Chapter 41
Lilus glanced at Lu Chuan but didn’t say anything.
Every player had their own methods and experience for clearing an instance. Nothing to comment on there.
Besides, from Lu Chuan’s attitude, he must have already noticed something.
“I’ll take the room card with me. I’ll remember to bring back today’s food.” Lilus didn’t say anything more. Splitting up wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
*
Inside Room 101.
The single rooms were a bit larger than the doubles, looking slightly more spacious, just big enough to seat three adults.
Mei Xue was giving instructions to the two players she had brought.
“Even though we’re allies with Gu Quan’an, he’s still part of the Abyss Game Guild. He’s not on the same side as us. We have to clear this instance before they do and get what we want.” Mei Xue’s tone carried a trace of severity. “Don’t underestimate this dungeon. I can’t protect you everywhere and at all times. Understood?”
“Understood!” the two players chorused.
“The apartment’s rules add a new clause every day. Before midnight, the scouting period is the safest. You need to investigate as much as possible about the Flesh-and-Blood Apartment’s secrets. If you notice anything wrong on floors above the third, prioritize your own survival.”
“Yes.”
A similar conversation was taking place on Gu Quan’an’s side.
But worried about the apartment’s poor soundproofing, Gu Quan’an had gone over to his subordinates’ room to make plans.
“Last time I came here, I lost out mainly while exploring the fifth floor. The strange thing about this Flesh-and-Blood Apartment is that during the day, you can only see players who’ve checked in with a room card. But at night, other temporary tenants appear—trying to steal our cards. You must keep an eye on your cards at all times, or you’ll lose them easily,” Gu Quan’an warned.
“Brother Gu, are those temporary tenants without cards easy to deal with?” one player asked.
“Depends on luck,” Gu Quan’an said seriously. “Those tenants without cards are actually thought-forms of players who died in this place. The old landlady takes rent in our flesh and sanity. Sanity represents fragments of the soul. Even if a player dies, their flesh and soul fragments remain. These become tenants without cards, who can only appear at night. If you’re lucky, they’re weak. If unlucky, you might meet one stronger than me.”
At this point, Gu Quan’an gave a bitter, self-deprecating smile. “After all, I failed the last time I came to this instance too.”
*
Plenty of players wanted to take advantage of the first night—before any new rules appeared—to explore the apartment.
They wandered the hallways in twos and threes, sometimes knocking on other doors, though no one answered.
Most players, aside from a few bold ones, stuck to the first three floors. As for higher floors, they tacitly pretended not to notice them.
After all, there were experts in the dungeon. No need to rush in as cannon fodder.
Better to stay alive.
Lilus soon disappeared from everyone’s line of sight.
He wasn’t invisible or hiding—he simply “slipped out” of people’s perception. Just as a person’s peripheral vision automatically ignores a pebble on the ground, so too did all the players unconsciously ignore this very much alive man.
He didn’t plan to eavesdrop on Mei Xue or Gu Quan’an. In another instance, he might have, but not here. This was a rule-based dungeon. Mei Xue and Gu Quan’an had already failed once, so they would be especially cautious. No need to waste effort.
Instead, he could use this protected “safe period” to gather as much intel on the apartment as possible.
And no one understood the place better than the landlord couple.
Lilus was bold—and his thinking leaned toward madness.
As Lu Chuan had said, Lilus’s sanity value wasn’t high either. It usually hovered between 75–80, the same as his sister’s.
Perhaps because half of their bloodline came from dungeon NPCs, the oppressive aura those NPCs carried barely affected the siblings.
That was a major advantage.
For example, in beginner dungeons, all players were newbies. Even if they had theory knowledge, their practical experience was zero. If they ran into a scripted kill or a boss ambush, most froze, panicked, or got scared stiff—losing their chance to escape. But Lilus and his sister weren’t afraid of NPCs or creepy atmospheres. They could react instantly and counter-kill instead.
