“Not bad,” Yan Xuan nodded in agreement.

It was only because it was murder that there was such resentment and unwillingness in her expression. The suicide note was forged by the murderer, which is why it was printed and not handwritten. The inconsistencies finally pieced themselves together. However, to truly understand what happened to the woman, they'd have to wait until tomorrow.

Fang Chen took a deep breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a trembling figure in the corner. “Qi Yan?”

Meng Qiyan, unable to bear it anymore, threw back her blanket, exclaiming, “In the middle of the night, do you two really have to discuss something so creepy?” She suddenly regretted it. She’d rather sleep alone in her room again.

“Is that so?” Yan Xuan, already spread out on his blanket at the bedside, replied, “I saw you banging on doors just now. You looked pretty fearless then.”

Meng Qiyan, now fully awake, decided to join the conversation.

“I’m actually a streamer who plays horror games, so I have some tolerance for this stuff, but that’s only when it's on a screen, safely framed. This? This is reality!” She pulled the blanket tightly around herself, leaving only her head exposed.

Lying down, Yan Xuan knocked on the bed frame and then turned to Fang Chen. “And you?”

“Just a delivery guy. My family’s been in this business for generations.”

“Generations of deliveries?”

“My ancestors ran an armed escort service. My grandfather once told me, ‘Anything that can be sent, or cannot, is managed by the Fang family.’ I never really understood what he meant until tonight,” Fang Chen sighed.

“Speaking of which, I got pulled into this place while delivering something. I wonder if I’ll get a bad rating,” Fang Chen said, glancing at Yan Xuan, who was lying on the floor like a serene statue.

“Don’t look at me,” Yan Xuan blinked. “I was just surfing online, and I happened to scroll past a picture of an overpass. The next second, here I am. Isn't that tragic?”

“Oh no, I think I’ve got you both beat. Let me tell you…” Meng Qiyan sat up straighter, ready to share.

Time passed slowly as they spoke. Strangely enough, nothing else happened. Eventually, the conversation grew softer, the intervals between responses longer, until the room fell silent with their peaceful breathing. Outside, the darkness faded, and the sky gradually brightened. That night, everyone survived.

Fang Chen woke up to a beam of sunlight streaming into the room. The world here was clear and bright, with the night as terrifying as it was, and the day as vibrant as it could be. If he could ignore everything from yesterday, this might almost feel like a hidden paradise.

Realizing he was having that thought, Fang Chen shook himself. Maybe he’d gotten a little too comfortable with his sleep.

The other two were nowhere to be found. Fang Chen picked up his phone, where he saw Yan Xuan had left a message: “Waiting in the hall.”

He was the last to arrive. The other eight had already gathered around the central table, with water and bread prepared for each person. Not surprisingly, most of them looked exhausted. Zhang Bin's eyes were shadowed with heavy circles, and Bai Li was lying across the table, still trying to sleep. Rongrong, though timid, seemed to be adjusting to the situation. She managed a shy smile when Fang Chen appeared.

Liu Mang sat back with his eyes closed, his fingers lightly tapping on the armrest. When Fang Chen entered, Liu opened his eyes, filled with curiosity and calculation. “Anything unusual last night, bridge-crosser?”

Fang Chen decided it would be best not to alarm them unnecessarily, so he changed his response. “All normal.”

“You actually slept?” Lu Wanting looked at him, clearly searching for any signs of fatigue—but found none.

“How long are we supposed to stay here?” Li Duo asked as he wolfed down some bread. “And what’s with that riddle? I spent the whole night trying to figure it out.”

“Don’t worry about it. There’s not enough information yet,” Liu Mang said, wiping his mouth neatly.

With some time before eight, Fang Chen took the opportunity to thoroughly explore the house.

The ground floor, aside from the central hall, had a few small rooms on either side. A kitchen, a storage room, a rest area—everything a house needed. But the stale smell suggested it hadn’t been used in ages. Even with sunlight streaming in, the atmosphere remained dull and lifeless.

Right on the dot at eight, the carpenter’s figure appeared at the doorway. That familiar grin was still there. But, maybe it was just a trick of the light, Fang Chen thought he looked a little bulkier than last night, with his clothes fitting more snugly now.

Fang Chen scrutinized the carpenter’s left hand before exchanging a look with Yan Xuan. They both noticed the difference—the carpenter now had a ring on his finger, which hadn’t been there the night before.

The carpenter invited everyone to grab an ax, leading them outside.

As they stepped out, they realized that although it was sunny, a dense fog lingered at the edge of the horizon, like a wall of mist trapping them within this space. Eeriness continued to hang over the place.

After a twenty-minute walk, Fang Chen found himself in front of a low, dilapidated house. Compared to the main residence, this one was in much worse shape, with no lock, the door slightly ajar.

South of the house lay a dense forest, about the size of a playground. The trees grew so thickly that the branches intertwined overhead, blocking out the sun and casting the area in shadow. Even under the bright sunlight, the grove remained shrouded in darkness.

Inside the tool shed, they saw a wall lined with axes—ten of them, identical in shape and size, corresponding to their group of nine plus the carpenter himself.

“Hmm?” Yan Xuan rubbed his chin, staring at the row of axes, a rare flicker of doubt crossing his face.