“Are you sure there’s no mistake?”
“I can’t say if it’s the password, but I definitely didn’t get the name wrong.”
At the entrance on the third floor, two people stood beside the combination lock—it was none other than Number 1, Zhou Wei, and Number 11, Xuanyuan Najiang.
It seemed they were about to try opening the lock.
Zhou Wei extended his right hand and spun the dial of the lock from A to B, then to C.
The first character finally stopped at the letter C.
After fiddling a bit more, the second character was set to F, and the third to N.
He pressed the single red button on the lock, and a few white characters suddenly appeared in midair: Password incorrect.
“Are you absolutely sure you remembered it right?” Number 1, Zhou Wei, looked a little nervous. They only had three tries per faction on this lock, and it might even be used to verify identities. Wasting one attempt like this could be disastrous!
“No mistake, I’m positive! If it’s not the first letters of the painting’s name, then try the author’s name.” Number 11, Xuanyuan Najiang, was equally tense now.
“Your turn this time.” Zhou Wei stepped aside.
Xuanyuan Najiang nervously began turning the dial again, eventually locking in the letters: PLA.
He pressed confirm, and four white characters appeared in midair once more: Password incorrect.
“Hey… what’s going on? Just two tries wasted like that.”
Zhou Wei was annoyed.
When this high school teacher came looking for him, he heard that knowing the names and authors of the three paintings was enough to try opening the lock privately.
Now they’d wasted two chances for nothing, which was bad news.
If someone saw this, it’d be hard to explain.
“I really didn’t get it wrong. I’m certain.” Xuanyuan Najiang looked baffled.
“Maybe the password isn’t related to those three paintings at all. Let’s pull back for now.”
By noon, most people in the hall were visibly drained.
They had entered the dark world the previous morning, and after a full day of heightened alertness and no rest overnight, exhaustion was taking its toll.
The mental state of many was deteriorating rapidly. Some had already plopped their heads down on tables and fallen asleep without caring about appearances.
“This table smells like school,” Number 8, Huang Waikai, said, having lost patience with the paintings. He, like others, found a comfortable position, rested his hands behind his head, and dozed off. He even seemed to be mumbling in his sleep.
The main reason most were unwilling to return to their rooms was the murder scene—it was too gruesome.
Everyone instinctively avoided going near it.
Number 16 next door was especially scared to go back and just fell asleep wherever in the hall.
Still, some were unafraid and even preferred the confined safety of their rooms.
Since it was still daytime and according to the rules no attacks on others were allowed, life wasn’t in immediate danger.
About seven or eight people had returned to their rooms on the second floor, including Number 14, Yeliena, and Number 9, Huaru.
Number 14 naturally didn’t dare go to her own room and planned to sleep for a while with Huaru.
After all, both were women, so nothing would happen—even if it did, it wouldn’t happen!
The young girl seemed to have developed a reliance on the intelligent, reliable, and capable Miss Huaru.
Passing by Room 2, the door suddenly opened. Number 5, Zhou Yulong, appeared, awkwardly looking at Huaru.
His hand was still on the zipper of his jeans, which was only halfway up.
“Ha… I just wanted to ask her something. After all, her current status is a bit strange.”
Maybe because he had just finished some bed exercise, this guy wasn’t interested in any more physical advances for the moment, so he didn’t immediately make a move on Huaru or Yeliena and instead found an excuse to leave casually.
Now both Number 11 and Number 5 had some kind of connection to Number 2. Could this become a variable?
“You go rest in my room first. I have something to do.” Huaru lowered her voice and sent Yeliena away. Though puzzled, Yeliena didn’t ask further and kept looking back as she walked toward Room 9.
If left unchecked, this variable could indeed cause unpredictable problems.
To keep the story following her script, Huaru chose to enter Room 2.
Inside, a strange stench filled the air, making the compulsive Huaru very uncomfortable.
She almost turned to leave immediately.
Holding back the discomfort, she turned on the light and carefully closed the door behind her.
“Hmm… want to do it again?” A naked woman lay face down on the bed, her head turned to the side like a dead pig, lifeless and soaked in a lazy, decadent aura.
Huaru said nothing.
She reached for a nearby chair to sit but found it wouldn’t move.
After a couple of seconds, she realized everything was nailed to the floor—nothing could be moved.
“Disgusting.” Sitting down, she finally spoke, uttering the first words of their conversation.
This encounter with Number 2 was dangerous—one that risked exposing her identity.
After all, she was playing a timid, weak woman.
Entering someone else’s room uninvited didn’t fit that image at all.
More than exposing herself, she worried the plot wouldn’t follow her script. What if Numbers 11 and 5 had truly been swayed and didn’t vote for Number 2? Or if someone had planted ideas in Zhang Huiran’s mind?
This variable had to be controlled. Tonight, Number 2 must be voted out. Once Number 2 was eliminated, suspicion would shift to the most suspicious player for the civilians—Number 10.
“Are you here to mock me?” Zhang Huiran saw not ridicule, but fear and confusion on Huaru’s face. Unaware of the young lady’s excellent acting skills, she mistook her for someone whose sense of justice had flared, who couldn’t bear to watch a woman fall so far and wanted to stop her.
“Yes, I’m here to mock you.” Huaru put on a ‘calm and collected’ act, her performance slightly exaggerated, as if daring others to see through it. “Social status can be unequal, but everyone’s dignity should be equal. Why do you degrade yourself?”
Her words cut deep—it was a common form of moral coercion.
Saints don’t need ordinary food and don’t understand mortal suffering.
Many understand certain truths but fail to live by them. People know some things shouldn’t be done, but there’s always a reason they have to be.
“Hmph…” Zhang Huiran sneered coldly, struggling to sit up on the bed and looking at the ‘saint’ before her with mockery. “Another clueless young lady, all talk. How did you even survive before?”
Huaru said nothing, deliberately holding her breath to redden her face, creating the effect of a sudden change in expression.
“This is your second round, right? Lucky to have survived once, huh?” Zhang Huiran spoke again, imagining the reason this young lady was still alive.