Second floor, Room 3—Qian Min pulled a surprise move, doubling back alone to the scene of the murder.
There were still many things he hadn’t figured out, and yet sometimes he couldn’t say too much.
There were two ways for the killer to win: the first was to kill all four police officers, and the second was to kill all eight civilians.
Undoubtedly, the first method was the fastest and most reliable way to win—not only because there were fewer police, but also because they posed the greatest threat to the killer.
Police, as a special identity, had the ability to verify others—literally verifying a person’s identity—which made them extremely dangerous to the killer.
So, if someone’s threat level exceeded that of the police, would the killer still leave that person alive?
Qian Min didn’t dare risk his own life to find out, so during the investigation earlier that morning, he had only shared a small part of what he knew, careful not to provoke the killer.
As long as he could gain a little leverage in the conversation, that was enough; there was no need to overplay his hand.
Now, returning to the murder scene was about searching for other details—anything that could bring him closer to the killer or help him avoid danger.
For example, the door—how exactly was it opened? Did the killer have a key?
He stared at the keyhole for a long time but found no signs of violent lock-picking. The lock was intact and still functional.
Ruling that out left three possibilities: skilled lock-picking, key use, or the victim opening the door themselves.
Skilled lock-picking was highly likely. With a card or a few wires, picking a lock isn’t hard. The only unknown was whether the rules of this dark world matched reality. If so, the room could have been broken into.
What about the possibility of using a key? That was possible too, since outsiders didn’t know whether the killer had a key or what equipment they were issued.
Could it be that, like others, they were unarmed? The system wouldn’t be that stingy, right? Or perhaps killers received extra keys and weapons? This couldn’t be ruled out.
Then there was the third possibility: the victim opening the door themselves. This seemed unlikely at first but was actually very possible.
Qian Min had quietly tried to open the door yesterday but couldn’t. Remembering the rules made it clear: only the killer could freely enter and exit during that time.
If the killer wanted to come in at that moment and the door hadn’t been locked yet, it would have been easy to open.
So, the door to Room 15 might have been opened by the victim themselves.
Leaving the doorway behind, Qian Min frowned as he stepped inside, turned on the lights, and closed the door.
Alone in the sealed environment, the murder scene felt even more eerie and terrifying. Without the pressure of other players watching, he sensed his mind sharpening.
Closing his eyes, he could almost feel the fierce battle that had taken place in the early morning.
…
Others obviously weren’t so obedient. Player 1, Zhou Wei, mobilized others to search for anything related to “three.”
The entrance to the third floor had a lock that required a three-letter password. Since everyone was currently idle, why not give it a try?
Idle? Of course not. This was also a tactic to draw others away.
Player 1, Zhou Wei, and Player 11, Xuanyuan Najiang, teamed up to search for password clues on the second floor.
Player 10, Liu Qingzhu, wasn’t idle either; he led three “teammates” to hunt for the password on the first floor.
If it was something related to “three,” then the three paintings in the lobby were undoubtedly conspicuous.
The three paintings hung on the wall next to the kitchen entrance, very eye-catching.
Everyone had noticed them upon entering this dark world. At the time, they hadn’t thought much of it. But now, recalling the locked door to the third floor, these paintings suddenly seemed significant.
Of course, not everyone believed these were hints for the password lock. After all, they were far too obvious.
The three paintings all depicted people.
The leftmost was a Western-style woman dressed in white. In her left hand, she held a small black umbrella—different from the typical Chinese umbrellas, it was very small, only half the size of a normal umbrella.
The middle painting was familiar to many because it appeared in Chinese language textbooks: an old man with dark skin and a face full of wrinkles.
This painting was titled “Father,” and the artist was Luo Zhongli.
Hua Ru knew about the second painting and shifted her gaze to the third.
The third painting showed a man, his right hand seemingly holding a knife and his left hand grasping a flagpole. From his clothing, it looked like a period before the world wars.
“Napoleon at Arcole Bridge,” a voice suddenly said nearby.
“What?” Liu Qingzhu, startled out of his thoughts, looked at Player 8, Huang Waikai.
“I’m talking about the third painting. It’s called ‘Napoleon at Arcole Bridge.’ I once bought a copy of it at a street stall and thought it looked pretty classy, so I hung it in my shop,” the chubby man scratched his head.
“The artist? Who painted it?” The older man slowly lit a cigarette.
“How would I know? I just remember the title.”
Liu Qingzhu took a drag from his cigarette and looked back at the middle painting.
Pointing to it, he calmly said, “Does this painting look familiar to anyone?”
“No, never seen it,” Yeliena shook her head.
You’re Russian, of course you haven’t seen it! It’s in the Chinese language textbooks.
Hua Ru kept this to herself but then thought: Where did Yeliena learn Chinese? If she’s not from China, how did she enter the dark world? How exactly does this dark world select its participants?
“Are you studying in Russia?” Liu Qingzhu asked casually.
“I just transferred to a school in China recently,” Yeliena replied without suspicion, though no one knew if this was true.
If it was true, could this girl really be a student and not a fabricated character?
“I think I might have seen this painting before when I was in school?” Player 8, Huang Waikai, sounded uncertain.
“Right, I saw it in a language textbook but don’t remember the artist,” the older man frowned, trying to recall details about the painting.
“Is there anything special about these three paintings?” Yeliena scanned them back and forth with a confused look.
“The third-floor lock requires three letters, and here we have three paintings. It’s a bit of a coincidence, though we’re not sure. But it’s worth trying,” Liu Qingzhu stepped closer, trying to find a signature on the paintings, but unfortunately, there was none.
“So, if we know the names of these paintings, we can figure out the password?” Huang Waikai sounded excited.
“Maybe,” the older man said after a drag of his cigarette. “Too bad we don’t know the full names of all these paintings.”
“Should we call everyone over?” The chubby man was about to leave to gather others but was stopped by the older man.
“No rush. This isn’t important right now,” Liu Qingzhu’s face remained calm, his whole demeanor somewhat weary, making it hard to read his true thoughts.
But one thing was certain… he wasn’t in a hurry, nor could he afford to be.
Each faction—police, civilians, and killers—had three attempts to enter the password. The killer was mixed in with everyone else, so rushing to crack the lock now would just help the killer.