That was how the siblings managed to earn an S-rank evaluation on their very first run—and secure spots on the rookie leaderboard.
Now, Lilus had no intention of changing his approach.
Yes, what he told Lu Chuan about “exploring the apartment” was just a lie. What he really intended was to follow the landlord couple.
Think about it: as the landlords, besides manning the front desk, did they rest at midnight? If so, did they live inside this apartment, or in some other room?
Lilus remembered clearly that the old landlady had an A-rank item, the “Barrel of Proliferation,” which harvested flesh from players. The old landlord had another A-rank item, the “Weighted Scales,” which harvested sanity.
On the first day’s rent, the landlady’s barrel had collected a lot of flesh, while the old man’s scales had taken only a small amount of sanity. But whatever they collected—what did they use it for? Once obtained, where did it go? Did they keep it in their own rooms?
And if they could harvest flesh, could they return it?
Also, the dungeon’s completion condition mentioned “obtaining formal resident status.” Neither the landlord couple nor Mei Xue and Gu Quan’an had said a word about that.
Lilus’s instincts told him something was off.
So he walked casually down the stairs, straight into the lobby. When he was sure the landlords’ eyes weren’t on him, he sat quietly in a corner.
Lilus was very patient.
He watched the couple, analyzing every word they spoke.
And waited—for them to make a move.
*
Back in the room, Lu Chuan examined the dormitory. After some hesitation, he chose the lower bunk. Then he yanked the newspaper from Lilus’s bed and spread it on his own—better than nothing.
He checked the newspaper carefully. No useful info, just celebrity gossip and messy scandals. Useless, except as padding.
“This texture really brings me back to my wage-slave days,” Lu Chuan muttered, lying on the dorm bed.
[Host… you’re not planning to go out and take a look?] #888 sounded exasperated. It was still daytime, and the host already planned to sleep until night?
“Rule-based dungeons are dangerous enough. Why go out for nothing? Besides, I already decided to wait for the flyer.”
The flyers weren’t just posted openly at the front desk; they were also written into the rules on the back of the room cards.
And interestingly, the landlords hadn’t warned them not to trust the ads. They simply never mentioned it.
From Lu Chuan’s past experience working odd jobs, landlords usually turned a blind eye to people distributing flyers.
If tenants actually called the numbers and generated some business, the flyers would only appear more often. To keep distributing them long-term, advertisers often paid the landlord a cut.
But since the services advertised were usually shady, the landlord would, at least on the surface, pretend to warn tenants not to fall for them.
In a rule-based dungeon, players had to follow the rules.
If the flyers were truly hated, the rules would simply state “no calling the numbers on flyers.”
But instead, the rule said: “Not responsible for advertisements.”
If Lu Chuan were the landlord, writing it that way would mean: the ads were a mix of real and fake—probably more real than fake. Thus, players had to “judge for themselves.”
With no leads yet, making a rash move wasn’t Lu Chuan’s style. So he would wait and see what the flyers contained first.
Lu Chuan temporarily used his arm as a pillow, lying on the bed with one leg crossed over the other. He said, “Besides, I’m hungry right now. Anyone who diets often knows—when you’re hungry, sleeping is the best way to ease the feeling. Once it’s about time, #888, you wake me up.”
[Understood, Host.]
Seeing Lu Chuan so calm and at ease, #888 also settled down.
After all, he had just gained a new defensive skill—there was nothing to be afraid of.
Meanwhile, the players still out exploring were, as the night deepened, starting to struggle to hold on.
They could clearly feel their hunger.
But when they tried to take food and water out of their system inventory, they discovered it instantly turned inedible. The system even “helpfully reminded” them that food could only be obtained inside the dungeon.
At this point, some players recalled what the landlord had said before—that the apartment provided one portion of food per day.
The hall clock showed it was already ten at night, yet the landlord couple still showed no intention of distributing food.
