this situation at all.
He was clearly the one with the problem, and yet, he still had to stand up and protect Lin Zhi and Jiang Sheng.

Had anyone ever protected him?

Since his parents passed away, he had taken over their responsibilities.
He was really tired.
Lin Kuo thought about many things in that moment.

He thought about waking up before dawn every day to prepare breakfast for himself and his sister.
When he was young, too short to reach the stove, he had to stand on a stool.
Hot oil often splashed from the pot, scalding him so badly that he couldn’t even hold a paintbrush to draw.
But for the sake of surviving, he endured it all.

Even so, he never complained. He always believed the bitter would eventually turn sweet—that the world was still beautiful.

But what about now?
He had always been deceived.

Deceived by his friends in the real world.
Deceived in the Walled City world.

Lin Kuo became increasingly agitated.
The gloom in his heart refused to fade, gradually swirling into a violent storm.
He didn’t want to care anymore.
He was just an ordinary person with no ability to protect his loved ones.

If he couldn’t pass the instance, then so be it.
He’d die anyway.
And once he died, he wouldn’t know anything.
No guilt, no pressure—nothing.

And Sheng Wen… why did he have to spend so many points on him?
If he hadn’t donated the food item in the first instance, Lin Kuo wouldn’t have used the Polaroid camera to confirm his guess.
In that case, he would’ve died long ago, and none of today’s events would’ve happened.

Maybe Lin Zhi would still be safe and sound in the real world.

Lin Kuo’s profile turned as cold as an ice sculpture, his eyes filled with an unmelting gloom that froze the bullet chat in the livestream for several seconds:

[Is this… a villain arc?]
[The dog streamer’s expression is so damn scary.]
[What’s going on? Why did he suddenly become like this?]
[Depression is really scary.]
[I can’t watch anymore.]

Sheng Wen’s heart cracked.
For some reason, he had a feeling that if he donated an item now, their online relationship would end.
He stood frozen in place, eyes fixed on Lin Kuo.

A storm was gathering in Lin Kuo’s gaze.
He glared at everyone in front of him.
The instance only let the top three live, right?
Then what was the point of all this nonsense?

Wouldn’t it be easier to just kill them all?

His fists clenched slowly inside his sleeves, the strain making a faint cracking sound.

Suddenly—

“Bro, don’t be afraid.”

Lin Kuo felt his sleeve being gently tugged.
It jolted him back to his senses.

Lin Zhi had already stood up.
She put Jiang Sheng down, then spread her arms wide and stepped in front of Lin Kuo.

“All right. My brother does have a problem.”

The crowd was in an uproar.

Lin Kuo looked at her.
His Adam’s apple moved slightly. His throat felt tight, as if his heart were stuck inside it, trying to break free.

Lin Zhi said, “Are you satisfied with this answer? Although my brother’s been affected by Number 12’s materialization, I suggest you put away those dirty thoughts. If any of you dare touch him, I’ll take you with me even if I die. Damn it!”

Lin Zhi had exposed the thoughts of most of the participants.
She didn’t give them a chance to argue. Her fierce set of curses made many tremble inwardly.

So fierce!

Seeing the crowd fall silent, Lin Zhi grabbed Lin Kuo’s hand.
“Bro, let’s go.”

She held Lin Kuo with one hand and Jiang Sheng with the other.
Lin Kuo, stiff as a log, had just been pulled a few steps by Lin Zhi when someone behind them suddenly said:

“Wait.”

Lin Zhi didn’t stop.
As if afraid of being seen through, she quickly walked a few more steps.

But Jiang Sheng suddenly stopped cooperating.

Lin Zhi turned back anxiously. “Hurry up! What are you doing standing there like a fool?”

Jiang Sheng looked at Lin Zhi blankly.
“Thirsty.”

Lin Zhi said, “Bear with it for now. We’ll talk when we get back to the room.”

But Jiang Sheng repeated, “Thirsty.”
He pointed to the coffee table in the middle of the crowd, where the old man had prepared tea.

