As they passed the priest blocking their way, Shen Zhiyi didn’t even lift his eyelids. “Good dogs don’t block the road.”
The priest really wanted to block them—because stepping aside would be admitting he was a dog. But on second thought, not stepping aside would be the same.
His thoughts were sluggish now. As his eyeballs stiffly rolled, Wen Xi, behind him, picked up on something and started analyzing Shen Zhiyi’s ability: “It seems related to mental manipulation.”
Zhou Qi’an could no longer suppress the low cough that started to escape.
It’s said that when you’re dying, your life flashes before your eyes.
As he suffocated underwater, countless images surfaced in his mind: an endless stream of actors being sent in, absurd performances and deadly games. Zhou Qi’an felt an inexplicable sense of déjà vu.
Like that kind you get during a licensing exam. The kind you can’t quite describe—making it all the more tormenting.
“Seven plays. With the fourth act done, we’re already more than halfway through,” Zhou Qi’an had a hunch. The current act, stuck at a turning point, might have different clues that could help him make further judgments.
[Dong].
His ears had taken in some water; this time the bell sounded muffled.
The priest once again stood solemn and still.
Zhou Qi’an was in bad shape, barely holding himself up as he said, “Keep pushing the first door.”
He not only needed to bring his mom back, but also confirm one thing—whether the scene behind the door changed each time. If it was still the ravens, they could eliminate the first door completely.
No one objected. Bertram had recovered a bit and didn’t stay behind in the church.
If the others didn’t return in five minutes, he’d be left alone with the priest—which was even riskier.
This time, they were much more practiced with the door. Everyone was fully prepared for another raven attack.
Oddly, the door felt heavier than before. It took two people some effort to push it open.
As light leaked out, everyone tensed and stepped inside.
This time, only a few dozen ravens remained—vastly fewer than before.
Dead ravens littered the ground, and Zhou Qi’an’s mother sat alone among them. When she turned her head to look at them, there was still blood on her face. The players’ steps faltered—unsure whether it was the church behind them or the woman in front that terrified them more.
Zhou’s mother had blood-matted hair. As a cold wind blew, she gave a soft burp.
Ravens eat flesh. Snakes eat birds. A perfect ecological balance had been achieved.
Even though Xia Zhi had previously explained her condition, seeing it in person still left Dong Li visibly shaken. Even Bertram now had a strong wariness in his eyes.
This wasn’t just evolution gone wrong. This was complete aberration.
The college student was about to faint.
Xia Zhi whispered, “At least we can confirm—it’s still the raven world.”
But… the woman had eaten her way into creating a safe zone.
Zhou Qi’an took a half step back, then seemingly bolstered his courage and stepped forward again. “Mom, eating too much late at night is bad for digestion. How about we go for a walk?”
Everyone’s expressions turned colorful.
A walk? Why not call it a night run?
Zhou’s mother finally moved, seemingly approving of this healthy post-meal suggestion.
She didn’t even spare the remaining ravens in the sky, though this time, she didn’t eat them—just strangled them cleanly.
The vanished door reappeared.
Zhou Qi’an forced a smile and changed the subject: “Everyone, we’ve got time. We can still try one more door.”
Before he even finished speaking, the second chime of the bell suddenly rang.
The interval between the three chimes was shorter now.
Zhou Qi’an: “…”
The players couldn’t decide whether to blame someone’s jinxing words or accuse the game of cheating.
Dong Li was the one who broke the silence: “Don’t waste time.”
In the “Red Light, Green Light” game, the tempo itself is allowed to vary. No one said the intervals had to be consistent. The game was designed to be nasty. It made perfect sense that it would use this to mess with them.
Right now, their top priority was to reach the ancient city before dawn. They had no time to linger in the safe zone. The college student and Xia Zhi, who were closest to the door, decisively pushed it open—only to pause slightly.
Zhou Qi’an: “What’s wrong?”
The student mumbled, “It’s changed.”
The church interior had changed.
The once-traditional pulpit had been replaced by a human-sized iron cage. Next to it stood a sturdy gallows.
Priest, cage, gallows.
Placed on the same line, they created a grotesque sort of sanctity.
