Originally, Mr. Si had planned to tear the paper up and throw it into the trash. But then he noticed—there was something written on the back.
“……”
Does this thing have nothing better to do all day than to study me?
{X Month X Day
Argument Method: Bold hypotheses, careful verification.
Argument Premise: Mr. Si is eager to obtain the Sacred Artifact, and he just took a big loss at my mom’s hands. There’s no way he’s unbothered.
Assumed Premise: Assume Mr. Si is managing this instance.
Result: It didn’t happen.
Reflection: Something’s off. I’ll take another look.}
Judging by the dates, the notes scribbled on the back were still being updated daily.
{X Month X+1 Day
Incident 1: The class monitor voluntarily gave me the contact info for calling a parent. The info was correct and posed no danger.
Conclusion: She’s suspicious. I’ll keep watching.
Incident 2: When I told the college student that my mom wouldn’t be coming, the class monitor seemed… a little disappointed.
Conclusion: She’s got some interest in my mom.}
Mr. Si nearly split open his healing wounds again.
He kept reading.
{The class monitor never helped me again. She only seemed to care about calling the parent.
Can’t overlook a single detail. Need to check her file.}
“Is he seriously ill…” At this moment, Mr. Si felt a deep kinship with Vikas.
Who in their right mind would suspect someone who actually helped them?
Looking at it now, Zhou Qi’an had already been on guard against him even before entering this instance. Anything even remotely off got filed under “suspicious.”
What really confirmed his identity in Zhou Qi’an’s eyes was the moment the message came in from the archive room.
Mr. Si’s body trembled faintly—an anger so intense it was nearly distorted.
He had borrowed the last instance’s data from his Minotaur friend, combined it with the character of Jin Zhi who longed for freedom, and used the shipwreck as bait. He had tried to exploit Zhou Qi’an’s slight sympathy for female ghosts and his love of burning instances to turn him into a puppet… But clearly, he had underestimated that paranoid vigilance.
Even when half-dead, the guy still understood: you do not destroy public property.
“Damn it, is he the human here, or am I?”
Mr. Si had rarely cursed like this before. But ever since Zhou’s mom stole his bus, he’d been throwing out “your mom” insults every other day.
The blood from his wounds still hadn’t fully clotted. The surging energy stirred it up again, creating a puddle on the floor. The tips of his canvas shoes were soaked red.
No one knew how long had passed before Mr. Si expressionlessly crumpled the paper into a ball, his eyes now completely blood-red.
——
“Haha. Can’t stand me but can’t kill me.”
Zhou Qi’an let out a cold laugh. He stopped thinking about Mr. Si and silently connected the dots.
“The security guard won’t say where he graduated—calls it confidential. If it’s confidential, it’s probably related to this instance. Meaning the guard is a student of this school.”
“Players have to retake the driving test after dying.”
“This clue about game staffing is really useful.”
Almost dying was worth it.
“Staff who mess up get temporarily exiled here to retake the test. The guard also said graduates are guaranteed jobs. There are all kinds of weird test subjects… Calling this a school is too generous. More like…”
Zhou Qi’an hesitated, as if searching for the right term:
“A game staff incubation center.”
Thinking back, the ten courses each seemed to correspond to a type of skill required for managing a game. If there were twelve classes, maybe players would’ve figured it out sooner.
“The homeroom teacher even said bad students are like straw in the fields—can be burned directly to generate electricity.”
Dead players’ bodies were recycled and reused. That fit perfectly.
Every once in a while, a new batch of pig-headed people hatched at the base, probably to be sent to other instances.
Zhou Qi’an rubbed his brow lightly. He’d lost too much blood and his thinking was getting fuzzy.
The clue about “game staffing” boiled down to this: become a staff member and find yourself a job within the game.
He should’ve figured it out the moment he saw that clue.
“But people turned into staff this way seem to have no will of their own.”
He thought of the mechanical puppet that had driven the other car in the last instance. There were probably other incubation bases in the game. Each base produced different kinds of staff—some had mechanical bodies, others human bodies with pig brains…
“Tch, Mr. Si wants to turn me into one of those mindless things too.”
But how could he be sure that, if Zhou died, he wouldn’t drop any equipment—and could still use the Sacred Artifact?