Lin Zhi sighed and turned back in a huff.
She flipped over a clean teacup, held the teapot with both hands, and began to pour.
The tea had barely covered the bottom of the cup when she stopped and moved to hand it to Jiang Sheng—only to be stopped by Yan Jie.

Lin Zhi’s tone turned sharp. “Good dogs don’t block the way.”

Yan Jie’s face darkened, but then he smiled.
“I just want to ask a few questions.”

Lin Zhi: “Do I have to answer you just because you ask?”

Yan Jie: “Don’t be anxious. It’s not about Number 13. I’m just curious—how old is this little friend?”

Lin Zhi’s expression changed instantly. “Why are you asking that?”

Yan Jie: “He’s not even ten, right? A very well-behaved child. Doesn’t cry or make a fuss.”
He paused. “You two siblings look quite alike, but this child… he’s probably not your relative, is he? How did you two meet?”

Lin Zhi muttered psycho and handed the cup to Jiang Sheng.

Jiang Sheng took it and drank it all in one gulp.

Lin Zhi set the cup back on the table.
Then she grabbed Jiang Sheng and Lin Kuo.
“Let’s go. We’re going back to the room.”

This time, Jiang Sheng didn’t resist.

The three returned to Jiang Sheng’s room.
Before closing the door, Lin Zhi peeked her head out, scanning around.
Only after confirming that no one had followed did she let out a long breath of relief.

Jiang Sheng still looked nervous, his lips pale.

Lin Zhi gave him a thumbs-up.
“Well acted, little brother.”

Jiang Sheng’s nervousness eased a little.
“Really?”

Lin Zhi nodded and looked at Lin Kuo.
“Bro, do you feel better now?”

Having left the noisy crowd and all those strange, prying gazes, Lin Kuo felt a deep exhaustion settle over him—like someone who had just struggled out of a suffocating net.

He understood what Lin Zhi was doing.
He could even imagine what was being discussed back in the living room.

Jiang Sheng was so young, yet he didn’t cry or make a fuss. That alone was strange.
And while Lin Kuo and Lin Zhi were siblings, Jiang Sheng clearly wasn’t related to them.
People would start analyzing everything—the siblings’ actions, Lin Kuo’s earlier breakdown, Lin Zhi’s desperate defense.

They would conclude that the one who was truly depressed wasn’t Lin Kuo, but the youngest: Jiang Sheng.
And that the two siblings were only pretending—trying to possess Jiang Sheng to secure the duration score on Zhang Mengnan’s head.

After all, Lin Kuo had played a major role in burning down the ancient pagoda tree last night.
He didn’t exactly look like someone who was schizophrenic or losing control.

Lin Zhi’s plan was a last resort.
If suspicion shifted toward Jiang Sheng, at least Lin Kuo would have some breathing room—some mental space to deal with the real dangers of this instance.

Only by clearing the instance could the three of them truly be safe.

Lin Kuo pursed his lips.
Though he’d returned to their room, his mood hadn’t improved much.

He had underestimated depression.
As long as even a trace of negative emotion existed, it would expand—constantly absorbing his doubts and pain to grow stronger.
Eventually, it would devour him completely.

The current situation was bleak.

Lin Kuo took a breath, forcing himself to stay present.
“Paper and pen.”

Lin Zhi and Jiang Sheng went to fetch the items—one finding paper, the other a pen.

Lin Kuo closed his eyes. He could no longer clearly distinguish between Lin Zhi and Jiang Sheng.
“I’ll speak. You write.”

While he still had control over himself—while his thoughts hadn’t completely slowed—he needed to share everything he could remember.

Lin Zhi held the pen.
“Mmm, I’m ready.”

Jiang Sheng stood awkwardly to the side, unsure of what he could do.

Lin Kuo gave him a task.
“Zhizhi is careless. Jiang Sheng, you listen carefully. Try not to miss anything.”

Jiang Sheng nodded solemnly.

Lin Kuo fidgeted with the corner of his sleeve.
“The story will be materialized…”

Then came a long silence.
He found himself unable to express things clearly.