“Looks familiar.”
Zhou Qi’an stared at the gallows—he thought he’d seen something similar in a textbook during the school dungeon, but it was only a fleeting glance. He couldn’t recall the details.
A soft voice from behind him said, “Coffin punishment. The sinner is locked in the cage, hung on the gallows, and left to be pecked to death by wild ravens.”
Whenever Shen Zhiyi recited such things, Zhou Qi’an always felt like the guy had just come home.
The third bell interrupted Shen Zhiyi.
It was about to be Red Light, Green Light time again.
Wen Xi and Bertram exchanged a glance and quickly retreated behind the first door. Clearly, from Zhou’s mother’s behavior, they figured that hiding behind the door was safer.
They couldn’t hide forever, but at least they could avoid this confrontation with the priest.
Zhou Qi’an shot a cold glance at them but chose to stay in the church.
He didn’t let the college student randomly pick another door. Who knew what dangers lay behind them? The ravens might actually be the least threatening.
If that was the case, it showed that the student’s luck had run out—any more would be pushing it.
“Look around, especially the doors,” Zhou Qi’an said in a low voice.
The Red Light, Green Light time would be dictated by the priest, but it was still a good chance to observe—better than standing around like an idiot behind the doors.
Less than half a minute later, the bell faded, replaced by the start of Red Light, Green Light.
A heavy black tome appeared in the priest’s hands. One moment he was in front of the mural, the next he stood between the gallows and the iron cage.
He slowly began to speak. “Merciful and great Lord, please forgive the sinner’s debt of sin. Let them resist the devil’s temptation…”
The priest’s pupils shrank. Bertram was gone now—his hypocritical eyes locked only onto Zhou Qi’an.
“Child, come.” He beckoned gently. “Begin your confession. The merciful Lord will bear witness.”
The priest loved wild children. Saving and managing them gave him a greater sense of fulfillment.
To him, the two wildest here were Shen Zhiyi and Zhou Qi’an. Driven by instinct, he decided to ruin one.
He raised his cross pendant and thick tome, guiding Zhou Qi’an to the gallows for confession.
The pendant swung in front of Zhou Qi’an’s eyes as the priest gently said, “Begin.”
No confessional booth.
Zhou Qi’an resisted the urge to frown. He didn’t know much about religion, but he did know that confession was supposed to be private—not done in front of an audience.
Confessing publicly wasn’t repentance—it was the prelude to execution.
The gallows was several meters tall. Standing beneath it, he felt his sense of self shrink to nothing, silently confirming his guess.
The small Zhou Qi’an, under the priest’s encouragement, began his confession.
“I have sinned—”
The three words slipped out of his mouth uncontrollably.
Zhou Qi’an frowned. His will and body seemed to be separating.
The surface of the tome in the priest’s hands revealed two blood-red characters: SINNER.
As the words became clearer, Zhou Qi’an couldn’t help walking into the cage on his own, face full of remorse. “I have committed at least ten sins…”
The rope on the gallows moved like a living thing, threading through the bars and wrapping around his slender neck.
“I killed my wife, set fires, changed gender…”
The rough rope scraped his delicate skin, quickly leaving red marks.
With every word Zhou Qi’an uttered, the priest looked at him like he was something filthy.
The players’ expressions were priceless.
Zhou’s mother remained unmoved after the first two sins—but when she heard the third, her hair stood on end.
Changed gender?
So he didn’t need to save up for marriage?! Her precious son had been scamming her out of hard-earned money?!
Shen Zhiyi’s shadow twitched, as if back in the dance studio of Jinxiang Building. He glanced coldly at the mirage and casually explained to Zhou’s mother, “He changed back.”
Zhou’s mother nodded lightly. That was fine then.
Zhou Qi’an went on: “I bombed a school, bombed a church—oh no, the altar explosion was accidental…”
Every word was genuine. Zhou Qi’an didn’t even try to resist the invisible force—his confessions flowed out naturally.
He truly didn’t think he was to blame for the altar—it was just a coincidence.
The tome kept producing lines of blood-red script, struggling to keep up with his pace. The rope crept tighter around his neck.
But rather than the chilling image of the rope strangling him, everyone’s attention shifted.
