I hadn't fulfilled my friend's dying wish—and that weighed on me.
But knowing the path ahead led only to death, I had to turn back.
My friend's daughter had no one else. If I died here, who would take care of her?
So I decided to escape. I asked Quinn if he wanted to come.
But Quinn refused. He shook his head. "I've come this far. I need to see it through."
I grew anxious. "I'm not lying—there's no hundred-million prize, no resurrection. We're lab rats for some rich old woman harvesting healthy bodies. If you don't leave tonight, tomorrow will be too late."
Her arrival had disrupted the game's schedule—they'd be working overtime to accelerate eliminations.
Tonight was the only window.
But no matter what I said, Quinn wouldn't budge.
Everyone chooses their own path.
I stopped pushing and got ready to leave.
I didn't take anything the game had given me—no uniform, no phone—in case they had tracking.
I changed back into my own clothes and left my luggage behind.
As I changed, the class register fell from my bag.
Carrying a flashlight, I bent to pick it up and noticed it had fallen open to Class 8's roster.
I glanced at it—and froze.
Class 8 was my class. But every name on the roster was unfamiliar.
The class monitor wasn't listed as Harrison. Instead, a woman named Shuting was listed.
Puzzled, I flipped further through the register.
Then a name caught my eye: Class 17 Monitor—Quinn, number 865.
That made no sense. Quinn was the monitor of Class 26, number 3721.
Why was everything different from what we knew?
Could there be two people named Quinn?
I scanned further down—there was also a Qin Sòng, number 866.
865 and 866—consecutive numbers. Roommates, like Quinn and me.
Something was very wrong.
But I pushed the thought aside. If I escaped, Quinn and his secrets wouldn't matter anyway.
I dropped the register and headed for the door.
Quinn suddenly sat up, all trace of playfulness gone, his voice grave: "You won't make it out."
His tone unsettled me—more warning than concern.
Was he going to report me?
I couldn't take that risk.
I stepped back to his bed, pretending to continue the conversation. "What do you mean—"
As he looked up, I struck—five fingers formed into a blade, driving hard into the back of his neck.
Quinn collapsed, unconscious.
I checked his breathing—steady and slow.
With him out cold and no longer a threat, I turned and left.
The corridor was pitch black and silent.
I crept along the wall, using the floor's guide lights, navigating from memory.
After several turns, I exited the dormitory area.
The air changed—damp and fresh. I was outside, near the Greek goddess statue where Harrison and I had found our mission point.
Streetlamps cast faint pools of light. I knew the layout well by now.
The main entrance was on the opposite side—too heavily guarded.
I needed another way out.
I crept past the statue, careful to avoid any cameras.
Beyond the flowerbeds, I reached a fork—left led to the indoor basketball court, right was the path Harrison and I had taken before.
I chose the path I hadn't taken last time.
Old footprints still marked the muddy ground. I stepped carefully in their prints to leave no new traces.
The outer perimeter was sealed by four-meter iron fences topped with dense, crackling electric grids.
No wonder Quinn said escape was impossible.
I crouched in the flowerbed, contemplating retreat.
Then I noticed a strip of white cloth tied to a branch.
Written in black marker, with an arrow, were the words: "Escape exit—this way."
My pulse quickened. Had someone escaped before me and left a trail for others?
I had no other options. I followed the arrows through the flowerbeds.
Another strip appeared. Same message. Same arrow.
The trail led to a narrow corner where a brownish-red door stood.
A cloth strip on the handle read simply: "Exit."
I didn't hesitate. I opened the door and stepped inside.
The room was a triangular bedroom.
Two doors—one I'd entered through, and opposite it, a pale green door with a glass panel.
I peeked through the glass and saw a winding mountain road, streetlamps, and a truck driving by.
No fences, no electric grid. This door led outside.
I tried the handle—locked.
Beside it, in tiny black marker: "Find the clue inside, and this door will open."
I searched the room. American-style decor, a single bed, a coat rack, a bookshelf, a desk with an old CRT monitor.
The screen was black, pulsing with red text: "Want to escape? Click OK to start the challenge."
I sat at the desk, put on the headphones, and clicked OK.
The red text vanished. After a moment, a woman's piercing scream erupted from the headphones, and red blood trickled down the screen.
Unfazed—I found the horror gimmick dated.
Then an animation played: a van driving along a mountain road, stopping at a hunter's cabin.
Five people emerged—four men, one woman—and entered the cabin.
The interior was identical to the room I was standing in.
This time, real fear set in. When a game bleeds into reality, everything changes.
The animation froze. A dialogue box appeared: "Premise: You are Max. These four are your friends. You've entered a real-life murder mystery game, but your friends don't know that you plan to poison them tonight for a cash prize."
I clicked "I Understand."
