Yan Wei didn’t move immediately.
The overly pale beam of the flashlight seeped through the door crack, fully outlining the figure outside. He gripped the flashlight tightly, its handle cold against his palm, but not as cold as the spot on his arm.
In that fleeting moment, less than a second, a thousand thoughts raced through Yan Wei’s mind.
The Undying State would activate in eight minutes. Every second he could delay was crucial.
Outside, “Xu Miaomiao” continued to urge him. The image through the peephole grew increasingly horrifying—her ghostly pale face now smeared with dark red blood, as if it would soon flow into Yan Wei’s eyes.
Yan Wei felt the hand gripping his arm tighten, the pain intensifying.
To his left was the upper bunk where he and Yan Mingguang slept. Below was Lin Qing. To his right should have been only Cao Qun, but Cao Qun wouldn’t suddenly grab his arm at a time like this.
Yan Wei remained still, took a deep breath, and whispered, “Yan Mingguang.”
To his left, the man’s sharp, yet smooth voice responded, short and low, “Hm.”
Cao Qun, for some reason, remained silent.
Lin Qing, as calm as ever, spoke softly, “Yan Wei, maybe we shouldn’t open the door. Let’s just go back to sleep. Who knows? Maybe it’s a ghost with disheveled hair, exposed organs, pitch-black eyes, and a deathly pale face.”
—So that was what the ghost grabbing him looked like.
Yan Wei fell silent for a moment, acting as if he hadn’t noticed the ghost’s presence, and said, “Let me think about whether to open the door.”
Knock knock— Knock knock— …
The knocking was so forceful that the sliding door began to tremble.
There were two ghosts.
One outside, one inside. Opening the door meant facing a dark corridor and the unknown, while not opening it meant a desperate struggle in this confined space.
They must have triggered something without realizing it.
Yan Wei felt the grip on his arm grow stronger, but he continued to stall.
Five minutes later.
A chilling sensation crawled up his spine and surged into his mind. Yan Wei acted decisively, pressing down on the door latch and shouting, “Let’s get out!!”
The door slid open instantly.
The flashlight’s beam wavered in Yan Wei’s hurried movements, revealing a twisted silhouette. The figure’s neck was half severed, its head hanging precariously to one side—this wasn’t Xu Miaomiao at all, but the ghost they had glimpsed in the dining car when they boarded the train!
The ghost outside, seeing the door open, twisted its face into a grotesque grin.
Blood flowed from its mouth, dripping freely onto the floor.
At the same time, behind Yan Wei, Yan Mingguang, who had been prepared, suddenly reached out and grabbed the hair of the ghost gripping Yan Wei’s arm. Using the momentum, he yanked the ghost forward and hurled it outside.
The ghost’s sharp nails left bloody gashes on Yan Wei’s arm, and the scent of blood filled the air. Yan Wei didn’t hesitate, glancing at the ghost outside before darting past it and sprinting toward the next carriage with all his might.
The ghost inside the compartment seemed to have been thrown against the window by Yan Mingguang, emitting a dull thud.
The ghost outside stared at Yan Wei.
Yan Mingguang, though behind Yan Wei, was much faster. In an instant, he grabbed Yan Wei’s hand and pulled him forward.
Behind them, the ghost with the half-severed neck turned and began to pursue them. It appeared to move slowly, but in the blink of an eye, it was nearly upon them.
And at that moment, the sliding door to their compartment slammed shut again.
Lin Qing and Cao Qun were still inside!!
Yan Wei’s steps faltered. As Yan Mingguang dragged him forward, Lin Qing’s calm voice came from inside the compartment, “Run! Don’t worry about me!”
Behind them, the ghost’s pale hand reached for Yan Wei’s neck.
Even with the Moon Wheel, Yan Wei lacked the Perception to use its abilities. The Legendary Item could only block attacks at this point, and using it would be futile.
At the critical moment, Yan Wei knew he couldn’t look back.
His mind raced through everything that had just happened, and he shouted, “Lin Qing, the numbers!! The numbers!! Our headcount tonight is wrong!!”
Lin Qing didn’t respond.
Yan Wei and Yan Mingguang had already reached the connection between Carriage 11 and Carriage 12. The door to the first compartment in Carriage 12 was wide open, revealing an empty room. This should have been the quarters of Yue Mang’s two Players, but Zhao Jingchen, mistakenly believing something would happen in this compartment tonight, had stolen Cao Qun’s keycard and taken He Dong, the other Yue Mang Player, to the first compartment in Carriage 11, leaving this one empty.
The other compartments remained locked, their occupants hiding inside, unwilling to open their doors.
Only this one was accessible.
Yan Wei’s eyes lit up.
The ghosts only needed to target one person. It was only the second night; it was unlikely they would kill three or four people in a row. If he and Yan Mingguang could hide, one of them might escape unscathed.
Panting, feeling the cold closing in behind him, Yan Wei was about to push Yan Mingguang into the compartment when he felt a strong tug on his wrist—Yan Mingguang had the same idea!
In that split second, Yan Mingguang shoved Yan Wei into the first compartment of Carriage 12 and slammed the door shut.
Yan Mingguang’s strength far surpassed Yan Wei’s. In that brief moment, Yan Wei stumbled onto the narrow walkway of the compartment, and the door closed, separating him from Yan Mingguang.
