Chapter 101
“It looks like we’re still safe…” Messiah checked the rope around his wrist. It hadn’t snapped.
“Seems like sticking together is the only way,” Shen Li said with a smile. “Since all of us are here, it probably won’t be easy for anything to happen.”
“I actually slept okay last night,” Starry Shasha added.
Everyone chatted lightly, trying to shake off the tension and unease from yesterday.
But soon Shen Li noticed something unusual—Lu Chuan hadn’t said a word.
That wasn’t normal.
Since when did Lu Chuan not like to talk?
“Lu Chuan, what’s wrong?” Shen Li asked curiously. “Are you feeling unwell?”
Lu Chuan glanced at his smiling teammates, then decided to speak directly.
“Don’t celebrate too soon. We’re still missing someone.” He spoke quickly. “There are ten beds here, and ten profiles on the wall.”
His words hit them like a blast of winter chill, dropping everyone present into an ice-cold abyss.
With his reminder, their memories seemed to blur—Yes, it really did feel like someone was missing.
If they hadn’t just questioned it now, given a little more time they might have truly believed there had only ever been nine of them.
But now that they were aware, the erosion of their memories slowed down.
Even after all their careful preparations, they were still down one person.
Lu Chuan walked up to the wall and looked at the sticker on it — the information about Chen Shi was slowly being wiped away.
The others were frantically jotting down Chen Shi’s details, some even using special tools to etch them down so they wouldn’t forget again.
Five minutes later, all of Chen Shi’s information was gone.
Even the memories in their heads had vanished without a trace.
Only the notes they’d hurriedly scribbled down remained, barely.
Xi Jiangyuan felt a splitting headache. “Do you guys still remember what this Chen Shi looked like? We just saw his photo, but I can’t picture him anymore.”
“I don’t really remember either.”
“Looks like the instance’s restraints on us have gotten stronger.”
“Let’s check the surveillance footage.”
***
They pulled up the security feeds and found that, around five minutes of footage from last night, across every camera, was just black screens.
In other words, the creature behind all this had come out for five minutes.
“It seems the monster can’t use the power of rules to erase every trace. That’s good news for us.” Lu Chuan steadied himself and offered this bit of comfort before continuing. “The bad news is, even without rule-based powers, its strength is undeniable — we can’t even see what it looks like.”
Clearly, the monster had some level of intelligence, though not much.
It erased the surveillance footage and wiped away Chen Shi’s handwriting and data, yet didn’t realize that the extra bed in the warehouse gave it away — just like those eleven pairs of slippers before.
And once they realized their memories might be tampered with, the memory loss stopped. That was probably the instance’s built-in protection for players; it couldn’t just let them forget everything or the game wouldn’t be playable.
“We don’t remember anything from those five blacked-out minutes.” Messiah sighed. “Captain, do you recall anything?”
Xi Jiangyuan didn’t answer right away, lost in thought.
“I vaguely remember shouting to you all, but I can’t recall anything more.” He shook his head, looking unwell. “We can’t just sit here — we have to find a solution.”
If this kept up, their numbers would only dwindle.
“Don’t be so gloomy in the morning.” Messiah hurried to ease the tension. “Players dying in instances is perfectly normal. Let’s grab a bite and head out to investigate. If something happened here, there’s bound to be trouble in the town too.”
They forced themselves to eat, then split into four teams. With only nine people left, Xi Jiangyuan considered for a moment and joined Lu Chuan and Lilus’ team for now.
Emotionally, Xi Jiangyuan should’ve teamed up with the vice-captain Messiah — they were more in sync — but rationally, he thought sticking with Lu Chuan might help unravel the instance faster.
Lately, Lu Chuan’s performance had been surprisingly impressive.
“Uh-oh, the captain’s coming with us,” Lu Chuan muttered to Lilus, worried.
“…What are you worried about? That he’ll find out you’ve been pocketing kickbacks and putting personal expenses on the team tab?” Lilus sneered, seeing straight through Lu Chuan’s little schemes.
“That’s not what you call it — it’s a service fee. And besides, I shared some with you.” Lu Chuan knew better than to hog everything alone; when he took kickbacks, he always cut Lilus in, binding them to the same boat.
“Wow, you were so generous — a big fat red envelope, all of five hundred yuan!” Lilus said with biting sarcasm.
“Ahem, we can renegotiate if it’s not enough,” Lu Chuan said nervously. “Just… don’t mention any of this to the captain. Even if I didn’t give you much, you still took it, so we’re in the same boat.”
Lilus only gave a cold smile.
Lu Chuan could tell from that reaction — since Lilus didn’t punch him, that meant agreement.
“No need to be so tense. I may be your captain, but we’re about the same age. Just treat me normally.” Xi Jiangyuan, seeing how stiff they seemed, tried to put them at ease.
“Sure thing, Captain.” Lu Chuan smiled, but didn’t take the words to heart.
