Seven of her ten fingers were adorned with priceless gemstones.
The blanket draped across her lap looked like pure hand-woven craftsmanship, the material unmistakably top-tier.
I scanned the room with my eyes—there had to be at least forty people wearing rabbit masks.
They all seemed to fear the old woman, shrinking their necks, heads slightly bowed.
Like students awaiting a lecture.
The old woman asked them, "How many are left?"
A rabbit instructor holding a folder stepped forward. "One hundred and two remain."
That voice was familiar—I was sure I'd heard it on the broadcast before.
The old woman's face darkened with displeasure. "Still that many? What are you fools doing?"
The tension in the room was suffocating. No one dared answer.
The old woman continued, "The cancer has already spread. Expedite the process, do you hear me? Don't make me come here a second time. Find me the best vessel—results no later than the day after tomorrow. That's final!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
The rabbit instructors straightened and answered in unison.
3
The old woman waved dismissively, signaling the rabbit instructor pushing her wheelchair to take her away.
The remaining rabbit instructors stood rooted in place like wooden posts, watching her leave.
I scrambled back into the staff break room, listening as the wheelchair grew distant until it faded completely.
Only then did I creep back to the office doorway.
The rabbit instructors hadn't left. They'd all sat down at their desks, apparently hard at work.
The one who'd answered earlier seemed to be the leader.
She clapped her hands and announced, "You all heard what she said. The master's body is failing. Everyone, put in extra effort tonight—skip rest, adjust tomorrow's game rules, and make sure we have results before the day after tomorrow."
"Yes, ma'am!"
The rabbit instructors responded in unison again.
I mulled over what I'd just heard, frowning.
Vessel. Cancer. Body failing...
Could the ultimate winner of the Button Game be chosen to provide a healthy, sharp body?
Like the human organ trafficking ring I'd seen on the news?
The realization sent a chill down my spine.
This wasn't the place to dwell on it. I couldn't calm my mind here, so I decided to head back to the dormitory and submit my task.
Just as I was about to leave, a hand slapped my shoulder from behind.
Vivian's teasing voice rang out. "Gotcha, Night Scout."
My whole body went rigid. I was done for.
Vivian was a patrol.
Worse still, she hadn't bothered to lower her voice. It seemed the rabbit instructors working overtime had already heard her.
I heard footsteps approaching the door.
In that split second, I did something I never would have imagined myself doing.
I shoved Vivian through the doorway.
Then I ducked sideways into the staff break room.
I heard Vivian scream.
The rabbit instructor who opened the door asked coldly, "You heard everything, didn't you?"
Vivian seemed confused. "What?"
The rabbit instructor didn't bother answering. Instead, she clamped a hand over Vivian's mouth and dragged her into the office.
Vivian kept making muffled pleas, struggling constantly.
But the rabbit instructors gave her no chance. With a heavy slam, the door was shut.
Then came several thunderous crashes—like benches hitting the floor.
Accompanied by Vivian's agonizing screams from within.
I closed my eyes. I didn't want to hear any more. I slipped out of the break room and ran toward the dormitory area without looking back.
All the way, I kept telling myself:
I did nothing wrong. That's how it had to be.
Vivian was a patrol. We were competitors. If it came down to it, she wouldn't have shown me mercy either.
Yes. I made the right choice.
She chose the wrong side. That's all there was to it.
That thought steadied my racing heart.
By the time I returned to the dormitory and submitted my task, I was completely numb. Not a shred of guilt remained.
I photographed the roster and sent it to the Rabbit Hall Warden.
After submitting the task successfully, I returned to the dorm with a composed expression.
Quinn wasn't asleep. He'd been waiting for me.
The moment I walked in, he asked immediately, "How'd it go? Did you find anything?"
After what I'd just witnessed, I felt a flicker of suspicion toward Quinn.
I held back some of what I'd learned. "Those rabbits are definitely human—not puppets. Could you have been mistaken before?"
Quinn looked serious. "There's absolutely no way I saw wrong."
I studied his expression carefully. He didn't seem to be lying.
Considering the true purpose of this game—selecting the best body for organ transplantation—it didn't matter who won.
Neither Quinn nor I would ever see that hundred-million prize.
Even the "rebirth" claim was an obvious fraud.
After weighing it all, I decided to tell Quinn everything I'd seen and heard.
Quinn listened with a hint of surprise, though some of it seemed to confirm what he'd already suspected.
His face turned grim. He clenched both fists. "I knew it... I knew it would be something like this."
His expression shifted between grief and fury, teeth grinding.
Something felt off. "How did you know?"
Quinn's emotional state was all wrong.
He seemed lost in his own world. Without saying a word, he pulled the covers over himself and lay down.
Exhausted myself, I collapsed onto my bed.
After lights out, I lay tossing and turning, unable to stop thinking about everything I'd learned.
Tomorrow had to be the last day.
Based on what the rabbit instructors said, tomorrow would be a bloodbath.
Over a hundred people, purged in a single day.
Only the smartest, luckiest, and strongest would survive.
It was like the ancient Gu sorcery of the Miao people—throwing venomous insects into a jar, forcing them to devour each other.
After forty-nine days, only the deadliest insect would remain—the Insect King.
And even the Insect King, having consumed all the others, would become a tool of its master.
Just like us contestants.
Clearing round after round, only to gain nothing in the end.
The more I thought about it, the more certain I became: I couldn't just sit here and wait to die.
I pulled back my covers, crept over to Quinn's bed, and whispered.
"Quinn, let's escape."
4
Failing to fulfill my childhood friend's dying wish was a genuine regret.
But knowing the path ahead led only to death, turning back was the only rational choice.
My friend and his daughter had only each other. With him gone, she was all alone.
If I died too, there'd be no one left to care for her.
So I decided to get out of here. Before I left, I'd ask Quinn one last time.
But Quinn didn't seem to believe me.
When I asked his thoughts, his whole body stiffened. After two seconds of silence, he shook his head.
"I've come this far. I'm seeing this through to the end."
I grew anxious. "I'm not lying to you. There's no hundred-million prize at the end of this game. No rebirth either. You were right all along—we're just lab rats. That old woman is picking young, healthy bodies. If you don't leave tonight, by tomorrow morning it'll be too late."
The old woman's appearance had thrown off the game organizers' schedule.
They'd be working through the night to modify tomorrow's game, designed to increase the death rate.
That meant right now was my window to escape.
But no matter what I said, Quinn refused to leave.
Everyone walks their own path. Life and death are written.
Seeing his resolve, I didn't press further. I got up to leave.
Fearing tracking devices, I left behind everything the game organizers had issued—clothes, phone.
I changed back into my own clothes and abandoned all my luggage.
While changing, a roster slipped from my bag.
It was the one I'd taken from the instructor's desk.
I turned on my flashlight and crouched to retrieve it.
By coincidence, the roster had fallen open to Class 8's contestant records.
I glanced at it—and froze.
Class 8 was my class.
But I didn't recognize a single name on the roster.
It made no sense.
The class monitor wasn't listed as Harrison—he was some girl named Shu Ting.
Puzzled, I flipped through the roster.
Then a familiar name caught my eye.
Class 17 Monitor—Quinn, Number 865.
Wait—Quinn was the monitor of Class 26, Number 3721.
Why did nothing on this roster match?
Could it be a coincidence—someone with the same name?
With my doubts growing, I scanned below Quinn's entry.
There was another person surnamed Qin: Qin Song, Number 866.
865 and 866—two consecutive numbers.
They had to be roommates, just like Quinn and me.