Wen was silent for a moment before asking, “Is he even human?”
He hadn’t done anything a normal person would.
Xia Zhi suddenly had a thought: “Map buster!”
Three bombed instances. He had to be the rookie the forums had been obsessing over.
There was no way this was coincidence. Even the craziest players wouldn’t randomly blow up instances—let alone three in a row.
Zhou Qi’an kept going: “I robbed homes, dissected a pregnant father…”
The entire church fell dead silent.
Holy sht!*
Even Zhou Qi’an’s eyes widened.
Thankfully, Shen Zhiyi came to the rescue. Calmly, he explained to Zhou’s mother: “He helped deliver a baby for a sixty-year-old man, not biologically related, who was a priest.”
Even the priest stopped reciting scripture.
Shen Zhiyi didn’t care what others thought of him—but since this concerned Zhou Qi’an’s reputation, he made sure everyone could hear the explanation.
None of them, however, could fully piece together the ethical relationships.
By the end, Zhou Qi’an’s face was completely blank.
From the moment he stepped into the cage and admitted guilt, even the most minor actions were magnified.
The coarse rope was nearly cutting into his flesh. Its worn gray surface was stained with old blood.
Colder than the waters of baptism, a chilling aura seeped from the rope’s fibers. Zhou Qi’an took a deep breath, careful not to have a single rebellious thought.
He realized that doing so slowed the coldness and gave him a little control over his body.
The tome had turned into a book of blood. It felt like his own blood was draining into it.
The priest’s expression lost all tenderness. “Do you confess your sins?”
It wasn’t a question—it was a verdict.
Zhou Qi’an looked directly at the priest holding the book that radiated a bloody glow.
“Confession?”
Lowering his gaze, he mouthed something silently. In an instant, a flash of golden light erupted, nearly blinding the priest.
Zhou Qi’an used the last of his strength to grip the holy artifact. Unlike a traditional offensive posture, he held it out with both hands—as if presenting a scale.
“This is a holy relic,” Zhou Qi’an said, lips trembling from the freezing ropes binding him, yet still introducing it on his own initiative. “Only one of absolute purity and goodness can use a holy relic. [Heaven] says I am innocent.”
He cleverly avoided using “I” as the subject. He knew that whether he admitted guilt or not, punishment would follow.
On the first day in the game, Mr. Si had said that the code name for the game was [Heaven].
No matter what existed outside, within this amusement park created by the game, it was Heaven, it was God, and it ruled the fate of all living beings.
The sudden appearance of the golden trident gave the priest an ominous feeling.
In the next moment, Zhou Qi’an said, “Father, would you like to touch it?”
“!”
The foreboding was confirmed.
Struggling to offer the holy relic forward, the young man looked sincere.
“I think it also needs to be baptized.”
“Father, why are you backing away? Why won’t you touch it?” Zhou Qi’an’s teeth chattered from the cold, his voice eerie: “Do you have something to confess?”
With a sharp turn in tone, he asked,
“Or is it that you are guilty?”
From the moment Zhou Qi’an began speaking, the noose around his neck had stopped tightening.
The priest did not dare to touch the relic.
After realizing this, the players’ greedy gazes slightly dimmed. Could it be, just as Zhou Qi’an said, only the truly pure and good can use it?
But the sins from his prior confessions were still fresh in their minds.
He had nothing to do with purity or goodness.
If Zhou Qi’an could use it, why couldn’t they?
At that moment, a white silk sash appeared out of nowhere—pure white, lofty, and like a noose hanging from the gallows.
Zhou Qi’an stared straight at the priest:
“I’ve been baptized. I have the divine certification of goodness, a tool that detects one’s nature, and a silken cloth capable of delivering punishment…”
“I should be the priest.”
By the end, even Zhou Qi’an was moved by his own speech.
Not only that, but he could tell fortunes, understand Heaven’s will, and see the world clearly—so why should he be judged? He should be the one judging others.
Mother Zhou skipped the question of whether priests could marry—history was written by those with fists. She cared more about territory.
If this role fit her son, then wasn’t the current priest just an intruder stealing their land?
Mother and son fell into deep thought simultaneously.
