Chapter 8: A Box Full Of Excuses

“But…”

Someone spoke hesitantly, their voice laced with struggle.

“That door…”

Yu Ziyu frowned.

He couldn’t be bothered to waste more words.

He tugged the black cloak slipping from his shoulder and walked straight toward the door.

 

There was no other option.

The Gatekeeper and Gu Leyu obediently stepped aside.

 

Yu Ziyu passed between them and stopped before the door with the serpent-headed handle.

For reasons he couldn’t quite place, he sensed Gu Leyu holding her breath.

With just a light twist of his wrist, the door opened in response—creak—revealing a narrow, oppressive interior.

It was pitch-black inside.

Only soft, drifting sobs could be heard in the air.

 

Seeing the door open, Gu Leyu finally let out a long breath.

“Teacher Ziye was just joking earlier, saying he wasn’t a player.”

 

Someone capable of creating works like his, yet never having entered Hell’s Playground at all—

That would have been utterly unbelievable.

She had been full of doubts before, but now that Yu Ziyu could open the door, it clearly meant he’d only been joking.

 

Yu Ziyu’s hand remained on the doorknob.

He paused and looked back.

 

The Gatekeeper explained, “To prevent unrelated people from barging in, we placed an item on the door.

Only those who have once been inside the game can open it.

Earlier, I thought Teacher Ziye might not be able to—but I didn’t expect you actually could.”

 

Yu Ziyu raised an eyebrow.

 

Having once been inside the game did not point to only one possible conclusion.

 

They had misunderstood, but he had no intention of correcting them.

He simply nodded faintly and stepped inside.

 

Gu Leyu followed closely behind.

The door slammed shut heavily behind them, the sound intensifying the struggling noises.

In the darkness, several candles suddenly flared to life, illuminating the room that had been completely unseen moments ago.

 

Yu Ziyu surveyed the surroundings.

The space was slightly larger than he had expected.

 

At the front was a smooth, circular platform about two meters in diameter.

At its edge stood a high chair.

The missing male student was bound to it.

 

Tears and snot streamed down his face.

His appearance was utterly miserable, his body crumpled and trapped at the top—

Like a lamb waiting to be slaughtered.

 

At the very center sat a small box.

Thick, foul-smelling blood seeped endlessly through its seams, sliding down onto the steps.

The box trembled continuously, like a grotesque, oversized heart—
Silently screaming after being torn from a soft chest.

 

Yu Ziyu narrowed his eyes and took a few steps toward the platform.

 

“Teacher Ziye!”

 

Gu Leyu hurriedly tried to stop him.

“It’s better not to get too close.

It’s dangerous.”

 

“What is that used for?”

Yu Ziyu asked.

 

“It’s also a sacrifice.”

“……”

Yu Ziyu turned around and let his gaze fall on the others present.

He gave the hall a rough scan—there weren’t many people.

Only around ten in total.

 

From what he knew, Jealousy’s followers numbered far more than this.

Which meant this was a private gathering—

More like a small inner circle planning a blood sacrifice game.

 

“Is everyone here?” he asked.

 

Gu Leyu counted quietly before answering in a low voice, “They should be.

Everyone here is an administrator from the forum’s ‘Jealousy’ section.

Once we understand Jealousy’s situation, we’ll announce on the forum whether he’s truly appeared, so others can know the progress.”

“…Forum?”

 

Yu Ziyu heard the word for the first time.

He frowned slightly and asked with visible confusion, “You have a forum?”

 

“Huh?

You didn’t know?

That’s strange.

The person who emailed your private address with the invitation is the head administrator of the entire forum—and your most fanatical admirer.

The forum’s background image is your work…”

Seeing that she was about to go off on a tangent, Yu Ziyu cut her off.

“How do I get in?”

 

“What?”

Gu Leyu froze.

 

“The address.”

 

“It’s a link.

Every player who exits the game receives it.

Didn’t you get one?”

 

Yu Ziyu was growing impatient.

 

He disliked rummaging through other people’s memories—

Sometimes you saw things you didn’t want to see.

But Gu Leyu talked far too much, never answering questions directly, which disgusted him.

 

God knew how much he hated people who were overly familiar, loud, and incessantly chatty.

 

His pitch-black eyes fixed on her.

 

Gu Leyu suddenly felt an overwhelming pressure—

Like a fine, dense web closing in on her, leaving nowhere to escape, almost suffocating her.

Under that gaze, she completely lost control of her body.

 

Her soul seemed to float free, suspended in midair, hearing her own voice say,

“You just need to search…”

“Search for what?”

Yu Ziyu’s voice was very soft, almost a whisper, carrying an encouraging tone.

 

“The ritual is about to begin.”

 

A voice abruptly cut through their exchange.

 

Gu Leyu snapped back to herself.