As soon as the door shut, there was a loud thud, as if something had crashed into it. The ghost must have reached Yan Mingguang, and the two were now grappling outside, their struggles echoing through the door.
The sliding door of the train compartment had a latch that required it to be pushed open from the outside.
Yan Wei pushed against the door, but it wouldn’t budge under the immense weight pressing against it. The sounds of Yan Mingguang and the ghost fighting outside reverberated through the door, fraying his nerves.
He shouted, “Yan Mingguang, let me out!! My Undying State is only two minutes away—“
Another dull thud.
Yan Wei seemed to hear the ghost grinding its teeth, a sound like sharp nails scraping against metal, a “screech” “screech” that grated on his ears. Without Perception, the compartment was pitch black, and he couldn’t see anything. The sounds of struggle stabbed into his brain like needles.
He pushed against the door with all his might, “Yan Mingguang!!!”
Yan Wei’s hands pressed tightly against the door, the cold metal seeping into his skin, his fingers stiffening from the chill. Yet, his forehead and back were drenched in cold sweat, his face pale, as if all the blood in his body had stopped flowing.
From beneath the door, thick blood slowly seeped in, staining Yan Wei’s knees as he knelt on the floor. For a moment, he couldn’t tell if the blood belonged to the ghost or Yan Mingguang.
His voice was half-hoarse, “…Yan Mingguang!!”
Yan Wei’s mind went blank.
He rarely felt fear, but now it overwhelmed him, leaving no room for reason.
In those few seconds, Yan Wei tried to stay calm, but the only thought that surfaced was—if Yan Mingguang died here, would he even want to continue?
No.
Yan Mingguang was far more important to him than any goal or ideal.
They had faced life and death together in instances, kissed in hot springs surrounded by ghosts, and even conquered the most treacherous top-tier instances. To Yan Wei, Yan Mingguang wasn’t just a soulmate; he was the only constant in Yan Wei’s life, the one who anchored him and gave his existence meaning.
As he had once said.
Mingguang is like the Day.
Yan Wei’s hands pressed against the door with all his might, his knuckles white, the skin on his fingertips tearing against the rough texture of the handle. The sleeve on his right arm was soaked with blood, the wounds from the ghost’s claws burning with pain as his muscles tensed.
Yan Mingguang didn’t say a word, only the sounds of struggle came through.
There were only thirty seconds left until the Undying State activated.
Yan Wei didn’t even glance at his wounds. In the pitch black, he stood up abruptly, pulling out a sharp knife.
He grabbed the edge of the upper bunk, leapt onto the lower bunk, and using the bed frame for leverage, he thrust the knife into the gap at the top of the door, trying to pry it open.
Suddenly.
The commotion outside ceased, and a cool, slightly hoarse voice came through the door, carrying the scent of rust and blood, yet still as steady as a snow-covered mountain.
“Sit tight. Wait for me to open the door.”
Yan Wei froze.
From the front of the carriage, Lin Qing’s voice pierced through two doors, “It’s fine. Those ghosts are gone.”
Both Lin Qing and Yan Mingguang’s voices were calm, no longer urgent.
With a crisp clang—, the knife slipped from Yan Wei’s hand and fell to the floor.
Yan Wei relaxed, jumping down from the bed. His legs and knees were soaked in blood, his arms and fingertips scratched, but his usual fastidiousness didn’t surface.
He bent down, groping in the darkness for the fallen knife, picking it up so Yan Mingguang wouldn’t step on it when he entered.
The notification for the Undying State sounded, but it seemed unnecessary now.
The panic had come quickly, but it also faded just as fast once the crisis was over. Yan Wei’s blank mind was quickly filled with chaotic thoughts and reasoning. His head buzzed as he tried to make sense of what had happened tonight.
The Death List had only listed 1101, but Cao Qun had changed the number to 1109, and they had added 1202 to the list.
But now he was in 1202, and there were no ghosts here. It was pitch black, but also eerily quiet. Before the ghosts had appeared in their compartment, the first compartment in Carriage 11 had emitted the scent of blood and strange noises. Something had clearly happened to Zhao Jingchen.
1202 was safe, but 1101 had been attacked, meaning the bed numbers the Players had written down were useless—the Death List’s bed assignments were fixed and couldn’t be changed. Their compartment must have triggered some other death condition.
As Yan Wei pondered this, he remembered Yan Mingguang’s words, his eyes filled with confusion. He held the knife and slowly sat down on the lower bunk.
When Yan Mingguang pushed the door open, the flashlight’s beam cut through the air, scattering light and outlining the figure of the young man sitting on the bunk.
His profile was soft and delicate, the ends of his eyes like the petals of a flower, gentle and innocent. His trembling eyelashes were particularly striking in the light, his amber eyes even more transparent than the scattered beams.
Yan Wei still held a knife in his hand, its blade nearly reflecting the light before he moved it away.
The knife he had just picked up was tossed into a corner of the bunk. He glanced at Yan Mingguang, then stood up abruptly, ignoring the blood and grime on Yan Mingguang’s face and clothes, and wrapped his arms around Yan Mingguang’s neck.
Lin Zhen averted his gaze, lowering his head and covering his eyes with one hand.
He patted Yu Feizhou’s shoulder with the other, saying, “Call me when they’re done kissing.”
