Chapter 50: Man, Wood, B

Lin Kuo forced himself to remain calm. These three so-called clues seemed to point in a clear direction, but in truth, they did not. After all, he and the others were all strangers, each with completely different sets of information. Aside from the first clue, the other two were as good as meaningless.

More than the clues themselves, the true danger lay in the influence of that mechanical voice. A single slip, a flicker of emotion revealed, and others could easily seize upon it. After all, only the participants would care to probe deeper into the hints the mechanical voice had given.

Lin Kuo lowered his gaze, concealing the turbulence in his eyes. All around him, the room was filled with noise and clamor.

“God, there’s a demon among us! Will it kill us?” A woman’s voice trembled. “Who’s the Escaper? If the demon kills the Escaper, does that mean the rest of us won’t die?”

Earlier, Lin Kuo had silently given nicknames to the seven men he’d seen in the living room: the short-haired man, and then the six long-haired men, numbered 1 through 6 according to hair length. To make things easier, he’d also labeled the other three: the woman clutching a pillow was “Pillow Woman,” the bespectacled man was “Glasses,” and the teenager with the backpack was “Backpack Boy.”

Everyone had accepted the idea of “NPC identities” without much fuss, but not a single person was willing to reveal the code to the lock on their own door.

The short-haired man muttered, “Should’ve known better than to listen to you guys and come out to hike in this godforsaken place.”

The six long-haired men were still spouting pretentious words when, all of a sudden, the man with glasses raised his hand, pointing toward the seven of them. “Do you know each other?” He didn’t need an answer—anyone with eyes could see it. Then he pointed at himself and Pillow Woman. “We’re husband and wife. Which means the two participants are…”

Immediately, Lin Kuo and Backpack Boy became the focus of everyone’s suspicion.

The woman recoiled several steps back, clutching her pillow tightly, and screamed, “Ahhhh, participants! I don’t care which one of you is the demon and which one is the Escaper—I’m innocent! I don’t know anything! Just don’t drag me into your fight!”

Backpack Boy froze for a moment, then sneered. “Seriously, Auntie? Trying to wash your hands clean this fast? With thinking that sharp, aren’t you more likely the participant?”

Pillow Woman snapped back instantly, practically spitting in his face. “Bah! If I were a participant, may I die a horrible death!”

Backpack Boy muttered, “Crazy woman.”

Lin Kuo thought for a moment, then suddenly pointed at the man with glasses and said coldly: “You’re the demon.”

Glasses stammered, “I’m not! I already said I’m with my wife here—how could I possibly be the demon?”

“Then why were you trying to mess with the lock on the door?” Lin Kuo countered.

With that one sentence, he successfully diverted all suspicion away from himself. Everyone’s eyes turned to the bespectacled man—even Pillow Woman looked at him with doubt.

Glasses flushed red. “I—I wasn’t! I was just curious. If I really were the demon, I’d be hiding myself, wouldn’t I? Why would I do something to make you suspect me?”

Backpack Boy scoffed. “Wow, what a double standard! Just a few words from you and suddenly all eyes are on me and this ice block here. But when it’s you, suddenly you’re playing mind games to clear yourself? Impressive. Honestly, that makes you seem pretty damn demonic to me.”

Glasses hadn’t expected Backpack Boy to be so sharp-tongued. He was left spluttering for a long while before blurting out, “Everyone here is suspicious! I know I’m just an observer. As an observer, isn’t it my duty to point out anything that seems questionable?”

Backpack Boy rolled his eyes. “And I know I’m just a passerby. I only came in here to avoid the rain. This is such a pain.”

After accusing Glasses, Lin Kuo fell silent again. This rundown villa was filled with strange people anyway. Since Backpack Boy had already given him the role of “the cold one,” Lin Kuo decided to accept it without resistance.

The short-haired man finally snapped. “Enough arguing. Let’s analyze the situation.”

Long-Haired Man #1 retorted, “Analyze what? Figure out who the Escaper is just to hand them over to the demon? Do you even hear yourself?”

The short-haired man scowled. “You bookworms are the dumb ones. If we find the two participants, only one of them is the demon. We’ve got ten people on our side—ten against one! How could we possibly lose?”

Lin Kuo pressed his lips together. That phrase—“ten against one”—echoed in his mind. He recalled the four words written in the dungeon’s setup: Single-Player Camp.

But he couldn’t afford to dwell on it now. Any stray emotion could be noticed by the others.

The short-haired man’s argument won the crowd over, and soon all eleven of them gathered in the living room. He placed a candle on the dust-covered coffee table and introduced himself first: “My name is Su Cheng. I hold a PhD. I only came here today because someone organized a hiking trip in the group chat. But who in their right mind hikes in a creepy place like this?”

Lin Kuo heard this line and immediately saw five more long-haired boys nodding in agreement around him.

Long-Haired Boy No. 2 said:
“The beauty of long legs walking gracefully in the rain, a figure crossing through the drizzle—how delightful to the human eye.”

No. 3 said:
“I’ve been inspired! I’m going to compose a poem right now:
‘Rain patters, pitter-pat,
Sheltering us when we meet—
But is it the rain, or fate’s design?’”

The boy with the book laughed loudly:
“Stop, stop! You’re killing me—this poem is so corny it’s making my feet curl up!”

No. 4 chimed in:
“I think it’s fine! Even if the poem’s clumsy, the courage to create is what matters most. Long live creativity!”

No. 5 nodded seriously:
“I agree with him. Those who dare to create are brave.”

