Under the blood-red moon, Zhou Qi’an, who had been wandering outside for some time, returned to stand outside the courtyard gate.
The gate was still bolted from the inside. He stood under the pitch-black courtyard wall, pondered for a moment, rolled the white silk into a ball, and then lifted it up slowly with a fishing fork near the big tree.
In the shadow of the trees, the white silk looked just like a human head.
Crash!
As soon as two-thirds of this fake head emerged, a machete swung over.
Instant kill, literally the moment you stick your head out.
While the white silk was being slashed, Zhou Qi’an quickly climbed over the wall from the other side.
At the same time, under the courtyard wall by the big tree, the mistress inside the courtyard was stunned as the “head” suddenly flattened from 3D to 2D. Realizing she’d been tricked, she quickly reacted!
A sound came from behind as Zhou Qi’an landed.
The woman’s expression became icy. The humiliation of being fooled made her slash with even greater fury.
What seemed like an ordinary knife grew longer in the night, its blade extremely thin, and under the blood-red moonlight, the edge looked both real and illusory.
Zhou Qi’an barely dodged. The blade struck a giant pickle rock behind him, producing a clear, crisp sound like a dragon’s roar.
“You even got sound effects?” Zhou Qi’an cursed inwardly.
A dragon’s roar? Is this fantasy now?
When the tip of the blade lodged into the stone, Zhou Qi’an, in a flash, dashed away so quickly you could hear the wind.
As the woman yanked the knife free, Zhou Qi’an glanced back. The stone was left with a deep fissure, yet the blade showed no sign of chipping or wear.
He rushed into the house at top speed and closed the door behind him.
Bang!
Barely two seconds later, the door was cleaved in half. The long blade sliced right through the rotten wood, and if Zhou Qi’an had been a heartbeat slower, half his arm might have been lost.
The woman stormed in, wildly swinging her blade.
It was as if she wasn’t seeing a person, but a log to chop for kindling.
Neither of them spoke. Zhou Qi’an, who would normally trash-talk constantly in-game, had to stay silent in the Silent Town. It was agonizing.
Once the woman entered the house, her movements slowed.
Zhou Qi’an also calmed down considerably.
Of the three mission hints, players needed to proactively trigger one. Even now, there was no system notification stating that he’d triggered a midnight “play with the mistress” task, so he figured she’d eventually leave.
Sure enough, after five or six minutes, the woman suddenly sheathed her blade.
Her pupils were lifeless as she stiffly turned and walked out.
She didn’t return for the rest of the night. Zhou Qi’an dared not sleep. He watched the cobwebs on the roof tiles and recalled the slashing earlier, vaguely realizing something.
Around 5:30, the blood moon faded, and the town welcomed dawn.
Half an hour later, there was a noise outside.
The woman stomped on the plank where she’d fallen the night before—a way of knocking.
Zhou Qi’an gestured, indicating she could enter.
Both parties were surprisingly polite.
Soon, the woman entered.
She seemed like a different person—courteously bringing mouth-rinse saltwater and breakfast. “Eat.”
Zhou Qi’an guessed she was inviting him to eat.
He washed up quickly and started eating without hesitation.
Apparently, she hadn’t expected someone would just eat whatever she brought over. The woman looked at Zhou Qi’an like he was crazy.
After breakfast, she spat out two words: “Mouth, seven.”
Zhou Qi’an dipped his finger in tea to write on the table: “Seven o’clock, meet at town gate?”
She understood immediately, giving him a strange look.
Under her dubious gaze, Zhou Qi’an tidied his clothes and regained his cool demeanor.
Since the meeting was at seven, it might not be safe to go outside before then, so he deliberately lingered. Only when the coldest morning wind blew did he head for the town entrance, right on time.
The air was chillingly fresh.
In the distance, a group had already gathered, their expressions grim.
As he got closer, the stench of blood filled his nostrils. Suddenly, he caught sight of a complete human skin, laid flat on the town’s stone monument. The victim’s face was grotesquely deformed.
“…”
His recently eaten breakfast churned in his stomach.
He hurried under a tree, where it was clear someone else had already thrown up.
…The disgust doubled.
Shen Zhiyi barely glanced at the skin but had been focused on Zhou Qi’an since he arrived.
The young man’s slender waist and long legs stood against the ink-wash colors of the strange town—Shen Zhiyi, though terrible at painting, had an excellent eye for art.
It was like a world-class painting.
Used to being the subject of such stares, Zhou Qi’an noticed a player missing. Luckily, all of his teammates were present.
The little girl was napping on the dog, Ying Yu carried a backpack, Red Hood was studying the human skin, and the boss, grumpy from lack of sleep, stood aside with a murderous air.
At seven sharp, Goat-Headed Man appeared, ignoring the human skin as it scanned the remaining players.
