“Did it blow up? Did it blow up?!”
Zhou Qi’an’s voice leapt like a stranded fish, barely containing his joy, almost soaring into the sky.
“If it blew up, I’m going to grab something to eat.” The cafeteria meat was still waiting for him to savor.
A college student couldn’t hold it in any longer—he ran to the trash can and vomited violently.
He once encountered a passenger with stomach issues on the bus. During the morning rush hour, the whole vehicle felt like it was experiencing a biochemical attack. But this methane explosion? It was way worse.
It wasn’t just the stench of hydrogen sulfide. The sewage and waste were enough to make a person—
“Ugh!”
What kind of mindset could still think about eating in this situation?
Zhou Qi’an calmly put on a mask he had made earlier to kill time and walked out.
“He didn’t die after all.”
Even the mask couldn’t conceal the hint of disappointment in his expression.
It was supposed to be a perfect two-birds-one-stone—eliminate the ghost and get rid of Vikas in one go. If he hadn’t activated the trap, and the methane explosion had been caused by friction or a struggle, then Vikas’s death wouldn’t have been pinned on him.
Even if he had used the trap, it would only increase the difficulty of the next level.
He was already in a four-and-a-half-star difficulty instance—what was there to be afraid of? As for Shen Zhiyi, that accomplice, Zhou Qi’an had a feeling that even if the game didn’t increase the challenge, he’d still haunt him endlessly.
“A total loss.”
The college student behind him wore a complicated expression. A loss? A loss of what? The methane in the toilet?
For Vikas to walk away from an explosion like that, he must’ve paid a heavy price.
Sparks were still flickering in the corridor.
Amidst the embers, Vikas seemed to sense something. He looked up—and locked eyes with Zhou Qi’an.
The young man stood tall, the mask adding an air of mystery to him.
“It was… you.”
The three words squeezed out of his throat like toothpaste, deeply etched and bitter. Without any evidence, Vikas was nearly certain that Zhou Qi’an was the culprit.
“It wasn’t me, I didn’t do it, don’t make stuff up.”
Zhou Qi’an looked more innocent than a startled bunny. “You went to the bathroom and blew it up yourself—don’t go blaming others for damaging public property.”
No surveillance. Who couldn’t lie through their teeth?
“You…” Anyone who almost died from a toilet explosion would lose their composure. Vikas took a step forward. Something squished under his shoe, making a disgusting squelching sound.
“…” In that moment, his fury became uncontrollable.
Kill this bastard!
Vikas no longer cared about consequences. He lost all reason and lunged forward.
But Zhou Qi’an merely smiled, his gaze drifting past Vikas as if looking at something behind him.
Vikas instinctively stepped back and quickly turned around, scanning his surroundings.
Not far away, Shen Zhiyi was standing there, looking at him like he was already dead.
Just as Shen Zhiyi was about to raise his hand, Zhou Qi’an suddenly said, “Let’s go. Get some air.”
Vikas had basically died twice already.
The first time, a substitute doll took the hit for him. But once this incident got out, he’d suffer a second kind of social death.
If it were Zhou Qi’an, he wouldn’t dare show his face around humans again either.
Vikas’s eyes were bloodshot. Just as he was about to explode again, he caught sight of another person.
Before he could be swept up by a wave of murderous rage, the player who had previously tipped him off quickly spoke up: “Why are you looking at me like that? It’s not like I helped him blow up the bathroom.”
Vikas’s eyes were cold and filled with murderous intent.
How could it be such a coincidence? That guy just happened to find a check-in point and tell him?
The player hadn’t expected Zhou Qi’an to pull off such a god-tier move. He forced himself to endure the awful stench in the air and said, “The bathroom is a check-in point, not some secret. Even if I hadn’t told you, you would’ve found out sooner or later.”
The moment he mentioned the check-in point, aside from a few surprised faces in the crowd, most of the players remained indifferent.
After all, after today’s physical test, someone had already drunk the meat soup.
They just reacted at different times.
Those who had evolved less were already haunted by noon after a trip to the bathroom.
Whether Vikas believed it or not, at least he wouldn’t kill someone in front of an audience.
