The train was shaking violently.
Yan Wei stood in the narrow aisle that barely allowed one person to pass, one hand gripping the back of a nearby seat, his fingertips pressing down slightly. The entire train was decorated in an old-fashioned style, with seats connected in rows, their backs covered in a dark green fabric that felt like burlap to the touch. Rubbing it a bit, it felt as if his fingertips might catch fire.
Yan Wei, feeling the tangible texture in his hand, looked past Ding Xiao and Xu Miaomiao. Rows upon rows of seats were neatly arranged, shrinking into the distance as his gaze followed them.
The next carriage was no different from this one. Through the connecting passage, the seats continued to shrink, leading to yet another carriage and the one beyond.
It was like a kaleidoscope filled with rust and dark green burlap, layer upon layer of visual overlap and compression.
The five of them all glanced toward the front carriages to varying degrees.
The train was heading to an unknown destination, with no end to the carriages in sight, much like the rain outside that drizzled endlessly without conclusion. The filthy things lurking in the carriage were nowhere to be seen, perhaps sitting on the seats watching them, waiting to deliver a slow execution. Everyone present, except for Xu Miaomiao, had been through at least one instance on the 89th floor, yet at this moment, they all felt a bone-deep chill.
No one questioned Ding Xiao’s words because there was no need.
Yan Wei withdrew his gaze, his hand in his coat pocket lightly rubbing. It seemed he was almost getting used to the damp cold here.
He reached out, tapped Yan Mingguang lightly, and leaned in slightly, whispering, “…Shall I talk to Ding Xiao alone? I’ll call you if there’s any danger.”
His voice was low, his tone gentle, already prepared for Yan Mingguang’s refusal—after all, Yan Mingguang had never agreed before. When this man really got stubborn, his need for control was even more severe than Yan Wei’s, even if Ding Xiao only admired him.
The man turned to look at Yan Wei. His profile was sharply defined in the dim light, his expression blurred against the backlight. He showed no displeasure, but Yan Wei felt Yan Mingguang’s breathing lengthen slightly, a low-pressure aura flashing by so quickly that Yan Wei almost thought it was his imagination.
Yan Wei saw Yan Mingguang nod almost imperceptibly and immediately stepped aside, walking in the direction they had come from.
As he left, Yan Mingguang even pulled Lin Qing along, planning to take this time to look for the train attendant. Ding Xiao glanced at Yan Wei, asked no questions, and had Xu Miaomiao temporarily follow Yan Mingguang and Lin Qing. In just a moment, the carriage, filled with hard seats both front and back, was left with only Yan Wei and Ding Xiao.
Ding Xiao sat down on a nearby seat, a slight smile on his lips, his eyes curved, his expression as gentle as ever.
The chilling atmosphere dissipated somewhat under Ding Xiao’s gaze. Yan Wei glanced back at Yan Mingguang’s retreating figure, feeling an inexplicable unease.
The fleeting feeling Yan Mingguang had given him just now was both familiar and unfamiliar. It wasn’t the first time, but it had never happened during their first Ascension. To be precise, it started from their second Ascension, when Yan Mingguang regained his memories and data first.
Though they were as close as ever, every moment of intimacy was either Yan Mingguang’s constant, shadow-like care or, like just now, a flash of emotion followed by restrained propriety.
If he tried to kiss Yan Mingguang, the man’s reaction would be more intense than his own but quickly controlled; if he curled up in Yan Mingguang’s arms to sleep, the man would, as before, press his lips to his earlobe, breathing warmth but never taking the initiative further; if he did something that would have made Yan Mingguang jealous before, like just now, Yan Mingguang’s need for control would envelop him in an instant, only to vanish the next moment like an illusion.
Yan Wei unconsciously tightened his grip on the two cold Swallow Coins in his pocket.
Amid the train’s rumbling, Ding Xiao’s lowered voice came: “You’re still alive.”
Xu Miaomiao was in the dining car’s bar.
This was just a corner of the dining car, surrounded by a semi-circular table that reached slightly above waist height. Inside was a cramped but fully-equipped cooking counter. The bar table’s interior was lined with floor-to-ceiling cabinets, the small space unable to contain much light. In the dimness, something sinister seemed ready to appear at any moment.
She remained two hundred percent alert, holding a fruit knife she had pulled from the knife rack.
The fruit knife, like the other utensils, was made of metal but had a matte finish that reflected no distinct shadows. The blade had a slight wave to it, with a few small nicks.
She put the fruit knife back and pulled out another kitchen knife, which was in the same condition.
The entire train, from the worn-out berths, seats, and table boards to the heavily used kitchenware, exuded an age-old rustiness, as if it had been around for a long time.
After inspecting the bar’s interior, Xu Miaomiao said to Yan Mingguang, who was standing by the blackboard, “I’ve looked. I didn’t see anything that could be the Stairway.”