So, quite a few players went to the landlord in the hall to ask where today’s meal was.
Mei Xue and Gu Quan’an stood quietly in a corner of the staircase, watching.
But neither of them noticed Lilus.
If Lilus had suddenly “vanished” from their line of sight, these two high-level players would certainly have been alerted. But since Lilus had been hiding in the hall from the very beginning, it was only natural they couldn’t detect him.
And Lilus, crouched in the corner of the hall, was waiting for exactly this opportunity.
Even though he could keenly feel his stamina draining fast—and the game system was already warning him to eat something—Lilus did not move an inch.
“Today’s food isn’t ready yet. Come back in an hour.” The old landlady barely lifted her eyelids and nudged the old man beside her. “Go bring their food. One portion for each room.”
The old man looked displeased, muttered curses under his breath, then grabbed his smoking pipe and turned to go.
At that moment, the “ignored” Lilus stretched out a clawed right hand and pressed it against the chests of two agile-looking players.
“[Transfer].” Lilus activated his ability.
The two players wavered slightly, then suddenly said to the landlord, “Landlord, it’s a lot of food for one person to carry. Let us help you.”
The others looked at them in shock—part worry, part admiration.
Help this strange landlord voluntarily?
“Fine.” The old landlord glanced at the two “volunteers” and nodded. “Come with me then.”
Lilus followed after them.
Mei Xue and Gu Quan’an noticed nothing amiss.
“Neither of those two little foxes showed up?” Mei Xue frowned, puzzled. “The first day is the safest. Don’t they understand?”
Besides, if they missed midnight, they wouldn’t be able to get food from the landlord at all.
And food from outside the dungeon was inedible.
If they couldn’t get it from the landlord, their only option was to wait until midnight, when the hawkers emerged from the monster-filled fog to peddle their wares.
But the stalls’ food could only be bought with flesh and sanity points. And since the hawkers “couldn’t make change,” players would have to pay an extra cut of flesh and sanity to the landlord as a “handling fee.”
The landlord’s food was never enough to sustain players’ energy needs, so collecting it daily was essential.
And yet, those two still hadn’t come down.
Could it be that the current No. 3 and No. 4 on the Newcomer Ranking List had their own special plans?
No—Mei Xue didn’t believe such talented players could be that foolish.
Unless they had already come… but gone unnoticed?
Lilus, trailing the landlord and the two players, arrived at the apartment kitchen—a simple room in the first-floor corner, with just a gas stove and a huge steamer.
The old landlord puffed on his pipe, then turned and looked at them. “Didn’t you say you wanted to help? The food’s all in the steamer. Twist the handle to open it. There are many pre-packed bags inside—take them out. Ten bags each, no more.”
Lilus instantly realized the landlord had noticed him. Hesitating for less than a second between fleeing and playing along, he decisively canceled his ability.
“Yes, landlord sir,” Lilus answered softly.
The two mind-controlled players, like puppets, stepped forward and opened the steamer.
Inside were neatly stacked thirty bags of food. Each bag held six mini soup dumplings—each no larger than half an egg.
Tiny portions, not enough to fill even a child—yet this was a full day’s ration for an adult.
“One bag for single rooms, one for doubles, and one for triples,” the landlord said with a smile at Lilus. “We just deliver. How you divide them is your business.”
Lilus sensed hidden malice.
He also realized why Mei Xue and the others had insisted on single rooms.
Since food and water were mandatory, single rooms guaranteed you kept your share, while multi-person rooms risked fights over rations.
Lilus chuckled and took the food with the two players.
Picking a fight with Lu Chuan over food on the first day wasn’t worth it.
If his sister found out he’d lost his chance to spy on Lu Chuan over something so trivial, she’d beat him senseless.
In the room—
[Host, wake up. It’s about time.] #888 urged Lu Chuan awake.
Lu Chuan opened his eyes.
Even in the dungeon, though he could sleep, he never slept deeply.