Lin Zhi and Jiang Sheng didn’t urge him. They simply waited quietly.

Lin Kuo pressed his fingers to his throbbing forehead.
“I’ll just say whatever I think of. Write down the key points.”

Lin Zhi: “Okay!”

Lin Kuo: “The materialized things from the story will attack people. The target is uncertain.”

Shashasha—
The sound of the pencil against paper seemed to ease Lin Kuo’s anxiety a little.

He inhaled deeply and continued.
“Number 8’s analysis makes sense, but it may not be entirely correct. I can’t figure out exactly what’s wrong right now.”
A pause.
“Stay away from him.”

Lin Zhi scribbled down Yan Jie’s name and conclusion.

Lin Kuo added, “When you and Zhang Mengnan were telling your stories, the cat was watching you. The materialization might be related to it.”

He hesitated.
“Right… Its name is Shen. That should be the key clue to solving ‘Material Story’.”

He reflected on his past experiences.
In previous instances, the real clues always seemed disconnected from the main threat.
So now, he was thinking deeply about the cat.

But his thoughts remained shallow.
“Three eyes… So it saw the storyteller’s story. Then it materialized it.”

Lin Zhi lowered her head to write.
When Lin Kuo saw her messy, childlike handwriting, a wave of irritation surged within him.
She had only written ‘the cat’s name is Shen’.

The irritation became harder to suppress.
“Zhizhi, write faster.”

Lin Zhi nodded.
“Okay.”

Lin Kuo’s thoughts were jumbled. As he had said—he was really just speaking whatever came to mind.

“The ancient pagoda tree only existed for three hours, but the depression has always existed. Yet your scores are both ‘15’. So the ancient tree and the depression have nothing to do with the story score.”

He anxiously picked at his nails.

“Duration score… number score…
The duration score is how long the materialized thing exists.
The number score—yours and Zhang Mengnan’s are both ‘0’. Mine is also ‘0’.
No one died last night… because… because the tree and the depression failed to kill anyone.
And the system says participants can’t kill other participants.
So the number score is how many people the materialized thing kills!”

He paused, then gritted his teeth.
“But why do I have a duration score?”

He knocked his head sharply with his knuckles.
“What does my number mean? Why did depression choose me?”

“Bro,” Lin Zhi interrupted gently, “if you can’t figure it out, skip it for now.”

Lin Kuo suddenly snatched the pen from her hand.
Trying to recreate that soothing shashasha sound, he scribbled quickly.

“The longer the materialized thing exists, the higher the duration score.
They’ll figure it out.
No—they’ll definitely realize it.
They’ll realize the materialized thing might not necessarily attack the storyteller.
So, in tomorrow’s story session, they’ll—”

The pen stopped. The shashasha faded.

Lin Kuo said, slowly and hoarsely,
“Mess around.”

The old man had said from the beginning:
The storytelling session would begin at 10 AM and end at noon.

Now that everyone knew there was a duration score, Lin Kuo finally understood why the old man had sounded slightly regretful yesterday when he said, “If you don’t tell a story today, you’ll have to wait until Wednesday.”

Veterans made up most of the participants.
Of course they would realize what was going on.
They’d rush to tell a story first—so their story’s materialized thing would have time to exist and gain a high duration score.

But only two hours were allotted.
How many stories could be told in that time?

On one hand, the materialization might not target the storyteller.
On the other hand, it had to be strong enough to survive.

How terrifying would those stories become?

Lin Kuo’s voice was hoarse.
“Zhizhi, are you done writing?”

Lin Zhi seemed shocked by his conclusion.
It took her a moment before she finally nodded.
“I’m done.”

Lin Kuo looked at the paper under her hand.
The handwriting was a mess—barely legible. He couldn’t tell what she had written.

He said weakly,
“Summarize what I said. Split it into:
Clues that are confirmed.
Clues that need verification.
And questions that still don’t have answers.”

Lin Zhi hummed in agreement and prepared to start.

Lin Kuo added,
“Write more neatly, please.”