Four screams rang out simultaneously. Day turned to night. The four people vanished from the room.
From Max's perspective, I stood in the center of the room. Another prompt: "You poisoned their drinks, but only three drank. One didn't—yet they all died. Find the bodies and investigate."
No options appeared. I had to search the real room.
I'd already checked everywhere except the ceiling vents and beneath the floorboards.
I remembered that the floorboards near the bed had sounded different when I walked over them.
Dragging a toolkit from under the bed, I found a trowel and pried up the boards.
Four human-shaped dolls lay buried beneath—covered in dark red paint, their exposed skin blotchy and pockmarked.
The game had specifically said they were poisoned—why did they have external wounds?
I pulled the dolls out one by one.
When I removed the last one, a mechanism clicked.
Alarms blared. Ceiling sprinklers activated, drenching me.
I shouted at the camera: "There's no fire—false alarm! Shut it off!"
No response.
Wait—fire?
I examined the dolls' wounds more closely. These weren't poison marks. They were burns!
"They were burned to death—not poisoned!"
As I realized this, a new message appeared on screen.
"Congratulations—you found the first clue. Continue investigating to find more clues. Collect four clues that prove Max's innocence, and you'll receive his thank-you gift... including a key that opens the cabin door!"
The game's objective was clear: Max was framed—he wasn't the real killer.
Water was rising. The timer showed 3:06 on the computer—low battery, five percent remaining.
I needed to move fast.
I placed the computer somewhere dry and continued searching. Behind a loose envelope between two books on the shelf, I found IOU notes—a man named Tyson had borrowed nearly 100,000 yuan from Max.
The most recent document was a court summons—Max suing Tyson for unpaid debts.
If Tyson owed Max money and was being sued, why would he come to this cabin?
Unless Max had lured him here to kill him.
A second thought: could Max have been the killer after all?
Water was rising past my waist now.
Then the wall phone rang.
"Hello, Max—our records show your game account was accessed from two different IP addresses. Please protect your password to avoid losing your bonus. Good luck and enjoy the game."
Two IPs. Someone else had access to Max's account.
The other cabin occupants were Potter (Max's roommate), Felix, and Tyson. Potter had already produced one clue.
I entered my deduction about Felix into the computer.
A prompt: "Two indirect clues can be exchanged for one direct clue hint. Proceed?"
Yes.
"Yuna was pregnant with Potter's child and wanted to break up with Max. Potter refused to let the truth come out and demanded she have an abortion. They fought."
I pulled Yuna's doll from the water and lifted her hair—beneath it, hidden by burns, was a faint bruise in the shape of a hand around her throat.
Potter had likely killed Yuna accidentally during their argument.
I found a hidden compartment in a picture frame—a USB drive inside.
I plugged it into the laptop and watched a video.
It was surveillance footage from inside the cabin.
Max had gone to the van for supplies—actually retrieving drugs he'd prepared.
Tyson followed him out to relieve himself. Felix watched Max suspiciously, then followed too.
Alone, Yuna told Potter about the pregnancy. He refused. They fought—he strangled her.
Max and Felix returned. Potter hid the body under the bed, claiming Yuna had stepped out for a call.
Later, Tyson was killed by a falling knife during a scuggle. Potter froze—but Felix grabbed the knife and slit Potter's throat.
"Yuna and Tyson are dead because of you," Felix said coldly. "I killed Potter to avenge them."
Then Felix opened the gas, lit a paper on fire, and threw it on Potter's body. The flames spread fast.
Felix tried to leave—but the door was locked, and all windows sealed.
All four burned to death.
Burns covered their other injuries. Unless you looked closely, you'd never know.
I submitted the third clue: "Felix started the fire—he's the real killer, not Max."
The message confirmed I'd found all four clues—but something was missing. I'd skipped one.
I scrubbed through the video again. When Felix tried the door—it wouldn't open. But Max had used his key twice when leaving.
The door had a special lock: free entry, but you could only exit with the key.
And Max had the only key.
Water was up to my neck. I submitted: "The cabin door can only be opened from the outside with a key—Max was locked out. He couldn't have been the killer."
A chime: "All four clues found. You've proven Max's innocence. You receive the key!"
The room's drain opened and water began receding.
I followed Max's pointing gesture in the final video frame and found the key in the computer desk drawer.
Trembling with excitement, I rushed to unlock the exit door.
But when it opened, my heart sank.
The mountain road, the streetlamps, the passing truck—all just a lifelike LCD screen.
The same trick they'd used in the dormitory windows.
I slammed my fist against the door in fury.
All that effort—for nothing.
Red lights began flashing: "Warning! Do not damage game equipment. Punishment activated."
Four blue electrical bolts shot from the wall corners. My body convulsed. My legs buckled and I collapsed.