Chapter 11: There Is No Peace Between People

The night was long and the dawn delayed.

Unlike the swift passage of the white day, or perhaps due to the torment of their predicament, the time spent asleep—usually fleeting—felt extraordinarily prolonged.

It was like the natural phenomenon known as polar night, where daylight is brief and darkness stretches on endlessly. Yet there was a fundamental difference: this was not caused by any geographical factor, but by unnatural forces.

A world of magic—just the thought of it was incredible.

“Good morning, neighbors.” Zhou Ke opened his door and happened to see the others stepping out, so he waved cheerfully.

No one responded. The crowd carried a heavy, oppressive atmosphere; every face looked drained, dark circles faintly visible beneath their eyes. It seemed none of them had slept well.

Though Zhou Ke was also a night owl, his spirit was unchanged from the day before.

Joking aside, how many writers aren’t masters of staying up late?

As for why they hadn’t dropped dead yet, it was probably because Death himself stood by their desks, scythe in hand, watching from midnight until eight in the morning, never once getting a glance from these fellows.

“Ugh, it’s sore and painful everywhere,” Li Hua complained as he approached.

One hand pressed to his waist, the other pounding his shoulder, his features twisted into a grimace. If one didn’t know better, they might think he’d been beaten up the night before.

“Fought a ghost for three hundred rounds, huh?” Zhou Ke teased.

“Screw you,” Li Hua snapped back, “It was that Chen Minqun. She said the latch on Room 4’s door was broken and she couldn’t lock it, so she came over to my place to take refuge. As soon as she came in, she dove under the covers, forcing me to sleep on a hard bench.”

He pointed distantly at a girl in a disheveled school uniform who had just come out of Room 6.

“Oh,” Zhou Ke glanced at Chen Minqun, then looked meaningfully at Li Hua. “Third base or home plate?”

“Did you even listen? I slept on the bench!” Li Hua shook his head in frustration. “Don’t lump me in with scumbags like you without any bottom line. I treat girls with gentlemanly respect!”

“Pfft.” Zhou Ke rolled his eyes disdainfully but didn’t argue.

He knew Li Hua well enough.

Whenever a female classmate urgently needed help, Li Hua rarely refused—a warm-hearted, ever-attentive guy.

Because of this, many girls, moved by his kindness or good looks, had mustered the courage to confess their feelings to him. Yet he hadn’t accepted a single one.

Zhou Ke once wondered if Li Hua was gay and quietly tested him: “With so many mature senior girls and pure juniors around, isn’t there anyone who suits your taste?”

Li Hua replied simply:

If I can’t give a girl a happy future, why waste her time and mine?

The more you love, the more you have to let go.

Honestly, that was one of the rare moments Zhou Ke heard something wise come from Li Hua’s mouth.

“What are you two whispering about over there? We don’t have much time left,” Linghu Shiyu’s tired voice called out.

If it weren’t for exchanging information, none of them would have wanted to leave their rooms, preferring to rest during the safe daylight hours.

“Lady Linghu, we’re coming,” Zhou Ke answered, trotting over alongside Li Hua.

“Is everyone safe?” Linghu Shiyu scanned the group and stopped in surprise.

Including the two newcomers, only five people were present—one fewer than yesterday.

“Where’s that programmer uncle?” Even slow-witted Li Hua noticed something amiss.

“His door is so secure, he probably feels safe and hasn’t come out,” Chen Minqun said resentfully.

“Let’s go check,” Linghu Shiyu said without jumping to conclusions. Whether it was just her imagination or not, Zhou Ke felt the heroine’s gaze on them had shifted, tinged with caution and distance.

As they approached Room 2, a strong metallic scent of blood hit them.

Looking closer, a murky puddle glistened beneath the alloy door.

Gulp.

They swallowed hard, the silence in the corridor so thick a pin’s drop could be heard.

They exchanged glances and stepped forward slowly and quietly, as if unwilling to accept the chilling truth, resisting it from their thighs to fingertips.

“Sir in Room 2, are you there?” Linghu Shiyu bravely called out.

After more than ten seconds with no reply, just as she was considering forcing the door open, a wrist reached out and gently pushed the door.

The door swung back—it was only ajar.

Linghu Shiyu looked back awkwardly. “How did you know the door was open?”

“It’s not a matter of knowing,” Zhou Ke withdrew his wrist with a teasing tone: “Four-eyes not coming out means two things—either he really feels safe and is too lazy to talk to us, or he’s dead. You can’t expect a corpse to answer the door, right?”

“Either way, no response will come. Pushing the door is the most straightforward.”

Just as the group was confused by their banter, Li Hua theatrically unbuttoned his collar and stepped forward.

“Ahem, let me sum it up. Mr. Zhou means—trying costs nothing.”

“Bingo, correct!” They high-fived, much to the others’ silent exasperation, who averted their eyes and turned their attention back to Room 2.

But the scene inside was no friendlier than the absurd duo outside.

The door hung half open, revealing a headless corpse screaming through its bones.

“Ah! He’s, he’s dead!” Chen Minqun turned pale at the bloody sight.

The others, better able to handle it, showed little reaction—after all, they had seen corpses yesterday as well.

“Same death as the one in Room 1,” Linghu Shiyu said grimly, imagining her own fate.

“That door’s so cool, yet it couldn’t keep him safe,” Louis said excitedly rather than worried. The alloy steel door was nearly indestructible, even with all his strength.

“Since the doorbell ghost likes to rip off heads, if we sleep upside down at night, maybe nothing will happen?” Zhou Ke suggested without thinking.

The mood soured; no one paid attention to his foolish remark.

At one death per day, by the fifth sunset, only two would remain.

Moreover, it was unclear whether the fifth sunset meant the game’s end or a harsher new rule.

Linghu Shiyu stared at the corpse a long while, wrestling within herself. Finally, she gritted her teeth and spoke, “Listen, there may be—”

“An insider among us,” Zhou Ke cut in abruptly.