With it came a system notification:
“Side Mission—Overnight Stay completed.”
“VIP Ticket *1, issued.”
A ticket appeared in every player’s hand.
Zhou Qi’an raised an eyebrow. Even the rewards delivery had to be dramatic.
In last night’s “find the ghost” task, some contributed more than others, but everyone got a ticket. This would inevitably leave some feeling resentful.
At this rate, fewer and fewer people would take risks in future group missions.
Suddenly, the crisp jingle of bells broke the morning silence. A goat-drawn carriage emerged from the mist.
Exquisitely decorated, the wagon was enveloped in white fog.
From a distance, it seemed to descend from the heavens.
Drawn by four goats, the carriage stopped before the players. Goat-Headed Man sat up front with the reins, gestured, and the others got on automatically.
The goat carriage rumbled along, bumpy but not too fast.
Once they left the town, they could finally speak.
A player, pale-faced, blurted, “Where did the ghost that infiltrated us go?”
Sensing the accusing tone, he calmed and added, “My name is He Li. The skin at the town gate belonged to my friend.”
A moment after speaking, he introduced the woman beside him: “This is Tian Tian.”
Only the sound of wheels answered them.
It was awkwardly silent until another group of four also introduced themselves and asked about his friend.
He Li’s face twisted in grief. “After entering the instance, I had a period of muddled consciousness. My friend woke up before me—Wait, maybe he was already dead. What found me was the ghost!”
He became more agitated.
Someone guessed, “Could it be your friend was unlucky and teleported inside the town, accidentally spoke, and got killed?”
Since everyone’s spawn point differed, it was possible.
Zhou Qi’an, half-listening, scoffed silently.
He hadn’t been spawned inside the town, so how could anyone be even unluckier?
In any case, since they’d received rewards, it meant the ghost failed to get the treasure and lost their killing rights.
After the farce at the back mountain, the real ghost’s fate was surely grim—either dead or too injured to pretend to be a player.
He had his prize, and that was enough. The rest didn’t interest him.
Exhausted after a sleepless night, Zhou Qi’an closed his eyes to rest.
Yuan, having been through the same instance, also took the opportunity to nap, haunted by a sense of corporate drudgery.
Someone wanted to speak but fell silent under Shen Zhiyi’s cold gaze.
The carriage rattled on through deserted scenery. Zhou Qi’an’s nap ended within twenty minutes when the wagon stopped.
They’d arrived?
He opened his eyes in surprise.
With his own speed, he could have made a round trip easily.
As they disembarked, Goat-Headed Man said, “Pick-up and drop-off only for today.”
In other words, tomorrow they would have to walk back.
Zhou Qi’an, having slept all the way: “…”
Why not mention it earlier? He could have memorized the route.
Luckily, teammate Ying Yu summarized: the Silent Museum was just on the other side of a low hill, beyond the town.
It wasn’t even eight o’clock—the sky was sunless, shrouded in blue-white mist. The buildings ahead looked classically Chinese, their mysterious appeal impossible to ignore.
“Is this…the museum?” someone asked uncertainly.
It could’ve been any family’s compound.
Mystery, silence—these were broken as Goat-Headed Man pushed open the door.
The inside was spacious and surprisingly crowded. When the doors opened, everyone looked over defensively, their exhaustion hard to hide—they were clearly also players.
No time to be surprised at others. Everyone turned to look at the so-called museum.
There were buildings on three sides, each two stories and the same height. In the middle of the courtyard, set in a low area, was a large, clear well reflecting the whole sky.
He Li, more knowledgeable, exclaimed, “Four Water Courtyard.”
Although the theme was the Silent Museum, he overheard players talking privately—so you could speak here.
Tian Tian, a northerner, asked, “Is there a special meaning?”
He Li nodded. “With this layout, on rainy days, water runs from the eaves into the central well. It implies that wealth stays within the family, not flowing outside—good for accumulating fortune.”
He smiled wryly. “Hope this place…doesn’t become our tomb.”
A lightly mocking laugh came from Zhou Qi’an, who stood by the well with a complicated expression. “‘Four Water Courtyard’? More like frogs at the bottom of a well—we’re all at the bottom, looking up at the sky of this game.”
The air fell silent.
New and old players alike, even Goat-Headed Man, stared at him.
He Li’s eye twitched: Was that supposed to flatter the game?
He made his own explanation sound stupid.
Zhou Qi’an remained unbothered.
This instance was likely designed by the Whalers’ Association—nothing to praise about its map, just a pretext to complain.
“Welcome to the Silent Museum.”—the longest sentence the Goat-Headed Man had yet spoken, maybe because he couldn’t stand Zhou Qi’an’s flattery.
With the main map finally reached, Zhou Qi’an looked at the quest panel, which updated as expected:
[Instance: Silent Museum
Instance Difficulty: Beta Instance
Main Quest: Visit all three wings, and buy one popular cultural souvenir from each.