Lin Zhi: “…Mmm.”

She understood why he wanted that.
Right now, Lin Kuo’s brain was like a damaged circuit board, short-circuiting at random intervals.
If he had a clear summary—something he could understand at a glance—he might be able to reboot his thoughts when that happened.

So Lin Zhi wrote slowly, carefully.
She reviewed it once on her own, then Jiang Sheng helped her add a few missing details.

Finally, she handed the paper to Lin Kuo.

Lin Kuo glanced at it.

Basically confirmed clues:
1: The materialized things from the story will attack people. The target is uncertain.
2: The existence time of the materialized thing is the ‘duration score’.
3: The number score is the score for the materialized thing killing people.
4: The materialization will only choose the most powerful (unsolvable, terrifying) thing in the story.
5: The score does not affect the strength of the materialization.
6: The materialization can be destroyed.
7: If someone else destroys the materialized thing, they can take the duration score for themselves.

Clues that need to be verified:
1: Whether the cat’s name is the key clue to solving the instance.
2: Whether the cat sees the storyteller’s story through its third eye.

Questions with no answers yet:
1: What conditions cause a materialized thing to choose its attack target? (Why was Lin Kuo chosen by “depression”?)
2: Why does Lin Kuo have a duration score?
3: What is the exact meaning of the number?

“Mmm.”
Lin Kuo added a note beneath The materialization can be destroyed: “according to its weakness.”
He also moved If someone else destroys the materialized thing, they can take the duration score for themselves from the Basically confirmed clues to the Clues that need to be verified section.

Then he set the paper down and handed it to Lin Zhi.
“Keep it on you. We’ll add to it later.”

Lin Zhi: “Okay.”

She carefully folded the paper.

“I’m going to sleep for a bit,” Lin Kuo said.

Lin Zhi and Jiang Sheng nodded in unison.
“Mmm, mmm.”

The room had already been cleaned by the old man.
Fresh sheets were laid, the bed remade, and new pillows placed.

Lin Kuo didn’t stand on ceremony.
He walked over, lay down, and soon fell asleep.

Lin Zhi and Jiang Sheng stayed in the room.
Through the window, they could see a few participants checking the cracked earth in the garden, circling the blackened stump of the scorched ancient pagoda tree.

Not wanting to disturb Lin Kuo, the two quietly slipped into the partitioned room to talk.

Jiang Sheng began explaining the Walled City rules he knew—such as the need for a room manager in a livestream. As he spoke, he pulled out his phone to show Lin Zhi.

His room manager was his mom.

Lin Zhi glanced over—and just in time to see a Walled City Chat message pop up at the top of his phone:

[Zhang Jingcheng]: Jiang Sheng!
[Zhang Jingcheng]: Do you know how dangerous what you’re doing is!
[Zhang Jingcheng]: Don’t make Mom worry, okay? Be good. Think of a way to let everyone know that you’re not the one with the mental problem.

Although Jiang Sheng was young, he still felt a wave of shame.

Lin Zhi patted his head and explained seriously to both him and Zhang Jingcheng, “If everyone knew the one with the real mental problem is Lin Kuo, things would be even worse. Among the three of us, I’m a total newbie, and you’re just a child. If something happens to Lin Kuo, we’re basically done for.”

“But if we let people think that you’re the one with the problem, then with me and Lin Kuo—two adults—in the group, they’ll at least be cautious. And Lin Kuo is…”
She tapped her temple. “Smart. If no one’s staring at him too hard, he’ll get room to breathe—and he’ll think of lots of ways to protect us. Do you get what I mean? Letting others assume you have a problem isn’t to harm you—it’s to help Lin Kuo protect all of us.”

Jiang Sheng’s cheeks turned red.
“Sister Zhizhi, don’t worry. I won’t betray you.”

Lin Zhi was amused by his solemn tone and chuckled.
“Since you promised, you’re not allowed to go back on it.”

Jiang Sheng nodded seriously.
“I’ll never break a promise to you.”

