On the surface, it seemed like a simple request.
Once the mannequin was brought over, she could just point at each item one by one and have him dress it accordingly—no nudity required.
Zhao Qian Sun Li dutifully fetched a mannequin.
“How would you like to style it?”
Unlike the other two clerks, he’d mastered the art of deflecting everything to the manager. So far, that had kept him out of trouble, and he wasn’t particularly afraid of customers.
“I want two red hats as shoes. A blue-striped shirt. Four pairs of vertically striped pants—stitch them together so they wrap around.”
“And for the head, that hat. Yes, the one with the flesh-colored warty polka dots.”
As Su Shisan rattled off her demands, Zhao Qian Sun Li’s face twitched.
Is this woman insane?
This wasn’t about fashion anymore—who in their right mind would wear something like that?
And where did that creepy, fleshy polka-dot hat even come from?
He didn’t remember seeing it before.
Despite his revulsion, he could sense something was wrong. This wasn’t just eccentricity—this customer was trying to provoke him.
And if he dressed the mannequin in this nightmare of an outfit, it would clearly violate Rule No. 8:
“This supermarket maintains a standard of public aesthetics. Staff must ensure mannequins are not dressed in bizarre combinations.”
He wasn’t sure if her style would count as a violation, but he wasn’t about to risk it.
“Sorry, but all our mannequins come pre-dressed. It’s not convenient to change them. If you’d like, you’re welcome to try the clothes on yourself.”
“Oh? But I want to see it on the mannequin. Are you denying a customer request?” Su Shisan’s tone remained casual, but her eyes were sharp.
“Far as I know, there’s no rule forbidding altering mannequin outfits, is there?”
Any regular player would be sweating by now. But Zhao Qian Sun Li stayed cool.
“Please wait. I’ll ask the manager.”
Having been bailed out by the manager several times, he firmly believed she was a good NPC—maybe even designed to help the players. After all, some games did that.
“Go ahead,” Su Shisan said breezily, brimming with confidence.
That rattled him a little. Something felt… off.
“One moment. Let me check the cameras.”
Like before, the manager would need to review the surveillance footage before answering. Zhao Qian Sun Li had never quite understood why—but this time, something was different.
After a brief silence, the manager’s cold voice replied:
“Solve it yourself. Don’t come to me for every little thing.”
According to the world’s rules, the manager—an investigator in charge of maintaining the supernatural balance—had to avoid direct contact with the corrupted to prevent unraveling her own stability.
“Huh? Wait—Manager, you’re just gonna hang up on me?!”
Zhao Qian Sun Li was stunned. His lifeline had just abandoned him.
Panic crept in as he turned to Su Shisan and forced a nervous smile.
“The manager says… I should model the outfit for you.”
Suddenly, he had a brilliant idea: if she just wanted to see how the clothes looked, why not wear them himself?
Mannequins might trigger the rule—but he wouldn’t.
Credit where it’s due—Zhao Qian Sun Li wasn’t completely brainless. This might actually work.
Su Shisan mentally nodded in approval. Outwardly, she lit up with delight.
“You’ll do it yourself? Oh, how wonderful! I don’t mind at all! Your manager really knows how to handle things!”
Zhao Qian Sun Li: …
His confidence immediately began to waver.
Wait… why is she so happy?
Could this be even worse than using the mannequin?
He pictured that monstrous outfit on himself—and shivered. It was creepy enough on plastic. On a human body, it might be catastrophic.
“N-no… on second thought, let’s just use the mannequin. I’m a little slow changing clothes—it’ll just waste your time.”
Su Shisan lowered her gaze in mock disappointment, hiding the relief in her eyes. This was the flexibility of a real human NPC—an AI-generated one would’ve followed through.
“I still think you’d look better than the mannequin,” she said sweetly, trying half-heartedly to persuade him.
But the more she pushed, the more resolute Zhao Qian Sun Li became.
“Let’s just stick to your original request. You wouldn’t want to go back on your word, would you?”
With a sigh of faux resignation, Su Shisan allowed him to dress the mannequin in the absurd outfit she had described.
Once it was done, something seemed… wrong. Zhao Qian Sun Li couldn’t tell if it was just his imagination, but the mannequin looked disturbingly alive.
Without comment, Su Shisan told him to bag the clothes. Then she turned to the front of the store and smiled.
“Only one left. Time to move on to phase two.”
“Hi there, could you ring me up?”
At the cashier’s station, Su Shisan placed the bag of clothes on the counter, smiling at the wary Yangtze No. 8.