Instance Duration: Seven days
Current Player Count: 232.]
[Please select your evolution organ.]
Everyone had decided on their evolution before entering, so it took little time to make the selection.
But this number—232—was surprising.
Tian Tian realized something. “‘Current’? Does that mean the total could increase?!”
Zhou Qi’an had just chosen “brain evolution,” amused by her one-sided logic. “Maybe it’ll decrease instead.”
“…”
Suddenly, the system chimed in:
[VIP pass holders can visit anytime before the museum closes.]
[Regular tickets allow 40 minutes per visit, with a 40-minute cooldown before re-entry.]
Zhou Qi’an raised his brow. So VIP tickets really were useful, saving time—no wonder so many gathered in the courtyard.
Goat-Headed Man kept it brief: “Distinguished VIP customers, enjoy your experience.”
He emphasized the first half of the sentence.
He Li called out, “Let’s stick together.”
No one objected.
But once the Goat-Headed Man finished, the courtyard players eyed the newcomers hungrily.
There was no system warning forbidding looting tickets. If not for the crowd, hungry players would’ve pounced already.
They quickly surveyed the area.
The three buildings corresponded to the Sunrise, Zenith, and Sunset Galleries.
People naturally think east-to-west, so they headed first to the Sunrise Gallery in the east.
Zhou Qi’an brought up the rear, and his boss slowed to take in the surroundings, appearing satisfied.
Feigning generosity, his boss said, “Xiao Zhou, kill the curator—the museum becomes the company’s. I’ll even set aside some relics for you as shares.”
Zhou Qi’an paused. “This place might not follow the same rules as the Ghost Market.”
Probably only the Ghost Market had rules like that.
Annoyed, his boss watched Zhou Qi’an pass a backpack to Ying Yu. “A leader’s model—huge capacity.”
His boss brightened.
The undergrad nearby watched in awe: “Bro Zhou’s language skills are god-tier. Does the boss not realize he’s being insulted?”
Zhou Qi’an carried on, standing tall.
Refined capitalists only care about bag space—how much loot they can carry, and ties to Ying Yu. Literary nuances mean nothing.
Shen Zhiyi’s admiring gaze lingered. His admiration for Zhou Qi’an included respect for his cultural acumen.
Having used an anti-surveillance tool, Zhou Qi’an’s actions went unnoticed by others. Few realized this poised youth had just covertly flattered his boss.
Just before entering the Sunrise Gallery, Shen Zhiyi said, “Be careful.”
“Last night behind the mountain, I found a fresh corpse—it should be a player.”
Most townsfolk wore thick-soled black-and-white shoes; only players wore stylish sneakers.
It wasn’t unusual for players to die, so there must be a reason to mention this.
Shen Zhiyi continued, “The player crawled out of a pit on the mountain, camouflaged with branches.”
Zhou Qi’an’s expression changed. “Behind the mountain?”
Not killed in town but behind the mountain—it sounded like deliberate hiding.
Maybe evading danger in town?
They approached the entrance.
By the door was a basic sign, the floor plan faded and filthy—most of the text was illegible, like it had been pixelated.
“Exhibition hall…” Zhou Qi’an squinted to discern the text: “Bathroom…data, data resource center.”
The map was too grimy and old to be useful.
With just two floors, walking a lap inside should reveal the layout.
Zhou Qi’an didn’t linger and stepped in.
The inside was far larger than expected, partitioned by screens into various zones; a staircase was barely visible at the end.
Display cases weren’t covered by glass. Pedestals stood tall, some relics left out in the open.
Zhou Qi’an shook his head. “This is a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
Few players lingered on the first floor; when Zhou Qi’an’s group entered, most ignored them.
But Zhou Qi’an, drawing on experience from Huagu City, was certain: these players relaxed when they saw newcomers.
Several even moved to reflective surfaces to watch those behind them.
He Li, sharp as well, sneered, “They’re up to no good. I suspect every partitioned area here is deadly—they want to use us to test the death rules.”
Tian Tian shot back, “Forget it! No one moves—see who outlasts who. We’ve got more time than them.”
If this dragged on, the others would tire first, and might even beg them to be guinea pigs.
Ying Yu and the boss both shot Tian Tian glances, but said nothing.
Red Hood: “Idiots.”
Tian Tian muttered, about to argue, but Zhou Qi’an coolly said, “We actually have way too much time.”
One day would suffice for a museum visit—yet they had seven.
Where would they go at night after closing? Obviously, back to the Silent Town.
The player Shen Zhiyi mentioned had died behind the mountain, not in town.
Zhou Qi’an suspected the instance was misleading them: flooding one area with players and letting others avoid danger by watching.
Everyone hesitated, waiting for others to take risks, because there’d always be fresh arrivals to act as guinea pigs.