In some countries, if an intruder is killed during a home invasion, it’s considered self-defense.
The thrill of this idea dulled the discomfort brought on by the gallows. Even their frozen blood stirred slightly with excitement.
Zhou Qi’an’s words became increasingly fluent:
“What qualifies someone to be a priest? A test?”
He turned to the other players:
“Support me as the new priest, and I will grant you innocence.”
“……”
Dong Li suddenly glanced at Xia Zhi.
“Don’t get distracted.”
Not only her—everyone had been caught off guard by Zhou Qi’an’s sermon-like performance. As they snapped back to reality, they realized Zhou Qi’an was deliberately stalling for time, and their eyes began combing every inch of the chapel.
The priest, disturbed by Zhou Qi’an, grew increasingly flustered—a perfect opportunity for the players.
The entire church was covered in murals, grand and surreal. The doors bore intricate carvings, and staring too long at any part of it caused dizziness.
As players moved and observed, the priest seemed to sense the anomaly behind him but was quickly drawn back by Zhou Qi’an’s provocations.
“How did you get this job? I’ll apply too.”
“I’ll work for free, overtime every day, 365 days a year.”
“What do you have that I don’t?”
Not just the priest—other players searching for clues on how to open the door were also enraged.
Strike-breaker!
The priest really wanted to hang Zhou Qi’an himself, but the sins inscribed in the holy book and the relic’s recognition of purity kept things at a standstill.
To put it bluntly—Zhou Qi’an had exploited a bug.
While buying time with his relentless banter, his mind spun with thoughts.
The relic must have appeared after this instance; otherwise, the death mechanics wouldn’t be so flawed. But based on instance IDs, the heir’s instance came before this one.
So, is there no correlation between instance numbers and their timeline? Or… did someone tamper with that previous instance?
When Ying Yu mentioned inconsistencies in instance numbering, Zhou Qi’an already found the relic’s presence in a 3.5-star instance suspicious.
Now, that unease was intensifying.
He shook his head, choosing to focus on the present. The priest didn’t look inexperienced in judgment trials, and the thick bloodstains on the noose confirmed it.
The number of actual missing players was likely much higher than what Ying Yu reported.
So the real question was—where did those missing players go?
DONG.
The bell suddenly tolled, interrupting Zhou Qi’an’s train of thought.
Finally—free time had come again.
But this time, the priest wasn’t frozen. He kept drawing crosses and reciting scripture.
His eyelids lowered in seeming reverence, but his eyes rolled upward, coldly scanning every player.
His predatory gaze was no different from the townsfolk in the ancient city.
Just then, Wen Xi and Bertlent returned, pushing the door open. The eerie scene startled them—they thought the “Red Light, Green Light” segment was still ongoing.
Upon closer look, the priest was merely reciting, not attacking.
Still, no one felt relieved. A sudden shift in the NPC’s behavior was never a good sign.
Everyone had a bad feeling: next time, the church would unleash a real weapon.
There were still three doors left.
DONG.
A second bell chime rang far too soon. Players’ expressions changed drastically.
It was much faster than before—barely a minute had passed.
“Quick, go to the first door!”
They tried to hide behind it for safety.
But the door was extremely heavy, almost immovable. Zhou Qi’an remembered—it had already started getting heavier on the second try.
A college student’s face turned pale:
“Each time you open the same door, it gets heavier.”
The first door had been opened three times already—it might as well be welded shut.
Zhou Qi’an was the first to give up, choosing to observe the doors instead of wasting strength.
He hadn’t had much time to study them while fending off the priest. Given the church’s high danger level, the true clues must be hidden within.
“These patterns…”
His words drew everyone’s attention. Xia Zhi asked anxiously:
“Did you find something?”
“Looks like a puzzle.” Zhou Qi’an sounded uncertain.
He tilted his head, trying to view it from a different angle. Gradually, his tone became more confident:
“This whole door is a scrambled puzzle. When rearranged, the first door forms a crow.”
Upon hearing that, everyone stared at the door. The patterns were complex, but they barely managed to make out a crow’s head in the lower right corner.
