ICSST CH110: Nest

The security inspector’s gaze passed over him and landed on Shen Zhiyi behind.

Zhou Qi’an subtly shifted forward by an inch and said, “You claim to judge thoughts and actions, but do you know how the Three Judges of the Underworld determine sins and punishments?”

His rain-soaked hair hung down, and his aura turned much colder, carrying an invisible but oppressive pressure.

The inspector was actually forced to step back slightly under this aura, and asked coldly, “What do you want to say?”

Zhou Qi’an sneered.

What did he want to say? He didn’t really know!

He was just showing off something he remembered from cartoons he watched as a kid, trying to stall for time.

Using a rehearsal formula, the inspector represented the final trial; after passing him, surely there would be a way to help them quickly return to the passenger station.

Just like that church door — opening it would lead straight to the ancient city.

Otherwise, with human speed, it was impossible to run back within the allotted time.

“What do you want to say?”

Without answering, the inspector asked again, this time seemingly forgetting his wounds, his silhouette blurring.

He no longer resembled a judge but more like a vengeful spirit crawling up from hell.

Zhou Qi’an frowned. The more the actor got into character, the stronger his abilities seemed.

Had the inspector’s potential been awakened by him?

When Zhou Qi’an was about to run out of words and almost recited the periodic table, the inspector’s gaze shifted again to Shen Zhiyi.

Calmly meeting the cold stare, Shen Zhiyi said, “Do you want to weigh my sins?”

The inspector’s eyes now chilled people to the bone.

The earlier damage from the holy relic left him with a paler, deathly face, and black mist gathered around him. Like the priest, the inspector also had a thick tome in his hand.

The sins didn’t need to be spoken by the player — the thick tome floated automatically above Shen Zhiyi.

Sheets of paper showed no sign of being soaked by the rain, flipping by themselves.

From this angle, it was hard to see the contents — even the inspector and the others only heard the continuous rustle of pages turning, one after another. Gradually, black blood began dripping from the edges.

The blood dripped onto the ground, forming a whirlpool.

Shen Zhiyi stood at the center of the strongest suction, as if he would be pulled in the next second.

He didn’t glance at the inspector or the tome above, but turned sideways to Zhou Qi’an and said, “Don’t worry, the judgment only comes after the verdict on sins.”

Zhou Qi’an relaxed a bit and squinted to barely make out a line on the tome:

“Cheating, deceiving, kidnapping, burning, killing, looting, forging…”

“…” What about teaching and nurturing?

The holy relic bore some of the inspector’s pressure, while Shen Zhiyi relieved some more.

Each second stretched infinitely long — the last time he felt this way was during the school instance when the class was dragged on.

Zhou Qi’an frowned lightly. The endless rain couldn’t wash away the anxiety lingering in his heart. Finally, before the inspector moved again, he caught sight of something in his peripheral vision.

Almost at the same moment, the inspector stopped fearing the holy relic.

He stretched out his arm as if to attack Zhou Qi’an, but at the last moment, cunningly changed target and slashed his sharp nails toward the players behind.

The thick tome flew past Shen Zhiyi’s head, abandoning him and choosing a new target for judgment.

If it didn’t change soon, all the pages would be used up!

Zhou Qi’an turned quickly, of course not to sacrifice himself.

“Run!” he shouted sharply at Shen Zhiyi and the college student.

Then, like a cat sensing blood, he darted fiercely in one direction.

Not only Zhou Qi’an saw it — on the highway, players all saw a very familiar passenger bus driving out of the fog.

The bus slowed down, and the driver ignored the fact that this was a highway and pulled over to the side.

Could they board?

“Dun” hesitated a little. After all, the normal departure and return times of the bus were different from now.

Wen moved fastest, glanced at Dun and cursed him a fool.

The passenger station was empty now — everyone had come out to perform the play. The driver starting early from the passenger station to the ancient city and returning early to pick up passengers was normal.

On the other side, Zhou Qi’an took the lead and rushed straight onto the bus, still urging Shen Zhiyi and the college student: “Don’t dawdle, get on board.”