The true danger was returning to Silent Town at night.
The longer one stayed, the greater the risk. The unfortunate player who died skulking behind the mountain was a cautionary tale.
Thinking thus, Zhou Qi’an’s eyes chilled.
The Whalers’ Association was masterful at manipulating human nature—seed paranoia on night one with the ghost-identifying task, making players wary of risk-taking.
Then amplify it the next day.
The other group of four realized this and their expressions soured.
He Li sighed and whispered a few reminders to Tian Tian, who was still confused.
Zhou Qi’an shook his head. With no set difficulty for beta runs, players were mixed-bag—normally, more newbies benefited veterans, but not this time.
With more weak players, everyone wanted to bide time.
Suddenly, Zhou Qi’an noticed various expressions in his team.
Ying Yu was calm, but the others stared at him.
Yuan’s gaze was burning—this system, favoring lazier players, was all too reminiscent of the Ghost Market.
Good thing the most ruthlessly efficient player was right here.
“This is your optimal… zone of governance.”
The diligent youth ignored slander and kept analyzing: why hadn’t any veteran players been seen in the town? Could they have stayed in the museum overnight?
Suddenly, a voice interrupted his thoughts. A member from the other group said, “There’s no point grouping up. How about we go to the second floor while you stay on the first and see who finds the souvenir shop first?”
“Sure,” Zhou Qi’an agreed immediately.
As the four went upstairs, He Li muttered, “They’ll trade this new info with others and profit on both ends.”
Veteran players probably knew some secrets.
Zhou Qi’an was unmoved. “Oh.”
No sign indicated a souvenir shop—just exhibits everywhere. The system’s task required collecting souvenirs, but only after touring the museum. Likely, souvenirs would only be found during explorations.
After discussing, they decided to draw lots, splitting into three groups to visit different zones.
Ying Yu drew lots for everyone.
When Zhou Qi’an saw his assignment, his gaze lingered.
He, the boss, and the college student—a group; Yuan, Red Hood, Ying Yu—the second group; the remaining three formed the last.
He was sure Shen Zhiyi had fiddled with the lots, but he hadn’t expected these results.
He glanced up at Shen Zhiyi, who looked faintly annoyed.
Clearly, this was orchestrated by him—Zhou Qi’an didn’t trust He Li or Tian Tian, forcing himself to supervise, while the “one man, one dog” pair also had his attention, leaving them to Ying Yu.
It was a perfect arrangement, except…
Shen Zhiyi was irritated.
Unable to team with Zhou Qi’an, his mood darkened—everything seemed an obstacle.
Then, sensing a gaze, he coldly lifted his eyes—
Across the room, Zhou Qi’an tilted his head and gave a gentle smile.
“!!!”
That smile coaxed out every poem Shen Zhiyi knew.
Lines rushed into his mind—“Timeless beauty, the fairest of maidens”; “Her grace shames time’s age, the lotus defers to jade”; “Soaring like a startled swan, gliding like a dragon…”
“Shen-ge seems a bit odd,” the undergrad whispered to Zhou Qi’an.
Though his forbidding appearance remained, his eyes betrayed more emotion than usual.
Zhou Qi’an waved it off. “Don’t mind him, he’s reciting poetry.”
“What?”
Not too bright, the college student prided himself on basic comprehension—but how could he see “reciting poetry”?
Back to business: Zhou Qi’an and the boss moved forward, the student trailing.
Zhou Qi’an told him, “Wait here.”
Museum visits were risky; the undergrad, crucial as a healer, couldn’t be exposed to danger.
The other teams vanished into more secluded areas, while the scrutiny of rear observers made Zhou Qi’an’s skin crawl—but he let it be.
He headed to the painting and calligraphy section, his turf.
No one lingered nearby, not even old players seemed interested in this zone.
Several scrolls hung on the wall.
Zhou Qi’an and his boss both checked the signatures first; the boss even opened his bag, ready to loot.
The artist’s fame determined the resale value.
In the shadows, his boss looked more pallid than usual, a proper vampire. “Li Sanhe? Zhang Hengqiu, Zhao Yue… Who are these people?”
Why not a Qi Baishi, Van Gogh, or Picasso?
Zhou Qi’an answered honestly, “Never heard of them.”
His boss scowled: “That means they’re worthless.”
Useless for the company’s capital accumulation.
He asked again, “Are these people famous in the new world?”
How should I know?
Zhou Qi’an smiled politely. “Instance items rarely circulate outside; probably not famous.”
Besides, these were likely all haunted—who would buy ghost-drawn scrolls?
His boss stored away his bag, sneering, “Useless junk.”
What a garbage museum.
And then to Zhou Qi’an: “Blow it up if you want.”
Just like Jinxing Mansion—whatever, do as you please.