He actually wanted to say something more—When I grow up, I’ll protect you too.
But Lin Zhi had already taken out her phone, her attention caught by the livestream bullet comments.

She began arguing back, “The dog streamer’s sister? Did I give you permission to call me that?”

“Dog sister? You’re talking nonsense.”

“I have a name. Wait—who allowed you to call me ‘Zhizhi’? Only my brother and my future boyfriend can use my nickname!”

“‘Zhi zhi’? With the mouth radical? …Fine, I’ll be merciful and allow you to call me that.”

“Room manager? Haven’t picked one yet. Let me figure it out.”

Lin Zhi began studying the room manager options.
Jiang Sheng quietly swallowed the words he hadn’t had the chance to say.

Many people had applied to be room manager for Lin Zhi’s stream.
On the application page, Lin Zhi noticed one applicant with an S-rank weight.

After thinking for a second, she clicked “accept.”

But her phone vibrated, and a system message popped up:
[‘S’ is already a room manager for another stream. Please re-select.]

Lin Zhi frowned.
Isn’t this messing with me?
If you’re already someone else’s room manager, why apply to my stream at all?

Meanwhile, Sheng Wen was feeling a bit wronged.

He had a main account and a smurf account—one in his stream, the other in Lin Zhi’s.
But he hadn’t known that only one could be selected as a room manager.

Lin Zhi was the little streamer’s sister.
Of course, Sheng Wen couldn’t rest easy with someone else managing her room.
And besides, he still wanted to curry favor with his little sister-in-law.

So he messaged Guan Miao:

[Sheng Wen]: Two accounts can’t be room managers at the same time?
[Guan Miao]: Why are you so greedy?
[Sheng Wen]: [Link]
[Sheng Wen]: Cut the crap. Use your permissions and go to this stream. Be the room manager.
[Guan Miao]: ???
[Guan Miao]: I have work to do.
[Sheng Wen]: 5000 points.
[Guan Miao]: On my way!!!

Lin Zhi tried choosing a new room manager.

But the moment she clicked confirm, a new system message popped up:

[Due to force majeure, your stream’s room manager has been changed to ‘Guan Miao’.]

Lin Zhi: “…”

Damn it.

Her curiosity instantly fizzled out thanks to the ever-changing room manager.

She tossed her phone aside and looked out the window.
The sun was shining, the daylight bright.

Lin Zhi rubbed her stomach.
“What time is it? Is it lunchtime yet?”

Jiang Sheng: “Mmm.”

Lin Zhi leaned over to check on Lin Kuo.

He was still sleeping.

She drew back and thought for a moment, then said, “Let’s go together. Let Lin Kuo sleep a little longer.”

Though she felt uneasy leaving him alone in the room, she knew she had to keep up appearances.
The more she tried to prove Jiang Sheng was fine, the more suspicious others would become.

The two tiptoed to the door.

Lin Zhi knew Lin Kuo was a light sleeper—even the slightest rustle of wind or leaves could wake him.
So she moved carefully, slowly, and quietly pressed the doorknob.

But still, she woke him up.

Lin Kuo sat up abruptly, eyes flashing toward the two by the door.

His eyes were full of fatigue.

Lin Zhi said with heartache, “Bro, you should sleep a little longer. I’ll pack lunch and bring it up to you.”

Lin Kuo rubbed his temples.
“Hungry? Go on.”

Lin Zhi nodded.
Just as the two were about to leave, they heard Lin Kuo speak again.

“Lin Zhi, you go alone. Let Jiang Sheng stay.”

Lin Zhi hesitated. “But this way…”

Lin Kuo already knew what she was worried about.
“If the act is too over the top, people will get suspicious. If Jiang Sheng and I both stay here, no one can see us—they’ll have to guess what’s going on. That kind of uncertainty will only make them more certain in their assumptions.”

Lin Zhi wanted to give him a thumbs up.

“Awesome, my bro.“
She opened the door. “Then I’m off.”

“Mmm.”
Lin Kuo said, “Be careful.”

