At the bus terminal far away, Zhou Qi’an threw down his brush after finishing the last painting. He flexed his sore wrist and tore all the completed works into pieces.
The information had already been transmitted—keeping the drawings would only bring trouble.
As an observer, Miss Qi felt a distinct sense of wastefulness.
Zhou Qi’an looked around the bus terminal, visibly more relaxed.
“Anything good to eat or drink around here?” he asked Miss Qi, who was still supervising.
“…” Do you think this is a vacation?!
Not getting a response, Zhou Qi’an decided to take a stroll.
The game had gone on all night, and it didn’t make sense that they still hadn’t figured out how to return to the terminal after leaving. Since the instance required players to return before midnight each day, and knowing how the game loved its twisted logic, that probably meant they would be sent outside. Catching the departing bus every day wasn’t realistic.
NPCs came and went through the terminal—maybe they knew something.
The matchmaking corner was lively.
Seven or eight men and women were chatting. Zhou Qi’an raised an eyebrow and walked over.
The NPCs who chose to stay and continue their matchmaking must be the highly interactive ones. He adjusted his expression and tried to blend in.
“Hello, everyone.”
The travelers in the matchmaking corner all looked up at him.
Zhou Qi’an introduced himself right away, focusing on his profession. He didn’t mention fortune-telling and instead adapted to the instance background:
“I’m an actor. Just finished filming and came back. How about you all?”
On the first day, he was overwhelmed by countless gazes, avoiding eye contact at all costs. But now, up close, he suddenly noticed something amusing.
Though many NPCs in the instance had pale faces, the travelers at the terminal looked pale for a different reason. All of them had caked-on cheap foundation that flaked off with any sudden movement—some powder even visibly fell when they moved too much. Even the oldest one, a man in his fifties, had traces of makeup.
When they heard the word “actor,” the cold gloom in their pupils shimmered with jealousy.
Before anyone could reply, Zhou Qi’an continued on his own: “You all seem like you have potential. Why not become lead actors like me?” He tilted his head. “Don’t want to?”
“…” They were barely holding in their jealousy.
Zhou Qi’an kept going: “I really didn’t want to act, but my conditions were too good—they insisted. You understand my pain, don’t you?”
Finally, the man in his fifties snapped, sneering, “A nobody who started midway into the industry won’t last.”
NPCs’ dialogue always held potential clues.
Zhou Qi’an raised his chin slightly. His eyes gleamed and narrowed just enough to make his expression turn arrogantly proud.
He followed the man’s words: “You talk like you’re all professionals.”
The uncle grinned smugly, “Of course. We’re licensed professionals…”
He hadn’t even finished when a woman beside him rolled her eyes. The man shut up immediately. Official actors were better kept few—fewer competitors for roles.
Zhou Qi’an lifted his brows slightly and chuckled. “So actors need certification?”
Dragging out the last syllable, he looked at the poorly made-up faces and smiled. “Tell me, how do you get that certification?”
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
The sky darkened, sun covered by clouds, rain threatening. The terminal, already built in a windy spot, now echoed with howling gusts. The little lights strung around the matchmaking area flickered violently.
A shadow fell across the NPCs’ faces. Their eyes toward Zhou Qi’an turned terrifying, as if they wanted to tear him apart and chew him up.
Zhou Qi’an turned and left without hesitation.
Behind him, their eyes clung to his back. If he turned around now, he’d see dozens of powder-caked, bluish-purplish faces.
Climbing the stairs step by step, Zhou Qi’an fell into thought.
The first side mission, [Choosing an Outfit], had given them fixed identities that stayed relevant throughout the instance. Even when solving the theft, his identity as a fortune-teller had helped him earn a detective badge.
The second side mission, [Getting into Character], filled in a gap in the main quest: they needed to find the King of Drama to end everything.
This actor’s license had to be related to another mission.
If he was right, the license would be the key to helping players find their way back to the terminal.
So far, every important side mission had been triggered through Miss Qi.
Shaking off the deathly stares, Zhou Qi’an made his way back to Miss Qi and attempted a conversation: “I want to take the actor certification exam.”
Miss Qi smiled. “Mr. Zhou is very motivated.”
Zhou Qi’an relaxed slightly.
His reasoning had been correct.
Miss Qi remained patient. “The exam isn’t difficult. With your acting skills, I’m sure you’ll soon earn the actor license issued by the King of Drama.”
Zhou Qi’an nodded. “That’s what I think too.”
