Chapter 100
After Lilus said it aloud, his mind raced, recalling everything since they’d entered the dungeon.
Some things didn’t seem off if you didn’t think too hard. But if you examined them carefully, problems were everywhere.
For example: why was Chen Shi in a single room? He and Captain Xi Jiangyuan were both men. Given the captain’s special abilities, it would have made sense to room together for mutual support. Splitting them up made no sense. And now, hadn’t Chen Shi just moved in with him?
So it wasn’t that Chen Shi refused to move in yesterday—it was that yesterday, Chen Shi had a different roommate. But today, they couldn’t remember who that was.
“Don’t dwell on who disappeared. Our problem now is—who’s going to be the next to vanish? What’s the principle, the mechanism? Are the missing people dead? Can we get them back?” Lu Chuan calmly clapped Lilus’s shoulder. “It’s daytime now. If someone’s going to vanish, it’ll probably happen tomorrow.”
The dungeon wouldn’t trap them in despair immediately. It had to give them time to discover things step by step.
And Lu Chuan suspected townsfolk had disappeared too—only no one remembered.
But that line of thought wasn’t useful right now. What mattered was finding the common thread behind the disappearances and figuring out how to avoid it.
“Let’s go to the captain right away—maybe he’s noticed something too,” Lilus said.
Lu Chuan agreed.
Meanwhile—
Xi Jiangyuan was helping Chen Shi move his belongings.
“Belongings” was really just his bedding, towel, and cup—done in a single trip.
“Captain, don’t worry. I sleep quietly, I don’t snore—you won’t be disturbed.” Chen Shi was a little uneasy in front of his captain.
“It’s fine.” Xi Jiangyuan smiled. “I know your character—you’re an honest guy. This time it’s actually a burden for you to room with me. Originally, you were supposed to have a single.”
“Not at all—it’s my good fortune to room with the captain.” Chen Shi waved his hands. “Don’t worry, Captain—just tell me what you need me to do.”
Xi Jiangyuan nodded, then his eyes fell on something in Chen Shi’s old room. His expression changed.
“Chen Shi, there are two beds in your room.”
“Yeah, since they didn’t have singles, they must have given me a twin,” Chen Shi said without thinking.
Xi Jiangyuan bent down to the other, slightly messy bed and picked up a strand of yellow hair.
“This couldn’t have come from you, could it?” he asked with a smile.
“I never touched that bed—maybe the previous guest left it, and the innkeeper didn’t clean properly.” Chen Shi glanced at it, looking puzzled.
Xi Jiangyuan swept his gaze around the room again, then checked the bathroom.
There were clear signs two people had been living there—not one.
Tsk. His head throbbed.
For some reason, Xi Jiangyuan’s mind once again drifted to that hand he had seen in his dream.
He kept feeling that more and more of that hand was revealing itself in his memory, the image becoming clearer each time. When he woke up last night, he remembered only seeing an arm. But now, recalling it again, he saw a whole shoulder.
“Captain, are you all right?” Chen Shi was startled. He didn’t know why Xi Jiangyuan’s condition looked so bad, and hurried forward to support him.
“I’m fine.” Xi Jiangyuan let Chen Shi help him sit down, forcing himself not to think about what he saw in the dream.
He knew he was acting strangely, and he knew something must have happened with the team. But at the moment, he couldn’t figure it out, so he set it aside.
“Captain, we found something and need to discuss it with you.” Lilus and Lu Chuan quickly ran back. Not finding Xi Jiangyuan in his room, they headed straight to Chen Shi’s room.
“What’s the matter?” Xi Jiangyuan greeted them with a concerned smile, worried they had run into danger. But they had only gone to the bank—could the bank really be dangerous?
“Captain, we discovered our team is missing one person.” Lu Chuan got straight to the point, then turned to Chen Shi. “It should be your roommate.”
“Huh?” Chen Shi froze, not processing what Lu Chuan meant.
What did he mean, his roommate?
But when he saw Captain Xi Jiangyuan’s face turn serious, he realized this wasn’t a joke. Chen Shi’s heart tightened. Could what Lu Chuan said really be true?
“Lil, you explain. I’ll check the place for traces,” Lu Chuan said immediately.
“Okay.” Lilus agreed. Lu Chuan’s skill, [Rewind], was better suited for investigation—some things were better explained by him.