A short while later, Lin Zhi returned with lunch—three portions.

The three of them sat down to eat.
As they ate, Lin Zhi reported what she’d seen downstairs.

“The others probably haven’t discovered anything new. When they saw me, their eyes lit up like they were looking at a pile of renminbi. Number 8, Yan Jie, kept trying to dig for information in a roundabout way. I was scared I’d say something wrong, so I just avoided engaging with him.”

“Mmm.”

Lin Kuo only managed a few bites before his appetite faded.
But since Lin Zhi had brought the meal for him, he forced himself to eat a little more.

“What about the scores?”

Lin Zhi answered, “Only No. 12 Zhang Mengnan’s duration score changed. It went from ‘9’ to ‘12.’ The others stayed the same.”

She had specifically gone to the living room to check.

The increase in Zhang Mengnan’s score was within expectations.
Lin Kuo didn’t react much.

He put down his chopsticks. “Zhizhi, sorry.”

Lin Zhi’s eyes instantly turned red.
She suddenly threw her chopsticks on the floor, then crouched to pick them up.
“Aiya, even the chopsticks are against me. Damn it.”

Lin Kuo said, “Girls shouldn’t say dirty words.”

Lin Zhi took a deep breath, stood up with the chopsticks, and muttered, “Oh.”

Lin Kuo still felt exhausted and lay back down to rest again.

He slept until dinner.

When he woke up, Lin Zhi was just placing the dinner she brought on the coffee table.

“Bro, you’re awake? I brought you porridge. I figured you didn’t have much appetite, so I asked that NPC to prepare some appetizers too.”

Lin Kuo hummed in response and got out of bed to eat.

Noticing her expression, he asked,
“What’s wrong?”

Lin Zhi frowned.
“They’ve started forming alliances.”

Lin Kuo’s heart tightened.
He stared at Lin Zhi, silently urging her to continue.
Jiang Sheng also put down his chopsticks, his small hands clenched.

“Zhang Mengnan’s duration score is already ‘20,’” Lin Zhi said, “and her total score is 35. That makes a lot of people feel threatened. I overheard them talking—they said as long as Jiang Sheng is alive, her score will keep rising.”

Her voice lowered slightly.
“And Zhang Mengnan’s story score is also ‘15.’ Right now, there are only two ways to surpass her.”

She looked at Lin Kuo and took a deep breath.
“One, get rid of Jiang Sheng. Two, surpass her in story score.”

Jiang Sheng instinctively shrank back.

Lin Zhi quickly reassured him.
“Don’t be afraid. We’re here.”

Lin Kuo pressed his lips together and thought for a long time.
“…What’s the situation now?”

The sentence was vague, but Lin Zhi understood what he meant.
He was asking about the team formations.

She replied,
“The two newbies are with Zhang Mengnan. The rest seem to have joined No. 8 Yan Jie’s camp.”

Lin Kuo did a rough calculation.
But his thoughts were sluggish, and even simple arithmetic took nearly ten minutes.

So far, the 13 participants had split into three teams:

• Lin Kuo’s group of three.
• Zhang Mengnan and the two newbies.
• The remaining 7 had gathered under Yan Jie.

That meant the 7-person team could generate a story score as high as ‘30.’
They were close to Zhang Mengnan’s total.
Once they caught up—
Their next step would be stopping Zhang Mengnan’s duration score from increasing.

Lin Zhi said,
“Just now, Yan Jie asked me privately if we wanted to team up with them.”

Right now, Zhang Mengnan had the highest total.
If Yan Jie successfully pulled their group in, the merged team would have 10 members.

Under the story scoring rules, 9 out of 10 people could contribute to the score.
That meant a potential ‘45’—enough to crush Zhang Mengnan’s current 35.

Lin Kuo asked quietly, “…What did you say?”

“I told him I’d think about it,” Lin Zhi answered.

Lin Kuo narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Have you ever thought about why Yan Jie approached us and not Zhang Mengnan?”

