Zhou Qi’an subtly angled his foot away, graciously opening a wide path for Bertram.
Yuma and Wen Xi were mercenaries. They had tailed him during the day, clearly under Bertram’s orders.
Now that Bertram was in trouble, Zhou Qi’an found it hard not to applaud.
But he was civilized—he only smiled.
Hee hee.
Bertram: “……”
This time, the priest didn’t ask for a volunteer. He simply chose Bertram, and Bertram had no say in it. Without a word, expression as cold as ever, he walked straight up.
The priest was pleased with his cooperation. He turned sideways and, with his dry hand, forcefully twisted the candlestick beside him.
After a harsh grinding sound, the wall behind the painting suddenly flipped around.
There were no windows or lights behind it, yet the small, square space was just as bright as the chapel. In the center stood a massive vat.
It was abnormally large—Zhou Qi’an thought it looked like a plus-sized pickle jar. Inside, he could smell honey, blood, milk… a strange mixture of scents.
At the priest’s request, Bertram stood next to the vat.
The priest said, “Child, go in. You don’t need to take off your clothes.”
The water was cold.
Bertram frowned—not the bone-chilling cold of something sinister, but more like meltwater from a mountaintop, pure and pristine.
Ripples spread across the surface, and under everyone’s gaze, Bertram suddenly plunged into the vat with a loud splash.
The players tensed. From their vantage point, it was clear Bertram hadn’t entered of his own will—it looked like he had been yanked under.
“You see that?” Xia Zhi spoke so softly it was almost inaudible. “The surface hasn’t moved since.”
There was no sound, no more ripples—it was like a pond of still water.
While they were still trying to observe more closely, the priest ushered everyone out. He himself walked to the door and gently closed the hidden chamber behind him, chanting scripture under his breath.
The voice wasn’t loud, but like the bell, it echoed in their ears, making their heads throb.
As he chanted, the priest stood silently beneath the baptism painting, body stiff, hands at his sides—like a corpse.
Zhou Qi’an noticed Dong Li didn’t look well. He doubted it was out of concern for Bertram. Following Dong Li’s line of sight, Zhou Qi’an’s expression changed.
The main entrance had disappeared—only the four doors behind the priest remained.
The stained-glass windows were one whole piece, with no visible opening mechanisms. It seemed those four doors were the only exit. Xia Zhi looked at the team leader as if to ask, Should we try opening one while we still can?
Dong Li shook his head.
The doors definitely needed to be opened—but not yet. While the bell was silent, they were still in the “Red Light” phase of the game—obedient puppets who must listen to the priest. Doing anything else was strictly forbidden.
The others began closely inspecting the four doors.
Shen Zhiyi was the exception—he had been staring at the priest the entire time.
A while later, Wen Xi—still missing an arm—also began watching the priest out of the corner of her eye.
After a full ten minutes, Wen Xi seemed to finally lose her patience. Perhaps because her employer was gone and no one was around to pay her anymore, the mercenary woman boldly walked up to the priest and asked,
“Is it over yet?”
The priest didn’t even glance at her. After a moment, he simply placed his hand back on the candlestick.
The hidden chamber door opened just a crack, and from inside came the sound of ragged breathing.
Bertram’s golden hair dripped with water. His aura was completely weakened, his eyes bulging slightly. He looked like a drowned ghost that had just crawled out of the water.
He clutched at his chest, coughing up black water.
The stench was overwhelming, and the players instinctively covered their mouths and noses, trying to figure out if the Bertram that returned was still human.
He was nearly unconscious, still vomiting black water nonstop.
DONG.
The bell finally began a new cycle, and the priest returned to his original pose: still, smiling.
Zhou Qi’an calmly stopped his mental timer. The previous phase had lasted fifteen minutes, confirming the game’s structure:
Three bell chimes = 5 minutes of free time
“Red Light” = 15 minutes of strict obedience
“Which door do you like the look of?” Zhou Qi’an asked a nearby college student.
The student hesitated. The doors were all covered in ornate carvings—none looked particularly inviting. After thinking for a second, he said, “How about the first one?”
Zhou Qi’an glanced at the others.
Opening doors came with risks. He had opened the church door earlier—this time, it was someone else’s turn.
Wen Xi was down an arm and busy supporting the barely-conscious Bertram. She had no intention of volunteering.
“We’ll question him later—see what the baptism was like.”
Seeing they still had value to offer, Dong Li finally stepped forward and opened a door.
The others wanted to peek at the scene behind it so they could make a better choice—but the moment one door opened, the other three mysteriously disappeared.
Behind the open door was a blinding white light—no one could make out what was inside.
Seeing the door about to close on its own, the group stopped hesitating and rushed through it.