His eyes flickered, quickly regaining his composure—only to find that Zhou Qi’an had already vanished.
He must have gone to the cafeteria. If only he’d known, he would’ve destroyed both the dried meat and the soup—then Zhou Qi’an would’ve had to confront the kitchen staff directly.
Vikas scanned his surroundings. “Had enough of the show?”
Knowing he was furious, the other players didn’t want to make enemies for no reason and gradually dispersed.
Vikas was just about to step forward—
When suddenly, someone blocked his path.
The one who blocked him was the same player who had just tried to defend himself.
“Are you looking to die?”
A sharp tool appeared in Vikas’ hand. But at that moment, the other player spoke up:
“You want to trip him up in secret? That won’t work.”
The player hesitated for a moment before continuing, “Wherever you go now, people within a ten-mile radius will know… ugh…”
He had no choice but to sabotage openly. As he spoke, he began to gag and vomit himself.
Under the pink sky, Zhou Qi’an breathed in the fresh air deeply.
“Vikas probably used a substitute injury or death-avoidance item,” he said.
He had deliberately searched the marketplace and found such items existed, but they were all greyed out and marked as sold out—likely limited-time releases at intervals.
Zhou Qi’an dreamed aloud, “If only I had a death-substitute item…”
Shen Zhiyi didn’t burst that unrealistic dream. A player who owned a sacred item—like Zhou Qi’an—would have such death-substitute items locked by the game system.
To keep Zhou Qi’an from indulging in that flashy fantasy for too long, Shen Zhiyi reminded him, “Don’t let your guard down. That Sacks guy was a cautionary tale.”
Just because the water supply was shut off, he ignored the stench in the bathroom—that kind of foolish behavior.
Zhou Qi’an muttered, “…That was Vikas.”
“Oh, right. Were you the one who triggered the trap, or…?”
Shen Zhiyi knew what he was getting at and replied, “I didn’t do anything.”
In other words, Vikas had triggered it himself.
Hearing this, Zhou Qi’an grinned.
“That kind of filth isn’t something that can be washed off with clean water. If he doesn’t manage to get rid of the stench before the exam, the class teacher might even bar him from entering the exam room for disrupting others. Also…”
Zhou Qi’an blinked.
“For a while at least, Sacks—no, Vikas—can forget about following us around like a tail.”
Now that he no longer had any concerns, Zhou Qi’an was in high spirits.
He hummed a cheerful tune, though the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt were crusted with dried blood. Under the blood moon, it looked both weak and creepy.
Shen Zhiyi’s lips curved slightly too—but not because of Vikas’ misery. A vague voice drifted in the air:
“Still the same as always.”
Zhou Qi’an: “Hm?”
Shen Zhiyi looked away. “Nothing. We’ve arrived at the cafeteria.”
Still the same as always—no matter how wide the power gap between individuals, he could still play the other like a dog.
Being flexible was one of Zhou Qi’an’s guiding principles. Right now, he needed to conserve his strength, so naturally, the task of fetching meat soup from the cafeteria fell to Shen Zhiyi.
Within just a few minutes, while Zhou Qi’an was still singing under the moon, Shen Zhiyi returned carrying a bowl of soup.
The dried meat wasn’t the traditional brown color; even after boiling, it retained a vivid red hue.
Zhou Qi’an guessed it came from specially bred pigs. The pig heads stored in the ship were used to connect to headless corpses. The pig bodies were probably useless—likely sent to the cafeteria instead.
Just like Vikas, Zhou Qi’an picked out meat on purpose to trigger an earlier reaction.
He looked like a weirdo, completely unaffected by the earlier bathroom explosion. Calmly, he gnawed on ribs in front of the cafeteria, facing the cold wind.
[Poison Resistance +1]
Zhou Qi’an: “Chef Shen, another bowl.”
Shen Zhiyi silently returned to the cafeteria.
One minute later:
Zhou Qi’an declared with gusto, “Another bowl!”
Two minutes later:
“Another bowl!”
Shen Zhiyi kept going to “fetch” the food—though by the fourth trip, it really was more like a fight.
Because at that point, the cafeteria chef could no longer bear it.
The meat soup was originally meant to destroy students’ bodies. The real treasures were the fresh fruits and such.