With a breakthrough, Zhou Qi’an quickly pieced things together:
“The background of the pocket watch resembled a church. We’ve entered the world inside the watch.”
Aside from the building, the most distinctive element on the watch was a white dove.
Zhou Qi’an’s eyes moved to the doors:
“Quick, find the door with the white dove!”
“It’s no use. The more you look, the more it’s just a mess of lines.” Wen Xi looked grim. Her half-pale face, due to the missing arm, grew even paler.
The final bell would sound soon. Life or death was on the line. Yet Zhou Qi’an was unusually calm, eyes scanning the intricate patterns.
His profession gave him a sharp sense for visuals—he wouldn’t die here.
His pupils darted as his gaze outlined and reconstructed the images in his mind.
“Crow… vulture…”
When he reached the third door, Zhou Qi’an’s pupils shrank: he found it.
“Go to door—”
He barely finished speaking when Wen Xi, who had just claimed she couldn’t decipher the lines, suddenly dashed toward the third door.
After hiding behind the first door in the last round, her condition had improved.
Wen Xi’s perception wasn’t just sharp—it was monstrously high. No wonder she saved Bertlent in phase one.
With someone leading, blind sprinting became the path to survival.
Other players followed immediately.
Zhou Qi’an was about to call for his mother when something invisible blocked him.
It was as if a thin, unseen membrane repelled him backward.
To make things worse, the priest now smiled while chanting faster, standing directly in his path.
“What’s going on?” Zhou Qi’an frowned.
He tried to use the relic, but the barrier remained. It wasn’t ghost-related.
DONG.
The final bell rang—a death knell.
At the door, Wen Xi smirked.
[Invisible Barrier]—one of her trump cards.
It conveniently blocked both Zhou Qi’an and his mother. Perfect timing.
In a normal instance, she wouldn’t waste such a valuable tool. But this time was different. According to the pre-instance divination, only a few could claim the ultimate reward.
The biggest threat now? This mother-son duo.
If their entire team survived, they’d take all the rewards. What would be left for her?
Get rid of them, and the rest were easy.
Everyone else left Zhou Qi’an behind, scrambling to escape. No one wanted to help.
Had there been more time, someone might’ve even stabbed him in the back.
Different schemes and betrayals ran through their minds in a split second, while the system voice rang out:
[Red Light, Green Light]
Zhou Qi’an had no time for revenge. He quickly gave his mother a Newbie Protection item—if she couldn’t escape, this would still boost her survival rate.
At the front, Wen Xi’s hand reached for the doorknob. A gleam of triumph flashed in her eyes.
Victory was near.
Then suddenly—her body froze.
A calm, familiar voice spoke:
“Focus fire on her.”
Wen Xi turned.
It was Shen Zhiyi, face blank and cold. She had once guessed he might have mind-control powers and even used defenses against it.
Why hadn’t they worked?
Panic overtook her—she felt like death was watching her.
And then it happened.
The fleeing players all turned—and attacked her.
They activated Focus Fire tools and targeted her at once.
Wen Xi screamed at Bertlent:
“Are you insane?”
This was madness.
She refused to believe Shen Zhiyi could control them all—some were just using this chance to get rid of competition.
Wen Xi’s panic grew. Once the game said “You can’t move”, everyone would be stuck.
But the players kept attacking, like puppets under a spell.
Back at the gallows—
After giving the item to his mom, Zhou Qi’an felt overwhelming pressure. Because of Wen Xi’s [Invisible Barrier], he hadn’t heard what was happening at the door.
The noose came toward him again, the cage door opened.
Zhou Qi’an rapidly assessed, brain running at full speed.
Even if the church had released its deadliest weapon, there might still be a way out.
Just when it seemed like doom was imminent—
The barrier vanished.
The priest, holding the book, slowly stepped aside.
In the fleeting moment that remained, Zhou Qi’an looked up. His gaze passed the priest and the others—
And stopped on one spot.
In front of the dove-emblazoned door, Shen Zhiyi stood, quietly waiting for him.
Author’s Note:
Priest: Oh sinner, receive your baptism!
Zhou Qi’an: I confess… I once… Blah blah blah blah…
Priest: …
Slow down! The holy book can’t hold that much text!