He glanced into the bag and, having memorized the price list, quickly calculated the total.
“That’ll be five hundred eighty yuan. How would you like to pay?”
Normally, he wouldn’t ask. This supermarket only accepted cash—no scans or cards. But this customer, in her red vest, was different.
Sure enough, Su Shisan pulled out six 100-yuan notes… in creepy black, white, and grey.
She handed them over with a polite smile.
“Could you give me twenty in change?”
Wearing gloves, Yangtze No. 8 gingerly accepted the eerie currency and reached into the drawer for a 20-yuan bill in matching monochrome.
“Here’s your cha—”
He stopped mid-sentence, a chill running through him.
“Wait… let me check with the manager.”
“You’re the cashier, aren’t you familiar with the checkout process?” Su Shisan asked sharply.
The cashier rules included a strict requirement: know the system. A customer accusing him of ignorance could get him in trouble.
Panicking, Yangtze No. 8 blurted out,
“You misunderstood! I was just thinking, since you bought so much, maybe I could ask the manager to give you a discount.”
Nice save.
Su Shisan backed off.
“Ah, I see. No need though—I’m not short on cash.”
Two simple sentences—and she oozed the aura of a wealthy boss.
[Changjiang No. 8] twitched the corner of his mouth and gave up the idea of asking the manager for help. But he wasn’t too disappointed—after all, in most games, relying on NPCs was never a great strategy.
Just having an NPC who could genuinely help was already rare enough.
“…Here’s your change, twenty yuan.”
After a moment of hesitation, and under Su Shisan’s increasingly impatient stare, [Changjiang No. 8] finally made his decision.
He handed over a brown paper bill—just ordinary currency.
Bingo.
Horror Coins could only be used to purchase goods. They couldn’t be used to give change or traded directly.
Su Shisan sighed and took the bill without protest. With the bag in hand, she turned and left without looking back.
Staring at her retreating figure, [Changjiang No. 8] wondered uncertainly: Did I… do the right thing?
“Congratulations,” Zhen Jin greeted Su Shisan outside the supermarket. As a dungeon NPC, he could feel the shift in the instance—before, the oppressive aura had been limited to the inside of the store.
Now, he could sense it from out here.
Although the cashier avoided one trap, Su Shisan had already laid another. The exchange rate between Horror Coins and ordinary currency wasn’t 1:1—it was 1:10. One Horror Coin equaled ten yuan.
Which meant the cashier had given the wrong change. That violated Rule #7.
Now, every single one of the six players had been contaminated.
There was no doubt: the dungeon had entered Phase Two.
Phase Two meant the entire supermarket had become a contaminated zone. It no longer offered any protection to the players. The corrupted employees were about to enter, and all the abnormalities buried in the rules were about to come to life.
To trigger Phase Two, a certain contamination threshold had to be met:
If more than half of the players were corrupted, Phase Two would begin automatically after lunch.
If all players were corrupted, then Phase Two would begin immediately.
“Since things are going so smoothly, let’s speed it up. We’ll wipe them all before noon.”
Su Shisan nodded and contacted [Sensitive Plant].
“You can use your shapeshifting pill now.”
As she spoke, her body transformed into a lively-looking woman in a supermarket clerk’s uniform, hair tied up in a high ponytail. The only difference was—her uniform was red.
Zhen Jin activated his own skill and turned into a teenager in red sneakers, his face plastered with an exaggerated smile.
Last to change was [Sensitive Plant], who crawled out of a pipe in the form of a thin, sickly middle-aged woman—just your average shopper.
“Stick to the plan. You go in first.”
[Sensitive Plant] nodded and briskly entered the supermarket, looking very much like a difficult customer.
A few steps later, Su Shisan followed her in.
The moment she heard footsteps behind her, [Sensitive Plant] turned around. Her eyes met Su Shisan’s—and instantly, her face twisted in exaggerated fear.
Without caring for the original plan, she quickly lowered her head and shuffled backwards with tiny, cautious steps, fleeing the store the way she came.
They were putting on a show: ordinary customers terrified of corrupted staff.
It wasn’t pointless drama—it was a deliberate warning to the players: corrupted employees are extremely dangerous.
In this “horror survival game” dungeon, the more warnings a designer embedded into the world, the greater the authority they gained to design lethal dangers.
If players were warned early on that “red-uniformed staff are dangerous,” then those staff members would inherently gain more power.
But really, even a fool could guess from the rules that red-uniformed employees were bad news. Their little performance?
A free publicity stunt—spreading a truth everyone already knew, to boost their own authority.