Yan Mingguang remained standing straight by the blackboard, not even turning his head, just nodding slightly.
Xu Miaomiao, however, breathed a sigh of relief. Even though it was a collaboration, and Yan Mingguang hadn’t pressured her, she still instinctively didn’t dare to speak much. Before entering the Tower World, her family environment had been quite good, and after entering, she had been directly trained by Ding Xiao due to her proficiency in deduction. Compared to others, she could be said to have had a smooth journey.
So even in front of Ding Xiao, she didn’t feel any inferiority or reverence, just gratitude at most. As for Yan Wei, she knew he was smart, and every conversation felt like a chess match, a sense of crisis and cherishment, without any backing down.
But Yan Mingguang was the first person to make her feel that someone could truly be so cold that no one dared to get close.
Previously, every time she saw Yan Mingguang, he was with Yan Wei. Now, being alone with him for the first time, despite her rational clarity, she couldn’t bring herself to speak as casually as she did with other Manjusaka players.
Earlier, four other players had come to the dining car, wanting to check the details further, but Yan Mingguang just stood there, and the four actually left the dining car.
Truly a living Yama.
Xu Miaomiao walked out of the bar just as Lin Qing returned from the previous carriage.
“The attendant’s room is normal,” Lin Qing said. “He even chatted with me for a while, mostly trivial daily stuff, like how he cooks and cleans the train every day… including what’s in the bar of this dining car, how the daily menu is prepared, he pretty much mentioned everything. When I asked about the train’s origin and destination, he would think for a moment but mostly said he couldn’t remember. As for the blackboard, he didn’t mention it at all.”
Hearing this, Yan Mingguang’s eyes flickered, and he reached out, starting to do something with the blackboard.
Xu Miaomiao thought for a moment and said, “It’s pretty much as expected. No matter what the attendant actually is, what he presents is just a functional NPC.”
—But with the pervasive malice and horror in this instance, would they really be so kind as to provide a functional NPC to handle trivial matters?
Yan Mingguang paused his fiddling with the blackboard and said calmly, “No.”
“The attendant’s functions are replaceable. Cleaning up traces of filth can be done by the players themselves or left alone. As for food, just open the shop. He can’t be completely ignorant. Either he’s one of the Ghosts, or he’s a person controlled by the Ghosts, like the words on this blackboard, which might have been written by him for those filthy things.” Xu Miaomiao, not knowing what Yan Mingguang was doing, walked from the bar toward the blackboard.
Lin Qing said, “So I came back, because questioning him was useless.”
“What exactly is this item that symbolizes the Stairway?” Xu Miaomiao sighed. “According to what you’ve said, the Ghosts on the train are the train workers, so I’m more inclined to think that something happened on this train, causing the workers to die and turn into vengeful spirits. Then the item to crack this instance must be related to the incident that occurred. Death Oppression Instances, death triggers are often related to the Ghosts, that’s common sense.”
This needed no further explanation; the three naturally understood.
For example, if a Ghost died a certain way in life, players who come to the place of that Ghost’s death or repeat the Ghost’s actions might invite the same death—the Death Schoolhouse Instance Yan Wei and the others had been in before worked on such a mechanism.
“We’re missing something,” Lin Qing concluded. “Assuming something bizarre or bloody happened on this train, turning it into what it is now, endless and unending, then that incident is related to reflective things and the death list. These two things are completely unrelated.”
Xu Miaomiao frowned.
Lin Qing’s words were exactly what she had been thinking.
She stopped behind Yan Mingguang, looking at him, and only then noticed that he was unscrewing the screws at the four corners of the blackboard.
After separating from Yan Wei, the man, who had been silent all along, finally spoke a long sentence after unscrewing the last screw.
“In Tower Instances, lies are truths, truths are narratives, and avoidance is confirmation.”
His voice was cold but seemed to dispel the chill in the carriage.
“What we’re missing is this.”
Yan Mingguang held the four screws that had fixed the blackboard in his hand, their heads slightly rusted in his palm, but the shanks were quite smooth.
He grabbed the lower left and right corners of the blackboard and directly took it down, flipping it over.
Xu Miaomiao and Lin Qing both paused.
—It was a complete oil painting.
In the painting, sharply defined gray-black rocks and gloomy weather dominated the background, with old trees stretching their branches, nearly blending into the dark sky. In the center of the painting, on the rocks, a man with his wrists bound by chains lay on his back, seemingly struggling, seemingly avoiding, his posture awkward, his muscles stiff from exertion or pain.
A large, strong eagle with spread wings occupied the right side of the painting. One eagle claw pressed on the man’s forehead, the other gripping his abdomen.
The sharp beak of the eagle was directed at his chest, pulling out a piece of flesh, his face twisted in agony.
