Chapter 8: Like Sweet Wind

Lin Kuo had only reached out and touched the piano keys.
He was very clear that he hadn’t done anything else.

Beside him, Li Yinan covered her mouth, forcing herself not to scream.
But even though she suppressed her shock, she still couldn’t accept the two facts in front of her.

Two facts:

1. There really was that thing in this room.
2. They were lucky enough to be the unlucky ones targeted on the first night.

Lin Kuo retracted his hand and stood in front of Li Yinan, mouthing the words, “Back up.”

Although it was just mouthed, Li Yinan still felt soothed.
She faced the piano and took a few steps back.
When she reached a position that didn’t even feel safe, she looked up to find Lin Kuo still in the same spot.

Li Yinan became a little anxious.
“Boss…”

Lin Kuo put his index finger to his lips and, half-turning, made a shushing gesture.
After Li Yinan quieted down, he turned back and silently gazed at the piano playing by itself.

Canon, in the strictest sense, is a type of polyphonic music.
The entire piece essentially shares the same melody, but the different pitches of the voices create a continuous and undulating effect.

Lin Kuo listened carefully to the piano music flowing through the bedroom.
The leading melody that appeared first sounded normal, but the answering phrase that followed became increasingly chaotic—even frantic.
The melody of the answering phrase had completely deviated from the original lead.

It was like drawing a dog, but the second copy was missing a tail, the third missing a head, and the fourth had become a messy, trembling tangle of lines.
These copies and the original couldn’t even be called identical—they were simply unrelated.

This completely violated the concept of regularity that Canon expresses, where one voice’s melody consistently chases another’s from beginning to end.

Lin Kuo moved away from the piano, his brows deeply furrowed.

For some reason, he felt that the nonsensical piano music currently playing was… afraid.
It reminded Lin Kuo of the fear the butler had shown.

What were they afraid of?
And how was it connected to the clue about there being only six breakfasts?

Lin Kuo temporarily set those two questions aside.
Compared to those doubts, what he needed to determine first was whether the ghost in the room was a Henry Lee Lucas or a Ted Bundy.
If it was a Ted Bundy, then what was its modus operandi?

Li Yinan was also concerned about this point.
But this was the first time in her life she had ever encountered a ghost.
In other words, she had no experience—and didn’t know what to do.

Although she didn’t want to be a burden to Lin Kuo, she had no choice but to look to him for help.

She watched Lin Kuo casually grab two pillowcases and twist them into rope-like shapes.
One was laid straight on the ground, while the other was bent in the middle, its ends drooping down to connect with the first—
forming a “→” symbol, the arrow pointing at the piano.

This was the clue Lin Kuo had promised Liang Sihong he would leave for the survivors.
It seemed he was already prepared for the worst.

Li Yinan suddenly felt a bit helpless.
Even Lin Kuo couldn’t contend with this mysterious force.
What could she do?

Just as she was feeling dejected, a small silver knife was stuffed into her hands.

Lin Kuo said, “Take this for self-defense.”

Li Yinan was stunned for a moment.
Judging by the knife’s material, she deduced that Lin Kuo had most likely swiped it from the dining room.
But launching a physical attack on a supernatural being seemed a bit far-fetched.

Seeing Li Yinan’s expression, Lin Kuo thought for a moment and added, “It can also help you pass on peacefully.”

“…”
Although the words weren’t comforting, she was still deeply moved.
After all, being tormented to death by a ghost was worse than ending it herself with one clean cut.

The piano music continued.

By now, there was no melody to speak of.

It sounded more like a fat cat was running back and forth on the keys.

The two people in the bedroom silently confronted the demonic sound.

Time passed slowly—each second felt like a year.

Lin Kuo watched the piano warily, taking a moment to pull out his phone and check the time.

The Walled City livestream didn’t have a direct time display.

Lin Kuo judged the time by the length of the video progress bar.

The bar now showed 6 hours and 35 minutes.

He waited a bit longer.

When he checked again, it was 6 hours and 55 minutes.

Twenty minutes had passed.

The piano music hadn’t stopped, but aside from the keys jumping up and down, nothing else had happened.

Li Yinan’s hand holding the small knife was tired.

She switched hands and asked nervously, “Boss, have we not triggered that thing’s killing condition?”

Although she asked this, she didn’t dare let her guard down.

She feared the invisible ghost was toying with them—like a cat playing with a mouse.

Instead of killing in one strike, it might be waiting until the mouse’s stamina was exhausted before slowly enjoying it.

Lin Kuo shook his head.

“I’m more inclined to think that it doesn’t want to kill.”

After a brief pause, he added, “At least not tonight.”

Li Yinan was puzzled. “It doesn’t want to?”

Lin Kuo hummed in affirmation and simply explained, “Music is a way of expressing emotion. I can hear that it’s afraid.”

Li Yinan set aside her doubts and fears, calmed herself, and tried to listen to the demonic sound.

Sure enough, she could sense a hint of fear.

This discovery left her completely baffled.

“People are afraid of ghosts… but ghosts are afraid of us too? What kind of logic is that?”

Hearing this, Lin Kuo suddenly froze.

A thought flashed through his mind, but in the next moment, it was suppressed.

He didn’t even manage to catch the tail end of it.