So Lilus carefully laid out their earlier analysis and discoveries to Xi Jiangyuan and Chen Shi. Meanwhile, Lu Chuan searched the room for clues.
None of the players who entered this dungeon were weak; otherwise, Xi Jiangyuan wouldn’t have chosen them as teammates.
As long as the dungeon didn’t allow instant kills that gave no chance to react, anyone who disappeared should have been able to resist for at least a while.
Even if their ability wasn’t suited for fighting, wouldn’t they at least have some defensive items?
And if they truly couldn’t hold on, they should at least have left some trace behind.
Lu Chuan searched the small guesthouse room. The space was cramped, making it easy to sweep through. If there were no signs here, they would have to consider that the missing teammate was eliminated somewhere else and expand the search.
Fortunately, Lu Chuan soon found something.
“Captain, come look at this,” he called.
Chen Shi, who had been sweating coldly while listening to the analysis, snapped back to attention and rushed over with Xi Jiangyuan.
All the men squeezed into the tiny bathroom, making it feel especially crowded.
But at that moment, none of them paid attention to that—they were all staring at Lu Chuan.
He pointed to a corner by the sink and said seriously, “Look here. Doesn’t this look like the character for ‘hand’?”
In that spot, hidden under the sink, was a mark that would be almost impossible to notice without searching.
It was a messy, blood-red character for “hand,” scrawled as though written with eyes closed.
“Such a low position… and the way this word looks—it already tells us a lot,” Lu Chuan said grimly. “Our missing teammate might have been in bed when he heard something, or maybe he noticed something odd while washing up. At that moment, a hand reached out and dragged him away. He couldn’t dodge it, and no matter what items he used, it was useless. All he could do was claw at the wall…”
“He had no choice but to write ‘hand’ as he was pulled away.” Lu Chuan continued, “It’s impossible he didn’t cry out, but none of us heard anything. Even you, Captain, noticed nothing.”
“After I woke from the dream last night, I barely slept at all,” Xi Jiangyuan said coldly. “But I didn’t hear a single strange sound.”
They all lived together, yet none of them noticed.
“Or maybe we did notice, maybe we even tried to help—but we forgot,” Lu Chuan said, raising his head to look at Xi Jiangyuan. “Captain, you said you heard a whistle in your dream, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Xi Jiangyuan nodded.
“If you hear another whistle in your dream tonight, maybe tomorrow we’ll be down another teammate.” Lu Chuan’s tone was calm. “The dungeon requires us to leave town after the tenth whistle. That could mean none of us will survive. The whistles may actually be clues, marking the loss of each teammate.”
At those words, silence fell.
If that was true, then they were in a terribly passive situation.
“But only the captain hears the whistle. We…” Chen Shi faltered, not knowing what to say. For some reason, he really wanted to see Vivian right now—he felt safest with her around. But he knew that thought wasn’t right; it would sound like he had feelings for her.
“If the whistle can only be heard in dreams, then it may not be that only the captain can hear it. We all can. But the human brain is strange—when faced with extreme fear, we subconsciously forget, especially things that happen in dreams.” Lu Chuan countered. “The difference is that the captain’s ability lets him remember more clearly than the rest of us.”
“This isn’t the time to argue that.” Xi Jiangyuan sighed and asked seriously, “Lu Chuan, since you’re the one who first realized something was wrong, what do you suggest?”
“My suggestion is that we rent a bigger place and all sleep in the same room. If something happens again tonight, maybe we can catch it in time. And we need to prepare for the possibility that another disappearance happens, and that we forget again. We should leave reminders for our future, forgetful selves.”
Bringing the missing back was unrealistic. For now, the only option was to keep everyone together.
Xi Jiangyuan nodded. “That’s indeed the best option right now.”
“Then let’s do it.” Xi Jiangyuan agreed.
“Good.” Lu Chuan held out his hand. “Captain, give me the money. I’ll rent a big warehouse, and buy necessities, plus cameras and recorders.”
Xi Jiangyuan couldn’t help a wry smile. The grim, eerie atmosphere had been broken by Lu Chuan’s words.
“If you didn’t love money so much, your future achievements would surpass even mine,” Xi Jiangyuan said with genuine admiration. To spot the anomaly so quickly, notice every detail, and draw such conclusions without even using his ability—that was rare.