“Of course I’ve thought about it.”
Lin Zhi sighed.
“He approached us because we’re more useful than Zhang Mengnan’s group. My story score is already revealed—‘15’—and all my other scores are ‘0’. But if we join them, that’s basically handing Jiang Sheng over to them. Who knows what they’ll do?”

Lin Kuo nodded slowly.
“So you didn’t refuse outright because you’re eyeing the ‘45’ story score.”

Lin Zhi nodded.

The temptation was real.
She had already told her story—but Jiang Sheng hadn’t.
And neither had Lin Kuo.

With that kind of score, they could seize major advantages.

Lin Kuo’s chest warmed a little.
The heaviness in his heart faded slightly.

Lin Zhi hesitated, then offered,
“Bro… what if we join forces with Zhang Mengnan’s group instead? That way we’d have 6 people, and your and Jiang Sheng’s story scores would total ‘25’.”

Lin Kuo looked at her and asked,
“If you were Zhang Mengnan, would you really give up your advantage?”

Lin Zhi froze in place.

“…We’ll talk specifics tomorrow,” Lin Kuo said at last.

With no better plan, Lin Zhi could only nod.

Affected by depression, Lin Kuo’s willpower had weakened.
He didn’t even want to chat with his newly acquired online love interest.
He just lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Afraid that his thoughts would spiral further, Lin Kuo forced himself to sleep.
He counted tens of thousands of sheep and finally began to feel sleepy.
But he didn’t sleep for long before waking up.
And once he was awake, he couldn’t fall back asleep.

Lin Kuo had slept through most of the day.
Now, he turned his head and stared out the window in a daze.

A faint green light mixed into the night sky outside.
It looked like dawn wasn’t far away.
Lin Kuo closed his eyes.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t heard of depression—he just never took the time to truly understand it.
His knowledge was shallow: low mood, slowed thinking, diminished willpower, cognitive decline or impairment, and physical symptoms like loss of appetite, insomnia, nausea, headaches…

Most people thought depression was just a 矯情 disease—an exaggerated emotional display.
Only those actually suffering from it knew how hard it really was.
It wasn’t that they hadn’t tried.
It was just too difficult.

No one understood.
And there were always those who only half-understood but still pried open their wounds.

Time passed slowly and tediously.
Lin Kuo had no idea how long it was before the sky outside finally brightened.

Shortly after dawn, the old man began his wake-up service.

Lin Kuo opened his eyes.
His mood was heavy—not just from the depression.

Today was Wednesday.
It was the instance’s second story session.

Because of that, Lin Kuo didn’t ask Lin Zhi to go downstairs for breakfast alone.
The three of them washed up and went down together.

The old man saw Lin Kuo and Jiang Sheng and smiled.
“Guests No. 13 and No. 4, good morning. For today’s breakfast, I’ve prepared dessert. If you don’t like sweets, just let me know—I’ll prepare something else to suit your taste.”

Lin Kuo thanked him.
He liked sweets.

The three of them took their seats.
Lin Kuo looked at the breakfast and took a small bite of a donut.
Jiang Sheng, however, didn’t like sweets and barely touched the food.
Lin Zhi didn’t know this and coaxed him to eat a few bites, worried he’d go hungry.

After Jiang Sheng ate, his expression turned strange.
This only reinforced the others’ belief that he had mental issues.

After breakfast, the old man glanced at the time and said, “There’s still one hour before the story session begins. Please prepare yourselves. I look forward to your stories.”

No one replied.
They weren’t looking forward to anything.
They just wanted to survive.

An hour passed quickly.
The group moved from the dining room to the living room.
Lin Kuo and his group of three sat in the same positions as last time.

Once seated, Lin Zhi leaned in and whispered to Lin Kuo,
“They’ve changed seats. They’re basically sitting in small teams now.”

Knowing Lin Kuo couldn’t recognize everyone’s faces, Lin Zhi told him their numbers and seating order.
Lin Kuo’s memory had worsened.
He didn’t say anything, just silently tried his best to remember the others’ seating.