No. 6, unwilling to be left out, jumped in and immediately started dissing the short-haired man:
“I honestly don’t know where your superiority complex over Su Cheng the teacher comes from. Do you even have a master’s degree? A doctorate? Reading isn’t about puffing yourself up or looking down on people like a mangy dog. Reading a mountain of books and walking ten thousand miles—it’s about learning how to be a person, how to conduct yourself. But the way you look at every sentence like it’s beneath you… the books you’ve read have all been eaten by dogs.”

Lin Kuo looked at this bunch. Instead of finding anything useful, all he saw was a chaotic group of chatterboxes. It really was like that saying: Seven talented men, six lunatics.

The pillow girl also threw in her own dramatic line. She tilted her head back proudly, raised her voice, and said:
“I—Chen Xi! I have Type A blood! I have no connection whatsoever with the Three-Stripe Path!”

The boy with glasses muttered:
“I also have no connection with the First Bloodline.”

The pillow girl twisted the glasses boy’s ear:
“Not only your hands, but even your mouth owes me.”

The boy with the book spread his arms wide:
“My name is Jiuyi. I’m a second-year high schooler. I ran away from school, and then it suddenly started raining. Who knew I’d bump into such a ridiculous bunch of people here.”

Lin Kuo glanced over at the boy with the backpack. Sensing his gaze, the boy immediately snapped,
“What are you staring at me for! My school’s right at the foot of the mountain. If you don’t believe me, go see for yourself!”

When Lin Kuo didn’t reply, the boy pressed further:
“And what about you? You’ve been dodging the whole time—what’s your identity?”

Lin Kuo slowly averted his gaze, deliberately steering clear of the second clue, “wood.”
“Sheng Kuo,” he said.

The boy frowned. “That’s it?”

Lin Kuo turned back toward him. “What else do you want to know?”

The boy thought for a moment.
“…At least tell us your age and occupation. Just a name—who’s going to remember that?”

Lin Kuo answered as if squeezing toothpaste, one word at a time:
“Unemployed. Twenty-two.”

Finally, only the glasses boy was left. He adjusted his frames and said,
“Liu Yuanque. I’m a fan of literature. I came here to watch the sunset and the moonrise—who knew it would rain? And then I ended up in this mess. What a pain.”

Once all eleven had spoken, an uneasy feeling rose in Lin Kuo’s chest.

Back when he used to sketch portraits in the park, he’d looked at so many faces that he developed a knack for reading microexpressions. Just now, he’d quietly observed each person as they spoke. Every one of them seemed… normal. That very normality was what made his stomach tighten with dread.

Apparently the others felt the same, because the villa sank into an eerie silence.

The short-haired man who had first suggested revealing identities awkwardly broke it:
“The demon and the Escaper are good at hiding, huh. Maybe everyone should share their thoughts.”

Long-Haired Boy No. 1 snapped back at him:
“What’s there to talk about? You’re dead set on flushing out the participants—what’s your deal? Are you trying to play Su Cheng the Teacher?”

The short-haired man bristled.
“I’ve already explained. Weren’t you the one who agreed with me before? And now you’re turning it back on me? If you can’t find the demon yourself, don’t blame me. Forget it. Let’s just stop here. Everyone go to bed.”

He snatched a candle off the coffee table and went to look for a room.

The dim light flickered, and in that moment of shadow, a probing gaze landed on Lin Kuo. Feeling it, he lifted his head, but failed to catch whose eyes they were.

From the railing of the second floor, the short-haired man called down:
“There are rooms up here—exactly eleven.”

The pillow girl immediately leapt to her feet and dashed upstairs, as if terrified she’d miss out on a safe room. Her movement spurred the others, and soon the whole group was heading toward the second floor.

Everyone rushed to grab rooms near the center. To deflect suspicion, Lin Kuo joined in the scramble and ended up with the fourth room on the left.

He slipped inside, locked the door behind him, and began searching the place. The overhead light sputtered with a harsh zzzt of electricity, but flickered on. Under the weak glow, he went over every inch of the room, methodically.

Nothing suspicious. No hidden cameras either.

Lin Kuo sat down on the bed, listening. Outside, the pillow girl and the glasses boy were bickering, their quarrel punctuated by two sharp slams of doors. Then the entire villa fell into silence.

No eyes lingered on him anymore. Only then did Lin Kuo allow his mind to turn.

This dungeon, Deadly Mountain Villa—he’d seen its type in countless suspense and horror films. The classic “snowbound mansion” scenario, also called the isolated island mode: a group of people trapped together in a sealed-off location, like this villa. No way to leave, no way to contact the outside. And hidden among them—one murderer, the “demon” mentioned by the mechanical voice. In such an environment, the demon had no fear of anyone escaping.

Lin Kuo went over the rules the system voice had announced. Almost all of them tilted heavily in favor of the demon. That had been suspicious to him from the start. With the “Main God System” always balancing its dungeons for dramatic tension, it shouldn’t be possible for the rules to be this skewed.

Unless… even the demon didn’t know they were the demon.

Lin Kuo frowned, recalling the three clues about the Escaper:
Male. Wood. B.

Every clue seemed to point straight at him. His name had two “wood” characters in it. And he came from District B.

But something about it felt off. This was a three-star dungeon—could the system really have made it so easy to identify him as the Escaper?

Elsewhere in the villa, in the solitude of another locked room, someone kept tracing the character for “wood” into their palm, whispering under their breath: “Is it because my name has the wood radical? And B… is it because my blood type is B?”