Most importantly, most humans are trapped by memory, stubbornly trusting what they recall or see. But not Lu Chuan. Even if his memory was altered, he knew himself well enough—and was confident enough—to suspect the memory rather than himself.
If he hadn’t been so firm in this, he wouldn’t have noticed the discrepancy with the slippers so quickly.
“Captain, if I didn’t love anything at all, what would be the point of living?” Lu Chuan shot back. “I just happen to love money.”
Xi Jiangyuan used an item to contact the others and soon called everyone back, repeating Lu Chuan’s analysis.
Messiah and the rest agreed.
“We had similar suspicions,” Messiah said, “but without solid proof, we were still investigating. We’ve explored a lot of shopping streets—many shops are closed, but no one seems able to explain whether they were ever open.”
“The school is the same—lots of students are missing, but no one remembers them.”
“The cemeteries are too numerous, beyond normal limits. There are even coffins lying around, unburied.”
…
All of this pointed to one thing: residents of this town really had vanished. But everyone acted as though those people had never existed, going about their lives undisturbed.
Not knowing how they died, and not even being remembered after death.
This kind of paranormal dungeon was enough to make anyone’s hair stand on end.
Even in broad daylight, with perfect weather, cold sweat ran down their backs.
“It’s only our second day in this dungeon—we still have time,” Xi Jiangyuan reassured the team. “As long as we find the mastermind and figure out the pattern, we can survive safely until the tenth whistle.”
Everyone nodded. Panicking was meaningless—they had to take action. They weren’t the type to just sit and wait for death.
Lu Chuan quickly rented a large two-story warehouse near the edge of town for a month. He also cleared out a nearby supermarket, stocking the second floor of the warehouse with supplies.
Then, he hired a construction crew to install two bathrooms—separate for men and women—and cameras and audio recorders all around the warehouse.
On the walls, they plastered sticky notes, each one holding clues and hypotheses written in their own handwriting.
They also wrote down each member’s name, age, ability, hobbies—everything.
Among the ten people, six were male—Xi Jiangyuan, Lu Chuan, Lilus, Messiah, Shen Li, and Chen Shi—and four were female—Edith, Starry Shasha, Vivian, and Li Lu.
Everyone wrote down as much information about themselves as possible, and each also kept several recorders ready. No matter who was attacked or erased, they had to try to leave evidence for the others.
With these precautions, everyone felt more secure and reassured.
Xi Jiangyuan didn’t say it aloud, but he was quite satisfied with Lu Chuan’s arrangements.
Very thorough, very careful.
“I gave you about a million just now. How much did all this cost?” Xi Jiangyuan asked curiously. As an experienced and powerful player, he had various accounts in the dungeon world, so it was easy to spend money on supplies.
He worried Lu Chuan might not have had enough after buying so much, and was even thinking about reimbursing him extra so he wouldn’t have to spend his own money.
“Not much left,” Lu Chuan said, immediately growing wary.
Did the captain somehow know about the cut he had taken?
Property prices in the small town were dirt cheap, and this was just a warehouse. Renting it for a month had been bargained down to almost nothing.
As for the supplies, cameras, and such, wholesale prices were extremely cheap.
The only real expense was hiring a construction crew to build bathrooms. Everything else was negligible.
From the million funds, Lu Chuan had skimmed a neat little half—five hundred thousand.
Taking a bit as a “service fee” wasn’t too much, right?
But now that the captain asked, there was no way he could admit it.
“It’s fine, I was just asking. Just don’t spend your own money,” Xi Jiangyuan said with a smile. “You’ve already been running around for us, can’t have you paying out of pocket too.”
“Not hard at all, I only covered a little bit.” Lu Chuan seized the chance and pinched his fingers together to show a “tiny” amount. “Not much, just a hundred thousand.”
“Then I’ll transfer it to you when we leave.” Xi Jiangyuan didn’t doubt him—players never really understood money or its purchasing power.
“Sure.” Lu Chuan couldn’t hide his disappointment, already feeling he’d never actually see that hundred thousand.
When night fell, everyone was on full alert.
After a light meal—though no one had much appetite—they set up ten beds, separated by gender. Before sleeping, everyone tied one end of a thin nylon rope to their hand. If anyone disappeared or was dragged away, the others bound to them would be woken immediately.
It was, essentially, the best preparation they could manage.