Once he had it memorized, Lin Kuo quietly said to Lin Zhi and Jiang Sheng,
“Pay attention to the cat.”

Just as Lin Kuo finished speaking, the black cat named Shen jumped onto the coffee table.
Its third eye was closed.
Its head turned to the side as it groomed its fur.

Lin Kuo watched it.
Fortunately, it was still in its cat form.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief and turned his gaze to the wall display.
Except for Zhang Mengnan, no one’s score had changed.
Her duration score had already reached 34. Combined with her story score, her total was now 49.

The others didn’t look too pleased.
Their eyes toward Zhang Mengnan were filled with hostility.

She lowered her head and didn’t even dare to breathe loudly.

“Ah, the time has finally come.”
The old man’s voice was filled with excitement. “So, which guest will bring us a wonderful story today?”

Thus, the second story session began.

Before he finished speaking, a newbie from Zhang Mengnan’s group—number 2—raised his hand.
“…I will.”

Everyone’s attention snapped to him.

The old man clapped enthusiastically.
“Welcome, Guest Number 2!”

No one else clapped.
Everyone was caught up in their own thoughts, and some were clearly irritated that he jumped in first.

The boy with number 2 swallowed and spoke timidly.
“The story I’m going to tell is about a mental illness.”

Lin Kuo’s face instantly darkened.

Lin Zhi cursed, “Grass.”
Then, worried he’d scold her, she added, “A type of plant.”

She leaned over and grumbled, “He’s doing this on purpose, isn’t he? He saw how Zhang Mengnan’s story was unsolvable, so now he’s jumping on the trend! If everyone starts telling stories like this, this place won’t be a manor—it’ll be a damn psychiatric ward.”

Her voice wasn’t even low.
The boy with number 2 was frightened, but still pressed on.

“…Once upon a time, there was a little boy. He had autism, but his family didn’t realize it in time. By the time they found out, it had developed into depression, anxiety…”

He listed every mental illness he could think of in one breath.

“Because his parents said one wrong word, he cruelly killed them. He gradually came to enjoy the thrill of killing and became a notorious serial killer.”

Knowing he’d probably pissed everyone off, Number 2 rushed through his words:
“My story is finished… th-thanks.”

The old man looked stunned.
“Oh my god. That’s truly a terrifying story.”

Lin Zhi muttered, “How could it not be terrifying? It’s basically a collection of mental disorders.”
Just imagining it gave her chills.
“This is anti-human and anti-society. Damn it.”

Lin Kuo gave her a tug.

Lin Zhi: “Alright, alright, I’m just venting. I’ll shut up.”

But Lin Kuo shook his head.
“The cat is looking at you.”

Lin Zhi’s heart sank.
She turned to look and—sure enough—locked eyes with the cat’s third eye.

Her limbs suddenly went weak, and a cold chill ran down her spine.

Lin Kuo leaned forward a bit, blocking the cat’s line of sight.

The process was the same as last time.
The old man handed out paper and pens.
“Now, let’s score Guest Number 2’s story.”

Lin Kuo wrote his score in a single stroke.
0.

Naturally, Lin Zhi and Jiang Sheng also wrote 0.

Once the scores were collected, the old man added them up.
“Strange. I thought the story was scary and bloody. Yet… nine of you gave a score of 0. I hereby declare Guest Number 2’s final score to be 10.”

It was exactly as expected.
If nothing unusual had happened, that 10 was clearly from Zhang Mengnan and the other newbie.

After announcing the score, the old man checked the time again.
“There are still 90 minutes left until the end of the story session. Are there any other guests willing to share a story?”

“I am.”

The moment that voice sounded, someone else volunteered.

Lin Kuo pressed his lips together.
Thanks to Lin Zhi’s earlier explanation, he now recognized who it was.

Number 8. Yan Jie.

Sure enough, the old man said,
“I look forward to Guest Number 8’s story.”

Yan Jie stood up, swept a glance across the group with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and cleared his throat.

“I’m going to tell the Japanese horror story The Ring. The main character is—Sadako.”

Everyone’s expression turned pale.