Unless that thing recognized a master and stayed loyal?
A game notification sound interrupted Zhou Qi’an’s thoughts.
[You have successfully deduced the story’s background. This is a special incubation base.]
[Current story exploration progress: 92%]
[Key clue checkpoints: 3/4]
[Head to more dangerous areas! Try to unlock the green escape route soon.]
“……”
Zhou Qi’an blinked.
So close. What part haven’t I checked yet?
Evening study session was about to begin. With his school medic assistant identity, there was no need to stay in the classroom and suffer.
Zhou Qi’an stood up, his eyes weary.
“Time for a nap.”
He’d rest up at the dorm, then review the clues with his teammates after evening class.
A student sitting up front overheard and mumbled that he wanted to be a “direct pass” student too.
But then he caught sight of Zhou Qi’an’s bloodstained, filthy uniform and immediately gave up on that idea.
Better not mess with the infirmary.
As he passed by Mr. Si, Zhou Qi’an ignored the cold, deathly aura and said casually, “Oh right, the second favor I owe you—was to deliver some gas.”
The note hadn’t been sarcasm. His mom had said the car was out of fuel.
Nowadays, people can afford to buy a car, but not to maintain one.
And Zhou’s mom? She could steal a bus, but definitely not afford one.
Thankfully… Zhou Qi’an glanced at Mr. Si, still disguised as a limping girl, and smiled.
He’d be their personal gas tank from now on.
Mr. Si’s ears nearly twitched: “!!”
He wanted nothing more than to flay the boy alive with his eyes.
There was a noise from the office. The homeroom teacher emerged, a stack of test papers in hand. Her high heels clicked crisply down the hallway, and in moments, she was standing right in front of Zhou Qi’an.
The youth’s uniform was soaked in blood, even the collar was wrinkled from the damp. The sight made the teacher’s eyes gleam like pinholes.
As a medical assistant, Zhou couldn’t be forced to sit the exam. Still, the teacher scolded harshly:
“What are you loitering around for?”
The assigned security guard arrived right on cue, his massive frame nearly blocking the narrow corridor.
Zhou Qi’an felt like he was forgetting something.
Just before leaving, it hit him—he hadn’t finished what he wanted to say before he passed out earlier.
He quickly mouthed to Shen Zhiyi: Be careful.
Be. Careful.
What he had meant to say before fainting was: “Next time, I will be careful.”
The bell rang. The teacher’s eyes darkened.
Forget repeating—if Zhou Qi’an said one more word, he might be accused of cheating.
Shen Zhiyi watched the door silently. It was unclear whether he understood.
Zhou Qi’an glanced back several times, a trace of sorrow on his face.
Even though Shen knew it was all an act, he still softened a little and nodded faintly.
Zhou Qi’an immediately turned and walked away like nothing had happened.
Shen Zhiyi: “……”
Zhou Qi’an’s silhouette vanished down the hallway.
Shen Zhiyi’s frosty eyes landed on the high-ponytailed class monitor.
If Zhou Qi’an hadn’t warned him in advance, he would’ve already ripped her apart right there in the classroom building.
“Rabbit’s so rich. How could you kill Rabbit?”
That was Zhou Qi’an’s exact quote.
“Money, huh…” Shen Zhiyi shook his head lightly.
That stuff—he’d always had as much as he wanted.
Even if the in-game currency projected by him was all fake.
——
Zhou Qi’an was about to head down the stairs when he suddenly paused by a hallway window.
Outside, the moon was half-devoured by blood-red light, pouring down like a storm.
It was so bright, the campus streetlights were completely useless.
Strangely, beneath the blood-red light, there were no shadows of trees.
Sensing that something might happen in the exam hall, Zhou Qi’an stopped at the corner and hid in the blind spot of the security guard’s line of sight.
Inside the classroom, the sound of pens scribbling on paper continued without pause.
In the past two days, every time someone glanced around during an exam, the homeroom teacher’s favorability would drop. Now, the students had all developed the habit of keeping their heads down.
Being unknowingly tamed by NPCs was a terrifying thing.
Snap!
The tip of a pen suddenly scratched out of control. A player who had been writing furiously paused. A second later, he suddenly realized—his arm had fallen off!