Xi Jiangyuan lay down under everyone’s expectant gazes.
Hopefully, he would see more in his dreams—at least get a glimpse of the thing behind all this. Right now, what they lacked most was information.
Xi Jiangyuan slipped easily into sleep.
In the dream, he could clearly see his teammates still awake, standing guard beside him.
That eased his heart considerably. Just knowing they were all there made him feel much better.
He spread out his consciousness, searching for the arm he had seen before.
But this time, the sky held no arm.
A little disappointed, he shifted his awareness toward the town to see what else he could find.
That was when a sharp whistle pierced the air.
The sound was so shrill it jolted him awake instantly.
It went on and on, stabbing his ears, nearly deafening.
He opened his eyes, ready to shout a warning—
But all around him, his teammates stood frozen like statues. No matter how he shouted, none of them responded.
Damn it.
Xi Jiangyuan grabbed a camera, trying to record the scene.
But through the lens, there was nothing but darkness.
Then he saw—the camera lens was blocked by a fingertip.
Not just that. Every camera in the warehouse was covered by fingers.
From the walls themselves, countless hands suddenly sprouted.
They grew like weeds, a dense, pale thicket at a single glance.
There weren’t too many inside the warehouse yet, but in the town outside, they were everywhere.
“What is this?”
“Don’t grab me—!”
“Take the child and run!”
“Ahhh—ghosts!”
…
Many townsfolk had been standing stiff and motionless, just like the players. But when the hands seized them, they suddenly regained awareness.
The terrifying part was that only the seized regained awareness. The people they cared about remained completely still, showing no reaction.
It was as if the whole world had gone still, leaving only the seized conscious.
The whistle continued to shriek.
Xi Jiangyuan tried attacking the hands with an item, but the effect was minimal.
Could this be how their missing teammate was taken the first night? If so, why was he still awake now?
Then Xi Jiangyuan saw the hands grab Chen Shi.
The instant Chen Shi was seized, he woke up.
“What is this?!” He struggled, but the hands were incredibly strong. No matter how he fought, he couldn’t break free.
The ropes binding everyone’s wrists pulled taut, cutting into skin, but the others still didn’t wake.
“Captain, help me!” Chen Shi shouted—Xi Jiangyuan was the only one who could move.
“Hold on, I’m coming!” Xi Jiangyuan grabbed his hand, trying desperately to pull the hands away.
If items didn’t work, would a blade?
He slashed with his knife. The hands looked soft, but were unbelievably tough. Even when the blade cut into them, no blood flowed—just a rubbery gash that sealed up almost instantly.
The hands dragged Chen Shi backward. Xi Jiangyuan clung on, but was pulled along as well.
“Captain, let go.” Chen Shi’s body was already sinking into the ground. No one could tell how the hands were doing it, but they were pulling him into the earth.
Chen Shi knew he couldn’t escape. But he couldn’t let the captain be dragged down too.
“Captain, please… take care of Vivian, she…” His head sank beneath the soil, leaving only his eyes.
The whistle was fading, as if about to stop.
In that instant, new memories surged through Chen Shi’s mind.
No!
No!!!
His captain wasn’t Xi Jiangyuan—it was Vivian. They had entered Xi Jiangyuan’s mutated dungeon. Xi Jiangyuan was their target.
He tried to warn them, but his mouth was full of dirt. No words could come.
All he could do was glare hatefully at Xi Jiangyuan.
It was you.
You doomed us.
Xi Jiangyuan shuddered under that hateful gaze.
Was he blaming him for not saving him? Of course—yes, that must be it.
He could have saved him, but couldn’t. All he could do was watch him be dragged away. Of course he would hate him for it.
Bit by bit, Chen Shi disappeared into the ground, his rope slipping free onto the warehouse floor.
The whistle stopped.
Xi Jiangyuan’s eyes glazed over. As though controlled by something, he forgot everything.
He returned to his bed and fell asleep.
*
The third morning.
The group woke one after another.
Messiah glanced around.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.
Nine people.
All present.
It seemed they had survived the night safely.
—-
Author’s Note:
Since Lu Chuan’s group took the places of Xi Jiangyuan’s original teammates, for now they can use his teammates’ skills and items. To make reading easier, their names remain unchanged—if suddenly called by other names, even they would feel it was wrong.