[Changjiang No. 8], who had witnessed the entire scene, frowned. In his opinion, the ordinary shoppers were already a nightmare to deal with.
If they were this scared of the red-uniformed staff… just how terrifying were they?
Su Shisan glanced at him, but didn’t waste any more time. [Changjiang No. 8] was a dead man walking.
From now on, the supermarket would only be filled with corrupted staff, and only Horror Coins would be accepted.
The more mistakes he made, the harsher his punishment would be. Unless he figured out a way to fix this, he’d be toast when the noon inspection rolled around.
Meanwhile, over in the food section, [Mi Mizi] went pale the moment she saw Su Shisan. Her eyes widened, and she hastily turned away, pretending she hadn’t seen anything.
But truth be told, Su Shisan didn’t think she needed to worry anymore. If she saw herself clearly right now, she’d realize she was already doomed.
Her eyes had nearly doubled in size, pitch-black and void of any light. Her face was so pale it resembled a paper doll, and her lips had lost all color.
Of all the players, [Mi Mizi] had the highest contamination. She’d been tricked by Su Shisan at the very start, and then harassed repeatedly by Zhen Jin, who had pegged her as the weakest link.
From Su Shisan’s point of view, it was clear—[Mi Mizi]’s contamination had hit a critical level of 70.
To rack up that much in a single morning… she must’ve stepped into every trap possible.
Su Shisan gave her a friendly wave, ignoring her cold shoulder, and said cheerfully, “I know you can see me. You’re just too scared to admit it. But don’t you think the rules of this place are strange?”
Despite her heavy contamination, [Mi Mizi] wasn’t stupid. She kept up the act, pretending to be busy tidying the shelves.
But Su Shisan didn’t give up. Still smiling, she continued to coax her:
“Well, what if I told you… working here was a trap from the start? That staying on the job will only drag you deeper into this hell?”
Seeing a flicker of emotion on the girl’s face, she pushed harder:
“Think about it. What kind of legit supermarket has this many rules? What kind of normal customers torment clerks like this?”
“Haven’t you been seeing hallucinations on your shift? Like food growing mouths or whatever? This store is deceiving you! The more you follow the rules, the more danger you attract.”
Thinking back to her experiences that morning, [Mi Mizi] finally broke:
“Then… what about you? Who are you really?”
Su Shisan smiled as she watched the number over her head jump to 80.
“Me? I’m here to save you, of course.”
“…Save me?”
[Mi Mizi]’s eyes were now almost completely consumed by her pupils. Her voice grew distant and hollow, like it came from another world.
And to her ears, Su Shisan’s words did sound like a message from another world—one she somehow trusted deeply.
“Yes,” Su Shisan whispered. “I’m here to save all of you. Will you help me?”
Elsewhere, [Jenny Textile Machine] and [Zhao Qian Sun Li] were also dealing with anomalies.
In the Home Goods section, a row of radios in the corner suddenly switched on. At first, it was just one or two, crackling like they were glitching out.
Then more and more radios joined in, the sound growing louder and louder.
By the time [Jenny Textile Machine] realized what was happening, the overlapping noises had become an unexpectedly melodic tune.
According to the rules, she was supposed to turn the volume up so everyone could hear it. But something felt… off.
When had good radios ever started playing by themselves?
No matter how nice the music sounded—it wasn’t right.
…Forget it. She chose a compromise. [Jenny] decided not to amplify the music, but she wouldn’t turn it off either.
That way, if it was dangerous, it’d only hurt her. And if it was beneficial… well, she’d reap the reward.
Compared to her simple dilemma, [Zhao Qian Sun Li] was having a terrible time.
He was currently trapped in a game of “Red Light, Green Light” with some unnerving mannequins.
Ever since the last customer left, strange new clothes kept popping up in the Clothing Section. He tried to tidy them up, but soon realized they had somehow ended up back on the mannequins.
Worse—he began to notice the mannequins were moving, getting closer and closer no matter which direction he turned.
Every time he looked back, one of their faces would be staring straight at him.
It was like something out of a horror film. Panicked, he tried calling the manager—only to get a robotic voice:
“The line is currently busy.”
He didn’t know why, but one thing was clear: the manager had abandoned him.
“This can’t go on…” He knew staying frozen wasn’t a solution. There were too many mannequins, and he couldn’t watch them all at once.
Even if that strategy worked, he didn’t have the stamina to keep it up.
He was already dizzy and nauseous—whether from all the turning or from watching the mannequins too long, he couldn’t say.
Then, something clicked.
He recalled a rule and his eyes lit up.
“Wait… I can call Security!”