But one person taking all the meat—even the rotten meat—had crossed the chef’s bottom line.
From Window No. 1, the chef emerged, looking like a bound spirit.
The other chefs had been injured fighting over spirit coins and hadn’t yet returned to duty.
The iron barrel was too deep.
Shen Zhiyi stirred with a long ladle, searching for meat chunks. His thin figure faced the window, seemingly unaware of the danger approaching behind him.
The chef was tall, and both his shadow and muscular body lunged toward the prey simultaneously!
A red ghostly glow from above the cafeteria spotlighted the incoming chef.
It looked like the chef had no ligaments between his head and neck—the head suddenly flopped down at an odd angle, aiming to bite the prey’s artery.
But Shen Zhiyi remained calm. Without turning around, he raised his arm, fingers curved like claws, and easily pinned the monster’s ferocious head.
A massive suction force surged out.
Before the chef could even react, his head banged hard against the iron barrel, causing the murky soup to shake violently.
“Where’s the meat?” Shen Zhiyi asked softly.
Meat?
Before the chef could answer, his head was slammed against the barrel again, leaving a visible dent.
“The meat.” Shen Zhiyi asked again—his tone even gentler, but his patience clearly thinning.
He knew the rules of the game all too well.
Cafeteria NPCs existed to cook and guard offerings.
With the Exam God still under repair, most of the chef’s purpose was already gone.
As long as he wasn’t killed outright, it wouldn’t draw the game’s attention.
With a casual flick of sharp nails, the barrel’s iron edge peeled like paper.
The chef’s eyes widened as he saw that Shen Zhiyi was aiming for his eye.
“I—I’m just here to add more meat!” he howled, flailing and screaming in agony.
Shen Zhiyi let go of his hand.
The chef, who moments ago resembled a pig, now looked more like an arthropod, nearly crawling on all fours to add more ingredients.
At 5:30 a.m., the strange pink sky was gradually fading.
Zhou Qi’an stood with his hands behind his back, gazing up at the heavens, pretending not to hear the screams from inside.
Shen Zhiyi came out holding two freshly topped bowls of ribs, wearing a warm smile, looking every bit like a good-natured gentleman.
Zhou Qi’an seized the moment, gnawing on the tough, dry ribs. By the end, he smacked his lips with lingering satisfaction. “Close enough.”
His stomach started to ache.
Shen Zhiyi thought for a moment, recalling the several bowls Zhou had eaten earlier. “Are you sure it’s poisoning?”
Not just overeating?
“……”
This time, Zhou Qi’an was confident, trying to walk back to the dorm like a triumphant general. But his stomach felt like it had swallowed a chunk of iron—dull and heavy—so he had to bend slightly, occasionally clutching it, hoping the coolness of his palm might relieve the pain.
Shen Zhiyi offered, “I’ll carry you.”
Zhou Qi’an shook his head. He treated it as a warm-up—after all, he still had ghosts to deal with.
Dormitory lobby.
The dorm supervisor was grumbling, “What the hell is that smell?”
Worse than a pigsty.
He had clearly heard the loud commotion upstairs and rushed up to the fifth floor, then dashed back down.
Even monsters couldn’t stand that stench.
Under the supervisor’s furious glare, Zhou Qi’an quickened his pace, avoiding becoming the target of misplaced anger.
At the second-floor landing, Zhou Qi’an gave Shen Zhiyi a slight nod—trigger conditions required him to be alone. He had to go by himself. As for which building or floor’s restroom to use, the rules weren’t picky; even the girls’ dorm bathrooms could be used to trigger events.
With his iron stomach twitching slightly, Zhou Qi’an composed himself and walked toward the restroom at the end of the hall.
The second floor housed only a few veteran trainees. Damp corners of the walls were covered in faint mold. A cold wind seeped in from unknown places on both sides, creating the illusion of walking through an empty corridor.
Once the resistance to poison lost its effect, getting hit felt even worse.
Zhou Qi’an was currently in a weakened state, and his senses were far from sharp.
He pulled out the Little Hammer, tucked it into his pocket in advance, always ready to summon White Silk, his gaze sharp as he turned into the dark hallway.
