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Ruan Qing's beautiful eyes were vacant and lifeless, as if he were being controlled. His fingertip inched closer to the "Answer" button.
Just before he could press it, a flicker of struggle flashed in his gaze. With all his strength, he bit down on his lower lip—then hurled the phone across the room.
He himself tumbled clumsily from his chair.
The fall wasn’t gentle. Pain radiated through his body, sharpest in his throbbing lip, the sting bringing tears to his eyes.
But he had no time to tend to his injuries. Instead, he quickly clamped his hands over his ears, blocking out as much sound as possible.
The phone, despite being thrown, remained unharmed. The ringing persisted—a whisper from hell, seducing its owner to pick up.
There was something wrong with the ringtone.
Ruan Qing didn’t attempt to smash the phone. In a dungeon like this, where the phone was tied to the "game," losing or damaging it wasn’t an option.
Hanging up might’ve been the safest choice, but without any clues to go on, he didn’t dare risk it.
Most players only uncovered hints through the deaths of others. He had no such luxury.
He was the vengeful ghost’s first target. One misstep, and death would claim him.
After ringing three times, the call finally ceased, leaving behind an oppressive silence.
Ruan Qing waited, tense, for nearly a full minute. When no more sounds came, his rigid posture slackened slightly. He dropped his overstrained hands, collapsing weakly to the floor.
Once his frantic heartbeat steadied, he forced himself up and retrieved the phone.
There was no trace of the call—no missed call log, no record of "4444." It was as if it had all been a hallucination.
Ruan Qing’s face was still pale. He absentmindedly pressed his lips together, then hissed in pain. The sting made his eyes water even more.
A tentative touch confirmed his lower lip was swollen. His fingers came away smeared with blood.
He’d bitten clean through. Crimson trailed down his chin, leaving a vivid, almost poetic streak.
Careful to avoid the wound, he wiped the blood away, then stared pensively at his phone.
Pain could break the ringtone’s control. Having someone nearby to intervene would likely work too.
Avoiding the call didn’t seem difficult.
Any player with half a brain would do the same—never answer that phone.
Yet this dungeon’s survival rate was abysmally low. Recently, it had plummeted even further.
Something was very, very wrong.
Not answering the call didn’t mean there was no danger.
Ruan Qing suspected that as time passed, the compulsion would only grow stronger, making it impossible for players to resist.
Or perhaps there were other dangers lurking.
With too few clues to go on, Ruan Qing pulled out his phone and quickly searched for information on the male college student he had scammed into jumping off a building.
The student’s name was Xiao Mingyu, a sophomore in the Computer Science department. He had jumped from the fourth floor of the university’s Academic Building. The incident had caused an uproar before the school managed to suppress the news.
But no matter how much they tried to bury it, traces remained.
Xiao Mingyu had jumped just after midnight, plummeting from the fourth floor.
Rumors said he hadn’t died instantly—instead, he had bled out slowly. His body wasn’t discovered until the next morning when students arrived for class.
Aside from the injuries from the fall, his wrists and thighs bore other wounds, old and new overlapping, as if he had endured inhuman abuse.
Yet after multiple forensic examinations, it was concluded that they were self-inflicted. He seemed to have attempted suicide many times before.
Multiple suicide attempts?
Ruan Qing frowned slightly, recalling the details of the original owner’s interactions with Xiao Mingyu.
Xiao Mingyu had seemed desperate for money, constantly juggling part-time jobs. His mental state was visibly poor, with heavy dark circles under his eyes—clear signs of severe sleep deprivation.
He was also an extremely reserved person, always dressing in layers, covering himself completely, and never letting anyone touch him.
Once, while the original owner was walking with him to "discuss business," a car had sped toward them. The original owner tried to pull him aside, but the moment their hands made contact, Xiao Mingyu flinched away unnaturally—so abruptly that he nearly got hit.
The original owner had simply assumed he was overly cautious and didn’t think much of it. But now, Ruan Qing carefully replayed the memory and realized something was off.
When Xiao Mingyu pulled his hand back, his expression had flickered with pain—as if he’d been touched on a wound.
He must have already been self-harming by then.
But that was before the original owner had scammed him out of everything. In fact, the scam hadn’t even begun yet. So why was he hurting himself?
Something wasn’t right. Xiao Mingyu wasn’t right.
Ruan Qing pulled up the original owner’s chat logs with Xiao Mingyu and began scrutinizing their conversations.
Xiao Mingyu had been somewhat reclusive, rarely speaking unless spoken to. His replies were always brief—just answering what was asked, nothing more.
