Yan Mingguang quickly handed Yan Wei a new set of clothes, all in the styles and materials Yan Wei was most accustomed to wearing.
Yan Wei unfastened his belt and took the neatly folded clothes, his movements pausing for a moment.
He lowered his head and asked, “What about that ghost outside?”
“It disappeared.”
“At that time, you were outside. How did it attack you?” Yan Wei’s tone was calm. “Knowing how the ghost attacks might be useful.”
“It tried to tear at my neck. I held it off for a while, and then it disappeared. It probably vanished when Cao Qun died.”
Yan Wei glanced at Yan Mingguang again.
Apart from the bloodstains on his shirt and face, the man’s clothes were neat, and his trousers were as clean as ever, despite the blood on the floor.
He didn’t look like someone who had narrowly escaped death; instead, he seemed to have handled the situation with ease.
Unable to extract more information, Yan Wei nodded. “Oh.”
Yan Wei took off his outer garment, shivering from the cold, and hugged the new clothes as he leaned into Yan Mingguang’s embrace. Warmth enveloped him, and the man instinctively held him.
“Do you know anything about this instance? Like in Puppet Castle, is there any foreshadowing?”
“No.”
Yan Wei shifted slightly, changing his clothes within Yan Mingguang’s embrace. With just one movement, the man holding him stiffened, his breath catching.
Taking advantage of the man’s distraction, Yan Wei’s hand brushed against the bandaged wound on Yan Mingguang’s wrist. He pressed lightly and quickly withdrew, not even glancing at the wound, as if it were an accidental touch.
Yan Mingguang showed no reaction, not even the slightest physiological response to pain.
It seemed he wasn’t injured. Yan Wei had his answer—while he was worried inside, Yan Mingguang was outside, likely pinning the ghost against the door and beating it.
Yan Mingguang still had secrets unknown to him.
In that moment, a sense of unease washed over Yan Wei as he recalled some details he had forgotten. After his memories were restored, from his first Ascension to the formatting, everything connected into a coherent timeline, but there were still some fragments he couldn’t remember.
Initially, Yan Wei attributed this to memories fading over time. But now, he suddenly felt that what he had wasn’t the complete picture.
He said nothing, only unconsciously stopped his movements, silently taking note of this.
“Get dressed,” Yan Mingguang suddenly said. “You’re an ordinary person now; you’ll catch a cold.”
Yan Wei had paused mid-action, his coat half-hanging on his body, the hem covering his already bare legs. Hearing Yan Mingguang’s words, he lifted his head, resting on Yan Mingguang’s shoulder, gazing at the man’s neck and jawline.
He shifted slightly, as he had done before, gently kissing Yan Mingguang’s cheek, moving downward bit by bit.
Yan Mingguang abruptly raised his hand, gripping Yan Wei’s chin, turning his head to kiss him.
This time, it was a lingering, soft kiss.
Yan Mingguang’s breathing grew faster but suddenly stopped. He released Yan Wei, helping him pull up his coat, and said, “Rest. You’ve been through a lot today; I’m worried you might feel unwell tomorrow.”
Yan Wei blinked, opening his mouth but saying nothing. In truth, they were temporarily safe now, and they had turned off the projection. If they really wanted to… it wouldn’t matter. But out of caution, such things shouldn’t be done within the instance.
He leaned back slightly, picking up the trousers he hadn’t yet put on, and said, “You’re right, I—”
Yan Wei’s voice abruptly stopped.
Yan Mingguang suddenly grabbed his hand, pulling him back into his embrace and kissing the corner of his mouth again. The man’s deep voice was close, warm breath brushing against him: “I forgot earlier—you didn’t die today.”
Yan Wei was stunned.
The man’s hand had already reached for his collar.
Finally, the sound of rain ceased.
It was unclear whether the overcast weather had ended or the train had left a particular area. Outside, there was no sunlight, and the curtains were still drawn, but the daylight filtering through was brighter than the past two days.
However, in all the carriages, where the players had passed, the curtains were drawn, and the players couldn’t see what was happening outside.
Yan Wei woke up to the now-familiar mechanical sounds.
He felt refreshed and clean, with an electric heater placed beside him, exchanged from the store. He rubbed his eyes, glancing at the obviously bright daylight.
On the opposite bunk, Lin Qing sat upright, holding a cup of steaming water, his back straight, his gaze serious, fixed directly on Yan Wei.
Seeing Yan Wei awake, he waited until Yan Wei sat up and handed him the cup, saying, “Today’s Death List doesn’t involve any of us, but several incidents happened last night. Yan Mingguang went to keep an eye on things to prevent other players from interfering. He prepared this for you, worried you might feel unwell.”
Yan Wei: “…”
Lin Qing: “You’ve always been more foresighted than me. Is there a deeper meaning to this?”
Yan Wei held the cup, feeling the warmth in his palm, and said, “…What do you mean?”
As soon as he spoke, he realized his voice was hoarse.
“…”
Suddenly understanding the significance of the water, Yan Wei took a few sips.
“Last night,” Lin Qing lowered his gaze, his expression still solemn, “it was a bit loud.”
Yan Wei choked: “Cough… cough…”
“Was it related to the death trigger in the carriage? Or was it to simulate something the ghost did in its lifetime?”
“.”