Blood gushed out. He grabbed the severed stump in horror—only for his other arm to snap off as well.
Finally, his head dropped to the floor with a loud thud, bursting apart with flesh and gore.
The student in front of him sensed something and instinctively threw himself over his paper, shielding it from the blood spraying everywhere.
The security guard at the door seemed to have been waiting a long time. He grinned viciously and walked in, calmly picking up the still-soft limbs in front of everyone—retrieving everything except the head.
The cement floor was soaked with blood. The first student to react hit the alarm, and the rest of the players finally began to observe the classroom more carefully.
“Who told you to look around?!”
The homeroom teacher’s sharp scream made everyone’s pupils constrict.
“If you can’t look up, then keep your heads down.”
Bai Chanyi shrugged and lowered her lashes, realizing something. “The shadows.”
Just like the physical fitness test, shadows were the key.
Around them, some students’ shadows were expanding, each with its own target.
The NPCs were slaughtering the players.
Bai Chanyi’s eyes turned cold. She saw one of the shadows creeping toward her. As soon as her gaze locked onto it, the advancing, swelling shadow abruptly stopped.
One after another, players noticed this and calmed down. Now they were multitasking—answering questions while keeping an eye on the shadows.
Their writing sped up. Who knew if locking their gaze would hold the shadows off until the exam ended? This kind of answering method was mentally exhausting, especially with the teacher still pacing around, sometimes pausing beside certain desks.
Just as their faces turned pale to the extreme, the classroom was suddenly plunged into darkness.
The first to roar in anger was the homeroom teacher: “What’s going on?!”
The NPC was angry, which meant the power outage wasn’t part of the exam plan.
So it was just… a breaker tripping?
But they quickly realized—there were no coincidences in the dungeon that disadvantaged NPCs.
They recalled a figure who had recently left the classroom and felt a mix of emotions.
In the hallway, Zhou Qi’an stood in front of the electrical panel, yawning sleepily.
All he did was flip a switch—hardly counted as vandalism. When he heard the commotion from the classroom, he knew something had gone wrong. Having suffered in an exam before, he guessed that monsters were once again using shadows to attack.
This level of darkness wouldn’t affect veteran players’ ability to take the test.
Zhou Qi’an didn’t linger at the panel. He walked straight to the entrance of the school building.
One last checkpoint remained. Although the campus wasn’t large, exploring it room by room was incredibly dangerous.
With so many players, someone had probably already found a checkpoint he hadn’t. Doing the occasional good deed could help with future exchanges.
As he walked across campus, even the sky was tinged pink.
“During the day, the overcast sky covers the sun. At night, the blood moon casts no shadows—it’s a protection mechanism for players.”
Otherwise, even with the classroom lights off, the overly bright moonlight would still cast shadows.
“So the first two days were basically a newbie protection period. It’ll only get harder from here.” Zhou Qi’an frowned. Time was tight—he had to leave the dungeon before checking in at the infirmary by 9 a.m. tomorrow.
The school doctor had already been impaled by a sacred item today, but the quest hadn’t disappeared. He was certain there’d be an even more hellish scholarship task tomorrow—and he wasn’t going to stick around for that.
Back in the dorm, Zhou Qi’an took a quick nap.
To avoid oversleeping, he set the alarm clock Mu Tianbai had given him.
·
After the exam, some were happy, some were not.
The rain had stopped, and people trudged back along the muddy paths.
At the south end of campus, Zhou Qi’an, now awake, waited under the dorm building, his lungs aching with each breath.
Thanks to healing and the natural recovery ability of Evolvers, most injuries were manageable. Only one deep, bone-deep wound was still oozing slightly.
Even while napping, he didn’t dare use a blanket, only covering himself lightly with his coat.
Now, he stood at the edge between darkness and the faint dorm light, holding a thermos in both hands. His pale face made him look ghost-like.
Most players kept their distance, cautiously circling around him.
One female player had already passed him but suddenly stepped back, then hesitated before softly saying, “About the electricity… thank you.”
Actually, the shadow-related hint had already appeared in the three-legged race test, but dungeons rarely reuse death mechanics across scenes, so she hadn’t caught on in time.
If not for the timely blackout, she might not be alive now.