He touched his hollow stomach. The energy drain here was clearly faster than in real life. Even though he had slept to conserve strength, he still felt unusually hungry.
It was nearly midnight.
Outside in the corridor, footsteps could be heard. But strangely, Lilus hadn’t returned.
Was collecting food taking this long?
Still, Lilus was the infamous [Hand of Rebirth]—no way he’d fall so quickly.
Lu Chuan chose not to rush downstairs, but to keep waiting.
Midnight was near. The leaflet distributors should be arriving soon.
So he squatted at the door, waiting.
What he didn’t know was—Lilus wasn’t unwilling to return, but unable.
All the tenants who had left their rooms were now trapped in the hall, unable to bring their rations back.
The stairs and corridors were packed with strange “people.”
They looked human, but were gaunt to the bone, pale-faced, their eyes lifeless—clearly not normal.
And they completely blocked the stairs.
Reaching the rooms would have to wait until daylight.
[00:00. “Flesh and Blood Apartment” New Rule +1. This rule will be announced by the landlord at noon.] The system prompt rang.
Wait—midnight already?
Players glanced at the hall clock—it clearly showed 11 p.m.
But the system insisted it was midnight.
And the system never made mistakes.
The only clock in the building was in the hall. The players’ own clocks had all frozen upon entering the dungeon, so they had relied solely on the landlord’s clock.
And the landlord had used the simplest, most obvious trick—set the clock wrong.
“Sorry, our apartment’s clock is broken—it’s an hour slow.” The old landlady smirked. “When you received your food, it was already midnight. Since you left your rooms, it counts as a new day. My tenants, it’s time to pay the next day’s rent.”
Meanwhile, shapes emerged from the fog outside—pushing little carts until the entrance was packed tight.
Some sold food, some water, some bedding, others all sorts of odds and ends.
A midnight market.
The hawkers looked more human than the skeletal figures in the halls, but their eyes were locked hungrily on the players, as if gazing at a feast.
Finally, Lu Chuan received his leaflets.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
Several small cards slipped through the door crack, fluttering into the room.
Quick-handed, Lu Chuan caught a few.
“Pure-hearted college boy, online and waiting? Ten jin of flesh to make you happy?” … What the hell? He tossed that one onto Lilus’s bed.
“Takeout fried noodles, three jin of flesh per box?” He might as well gnaw on his own body.
Lu Chuan figured the reason he got hungry so quickly probably had a lot to do with paying his rent in flesh.
His body was already consuming so much flesh and needed more nutrition, so of course he would feel hungrier faster than usual. But if he spent flesh to buy this food, it would be no different from drinking poison to quench thirst—after a few meals, he’d be dead without a place to bury him.
After reading through more than a dozen little flyers, Lu Chuan was starting to lose patience.
Fortunately, he finally found what he was looking for.
Right in front of the landlord couple’s desk, there was one stuck up—
A loan advertisement.
“One hundred jin of flesh, repayable daily, only five sanity points or fifteen jin of flesh per day.”
The flyer was even thoughtfully detailed, saying you could either call a number or go directly to the loan stalls outside the apartment.
Every single advertisement was designed to squeeze players for flesh or sanity. Even without any new rules, within just a few days a player could be drained to death. Even if a four-hundred-jin fatty showed up, he probably wouldn’t last long.
Lu Chuan thought, if he were the landlord, he’d only run an “opening promotion” for the first three days, tricking players into thinking they could pay in flesh. After three days, once players were used to paying with flesh, he’d switch it up and demand sanity instead. By then, the players would be stuck with no way out—agree or not, they’d have to comply.
He stuffed the loan flyer into his pocket.
Borrowing money also required a certain level of skill.
If you had the skill to borrow it, naturally you could also have the skill not to repay it.
———
Author’s Note:
Lu Chuan: As long as I leave the dungeon fast enough, I won’t have to repay.
