This big heart felt like a missile, striking directly at everyone’s hearts.
After quickly regulating their disordered breathing, everyone kept running at full speed.
Fortunately, the bus had already covered most of the distance. At this point, the station looked like the cradle of their last hope. Xia Zhi gritted her teeth, praying the woman chasing them wouldn’t be able to find the station on her own.
“She probably can’t,” Xia Zhi said. Unlike them, the woman hadn’t come prepared. If she could find the station by herself, she wouldn’t have needed an item to point the way yesterday.
Ever since Zhou Qi’an got his actor qualification, finding the way hadn’t been a problem.
At this point, they could vaguely see the outline of buildings in the distance—about a thousand meters away.
Only a thousand meters, yet now it felt like a vast chasm.
Xia Zhi and Yuma both stared at Zhou Qi’an’s back with unfriendly eyes.
From the chaos in the ancient city to boarding the bus, it was clear Zhou Qi’an was the primary target. Using him to buy time was the best strategy. They were all action-oriented, and in that split second, Xia Zhi thrust the broken snake-slaying dagger toward Zhou Qi’an’s calf.
It was as if Zhou Qi’an hadn’t noticed the danger approaching—he just kept running.
Just as the dagger was about to hit its mark, a snake flew out and wrapped around the handle.
Immediately after, Xia Zhi became the primary target of the snake swarm.
“No one backstabs me.”
There was no need to look to know what had happened. Zhou Qi’an let out a cold laugh. Sure, his own mother might want him dead—but he’d never let himself die at someone else’s hands.
After all… he wasn’t even married yet.
Xia Zhi was swallowed by the snake tide. In the next moment, she reappeared five meters away—replaced by a dull wooden carving left in her place.
Such a rare teleportation item, wasted just like that. Xia Zhi gasped for breath.
There was no time for emotions now—they could only keep running. She didn’t have a second teleportation item to save her again.
Thanks to Xia Zhi, who had drawn the snake swarm’s attention, the others gained a few seconds and rushed ahead toward the bus station.
Inside the station, passengers came and went.
Faced with the desperate players, the NPCs simply stepped aside slightly, watching the chase with mocking eyes. Miss Qi, who had been on the bus earlier, now appeared eerily behind them, like a ghost who came and went without a trace.
The bus station was full of actors. And actors never missed a good show.
She watched the players’ misery with delight, along with the rest of the travelers.
The roar of a sports car followed right behind.
“How can this be?” Xia Zhi looked back in shock. The snake swarm ignored the passengers and continued chasing them relentlessly.
Her face turned pale instantly. The woman had not only found the station, but the snakes weren’t attacking the travelers either.
Wen’s expression sharpened. She dropped her frail act and snapped, “Your arm!”
Xia Zhi looked down. After the black mist burned her skin earlier, blisters had ruptured—and snake eggs had oozed out.
These eggs had allowed the woman to track her. The horrifying realization made Xia Zhi grit her teeth and, with a ruthless hand, sliced off that piece of flesh with her knife.
Meanwhile, Zhou Qi’an was the first to rush into the waiting hall, sprinting up the stairs with a clear goal in mind: the office of the King of Drama.
For the first time, he spoke to the others: “Split up.”
Yuma sneered sarcastically.
Anyone could tell Zhou Qi’an had a plan. His destination was obvious—somewhere that might help him escape.
Three players trailed him like serpents, sticking to him stubbornly.
Zhou Qi’an’s gaze flickered briefly, but he didn’t waste any more words and kept running.
What had been pitch-black yesterday was now faintly lit.
At the end of the dark corridor stood a lone figure.
Zhou Qi’an’s mother, who had been downstairs earlier, was now there. She hadn’t taken the stairs—it seemed she had crawled in through a window.
In the dim light, her slit pupils gleamed coldly. She licked her lips with a blood-red tongue and said, “Darling son, why are you running?”
At the same time, hissing from snakes echoed up the stairwell.
A killer in front, snakes behind. The players were completely trapped.
Zhou Qi’an suddenly stopped in his tracks. His chest rose and fell sharply. He forced out a sweet smile: “W-working out.”