Zhou Qi’an, who had been playing the victim by the roadside, smiled faintly.
He stopped munching on mushrooms and asked gently, full of hopeful curiosity, “No need to thank me. Can I ask how many places you’ve checked in at so far?”
The female player hesitated and said, “Two.”
Now it was Zhou Qi’an’s turn to be stunned.
He hadn’t expected much.
His plan was to question some decent players—most were moving in groups, so asking one could yield the check-in locations of two or three people. If he didn’t learn anything, he’d go ask Hao Nan or others who owed him favors.
After all, he was no longer eligible for the scholarship and had a different survival route from those still taking exams.
With some intel, he could do small trades and easily gather clues.
“You’re sure—two?”
He remembered this female player wasn’t among those who went to the archive room. So aside from the Exam God statue, she had visited an unknown checkpoint.
She scratched her head. “Not that few, right?”
Zhou Qi’an’s grip on his thermos tightened. “Can you tell me which two?”
He was ready to bargain, but the player, perhaps moved by gratitude and the fact that they weren’t competitors, volunteered, “The Exam God statue and the dorm bathroom.”
“???”
Zhou Qi’an had also visited the bathroom but encountered nothing—he’d even found that strange.
The female player explained, “I was starving that day and drank some meat soup from the cafeteria. That night, I got terrible stomach cramps—and ran into a ghost.”
She swallowed. “A toilet ghost. My roommate and another player tried to team up and check in but failed. If you don’t drink the soup first, going to the bathroom doesn’t trigger anything. In the end, it only worked when we went to the cafeteria and split up afterward.”
Zhou Qi’an: “So there are two trigger conditions—going alone and getting food poisoning from the meat soup?”
She nodded. “It’s just a high-probability guess. If players go to different floors’ bathrooms at the same time, maybe only one will trigger the ghost.”
Of course, that was just her speculation.
After she finished, she noticed Zhou Qi’an’s face suddenly darken.
She didn’t pry further—she had to prepare for tomorrow’s exam—and quickly found an excuse to leave.
Not long after, Bai Chanyi and the others returned. When they saw Zhou Qi’an swaying unsteadily in the distance, they hurried over.
Shen Zhiyi stopped beside him and subtly let him lean for support. “What’s wrong?”
Zhou Qi’an weakly repeated what the female player had said.
Bai Chanyi was stunned at first, then couldn’t help but laugh.
Back in the cafeteria, she’d warned everyone that most of the meat was laced with mild toxins and best avoided. She hadn’t expected it to be a plot trigger.
And practically a free checkpoint.
Restricting food intake would make students hungry enough to drink the soup—get a stomachache—and have a bathroom ghost encounter.
Suddenly, Shen Zhiyi, Bai Chanyi, and the college student all looked at Zhou Qi’an with a strange expression.
Chomp chomp.
[Poison resistance +1.]
[Poison resistance +1.]
Zhou Qi’an was still chewing a toxic mushroom, a faint hopeful glow in his eyes. “Do you think I have a good chance of getting food poisoning from the cafeteria?”
“……”
All three of them stayed silent in eerie unison.
In the silence, Bai Chanyi finally sighed and said, “Don’t make it too hard on the cafeteria staff.”
Zhou Qi’an’s eyelid twitched.
Bai Chanyi coughed lightly, realizing her words might’ve been a bit harsh.
“Actually, maybe you don’t have to get food poisoning from the cafeteria. You could try your luck—maybe just feeling unwell is enough…”
She couldn’t finish her sentence.
If he ate a ton of dirty food and still needed the meat soup to trigger the ghost, that would be a total loss.
Shen Zhiyi, however, thought it over and said, “Quantitative change leads to qualitative change.”
The food’s toxicity increased each day. The meat soup’s toxin was average, but maybe the meat itself was highly poisonous.
His logic was sound. Poison resistance had limits—it couldn’t be infinite.
Zhou Qi’an was more surprised by something else: “You actually know about quantitative and qualitative changes?”
Shen Zhiyi replied flatly, “Qi’an, I am educated.”
“……”
__
Author’s Note:
Zhou Qi’an: Didn’t expect you to backstab me too.
Poison Resistance Skill: ???