Zzzzz…
The lightbulb in the washroom overhead flickered and buzzed.
Blinking on and off, forcing Zhou Qi’an to squint.
“Tch…”
He seemed to sense something and clicked his tongue.
Up ahead, where it was even darker—under normal circumstances he could’ve seen everything clearly. Now his vision was blurry.
The spot where Zhou Qi’an stood had sinks on either side, and the door behind him slammed shut the moment he stepped in. The washroom was spacious. Standing under the light, a ghost could attack him from any angle.
“Stop hiding,” Zhou Qi’an suddenly raised his voice. “I know where you are.”
Only deep silence responded.
But in the next instant, the air grew damper. Zhou Qi’an leapt swiftly to the side, swaying slightly upon landing. Clutching his iron-heavy stomach, he bared his teeth in pain.
Where he had stood a moment ago, a ferocious black shadow had appeared.
With a blink, it vanished.
“Stop hiding,” Zhou Qi’an repeated flatly.
Again, only darkness answered.
“Eight o’clock direction.”
As he spoke, the shadow struck again.
Zhou Qi’an dodged once more, his face pale. “Five o’clock direction.”
Perhaps stunned by his sharp reflexes, the ghost paused.
“Surprised?” he mocked.
No spiritual sensing. No detection tools. But he predicted the ghost’s moves perfectly. Why?
Because he had… a nose.
From the side, the stench of the toilet wafted over.
The earlier explosion had seasoned the ghost thoroughly.
Zhou Qi’an coldly extended a finger. “That’s right. I smelled you.”
“!!!”
Zzz…
Zzzzzzz…
The lightbulb flickered rapidly.
In the brief moment of darkness, when it lit again, a pale face suddenly appeared a few meters away!
The light went out.
The ghost vanished.
The light returned.
The ghost was back—this time, halved the distance.
Maybe enraged, it began tormenting him psychologically, drawing closer with each flash.
As the light blinked, Zhou Qi’an’s heart surged like a roller coaster. Instinctive fear flared, but above all, he couldn’t stand the stench.
Though his body lagged slightly, his mind remained sharp.
Compared to the test scenarios and deadly play-acting in the infirmary, the dorm ghosts were more straightforward. Zhou Qi’an had observed carefully—unlike other monsters with shadow-devouring abilities, this ghost had no shadow.
Its neck was intact, no signs of decapitation, just a dent in the skull. Brain matter oozed down its face, as if it had sauced itself.
When the ghost flickered near once more, Zhou Qi’an finally got a close look at its face.
Pale and bluish, with a layer of green mold. The first dungeon’s Han Li’s face also changed after eating fish—he suspected this ghost had also been poisoned by the cafeteria.
“Didn’t die from the rules, but from another player.”
Zhou Qi’an concluded: players killed by rules had their decapitated bodies recycled. This ghost still haunted the dorm, and judging by its death, it had been poisoned and then finished off by its own teammates.
“Figures.”
The game had made it clear—they weren’t the first to enter this dungeon. Given the high death rate from the past days, betrayal between players was to be expected.
All that complex analysis only took a few seconds.
When the light flickered again, and the ghost was about to strike point-blank, Zhou Qi’an didn’t dodge. Instead, just as the ghost let its guard down to go for the kill, he growled, “White Silk.”
A white ribbon appeared out of thin air, twisting midair into a sharp arc. With a thought, Zhou Qi’an had the ribbon snap tight around the ghost’s neck.
The binding made its tongue shoot out.
The lightbulb’s flickering slowed slightly as the tongue unspooled—indicating the ghost’s energy was weakening.
Zhou Qi’an froze.
That was it?
All that careful analysis—and the thing was this weak?
He couldn’t help but curse. “Were you wrecked by Vikas or something?”
Just in case it hadn’t heard, he emphasized the name Vikas.
The ghost immediately flew into a rage, struggling desperately against the ribbon. But Zhou Qi’an raised his Little Hammer, swinging it at the dent in its skull.
Physical tools were usually weak against ghosts.
But after a few seconds of struggle, the green hue on its face darkened slightly.
Zhou Qi’an raised an eyebrow. Seemed like he was figuring out this ghost’s rule: it weakened over time.