“…”
As soon as Zhou Qi’an confirmed his intention to take the test, the familiar mechanical voice returned:
[Side Mission 3: Certification]
Mission Objective: Pass the examination set by the King of Drama.
Note: Strictly follow exam protocols.
The exam site is under temporary lockdown. Unauthorized personnel are prohibited from entering or disturbing test-takers.
Saying “no unauthorized persons allowed” was probably a way to stop others from interfering—meaning test-takers would have to rely entirely on their own abilities.
There were no other details in the mission notice. Once the voice stopped, Zhou Qi’an looked toward Miss Qi and asked, “Where’s the exam held?”
Miss Qi smiled silently. “The exam has already begun. Please wait for your test.”
The two stared at each other. Miss Qi said nothing more.
After a moment, Zhou Qi’an returned to his seat.
Since he had announced he’d be taking the test, more travelers gradually entered the terminal—including the ones from the matchmaking corner. They were like corpse-flies drawn to the scent of death.
What happened to “no unauthorized persons allowed”?
The ground floor, the worn second floor… even travelers rushing out of the restroom—the terminal was now buzzing with energy.
Zhou Qi’an sat expressionless. Outside, the light drizzle turned into a downpour with thunder and lightning roaring across the sky.
The world darkened by several degrees.
As the storm intensified, Miss Qi stood up. “Let’s go. We’re going to meet the King of Drama.”
Zhou Qi’an’s head shot up. Was this a joke?
Finding the King of Drama and escaping all performances—this would end the instance.
Miss Qi walked ahead, her black heels clicking against the stone steps in counterpoint to the heavy rain outside. Zhou Qi’an followed her up. The chill in the air crept under his collar, making his skin rise in goosebumps.
There were only two levels in the terminal.
This was Zhou Qi’an’s first time on the second floor. Like the first, it had a central rest area for waiting passengers, though it only occupied a quarter of the floor. On either side were counters—lost and found, complaints, donation boxes—and farther back, complete darkness. In this rainy weather, it was impossible to see.
Zhou Qi’an didn’t need to strain to see, though, because Miss Qi was leading him straight into the dark corridor.
Cold—bone-deep cold.
For someone adapted to extreme temperatures like him to feel it, it could only be yin energy. As they approached, Zhou Qi’an could even see mottled bloodstains on the yellow-white walls.
The hallway was deeper than expected. After walking for about five or six minutes, Miss Qi’s heels finally stopped: “We’re here.”
She opened the office door at the end in one swift motion.
Too fast—she didn’t even knock. If a monster jumped out right now, Zhou Qi’an wouldn’t be able to dodge.
There were no lights in the office—just a single small window. The gloomy daylight barely lit the room, and no one could be seen.
Miss Qi turned to face him, wordless, like a puppet.
Zhou Qi’an steadied himself and entered under her gaze.
He clutched his cane tightly, but other than the cold, no creatures appeared.
As he stepped inside and shivered slightly, Miss Qi still said nothing.
She stood in front of the desk like before, unmoving, just staring.
Their gazes crossed in the air. After about two seconds, Zhou Qi’an suddenly realized—she wasn’t looking at him.
She was looking behind him.
His neck stiffened. He turned sharply and instinctively took a step back.
There was a painting on the back wall. In the frame was a long-haired man with no visible facial features—only by his Adam’s apple and build could you tell he was male. He had his head slightly bowed. In his shirt pocket were a fountain pen and a rose. His gloved fingers were unnaturally long and slender.
The painting was too lifelike—almost unsettlingly real.
Zhou Qi’an noticed the paint still looked wet. It had probably just been hung. Yet the frame looked ancient.
At the bottom was a label, like a portrait of a famous figure:
[King of Drama: The greatest artist of the 20th century. Absurdity, blood, and violence are his eternal themes.]
What had startled Zhou Qi’an earlier wasn’t the King of Drama himself—but the background of the painting.
Behind him was a chaotic collage of exaggerated faces—laughing, crying, furious—at least a hundred expressions crammed together, all wildly distorted.
With a sudden crack of lightning, the whole painting lit up. The crowd of faces looked even more animated.
Miss Qi finally spoke, her tone robotic and formal: “The person in the painting is the most mysterious King of Drama of this century. Your examination will be remotely conducted by him shortly.”
As she finished speaking, Zhou Qi’an’s phone began to vibrate.
The caller ID was blank—fuzzed out, like it had been erased.
Zhou Qi’an answered, saying nothing.
“Hello. Welcome to the actor certification exam.”