The moment he spoke, a white ribbon lashed out—not at Zhou’s mother, but at the rice cooker in her hand.
In the instant she turned to protect it, Zhou Qi’an darted forward toward the nearby office.
The players had been watching his every move. The moment he ran, they all followed.
Bang!
The heavy door slammed shut behind them, shaking from the impact.
The four of them were instantly surrounded by a bone-chilling cold.
This wasn’t how it felt when Zhou Qi’an entered yesterday. His eyes glinted as a subtle smile crossed his lips.
No one noticed his change in expression. They all assumed the cold meant snakes were inside.
But soon, Xia Zhi and the others were distracted by the painting on the wall.
The faceless King of Drama, surrounded by masks with identical features—a creepy self-portrait that made their skin crawl.
Ring ring ring…
Zhou Qi’an’s phone suddenly rang.
Though it had been set to vibrate, it somehow switched to ringing on its own.
The phone case, which had been cleared of evil energy by Shen Zhiyi just last night, was once again covered in a faint chill.
Blood began seeping from the screen. On the blank caller ID, a human face slowly formed. At the same time, one of the faces in the painting on the wall gained a hazy body and began extending its arm.
“Come keep me company—”
The voice was full of hatred. Go to hell with me.
The arm reached out, and a pale hand emerged from the phone screen, trying to drag Zhou Qi’an in.
The office door was very sturdy. It held off Zhou’s mother for now—but snakes had already begun slithering in through the cracks.
Xia Zhi dodged a snake, her expression hardening. She recognized the face in the painting—it looked like one of their missing teammates.
Then, something dawned on her.
Why did they die?
Simple—because they were killed.
There was a murderer hiding among the players. The only way to win, according to the game, was to find clues and identify them.
But… who said that only the murderer could kill?
Take this moment for example—the ghost in the station clearly wanted to kill Zhou Qi’an. As long as he escaped, it would count as “surviving the murder attempt.”
Zhou Qi’an’s hands were soaked in sticky blood. His eyes glittered with a smile, though his face wore a terrified expression.
“What should I do? I think… I think there’s a ghost trying to kill me.”
He wasn’t short of enemies.
The security inspector he burned yesterday still wanted revenge. And then there was the player who got trapped in the painting—who cursed him with venom until the end. Both had motive to attack.
Compared to the others, Zhou Qi’an had a believable story.
Last night’s nightmare from the King of Drama left him exhausted. So today, he returned early to the station to rest—only to run into a vengeful ghost.
All he had to do now was kill the ghost, and he’d be considered to have “escaped a malicious murder attempt.”
No one knew why the ghost wanted to kill Zhou Qi’an—but the other players were jealous he had a ghost trying to kill him.
Wen’s eyes darkened as he prepared to use a group-targeting item to steal the kill. Xia Zhi and Yuma had figured it out too—they were about to act.
They had to draw the ghost’s attention before that terrifying woman outside broke in.
But in terms of speed, Zhou Qi’an never lost.
A golden flash burst out.
A glowing golden harpoon appeared in his hand. Without hesitation, Zhou Qi’an gripped it and stabbed the pale arm reaching out of the phone screen.
The ghost’s hand was pierced. A piercing scream echoed—not from the phone, but from the painting on the wall.
“This is…”
Xia Zhi, with her spiritual sensitivity, was the first to sense something. Wen also seemed to realize something and squinted at the golden light. His soft features twisted with greed.
No ordinary item could slay a ghost in one blow.
Unless—
It was a tool with five-star or higher properties.
【Your HP has dropped by 40.】
Zhou Qi’an’s face was deathly pale. He steadied himself and, with a gentle smile, introduced:
“Yes, that’s right. This is a holy artifact.”
As he spoke, he withdrew the harpoon and stored it away.
One of the faces in the painting on the wall began to disintegrate. The figure inside the painting twitched and shrieked in agony as its face slowly shriveled into a crumpled mess. Nearby, another face opened its mouth wide and devoured the hatred-filled scream.
The self-portrait returned to its original pristine state, except one face was now missing—as if it had never existed.