Everyone crowded at the bus door. Someone used an item to briefly block the inspector. When the inspector tried to chase again, someone bumped him with their butt and arm, pushing him all the way to the very end.

Inspector: “…” I’ll kill you all!

Perhaps Shen Zhiyi’s sins were too deep — the tome full of writing became even heavier, and like its owner who was blocked by an item, the inspector’s speed slowed by half a step.

Zhou Qi’an was unaware of the situation behind; he was the first to board successfully.

Right after him was the college student. Once aboard, they immediately understood why Zhou Qi’an urged them so much.

The bus had started from the ancient city and already carried passengers. If it became full, players might be forcibly removed.

Just as they boarded, the sky strangely cleared.

The black clouds dispersed, the dome of the sky was a clean, bright blue, with only the puddles on the ground proving a heavy rainstorm had truly occurred.

In broad daylight, the funeral procession behind and the inspector ahead both looked somewhat ridiculous.

The first to move was the luxurious funeral team, who continued along the guardrail, but no longer banging gongs or scattering paper money.

After sitting down, Zhou Qi’an glanced around and suddenly frowned.

Shen Zhiyi hadn’t boarded.

Through the glass, he saw a familiar figure approach. Zhou Qi’an quickly opened the window: “Why aren’t you getting on?”

Shen Zhiyi said calmly, “You go first, I’m going to find auntie.”

The main story of “One Two Three Red Light” is about the judgment of souls after death. As the best performing actor in the rehearsal, Zhou Qi’an was undoubtedly the protagonist.

Wherever the protagonist went, trouble often followed, and even he himself was in constant danger. The play was not yet over. Sending Zhou Qi’an into the wild to find someone was, in a way, like putting someone in danger.

Shen Zhiyi, however, had no such concerns.

Zhou Qi’an opened his mouth but was at a loss for words: “You…”

The driver had already started the engine.

Zhou Qi’an suddenly reminded him: “The pocket watch.”

He believed Shen Zhiyi would understand his meaning.

The inspector coveted the pocket watch — this item must be useful. Currently, its most obvious use was speeding up time.

Speeding up was more harmful than helpful to players; it only brought danger faster.

But what if the pocket watch was turned counterclockwise?

Would time slow down?

No one knew the answer. In a world full of death rules, reckless experiments were not allowed. But when facing unavoidable danger, it was worth a try.

Squeezed between the bus body and guardrail, unsafe, Shen Zhiyi nodded slightly at Zhou Qi’an, then leapt over the guardrail.

He took out his phone, seemingly to contact Mother Zhou.

Not long after, Shen Zhiyi headed toward the southeast wilderness.

The college student looked worried: “Will they make it back in time?”

Zhou Qi’an’s expression was complicated, but after a moment, he nodded.

As long as Shen Zhiyi could meet up with his mother safely, with the two of their strengths, returning would not be a problem.

Though the window was closed, his gaze had not yet withdrawn.

Zhou Qi’an had always been unwilling to admit it—after that thick fog three years ago, when everyone needed to be on guard, he still held a natural trust toward Shen Zhiyi. That was why, when facing uncertain danger, he first thought of luring Shen Zhiyi into the instance.

Strictly speaking, unlike other setups that trick players, Shen Zhiyi had never really done anything to harm him—aside from causing a little trouble with his tuition fees.

“I didn’t provide enough bait but still enjoyed the benefits of catching the fish—maybe I’ve been a bit too much?” Zhou Qi’an reflected on himself, something rare for him.

The college student overheard his muttering, not understanding the context, but logically analyzed: “If the fish bite willingly, it’s the fish’s problem.”

Zhou Qi’an propped his head with his hand and looked out the window, saying nothing.

The speed of the bus was a mystery.

During the case, it could always travel on the highway. Now it was rapidly closing the distance to the passenger station. The driver sped wildly along the straight road. In just over ten minutes, familiar buildings appeared nearby.