The voice on the other end was garbled and harsh, as if the speaker’s vocal cords were damaged. Yet it carried a strangely familiar tone—one Zhou Qi’an could almost place.
“A qualified actor must possess physical strength, intelligence, and the ability to improvise in emergencies. The next test is simple. I’m sure you’ve played it before.”
“Hide and seek,” the metallic, distorted voice uttered the words. “Simple, right? The rules are easy too—you just need to avoid being found by me within thirty minutes.”
“In thirty seconds, the test will officially begin. Thirty, twenty-nine…”
The countdown ticked precisely over the phone.
Zhou Qi’an hung up immediately and strode out of the office.
Miss Qi didn’t follow. She remained frozen in place, staring blankly ahead like a statue.
It was impossible to find a good hiding place in such a short time. Zhou Qi’an quickly threw on his coat, bent down to roll his long robe up underneath it, and finally yanked off his wig, stuffing his glasses into his pocket.
Clothing was a symbol of identity—he didn’t dare strip completely. Once finished, he dashed out.
As he ran, his icy blue hair darkened to black.
His hair had evolved to its final form and could now freely shift between blue and black. Zhou Qi’an had never imagined he’d use this ability like this.
At the stairwell, he slowed and casually merged into the crowd. Mimicking the passengers’ suspicious gazes, he too scanned the area—only he was truly trying to locate clues related to the King of Drama.
He maintained this disguise for two or three minutes, and by then, he’d blended naturally with the NPCs wandering around.
Then, a passenger seated on a bench stood up suddenly after receiving a phone call, looking around like he was searching for something.
Zhou Qi’an knew something was wrong and immediately tried to bolt. But before his leg muscles could even contract, a chilling coldness seeped through his limbs, freezing him in place.
Helpless, he stood stiff as ice, face pale, and watched as the man approached.
Step by step… until they were less than half a meter apart.
With a robotic smile, the passenger extended his arm and slowly pressed the phone against Zhou Qi’an’s ear.
“Found you,” came the cold voice from the other end.
Though it came from another space entirely, Zhou Qi’an had the eerie sensation that the King of Drama was closing in on him. Goosebumps rose all over his skin.
“First time,” the voice on the line grew increasingly distorted, filled with tremors and a strange, dreadful amusement. “By the third time, give me your face.”
Then, as if the speaker had changed personalities, the voice burst into manic laughter.
The cold gradually receded, and Zhou Qi’an regained control of his body. Without hesitation, he turned and sprinted away.
“Heeheehee…” The passenger laughed in sync with the caller, watching Zhou Qi’an flee in panic, doubled over in amusement.
This time, Zhou Qi’an ran straight downstairs.
“How the hell did they spot me?” he frowned. He was certain it wasn’t the passenger who had discovered him. The man only moved after receiving that phone call.
Miss Qi had said the King of Drama was administering the test remotely.
That reminded Zhou Qi’an to look up and scan every corner of the ceiling, but he saw nothing resembling a surveillance camera.
People bustled through the first floor. After his initial disguise, no one paid him much attention—for now.
“The only thing I can be sure of is… the King of Drama can’t appear directly and must use passengers to catch people.” Zhou Qi’an looked outside. The rain had worsened, turning into a near-vertical sheet. He couldn’t even see what lay beyond.
Running outside might avoid the passengers, but the risk of death would spike. Since this was a test, there had to be a designated test area. Most likely, leaving the terminal meant exiting that area.
After thinking for a few seconds, Zhou Qi’an took a deep breath and slipped off toward the restroom, where fewer people were gathered.
“Let’s try a humbler hiding place.”
——
The downpour temporarily halted all movement in and out of the terminal, splitting the world into two halves.
Time passed with the rain. At 6:14 PM, the security guard who had received the call walked toward the restroom with a gleeful smirk.
Once inside, he began flinging open the stall doors one by one. The creaky old doors groaned in protest. When he reached the last one, he slowed, paused for effect, then suddenly shoved it open.
Empty.
The guard froze. “Nobody.”
How could there be no one?
The call was still connected. The voice on the other end said something, prompting the guard to glance around. “I’ve searched everywhere. The only place left is…”
Though doubtful, he followed instructions.
The terminal’s hot water came from a giant iron barrel. The guard clambered onto the rack, straining to lift the heavy lid. A surge of steam poured out.
Two heads floated on the surface of the water.
Zhou Qi’an, holding his wig, was floating face-up, occasionally surfacing to breathe—bubbling all the while.
According to system data, his body could withstand temperatures up to 66°C for extended periods. The barrel’s water was probably around 70°C—close, but he’d take the gamble.