In the next instant, the door vanished behind them—
—and the familiar swarm of crows surged forward.
Free movement time. Dong Li reacted immediately and struck back.
With the door gone, all that remained was a bleak world of withered trees, crows, and the players.
Now that they were allowed to retaliate, the group didn’t look as pitiful as before. But the crows were endless—a sea of darkness, attacking in a cold, mechanical frenzy that numbed the soul.
“Find the door,” Dong Li croaked.
If the bell rang again, they’d be forced back into defensive mode.
Then, an off-key voice cried out—
“Mom! Mom!”
“…Where the hell did this mama’s boy come from?”
Zhou Qi’an wasn’t struggling much—Shen Zhiyi’s shadows had eliminated most of the threats for him. But Zhou Qi’an had a childhood trauma—he’d been pecked by chickens—so he had a natural fear of sharp-beaked creatures.
Not only did he go looking for his mother—he dragged the college student with him too.
Feathers were flying everywhere, making it hard to see anything clearly.
The two of them ducked like turtles. Zhou Qi’an was the first to pinpoint her location. He closed his eyes and dragged the poor student straight toward his mother.
The college student didn’t know her true strength—but he figured she must be powerful. He’d seen the news: someone recently punched 81 holes in an ancient tomb in Dun City.
Putting together that Zhou-ge had said his mother went to Dun City on a trip and got arrested, and the fact she had a record of car theft, it wasn’t hard to figure out who the likely suspect was.
“Don’t open your eyes,” Zhou Qi’an warned.
Otherwise, seeing a snake eating crows might make the guy faint.
As the crows were slaughtered one after another, a door finally reappeared.
The group hurriedly pushed through.
…And in the very next moment,
they were back in the church.
Zhou Qi’an shook off the crow feathers from his body and swallowed hard.
Beside him, Dong Li spoke helplessly, “The church has four doors, but other scenes only have one. Unless we find the correct door, no matter where we go, we’ll just end up back here.”
[Dong]—
The bell abruptly stopped. The familiar “statue phase” had arrived.
Zhou Qi’an immediately looked toward Bertram. After half-fainting and enduring the crow attack, Bertram was now completely drained, slowly regaining health using healing items.
His breathing was weak, let alone being able to answer any useful questions.
The priest began repeating the same speech as before.
Zhou Qi’an whispered to the other players, “Anyone wanna bet 50 points? I bet he’s gonna pick me.”
“…”
After reciting his usual lines, the priest’s gaze leisurely swept across everyone, as if purposefully drawing out the suspense.
About thirty seconds later, it finally landed on Zhou Qi’an:
“Child, life waits for no one.”
The chosen person had no say—this time, there was no Bertram to go first.
While the rest of the players exhaled in relief, Zhou Qi’an cursed the priest’s entire family under his breath while walking forward with his rice cooker in hand.
The wall rotated, and he obediently entered the space behind the mural.
The priest smiled, urging him to make haste with the baptism.
Since entering, Zhou Qi’an had kept his eyes fixed on the calm water surface, his face rarely showing such seriousness.
Compared to facing a known danger, not knowing the source of danger was far more troublesome.
The college student looked worried. “Brother Zhou…”
Zhou Qi’an didn’t reply. He approached the tank. Bertram had entered it with his shoes on, and after two days, all of their soles were covered in mud and blood.
Yet the water in the tank was still crystal clear.
“Child, go ahead,” the priest gently gave his final nudge.
As Zhou Qi’an leaned closer to the water surface, a strong suction suddenly pulled him in uncontrollably.
The inside of the massive tank was far larger than expected.
At the bottom of the tank was the same image as outside: the baptism of the holy infant. The priest was upside-down, holding the baby, whose head was submerged in water.
Zhou Qi’an had unfortunately landed in the exact same spot as the infant.
From above, immense pressure bore down—he couldn’t swim up, so he had no choice but to swim elsewhere. After holding his breath and moving for a bit, Zhou Qi’an glanced downward, and his expression changed dramatically—beneath him was again the image of the priest holding the infant, and he was still positioned where the baby should be.
“An infinite loop.”
Zhou Qi’an’s heart pounded wildly.
A looping illusion on land was manageable—you just needed patience to find the exit. But here, in water, even with a slightly enhanced physique, you could only last a few minutes. And his lungs hadn’t been upgraded.
Now he understood why Bertram was in such bad shape after resurfacing. The water pressure increased by the second, and the suffocation made him want to cough instinctively.
Resisting the urge to open his mouth, Zhou Qi’an flipped open the lid of his rice cooker.
That movement caused him to sink further. A warm stream filled his nose—his nose was bleeding uncontrollably.
Straining to keep his eyes open, he watched the sea serpent swim out of the rice cooker, heading in a specific direction. He followed it.