That whole “harmonious relationship between leaders and subordinates” was just a college kid’s fantasy.
Leaders push for work; subordinates do the work. That hierarchy meant they could never be too friendly — otherwise, the job wouldn’t get done.
They returned to the town’s market.
Maybe because there wasn’t a fair today, the place was much emptier.
Last time it had been packed, shoulder-to-shoulder, no one’s shoes clean. Now, the streets felt sparse and hollow.
Lu Chuan glanced around and saw many stalls standing empty.
“Boss, three pancake, please. By the way, wasn’t there a rice cake vendor here last time? Why isn’t he out today?” Lu Chuan handed over some money and asked as if casually chatting.
“Rice cakes?” The pancake seller thought seriously. “I don’t think we’ve ever had that here. Sigh, our town’s small, not many folks come to market. If there were other jobs, I wouldn’t have to set up every day.”
Was this town always so empty?
A strange pang of regret stirred in Lu Chuan.
It was only the third day, yet the town’s population had already shrunk noticeably. By the last few days, how many would remain alive?
Based on what they’d seen, the instance didn’t set an explicit time limit, but the ten whistle blows hinted that they had ten days.
So far, a whistle had sounded once a day, and each time they lost one teammate — likely one-tenth of the town’s residents as well.
If the whistle’s pace stayed steady, they had only seven days left, including today.
Time was running short.
Calling this instance difficult wasn’t quite right.
Other than removing a teammate each day, it hadn’t attacked them. With eleven members, even in the worst case, one or two should survive.
Compared to dungeons where entire teams get wiped, this one was almost friendly.
But no one, not even Xi Jiangyuan, would call it easy.
Even after figuring out the whistle’s pattern, they had no way to fight back.
That wasn’t normal.
Every instance, no matter how tricky, should offer some path to a solution.
If they hadn’t found it yet, it meant they just hadn’t uncovered the right approach.
Lu Chuan, Xi Jiangyuan, and the others split into four groups and swept through nearly the entire town by midday.
They regrouped at a restaurant, booked a private room, and shared their findings.
“There are even fewer people at the hospital,” Messiah reported with a sigh. “They think they’re just a failing clinic — few doctors, few nurses — and the wards are almost empty.”
“The school’s the same,” Vivian added. “Far fewer students. I picked some homeroom teachers at random — they don’t remember the missing students. But I checked the enrollment files and found a few traces.”
“The situation is clear: we understand how the instance is targeting us, but we still can’t counter it.” After hearing everyone out, Xi Jiangyuan had a clear sense of things.
They weren’t collecting information too slowly, but the circumstances demanded higher efficiency — otherwise, they’d just be dragged along.
The fewer they were, the less chance they had to protect themselves.
“Let’s share ideas and test them one by one,” Xi Jiangyuan said.
“I think the whistle’s rule is that each blow removes one-tenth of the people,” Messiah proposed. “If we can break that rule, we might find a way out. But for now, none of us has truly heard the whistle — or we did, but can’t remember. Our biggest issue is to face the whistle directly.”
He looked up at Xi Jiangyuan. “Captain, you said you heard the whistle in a dream. I think the dream filtered it so you could hear what we can’t in waking life. Tonight, when you sleep, could you pull us all into your dream?”
Messiah had long coveted Xi Jiangyuan’s ability.
Such a talent shouldn’t go to waste early on.
Since the instance hadn’t provided an escape method, either they hadn’t found the right path, or that method was hidden in one of them — which was why the system hadn’t given any hints.
Messiah kept turning it over in his mind and concluded the breakthrough lay with Xi Jiangyuan.
After all, only Xi Jiangyuan had heard the whistle from the very start.
“I agree,” Lilus immediately raised a hand.
Vivian, Shen Li, Edith, and Starry Shasha all voiced their agreement.
“I agree too,” Lu Chuan added. “If possible, when the time comes we should draw lots to pick two people who won’t enter the dream, so they can stay behind and wake us if anything goes wrong. Better to be completely safe.”
Xi Jiangyuan had originally wanted to refuse, but seeing the whole team united made it hard for him to say no.
“If you get pulled into my dream, and I fail to wake up, or if we’re attacked inside the dream, you’ll be trapped in it forever — you’ll never wake up again.” Xi Jiangyuan looked at them helplessly. “Even knowing that, you still want to enter my dream?”
He had always known his power was formidable, but he had never actively invited others into his dreams.
Dreams were another world; they weren’t simple at all.
The more he explored his ability, the more uneasy he felt.
He didn’t dare expand his dream any further, afraid of drawing attention or accidentally glimpsing some existence best left unseen.
“If we don’t try something, the next whistle might take one of us,” Lu Chuan replied seriously. “Dying early or late is just a matter of days — what matters is whether we take the initiative.”
Besides, they all trusted themselves; dying wasn’t a given.
Xi Jiangyuan looked at them, momentarily dazed.
This squad of his seemed stronger than he’d imagined.