It specialized in opening ambushes—but too bad it met Vikas.
“That’s why we say foreign friends are helpful. Vikas straight-up dropped the difficulty from A to E.”
With the white ribbon holding the ghost aloft, Zhou Qi’an stepped back with arms crossed, observing while muttering, “Look at you—just got blown up, now you’re working overtime. Why bother? The harder you try, the sadder it gets.”
“Kill… kill… me…” a hoarse, ghastly voice echoed in the washroom. The ghost’s throat was so constricted it couldn’t speak clearly.
A second later, the system chimed:
[Congratulations, you’ve delayed the ghost for 1 minute.]
[You’ve triggered the ghost’s last wish.]
[Last Wish: In life, he was killed by a teammate. If you kill another player to cheer him up, he’ll tell you important info about the school.]
Zhou Qi’an’s mocking smile faded a little. “Too bad, you weakling.”
He already knew most of the school’s secrets.
The tongue almost touched the floor—truly a natural talent. Just a little more tightening and…
But Zhou Qi’an let go at the last second.
White Silk vanished.
Shen Zhiyi hadn’t completed his mark-in yet. Gotta save it.
That brief mercy stunned the ghost. After a moment of terror, realizing it had survived, it immediately fled with its tongue trailing behind.
Another system chime:
[Important Sign-In Spots: 4/4]
*[Clue to the story’s background 1 obtained]
[All sign-in spots unlocked. Extra reward granted.]
Zhou Qi’an skipped the clue and went straight to the reward:
[Cane: A handcrafted high-class noble’s cane. Perfect for cane kills.]
The handle of the cane in the image was made of cool, smooth jade, with the rich color of rosewood. It was long and slender, more like a decorative piece than a practical object.
“……”
It was beautiful, sure—but what kind of noble used a cane to kill people?
The moment the ghost vanished, the bathroom door swung open again.
Zhou Qi’an didn’t leave right away. He first went to the sink and splashed some water on his face. In the dim light, the mirror on the wall reflected a pale, exhausted face.
After a moment, he put his glasses back on, masking the fatigue in his expression, and turned to leave the bathroom.
In the stairwell—
The air was better here, and several floors away from the fifth floor, the stench didn’t reach.
A figure stood openly without bothering to hide their presence. Zhou Qi’an walked straight over to Shen Zhiyi and said, “You can go now.”
Earlier, when Shen Zhiyi left the cafeteria, he brought an extra bowl of ribs—clearly set aside for himself.
Zhou Qi’an had chosen to deal with the ghost first for two reasons: one, no one was sure if the bathroom ghost had a limit on how many times it could appear in a day; and two, he was afraid Shen Zhiyi might accidentally kill the ghost before he finished his own checkpoint.
That would’ve been a total tragedy.
Shen Zhiyi held the bowl with one hand, chewing the ribs slowly and elegantly.
Zhou Qi’an couldn’t help but admire how someone with good temperament could even make eating ribs look graceful.
He asked curiously, “Do toxins affect you?”
After all, he’d seen his superior eat monster meat like it was lunch meat—without so much as a twitch.
“They can,” Shen Zhiyi replied.
“……” A pure idealist, huh?
Shen Zhiyi placed the bowl on the windowsill. His long, slender fingers touched his stomach briefly, and then he walked off toward the end of the hall.
The bathroom ghost, having endured a night of damage—from tools, gas explosions, and being strangled by white silk—had only just disappeared… and already sensed another summoning.
Bathroom ghost: “……”
Who?
Who is it this time?!
Zhou Qi’an’s earlier rant about working overtime floated through its mind—Who am I doing all this for?
Forget night shifts. Let it all burn.
__
Author’s Note:
A completely unnecessary mini-theater:
The homeroom teacher assigned a themed essay: “Me.”
Zhou Qi’an: “Me”
My life has always felt like walking on thin ice, so I longed to bring light to others.
I was born lacking metal, wood, water, fire, and earth, so later I turned to marine life instead, demanded compensation for emotional damages in game instances, and became the biggest supplier of fireworks…
That’s me—a fighter who refuses to yield to fate…
Homeroom teacher halfway through grading: Zero points!
