This murder game had, without a doubt, involved players from at least three different QQ groups.
But why was there a difference in the number of participants entering from each QQ group?
According to the discussions among the members of the Cangshu Team, an increase in the number of entrants generally meant a higher difficulty.
So why would the system raise the difficulty for the Cangshu Team?
The FS Esports Team Seventh Squad only had three players enter, which made things somewhat easier for them.
Did this mean the system considered those three players to be particularly strong?
Or… was the strength evaluation based on the overall strength of the entire QQ group, rather than just the strength of the individuals who entered?
Suddenly, Huaru recalled a common issue she and Zhang Huiran had noticed and hurriedly asked, “In your FS Esports Team, is there any mistreatment of newcomers?
Like bad behavior towards new members who just joined the group, or even actions that could get new players killed?”
Ragnar was silent.
After a long pause, he finally nodded without saying a word.
It was clear he was helpless as well.
“Do you know if there’s any pattern to the number of entrants? Why do some groups have three people enter, some four, and others five?” Huaru already had a theory in mind but wanted to hear if Ragnar had a different perspective.
“You mean…” The high schooler’s mind was sharp enough to understand what she implied from her words.
“Yes, I suspect it’s exactly that.”
Huaru didn’t state her theory outright.
Why did multiple QQ groups exhibit bullying toward newcomers, even deliberately causing their deaths?
And why did no one step in to stop it, letting everyone get away with it as if it were some unspoken rule?
Connecting this to the number of entrants and how the overall strength was judged, the answer became obvious.
The system apparently conducted strength evaluations not just on individuals but on the entire QQ group.
When a group’s strength reached a certain level, group battles could break out.
This was only Huaru’s guess, with less than 10% confidence—there was no evidence or data to verify it.
Perhaps some QQ groups with only a few players had also experienced group battles?
Without data to reference, it was impossible to be sure.
As for how the system selected entrants, it might pick based on individual strength or randomly based on the group’s overall strength.
One reason for the bullying of newcomers could be this: everyone wanted to lower the system’s assessment of their QQ group’s strength.
If the system judged the group to be too strong, it would increase the difficulty of the game stages or trigger deadly group battles.
So, one reason newcomers were deliberately targeted and no one cared could be to reduce the group’s overall strength rating with the system, thus avoiding the higher difficulty imposed by the system.
To test her theory, Huaru asked Xukesi and Yelena.
They had also been tricked in the Cangshu Team’s first match, similarly fooled into buying useless items or being fed false Dark World rules.
Huaru began to understand why forming a team was practical: it could filter out truly strong players, which was much more reliable than hoping for a Zhuge Liang or Zhang Fei among the newcomers.
If someone survived the first game despite all the scams, then they must have some kind of skill—even if it was just luck.
After the first match, the bullies in the QQ group seemed to stop deliberately targeting the survivors and began to tentatively accept them, letting them grow.
According to Ragnar, this was the advantage of having a team: the main team could directly bring in the strong players, while the useless ones naturally got separated.
Was this method right or wrong? Huaru couldn’t judge. She was not in a high position and didn’t have to bear responsibility for others, so she had no right to evaluate others’ actions.
If one day she had something precious, she wasn’t sure if she herself wouldn’t sacrifice others to protect what she cared about.
She sighed quietly, with both helplessness and understanding contained in it.
The four “killers” all seemed to unconsciously want to avoid talking about murder, and no one voluntarily brought up the main issue.
As time went on, the topics to discuss grew fewer, the atmosphere more awkward, and the subject of killing had to come out in the open.
(Cantonese) “Um… about tonight, who are we going to pick?” The first to speak was number 12, Labis Lazli, and his question fell into silence among the others.
He wasn’t oblivious to the mood; by now, everyone somewhat felt resistance to killing.
After all, these four “killers” weren’t real killers, and all were inexperienced and repelled by the idea of murder. But…
If you don’t kill, your fate will be the same as Zhang Huiran’s.
After a brief silence, Huaru took charge and calmly asked, “Were you trying to tell me with that look earlier that number 8 might be suspicious?”
(Cantonese) “Yes and no,” Xukesi nodded and shook his head at the same time. “Here’s what happened. This morning, when I was following Qian Min, number 10 Liu Qingzhu suddenly entered the kitchen looking for something. Then he noticed the apron and checked it for a while.”
“What did he do exactly? Tell me the details.” Huaru felt a bit nervous—it was like someone had caught a clue.
(Cantonese) “He seemed anxious, very anxious when he came in, like he was searching for something. But he didn’t rummage through anything. He clearly found the apron and took it to look at and touched it for a while.” Xukesi carefully recalled the details.
“You mean… he touched it for a while?”
(Cantonese) “Yes, he did. Very carefully. Did he notice something?”
What could touching the apron reveal? Feeling the fabric? Checking if something was hidden in a layer?
Or maybe he found bloodstains and wanted to confirm it by touch?
From Xukesi’s description alone, it was impossible to tell what Liu Qingzhu had discovered or what he intended to do.
(Cantonese) “Also, something felt off. You all know that apron was used to mop the floor last night. I worried that the apron might have been discovered, so I quietly followed to see what Liu Qingzhu wanted to do. After he left the kitchen, he went to talk with the fat guy. It was too far away, so I couldn’t hear what they said.”
“I’ve checked Huang Waikai’s tone; no problem there.” Number 8 didn’t seem suspicious, and Huaru was fairly certain of that.
The real trouble might be number 10, Liu Qingzhu.
That guy might have really figured something out.
Recalling how this uncle had claimed that by the second night everyone would know who the killer was didn’t sound like a joke.
That sent chills down Huaru’s spine, and her inner alarm bells rang loudly.
She wished she could eliminate this biggest threat tonight.
Thinking this through, she suddenly froze.
Since when had she become so indifferent to life?
(Author’s Note)
The college entrance exams are in two days—not me taking them, of course, since I’m already working.
(Some of you juniors might have heard these words so many times your ears are calloused, so I’ll skip most of the nagging.)
The college entrance exam is not the only path to success, but it is the best path within your reach.
When I was writing “Sword’s Journey,” my grandfather passed away. For a time, I had to go home to see him one last time. He wasn’t gone yet, but I could only watch him lie in bed, slowly dying—a painful ordeal both for him and those around him.
I was powerless. There was nothing I could do except cry.
Later, I wanted to study medicine. But I was told that even if I studied, I wouldn’t get a medical license. To become a doctor, I would have to take the college entrance exam again and enroll in medical school. Only then could I obtain a license to practice.
Of course, this is not the only way, but years later I realized the college entrance exam is the best path within reach.
I’ve said enough. Just recently, I saw some news that some girls are taking birth control pills to avoid their periods affecting the exam. I’m clearly against this.
Your body is your own. If you damage it, the pain is yours and that of those who care for you. Failing the exam costs you one year; damaging your body could cost you a lifetime.
All medicines have some toxicity—even cold medicine has side effects. Every time you take medicine, there’s a chance of unpredictable consequences. Don’t gamble your body on such seemingly slim odds.
Finally, I wish all juniors the best on their exams. I would gladly give up my entire collection to exchange for a good score for each of you.