Her face still carried a trace of soul-leaving bewilderment.

A few seconds later, she seemed to come to her senses and exhaled deeply, as if granted a reprieve, glancing at Yu Ziyu with fear and confusion.

 

What had just happened?

 

Her mind was a foggy mess.

She shrank back unconsciously.

Just minutes earlier, it had felt as though her soul had been completely seized—

As if the moment Teacher Ziye stared at her, all her memories had nowhere to hide.

“……”

The dim red glow faded from Yu Ziyu’s eyes.

He frowned in annoyance.

 

Since the ritual was about to begin, he temporarily gave up using his power.

He decided he would just reread the email when he got back.

 

Now really wasn’t the time.

 

As the earlier voice fell silent, the entire room lit up completely.

Their figures became perfectly visible under an eerie green phosphorescent glow.

Most people wore hoods, obscuring their faces.

Even Gu Leyu had pulled one on.

 

Only Yu Ziyu openly showed his entire face.

 

After all, everyone here knew him.

They came from an anonymous forum, but Yu Ziyu was different—
He was a “special guest.”

 

His conspicuous behavior drew puzzled looks, all of which were promptly glared down by Gu Leyu, the overzealous fan.

 

At that moment, Yu Ziyu’s watch emitted a soft beep-beep.

He glanced down.

1:00 a.m.

 

There was a saying that 1:00 a.m. was the most yin moment of the day—
At such a time, nothing that happened would be surprising.

 

As if to confirm it, someone stepped out from the crowd.

 

Yu Ziyu watched coldly and recognized the man as the one who had interrupted him earlier.

The man walked up to the struggling student, who was letting out muffled cries of terror, drew a dagger—

A flash of cold light.

The blade sliced cleanly across his throat.

 

Like a muffled thunderclap tearing open the sky, the air froze for several seconds.

Then blood erupted violently.

 

A gurgling sound poured from the student’s neck.

It was as though he had become a newly opened well, springing forth with fresh water.

 

Several sharp gasps rang out.

A wave of commotion followed—

And then, like thirsty travelers crossing a desert, the crowd began clicking their tongues in awe.

 

Yu Ziyu crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall.

Not even his eyebrows twitched.

 

He changed his mind.

 

He wanted to see what these insane humans were actually trying to do.

 

This spectacle was utterly ridiculous—

Black robes, sacrifices, a pretense of solemnity that was closer to intoxication.

It even stirred a trace of absurd amusement in him.

 

Even though the man on the platform—who had once killed an innocent girl—was dying, Yu Ziyu had no intention of saving him.

 

First, one thing had to be made clear.

 

They bosses had never demanded sacrifices.

They were running a proper game.

They didn’t play that kind of nonsense.

 

Yes, death could grant them power, but that was a barely fair exchange.

Win, and you leave with strength.

Lose, and both body and soul stay behind.

 

The stakes were high.

But there was no alternative.

 

Players dragged into the game on one side.

NPCs trapped by its rules on the other.

 

Either the player died, or the NPC died.

Both were puppets, spun around by the same game, living or dying according to its progress.

 

Since both were prisoners on strings, there was no need to rank who was worse off.

 

Yu Ziyu himself never killed people.

He hadn’t even designed the seventh layer.

Few players ever reached his territory, and he rarely intervened in struggles between other bosses and players.

 

He was the third party.

The detached observer standing at the threshold.

 

Because he was the only final boss not bound by the game’s rules.

 

Watching the intoxicated expressions around him, Yu Ziyu coldly withdrew his gaze.

 

Strangely, a kind of unfamiliar, bizarre anger surged within him.

 

He felt deeply offended.

 

“Wait a moment.

I have a question.”

 

His voice suddenly broke the eerie silence.

 

“Which one of you came up with this idea, thinking that ‘Jealousy’ would appear because of it?”

 

The crowd snapped back to awareness, looking at Yu Ziyu with displeasure and hesitation.

“…Teacher Ziye?”

Gu Leyu stared at him in surprise.

 

Seeing this, Yu Ziyu straightened up and spoke lazily,

“Fine.

I’ll put it another way.

After all, you’re all experts at weaving lies and especially fond of deceiving yourselves, you idiots.”

 

They froze.

 

Only after a beat did they realize that Teacher Ziye was insulting them.

 

Shock swept through the room faster than anger.

They all glared furiously at Yu Ziyu’s beautiful face.

 

“What did you say?!”

The black-robed man holding the dagger shouted from the platform.

 

“Of course.

How did I not think of it—it was your idea, right?”

 

Yu Ziyu replied coldly, a flicker of red flashing through his eyes.

“You looked like you enjoyed killing him quite a bit.

How did it feel?

Did it make you feel like you were back in the game again, one of those ‘helpful people’ who could manipulate newbies and send them to their deaths?”