These faces could actually devour one another?
Zhou Qi’an frowned. Was the King of Drama raising parasites?
As the sound of grotesque chewing echoed, a familiar mechanical voice rang out—
【Congratulations! You’ve escaped a malicious murder attempt.】
【Your performance in this act is complete.】
【Scoring your performance…】
【Score: 8.0】
【Evaluation: A background extra floating outside the plot. Your screen time was as brief as your presence.】
【Participation Reward Granted】
【Reward: Clue about the King of Drama】
【Clue #2: The King of Drama has a history of exploiting actors through unspoken rules—more than once.】
Only after hearing the prompt did Zhou Qi’an finally exhale in relief.
Ash drifted from the ceiling due to the vibrations. The office door wouldn’t hold much longer, and the number of snakes slithering in was increasing rapidly.
Having already run himself ragged earlier, Zhou Qi’an now sat casually in the King of Drama’s office chair, resting his chin on one hand and smiling slightly as he asked:
“I gave you all so many hints. Why do you insist on running on my track?”
The way the snakes moved was eerily similar to the faces in the self-portrait. Kill one, and the rest devoured the corpse and grew stronger.
Bang bang.
Xia Zhi originally wanted to move a bookshelf to temporarily block the door.
But the door was already starting to crack. The snakes squeezing through even began to split on their own—freshly spawned small snakes dripping venom from their fangs. The toxin corroded everything from the door panels to the floor.
Xia Zhi quickly stepped back.
Yuma, a mercenary hardened by countless battles, narrowed his eyes at the sight. “If we die, we die together.”
Even if he had to die, he’d take Zhou Qi’an with him.
“Then go die in a minute,” Zhou Qi’an said calmly, eyes glinting at the other two. His smile deepened. “I know a way out. If you agree to a few terms, I’ll let you live. How’s that sound?”
He sat at ease, completely composed—and in that moment, his presence was even more intimidating than the King of Drama’s portrait.
If Zhou Qi’an could read the players’ minds at that moment, he’d think:
Exactly. The King of Drama? He belongs on the wall.
“Deal,” Xia Zhi responded almost immediately, not even a half-second after Zhou Qi’an finished speaking.
As long as the conditions weren’t outrageous, it was worth negotiating.
Zhou Qi’an raised an eyebrow. He suddenly thought of his “stepmother” Han Li—these two weren’t particularly smart, but they knew how to seize opportunities.
Wen took out a contract item. He seemed eager, though he hadn’t spoken yet—clearly waiting to hear the conditions first.
Even if the door opened, he had backup methods to stay alive.
“First, you must not identify the killer or reveal the killer’s identity to anyone. Once this act ends, you’ll help escort my other teammates from the ancient city to the station.”
(The cooldown period’s still in effect. There’s no lighthouse available today.)
“Second, after every upcoming scene, any clues you gain must be shared with me for free.”
“Third, each of you must give me a high-quality speed-type item.”
The other two twitched at that last one.
Harboring a murderer was already ridiculous enough. And Zhou Qi’an was already fast as a spinning top—why did he still want to get faster?
Compared to that, the second condition was the most reasonable.
Boom!
The office door was kicked open. The instant it hit the floor, Wen activated his contract item.
Zhou’s mother stepped on the broken door with one foot. The snake tide surged into the room.
“Go find Miss Qi,” Zhou Qi’an said, pulling out his actor qualification badge from under his shirt and showing it to them. His tone was calm. “Tell her you want to take the actor certification exam.”
The mission prompt had clearly stated: During the exam, the venue enters a temporary lockdown. It becomes a separate scenario that unrelated characters cannot enter.
Yuma immediately tried to use an item to force his way out.
So what if he didn’t agree to the terms? He could still figure out how to escape.
As a player, he was always alert and observant.
In that instant, just as he dashed out, Yuma caught Zhou Qi’an’s calm gaze from the corner of his eye—and felt a strange sense of unease.
Just as he tried to activate his item to sprint at max speed, snakes attacked from all directions: from the sides, the floor, even the ceiling.