The moment the bus fully entered the passenger station, the system prompt sounded:

[You have completed this participation]

[Scoring your participation…]

[Score: 9.9
Evaluation: Perfect performance, you have successfully passed two rounds of judgment and are a born messenger of justice!]

Clue about the Drama King: In recent years, lacking sponsors, he is so poor that all he has left is a super large house. The Drama King often plays roles that are troubled but sincere.]

“…” So poor that Zhou Qi’an wanted to twist the guy’s head off.

The first player to enter the passenger station automatically triggers the storyline.

Now that they were all on the bus, the game gave no prompt. After days of intense mental and physical exertion, Zhou Qi’an really needed rest.

This time, he was very careful, standing at the door, watching Wen get off first and walk ahead, preparing to be the second to last to get off.

This number was safe.

Even if the game forcibly dragged some players into the play again, it wouldn’t be his turn—there was still the college student with lucky traits behind him.

Just as Zhou Qi’an proudly prepared to get off, the driver dozed off and somehow hit something. The bus suddenly jolted forward.

The driver was startled awake and immediately braked hard.

Zhou Qi’an’s quick reflexes grabbed the handrail, but the college student behind him was unfortunately thrown off.

Cursing the driver inside, Zhou Qi’an quickly stepped down the stairs.

Before he could cross the first step, his whole body was suddenly pulled backward.

A chill climbed wildly up his arm where it was grabbed, as if frozen stiff. For a moment, Zhou Qi’an felt like his body no longer belonged to him.

His eyes shifted, turning his head to see it was a passenger in the last row. The passenger had been sitting in the corner but suddenly sprang up to attack.

The passenger lifted their head slowly, revealing a pale cheek.

The woman’s lipstick was smeared all the way to her ear; her scalp was badly worn and bloodstained. Her wrists were scarred, suggesting she had encountered a terrible crisis before and had fought desperately to survive.

Zhou Qi’an gasped sharply—he recognized the face.

“Wen Xi!”

Wen Xi twisted her neck slightly, lightly cleaned the dirt off her face, resembling a pale porcelain mask.

She then reached out with her other hand, gripping Zhou Qi’an tightly, her smile terrifying.

Behind her, the bus doors closed.

The weather changed three times that day. Just after the sky had cleared, the moment the bus turned into the station, the fog wildly spread again.

Players hurried to get off, but just as they stepped down, they felt a push—as if the bus was eager to unload its cargo and was rushing them off.

In less than half a minute, the bus turned around and headed back on the road.

Dong Li in front turned back, voice tense: “What’s going on? The bus only goes back and forth to the ancient city once a day.”

Any abnormality in the game brings unease.

They watched the bus while quickly surveying their surroundings.

After confirming the bus was not returning to collide back, everyone sighed in relief.

“Brother Zhou?!” A tense, out-of-place voice called out.

The college student anxiously looked around, confirmed Zhou Qi’an wasn’t there, and instinctively chased after the bus.

But the bus was fast and soon disappeared into the fog.

Zhou Qi’an hadn’t gotten off?

The other players exchanged glances.

Wen was walking at the front, already closer to triggering the sixth scene.

The grand drama was nearing its end, and what they pursued seemed within reach.

But then, Dun up front gasped sharply, “Look!”

More than ten buses appeared in the entire passenger station.

…

Pulled tightly by the dead, Zhou Qi’an missed the chance to get off.

After the bus resumed, Wen Xi voluntarily released Zhou Qi’an, and the chilling cold swept off his body.

His body could move again. He hooked his fingers on his clothes, noticing a dark bruise in the shape of a ghostly handprint on the skin under his sleeve, where she had grabbed him.

Wen Xi returned to the initial state, curled in the corner motionless, her face buried in her arm, only one eye staring fixedly.

Clearly she could look openly, but chose to spy instead.

Zhou Qi’an shook his head.

“She’s already assimilated with the ancient city NPCs,” even her habits were exactly the same.

There were only two passengers on the entire bus, and being spied on constantly was irritating. He tried to walk forward a bit, but it was like an endless corridor with no end.