“Ahhh!!”
The unexpected sight startled the guard. He slipped and nearly fell backward.
A hand shot out just in time to grab him.
The next moment, Zhou Qi’an yanked hard—and the guard tumbled into the scalding barrel. The boiling water made him thrash frantically. Then, a cool voice whispered in his ear, “So that’s how it is.”
The King of Drama could only pinpoint Zhou Qi’an’s approximate location. Otherwise, the guard wouldn’t have had to check each stall.
There were no cameras, and the passengers had slow reaction times. The only way Zhou Qi’an could be tracked was via an object on his person—like… his phone.
The once-aggressive security guard was now frantically swimming. Zhou Qi’an’s voice turned almost gentle: “Don’t struggle too much. If you splash water on your face, you’ll be too ugly to act later.”
This time, before the caller could speak, Zhou Qi’an addressed the phone in the guard’s hand himself: “Congrats. You caught me for the second time.”
Whether it was the heat or the delay in finding him, Zhou Qi’an’s limbs hadn’t frozen up this time.
Without warning, he pushed the guard’s head under the water and used the momentum to climb out of the barrel.
“For the third time, I’ll be ready to really have some fun… Mr. King of Drama.”
Dripping wet, Zhou Qi’an left the cramped restroom, sending two quick messages to the college student:
[Forget the money-making quest. Focus on triggering Act Two.]
[A security guard at the terminal is injured. Heal him when you’re back—for a hefty fee.]
He planned to split 6,000 of the reward, using the “finder’s fee” to recoup what he’d spent earlier buying testimony on the bus.
…
The security guard was still wailing in agony, his screams echoing off the restroom walls.
Zhou Qi’an peeled off his soaking coat and wrung out the long robe underneath.
Still dripping wet, he looked like a drowned ghost. His long hair hung down, giving him an eerie, tragic beauty.
He left the cramped restroom and casually tossed his wig and coat onto a bench in the waiting area—he wouldn’t be needing those for now.
Whether it was his striking new look or the screaming guard, all eyes were now on Zhou Qi’an.
“Was it fun?” he asked.
Maybe the screams had been too unhinged—just for a moment, the passengers were cowed by his presence.
Zhou Qi’an checked the time: 6:16 PM.
Each time he was caught, the system granted a bit more hiding time. The first time, it had been two minutes. This time, nearly ten.
It had nothing to do with kindness. It was pure sadism. Zhou Qi’an could already predict how this would end: the test would drag on until the final moment, only to snatch the player away just as hope peaked—a suitably dramatic finale.
He tossed his phone into a trash bin and headed back upstairs.
The familiar malice returned.
People laughed. The laughter spread from one to many.
“He threw his phone away.”
“He’s so stupid.”
“So stupid.”
The passengers repeated the words over and over, their voices following him everywhere.
Ignoring them, Zhou Qi’an finally reached the second floor—only to feel his pocket grow heavy.
He reached inside.
It was his phone.
The same one he’d just thrown away had inexplicably returned to his pocket.
Zhou Qi’an shut his eyes, lashes trembling—not in fear, but from cold.
The second floor was steeped in yin energy. Soaked to the bone, he was being attacked by both wind and chill. The biting cold made his body shiver uncontrollably.
The phone couldn’t be discarded.
He’d half-expected it—when it hadn’t shorted out in the boiling water. As an item used by the King of Drama to track the player, it likely couldn’t be lost or destroyed.
It had just been an experiment.
There were more passengers on the second floor than before.
Almost the instant Zhou Qi’an appeared, they looked over. Some stood and began following him.
“The point of the game isn’t hiding.” Zhou Qi’an steadied his breathing, thinking calmly.
Hiding wouldn’t work.
In hide and seek… if you can’t hide, what else can you do?
Then his eyes lit up.
“Could it be… I’m supposed to seek?”
Once the idea emerged, it grew wildly—though there were still some pieces he hadn’t figured out.
As he pondered deeply, one passenger’s neck suddenly stretched several meters, snaking toward him. A pale face loomed right in front of him, clearly trying to eavesdrop on his muttering.
Zhou Qi’an didn’t humor him. He slapped the head sideways with one strike: “Get lost.”
“…”
__
Author’s Note:
Zhou Qi’an: The money leaves my wallet and comes back from the security guard’s. That’s what we call a balanced budget.
Security Guard: …
PS: The King of Drama is not a split personality of the love interest. All the monsters are antagonistic bosses~