He was just about to ask Li Yinan to repeat what she said when she spoke first: “Boss… the music is getting weaker. Is it about to stop?”

As her voice fell, the music stopped.

The room was finally quiet.

The scarlet moon outside the window dimmed, revealing the normal glow of the moon.

If not for the pillowcase arrow still on the floor, it would have seemed like everything just now had been a nightmare.

Li Yinan didn’t dare to release her breath—nor hold it—afraid the music would start again.

She asked, uncertainly, “It should be fine now, right?”

Lin Kuo dismantled the arrow.

Seeing that Li Yinan was on the verge of breaking down, he thought for a moment and said, “Rest first.”

After saying that, he gave the piano one last look and returned to the bed.
Only then did Li Yinan sit down on the bench at the foot of the bed and let out the breath she’d been holding.
Still, she didn’t dare to fully relax.

“Boss, I have a suggestion…”

Lin Kuo looked at her.

Li Yinan said, “How about we take turns resting?”

Lin Kuo nodded.
“Okay.”

Just as Li Yinan was about to say “You rest first,” Lin Kuo beat her to it.
He was still alert and couldn’t sleep anyway, so it was better to let Li Yinan rest first.

After several waves of fright, Li Yinan was completely exhausted.

She fell asleep almost the moment her head hit the pillow.

Lin Kuo lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling with his eyes open.

He couldn’t recall that fleeting thought from earlier.

But he had never liked dwelling on one thing for too long.

So he decided to take out his phone and accurately calculate how long Canon had played, to see if he could discover anything from the duration.

The bullet chat in the livestream was flooding the screen:

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[Where’s the ghost? I took off my pants just to see this?]
[So mad! I thought this dog streamer was done for—I even prepped the firecrackers!]
[That’s it? That’s it? That’s it?]
[So much for a two-star instance. This is it?!]
[This instance scammed me!]

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Lin Kuo was expressionless.
“Idiots.”
The piano music had clearly conveyed panic.
To him, the bullet comments were just nonsense.

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[???]
[Why do I want to hit him so badly?]
[You just barely survived and still act this smug?]
[Dog streamer, you can run, but you can’t hide. Just wait, you’ll get yours!]
[Daily check-in: Is the dog streamer dead yet? :)]

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There was no function to turn off bullet chat, and these comments were blocking the time display.

Lin Kuo grew impatient and was about to toss his phone aside—

Just then, a Walled City Chat message popped up.

Sheng Wen, watching Lin Kuo on the livestream, was wondering if the little streamer would accept his smurf account request this time.

He couldn’t figure out why Lin Kuo had rejected it before.

Why could others borrow money, but he couldn’t borrow points?

They were both scammers—why the discrimination?

He spent a few minutes carefully reviewing Lin Kuo’s profile and discovered that the little streamer was a young painter.

After browsing his art book, Sheng Wen changed his avatar to match the art style—

A 2D sweet girl with two braids.

He also changed the friend request message:

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[Watched the stream. Big brother is amazing. I have a question. Please don’t reject me, ducky >.< Sob~]

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Sheng Wen was disgusted by his own idiotic actions.

Forget it, he thought.

If anyone found out that God S, No. 1 on the points leaderboard, stooped this low just to add a newbie… I’d ram my head into a pillar.

Just as he was about to cancel the request, his phone buzzed.

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System Notification:

[Lin Kuo has accepted your friend request.] 

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“…”
His mood was complicated for a moment.

Before he could even sigh, the other party sent a message:
[Lin Kuo]: ?

Sheng Wen chuckled coldly.
He was ignored as God S, but welcomed as a sweet little girl.
And he’d thought this streamer was different.
So this was all it took?

That’s it? That’s it? That’s it?

Sheng Wen pinched the bridge of his nose and slowly typed.

Lin Kuo, meanwhile, had no idea.
He assumed the new friend request was from the earlier black-avatar user.

Looking back, maybe that person really was desperate.
But Lin Kuo wasn’t yet proficient with Walled City Chat.
He had only discovered the block function and didn’t know how to retrieve rejected friend requests.

So, when another friend request came in, he accepted it without hesitation—
As if making amends.

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[Sweet as the Wind]: Thank you, big brother, for adding me as a friend.
[Lin Kuo]: What’s the question?
[Sweet as the Wind]: Actually… I just think big brother is amazing and wanted a spot on your friends list.

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Lin Kuo had no intention of replying after seeing that.
He hadn’t forgotten that he was still on night watch and had no time to chat.

But Sweet as the Wind didn’t give up:

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[Sweet as the Wind]: (*￣︶￣)

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A nerve twitched in Lin Kuo’s temple.
This emoji felt… familiar, somehow.
As if he’d seen it before.

Before he could place it, she sent another message:

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[Sweet as the Wind]: Big brother, I actually have something important to tell you.
[Lin Kuo]: ?
[Sweet as the Wind]: Don’t tell anyone that the room manager is God S.
[Sweet as the Wind]: God S’s reputation is too brilliant and dazzling. If others find out, it might cause some tricky trouble.
[Sweet as the Wind]: The less trouble, the better. What do you think, big brother?

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Lin Kuo pursed his lips and replied:

[Lin Kuo]: Then how do you know?