Suddenly, a drizzle started outside. The bus windows were tightly sealed. Fog drifted in from somewhere, filling the entire cabin.

The further he walked, the worse it felt. He couldn’t see the driver’s face. Following his sixth sense, Zhou Qi’an retreated.

He felt very innocent.

Player revenge after death was normal, but this was already his second time encountering it in this instance. What did these people’s deaths have to do with him?

His eyes returned to the curled-up woman, especially her. Had she made him suffer without succeeding?

“Forget it.”

She didn’t attack immediately—probably lacking some trigger condition. Zhou Qi’an sat back down, planning to stay still and wait.

After a moment, suspicion arose.

“Is this really revenge from players?”

Something felt off.

The fog in the cabin thickened. The bell tolls echoed again, beating faster and faster. When the bell almost overlapped with the raindrops, the bus suddenly braked hard.

The rear door opened again.

The outside fog thickened, giving a very bad impression—like some hidden beast waiting to devour.

Inside, Wen Xi moved slowly, walking from her statue-like state forward.

He couldn’t stay on the bus forever. Zhou Qi’an clenched his teeth and rushed out.

The moment his feet touched the ground, the world became much clearer.

He didn’t dare run around aimlessly, even feeling the shadow behind grow closer and closer, choosing instead to stop and observe.

On the almost completely desolate land, there was only one distinct feature.

Straight ahead stood a classical European-style building.

The building was surrounded by a sea of flowers, which grew almost like small trees, thickly clustered. Zhou Qi’an could only think of one word for it: magnificent.

A pale arm reached to grab his.

The chill tightened inch by inch. Just as the ghostly hand was about to grab him, Zhou Qi’an broke into a run.

He charged toward that intensely bright and colorful garden.

Also moving behind, Wen Xi’s body was still without a breath, her unfocused pupils chasing her prey.

The garden’s iron gate was open. Zhou Qi’an realized only when close that the tallest flower branch was taller than himself.

It was obviously no ordinary garden.

With no other choice, he closed his eyes and dashed blindly.

The sweet fragrance was intoxicating; at this moment his taste wasn’t dulled but strangely sharp. The rainy air mixed with the scent of wet earth, but while running fast, Zhou Qi’an also keenly smelled a faint rotting stench.

The footsteps behind seemed to stop.

Zhou Qi’an glanced back—Wen Xi stood near the garden gate.

He slowed down to confirm she had no intention to move, and exhaled lightly.

Just as his breath hadn’t fully settled, his expression changed.

The entire garden’s flowers had all turned into people, densely packed.

They grew from the soil; below their waist were roots, and from their forearms sprouted fine red blood vessels like plant fibers drifting in the air. These fine vessels extended endlessly, all reaching toward him.

At the same time, half of Wen Xi’s body turned into vines, stabbing straight ahead.

“F**k!”

He was always the one strangling others with a white silk ribbon, but now it was he who was being strangled.

Roots and vines intertwined, forming a deadly net covering him.

No way forward except that mysterious building.

The doors were also unlocked.

Breathing in the scents, Zhou Qi’an suddenly felt nauseous. He felt like a trapped turtle, being pushed step by step into a pre-designed container.

At this moment, the mysterious building perfectly played the role of the container.

From the moment he broke in, the outside plants stopped attacking.

The building had a ceiling height of over ten meters, but inside was just one big hall—no floors or stairs.

The dome was transparent glass; looking up he could see the sun or stars.

The walls were carved beautifully with roses, and in the center stood a lonely desk, with an ink bottle holding down a stack of manuscripts.

In front of the desk were two large doors, also decorated with floral patterns.

The owner of the house must really love flowers.

Zhou Qi’an showed no emotion on his face but curled his fingers several times, a cold sweat forming on his forehead.

One thought flashed in his mind:

Damn it, I think I’ve come to the Drama King’s lair.

---

Author’s note:

Zhou Qi’an: Feels like I’ve gone abroad.