Animals had stronger survival instincts and danger awareness than humans.
Clearly, this “purifying” water made even the sea serpent uncomfortable, and it twisted its way urgently toward a specific zone.
Zhou Qi’an followed, swimming at an angle toward the rear lower-right quadrant of the tank. Halfway there, the pressure on his body suddenly lessened.
The water wasn’t as heavy anymore.
The surface shimmered, but when he tried to escape from the bottom, the tank’s space stretched infinitely, pulling him back to the original, high-pressure point.
“…What the hell?”
His oxygen was nearly depleted. Dizzy and weak, this time he didn’t try to escape. Instead, he carefully examined the mural beneath him while floating in this endless loop.
For now, that was his only clue.
The image was similar to the one outside—priest, infant, infant’s parents…
Wait. Parents?
After baptism, the child would naturally be returned to the parents.
A possibility suddenly dawned on him—escaping this baptism required cooperation from outside.
That must’ve been what Wen Xi realized earlier when she interrupted the priest.
Damn. What a vicious trap.
Most players would just wait and observe someone else’s baptism, maybe even wish it’d delay their turn. Who’d think to interrupt?
Under the icy pressure, his limbs started to cramp. He swam back to the lower-pressure area.
He could taste blood in his mouth, unable to suppress the intense urge to vomit.
Unable to hold on any longer, Zhou Qi’an opened his mouth—but nothing came out. Instead, the tank water surged in.
Eyes wide, he opened his backpack and stared at the [Newbie Protection Period] item. The tool Ying Yu had given him had an 80% chance to negate one rule. If no one saved him and he was truly at death’s door, he’d gamble with it.
Back in the church.
Due to the bizarre water pressure, every second felt like a year inside the tank, but outside, only three to four minutes had passed.
The college student was anxious.
He was sensitive to words and felt the priest was reciting the exact same scripture as he had for Bertram.
From what he knew, scriptures were usually excerpts or summarized—there was no way it would be this long.
Was the priest just looping one section endlessly?
Unfortunately, he was chanting too softly to be sure. Just as the student was about to whisper his theory to Shen Zhiyi, the latter raised his hand, signaling him to be silent.
Shen Zhiyi’s pale eyes stared at the priest.
The priest’s pace slightly quickened. Just as he was about to rush through a segment, Shen Zhiyi suddenly spoke:
“The baptism is over.”
The priest’s body stiffened, deep displeasure flashing in his eyes.
Now that two people had interrupted the priest, even a fool could tell something was wrong.
Everyone exchanged looks and quickly reached a conclusion.
The priest was endlessly repeating the scripture. To interrupt him, you had to wait until he finished the first recitation and speak up before the next repetition began.
The timing had to be precise—speak too soon and you risked danger; miss the window, and you had to wait for another full loop.
Bertram had suffered through nearly three cycles before Wen Xi picked the right moment.
The priest reluctantly turned the candelabrum, stalling as much as possible—but when Shen Zhiyi coldly mouthed “hurry up”, the priest moved involuntarily, quickly obeying.
Before entering, Shen Zhiyi gave Wen Xi a brief look.
Though it was just a split-second glance, it sent a chill down her spine.
She had figured out the baptism’s lethal rule but hadn’t told anyone. She’d been hoping Zhou Qi’an would die in there.
The guy was too unpredictable—his death would benefit everyone.
Wen Xi quickly calmed herself. Survival was earned, not given. She had no reason to share information for free. Besides, based on what she knew before arriving, the more people who died, the better.
Xia Zhix added fuel to the fire at the right moment, “Honestly, when you think about it, we’ve gotten a lot of useful info from Mr. Zhou.”
Wen Xi sneered, too lazy to argue.
Inside the tank, Zhou Qi’an was in worse shape than Bertram. He didn’t have any healing items. He was slumped at the tank’s edge, blood dripping from his nose and mouth.
When pulled out, he still looked dazed.
The chill of the water slowly faded. Once he recognized Shen Zhiyi, Zhou Qi’an weakly rested his forehead against the man’s arm, mumbling:
“This hellhole…”
Long-term suffocation had drained every bit of his energy.
There was a brief flicker of pity in Shen Zhiyi’s eyes, quickly hidden.
Like coaxing a child, he gently patted Zhou Qi’an’s back. Just like Bertram, Zhou Qi’an started vomiting black water. Shen Zhiyi helped wipe the blood and inky stains from his face, and once Zhou seemed a little better, he carried him out directly.
Zhou Qi’an’s back tensed. “My mom…”
“Auntie is still outside having a midnight snack.”
Indeed, hardly anyone noticed that Mother Zhou hadn’t gone through the door with them. She was still behind the first door, eating and drinking happily.