The deadliest attacks didn’t come from Zhou’s mother—but from Xia Zhi and Wen.
To get out, they had only two options: jumping through the window or retracing their steps.
Either way, it would take time.
“Sorry, we need you to stay behind,” Wen said.
Yuma’s arm was slashed by a strange weapon in Wen’s hand. The scent of blood drew the frenzied snakes, which wrapped around him. When their eyes met at close range, Yuma’s mind momentarily went blank—as if he’d been mentally frozen. He forgot to fight back, even forgot to defend himself.
Wen jumped out the window first. Xia Zhi followed close behind.
But fine, snake-like creatures blocked them like a net—even outside the window, there were snakes waiting.
Xia Zhi lost half an ear to a snake bite. Wen had been more prepared and drew a razor-sharp katana-like weapon.
Behind them, Zhou’s mother, her pupils vertical with fury, was visibly annoyed that her slaughter had been interrupted. She controlled the snakes to chase them.
She didn’t immediately leave the office. Her gaze locked onto the one prey still inside.
Her hideous curls writhed with intensity.
Caught between this horrifying mother-and-son duo, Yuma felt darkness close in. His blood ran cold.
Already severely injured by Wen, Yuma’s body swayed from blood loss. In desperation, he activated a skill:
“Freeze—!”
His healing items couldn’t keep up with his condition.
With the last of his strength, he threw a comically pink peach blossom charm.
This was his trump card—an item that could indiscriminately drag ghosts into an illusion.
The peach blossom bloomed in midair—only to be caught by Zhou’s mother’s pale, smooth hand.
She glanced at it and said coldly:
“What’s this junk?”
The pink flower withered instantly in her hand.
Snakes devoured Yuma from the waist down. On the brink of despair, a vicious plan sparked in his mind.
A high-level group-targeting item.
While trying to shift aggro to Zhou Qi’an, he inched closer to him.
Just like he said earlier—if I die, you die too.
Yuma lunged at Zhou Qi’an, a smile creeping onto his bloodied lips.
Let’s both be swallowed by the snake swarm.
Zhou Qi’an didn’t move. He simply sat and watched. Even when he saw the blade hidden between Yuma’s fingers, he didn’t flinch.
A white silk ribbon fluttered down from above, looping around Yuma’s neck like a noose.
Yuma was stuck. The blade couldn’t cut through the white silk. By the time he tried summoning another weapon, it was too late.
In his final moment, Yuma screamed in panic at Zhou Qi’an:
“Why?! That bitch betrayed you too!”
Xia Zhi betrayed you—so why should I be the one to die?
Zhou Qi’an gave him a heartfelt piece of advice:
“In your next life, don’t talk so much.”
Xia Zhi had already been devoured by snakes once, but she didn’t scream or try to drag him down with her. Besides, he wasn’t strong enough to carry others—and they had already used him as a stepping stone earlier.
Why should he care?
Without sparing another glance at Yuma, now half a skeleton, Zhou Qi’an turned to look at his mother, who was approaching with the rice cooker.
Earlier, the snakes didn’t attack travelers—which wasn’t like her usual behavior.
Clearly, during the act, the murderer couldn’t kill anyone unrelated to the script.
So for now, Zhou Qi’an remained calm.
He had guessed correctly.
Zhou’s mother was bound by a restriction:
She could only kill players whose participation in this act was under 50%.
The rice cooker was placed on the King of Drama’s desk. The clunk of it landing was soft but carried sharp killing intent—just like her voice:
“You’re siding with outsiders now?”
Helping two prey escape had thoroughly enraged her.
But Zhou Qi’an, now officially clear of this act, replied smoothly:
“It’s for the actor qualification exam.”
“The exam is important—and hard to pass.”
He looked at her with a hurt expression and added:
“But the King of Drama’s attention is divided with multiple candidates. Since those two are injured, now’s the best time for you to take it too. The difficulty might be lower.”
He trembled as he said:
“I did it all… for you.”
Why are you being so unreasonable?
Author’s Note:
Zhou Qi’an:
Human diversity is getting richer every day.
It’s time to update my soundtrack.