 

The man’s eyes widened in disbelief.

 

“N-No… it’s not like that.”

He staggered back a step, tripping over the chair leg.

“I did it for ‘Jealousy’…”

“Is that so?”

 

Yu Ziyu tilted his head slightly.

“Then why does it feel to me like you planned this because killing feels good?

After all, once you leave Hell’s Playground, you don’t get chances like this anymore.

Work stress must be huge, huh?

You’re useless, after all—can’t even print documents without messing up.

Hell’s Playground gave you one of the few scraps of confidence you’ve ever had, didn’t it, Xiao Chen?”

 

The man called Xiao Chen stared at Yu Ziyu in terror.

 

Every dark thought had been exposed.

 

How does he know?

How can he know?

 

His head throbbed violently, as though unseen hands were tearing his thoughts apart.

 

In the game, he had tasted omnipotence—the illusion of controlling others’ lives and deaths.

Such moments were rare in his real life.

Rare enough that he had nearly forgotten how mediocre he truly was.

 

Once he left the game, the drop from heaven to earth was unbearable.

 

His eyes were bloodshot.

He clutched his head and collapsed into a crouch, unable to escape the heavy shadow Yu Ziyu cast over him.

 

Yu Ziyu’s tone never rose or fell.

Yet his words dragged out the darkest emotions buried deep within their hearts—

The ones they most desperately wanted to hide.

 

And they had no strength to resist.

 

But Yu Ziyu no longer bothered with him.

He shifted his gaze casually.

 

“Gu Leyu, didn’t you say earlier that the sacrifice wasn’t suitable?”

 

“I couldn’t agree more.”

 

“Compared to your boyfriend, you’re obviously far more suitable to be Jealousy’s sacrifice.”

 

“What?”

 

Suddenly named, Gu Leyu froze.

Then trembled as realization struck.

 

“N-No, don’t say that…”

She resisted weakly, forcing a smile.

“Teacher Ziye, don’t joke like this.”

 

“She cried to you privately, didn’t she?”

“‘My stepfather raped me.

I’m pregnant with his child.

What should I do?’”

“You were friends, weren’t you?

So how could you twist those words and spread them around, saying she was a prostitute?”

 

“Oh, I get it.

She was prettier than you.

More popular.

Even had better grades.”

 

“You were so jealous, weren’t you?

Even your boyfriend secretly looked at her.”

 

“She died—it’s really for the best.”

 

Gu Leyu seemed to recall the moment her friend had tightly clutched her hand, the sticky discomfort of sweaty palms.

She hadn’t pulled away.

 

Seeing her friend in pain had brought her an undeniable sense of pleasure.

 

Under Yu Ziyu’s gaze, her mind dissolved into chaos.

She didn’t know what she was saying anymore.

 

Malice drove her throat.

 

“Her dying wasn’t enough!

She was always so fake!

I survived Hell’s Playground—why did no one notice how special I am?!

I wanted to turn her into a vengeful spirit and kill her myself!”

 

Yu Ziyu nodded perfunctorily.

“Mhm.

I see.

What an honest, good child.”

 

Gu Leyu jolted violently, clapping a hand over her mouth in terror.

She had no idea why she had spoken those thoughts aloud.

“……”

The room fell deathly silent.

 

“I don’t even feel like talking about the rest of you,” Yu Ziyu said listlessly.

“You’re all so hypocritical.

Even more disgusting than monsters like us.”

They weren’t doing this for Jealousy at all.

 

They were doing it for themselves.

 

Leaving a place where power was everything, these players had grown accustomed to slaughter and bloodshed.

They could no longer adapt to the rules of modern civilization.

 

Their bodies had left the game.

Their souls never had.

 

Alive—

Yet worse than dead.

 

The sense of loss, combined with humanity’s seven deadly sins, manifested vividly within them.

 

The anonymous forum became their gathering place.

They desperately needed to kill someone to soothe the craving surging through their veins.

 

But such thoughts were terrifying—monstrous.

They needed a fig leaf.

 

Jealousy’s supposed appearance became the perfect excuse.

 

Unfortunately, Jealousy would not come.

 

Because the moment Yu Ziyu stepped through the door, he had already placed a barrier.

 

Under the crowd’s fearful gazes, Yu Ziyu stepped onto the platform.

 

This time, no one dared stop him.

 

His slender fingers rested gently on the blood-seeping box.

The restless thing seemed to be soothed, gradually calming beneath his touch.

 

Yu Ziyu closed his eyes.

 

He imagined the most innocent girl inside—

A beautiful sacrifice born of jealousy—

Looking up at him, pleading.

 

“This room stinks.”

 

Then Yu Ziyu opened his cold eyes.

 

Click.

Click.

 

He undid the tightly fastened clasps.

 

And released the ugly monster within.

 

---