He set the cup aside, abruptly stood up, draped his coat over his shoulders, cleared his throat, and said, “Let’s go find Yan Mingguang. Where is he?”
Lin Qing immediately followed him out of the carriage, saying, “He’s in carriage eleven.”
Without waiting for Lin Qing’s answer, as Yan Wei stepped out of the bunk area, he saw Yan Mingguang standing at the entrance of the first bunk in carriage eleven. Ding Xiao and Xu Miaomiao were also there, indicating they had indeed made it through the night without incident.
Yan Wei approached, catching the nauseatingly thick scent of blood.
Yan Mingguang glanced at him, his voice warm: “How do you feel?”
Ding Xiao and Xu Miaomiao immediately looked over, puzzled.
“…I’m fine. Is that Zhao Jingchen?”
“Yes.”
In carriage eleven, aside from the five of them standing in the crowded aisle, there was no one else. On the upper bunk of the first bunk area, a pile of human-shaped meat chunks lay on the bed, the sheets and bedding completely stained a deep red, blood pooling on the floor. Some corners with less blood had already started to dry.
It was a complete pile of meat chunks, barely recognizable as human, with limbs and brain completely shredded, brain matter mixed with the meat. Blood continued to seep downward, dripping onto the lower bunk and flowing onto the train floor.
“Is this the source of the bone-cutting sounds last night?”
“Probably,” Ding Xiao answered Yan Wei. “We were closer to this area, so we heard it more clearly. At first, it was a dull grinding sound, then it turned into intermittent chopping sounds. It probably started with the limbs, first the small bones like the hands, then when it reached the body, it began chopping.”
Lin Qing, knowing Yan Wei’s aversion to filth, stepped through the bloodstains, inspecting the surroundings, and said, “There were others in the room. Bloody footprints are on the floor; the survivors have fled.”
It didn’t matter. Even if they left during the day, they’d have to return at night. There were only so many carriages on the train; there was nowhere to run.
Lin Qing stood on tiptoe in front of the upper bunk with the meat chunks, expressionless, and directly reached out his hand.
Yan Wei: “…”
A moment later, Lin Qing pulled out something from what should have been the wrist area—a bloodstained peace lock bracelet.
“What’s this?” he asked.
Xu Miaomiao replied without hesitation: “I bumped into him when boarding the train and saw this. It’s just an ordinary peace lock he wore when boarding. It probably has nothing to do with the instance.”
Lin Qing immediately lost interest, setting the bracelet aside.
Yan Wei frowned: “Why does it seem familiar?”
Yan Mingguang said calmly: “Zhou Tian also wears one.”
Yan Wei took an extra look at the peace lock. After a moment, he said, “Zhao Jingchen died from being dismembered by the ghost. His body is in 1101. He died as one of the names on the Death List.”
There wasn’t much else to learn here. Yan Wei looked around for a while, then went to their original bunk area to inspect Cao Qun’s body.
Cao Qun had been killed by the ghost after Yan Wei and Yan Mingguang left the bunk area. But Lin Qing had reacted faster than Cao Qun, already at the door. Though the door was closed, he still had some room to maneuver, struggling with the ghost in the aisle.
The ghost’s target wasn’t fixed. Lin Qing quickly jumped to the upper bunk, and the ghost didn’t follow, instead turning to attack Cao Qun, who was still crammed on the lower bunk. In the darkness, by the time Lin Qing managed to get a light, the ghost had disappeared, and Cao Qun had already become like this.
Cao Qun’s body lay sprawled on the lower bunk, a wound from top to bottom tearing him apart. The wound started at the head, killing Cao Qun instantly, so he hadn’t made a sound.
Yan Wei leaned in for a closer look, frowning: “Their wounds—they look like they were made by a blunt item, not something sharp.”
Whether dismembered or torn apart like this, the wounds were twisted and uneven. Combined with the knife sounds last night, it seemed the ghost hadn’t killed with bare hands. This death was brutal yet crude.
Ding Xiao said: “Two other corpses are similar. One had their neck completely torn off, and the other died relatively more comfortably, with a fork piercing their throat.”
“Two?” Yan Wei’s eyelids lifted as he looked toward the rear carriages, suddenly understanding why he smelled blood from other areas. “Four people died last night?”
There were only sixteen of them to begin with.
“Yes, four in total. Besides Zhao Jingchen and Cao Qun, there were two others. One was a high-level player from carriage thirteen. Their room originally had three people, now only two remain. The other was He Dong from Yue Mang, who died in one of the twenties carriages, his neck torn off.”
Xu Miaomiao: “He Dong probably wasn’t on last night’s Death List. He died too far away. I think it’s more likely he fled after Zhao Jingchen’s incident, ran too far, and was killed by the ghost.”
Yan Wei understood.
If he and Yan Mingguang hadn’t hidden in the empty room in carriage twelve but continued running further, they might have ended up like He Dong.
Another three-person room had an incident, confirming his guess that a bunk area could only accommodate two people at most.
Yan Wei sighed: “Four people died, but the survivors also learned a few ways to avoid death triggers. The Death Oppression Instance… truly a place where you step over the corpses of dead players to move forward. Let’s exchange information with the other surviving players later to avoid triggering death. That way, the only thing we need to worry about is the Death List—one per day, with some time to spare.”
“Maybe not,” Yan Mingguang suddenly spoke. “Today’s Death List isn’t just one.”
“It’s two.”