The chat history between the two looked more like the original owner prying into personal details, while Xiao Mingyu’s replies were airtight.
When faced with questions he didn’t want to answer, he’d either sidestep them or outright change the subject.
On the surface, it seemed like the original owner was steering the conversation, but in reality, Xiao Mingyu was the one pulling the strings.
Someone like that—how could he have been scammed into bankruptcy by the original owner? How could he have jumped to his death?
Ruan Qing lowered his gaze slightly, fingertips brushing the edge of his phone. Whether Xiao Mingyu was a vengeful ghost or not, he was undoubtedly key to this dungeon. It was best to start with him.
It was already late. Nights in the dungeon were especially dangerous, but after taking a deep breath, Ruan Qing left the classroom anyway.
If danger really lurked, staying in an empty classroom wouldn’t guarantee safety. Better to investigate Xiao Mingyu.
This was the first night in the dungeon—perhaps his only remaining safe window.
University dormitories locked their doors at night. Even if he knew Xiao Mingyu’s room number, he couldn’t get in. So Ruan Qing headed straight for the study hall.
With finals approaching, plenty of students pulled all-nighters there.
Ruan Qing observed from the shadows for nearly ten minutes before finally stepping into the study hall, a baseball cap pulled low. He casually took a seat at one of the occupied desks, as if it had always been his.
He wasn’t subtle about sitting down, but the student beside him didn’t even glance up, too absorbed in his textbook, pen scratching notes.
Ruan Qing hadn’t chosen this spot at random. The guy next to him was a computer science major.
If anyone knew about Xiao Mingyu, it’d be someone from his department.
Pretending to peek at the student’s materials, Ruan Qing leaned in. “Huh? Data Structures? You’re in CompSci too?”
Without waiting for an answer, he lowered his voice, eyes gleaming with gossip. “Then you must know about Xiao Mingyu, right?”
Being interrupted during a late-night study session was annoying, but the student’s cold retort died in his throat the moment he heard the voice beside him.
A faint, elusive hint of orchid fragrance lingered in the air. His body tensed inexplicably, lips pressing into a thin line.
“…Yeah, I know.”
Ruan Qing lit up, as if he’d found a kindred spirit. “I don’t think it was suicide. I knew Xiao Mingyu—he didn’t seem like the type.”
"I think there’s something unnatural about his death."
The male student inhaled the faint, elusive scent of orchids lingering in the air. His thumb absently rubbed against the pen in his hand, his expression darkening. He spoke in a low voice.
"He didn’t."
"He didn’t kill himself." His answer was unnervingly certain—more than Ruan Qing had expected, as if he knew exactly how Xiao Mingyu had died.
Ruan Qing’s eyes narrowed slightly before he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Have you... heard about the midnight call?"
"I suspect Xiao Mingyu’s death is connected to it."
With Ruan Qing now inches away, the orchid fragrance grew stronger, intoxicating—almost designed to stir something primal in the mind.
The male student went still. He set down his pen and finally turned to face Ruan Qing. "You received a call from 4444?"
Though phrased as a question, his tone left no room for doubt. It was a statement.
The words hit Ruan Qing like a thunderclap. His expression froze as he stared at the other’s strikingly handsome face. His lips parted, but it took several seconds before he managed to speak, his voice pale.
"...How did you know?"
"Self-harm is the first step toward death." The male student’s gaze dropped to Ruan Qing’s lips. He lightly tapped his own thin mouth, his voice eerily calm. "You’re going to die."
The man was right. Ruan Qing had bitten his own lips raw. It wasn’t the same as cutting, but the intent was no different.
The terrifying part? The man had recognized it at a glance—and from that alone, pieced together the entire truth.
He knew about the death calls. He knew how Xiao Mingyu really died.
But Ruan Qing felt no relief at uncovering the information. Instead, his heart plummeted.
He’d... just asked the wrong person.
An ordinary classmate wouldn’t know these details. Wouldn’t be this unnervingly composed.
And the way the male student looked at him—that hungry, undisguised darkness in his eyes—was no different from the other monsters he’d encountered.
This wasn’t a normal student. He was likely a key NPC in this nightmare dungeon.
And Ruan Qing had delivered himself to him on the very first night.
He wanted to run. But his body refused to move, paralyzed as if by the man’s declaration—'You’re going to die.' His lips trembled, but no sound came out.
The male classmate gazed at the other’s jade-white chin, his tone indifferent as he spoke, “Do you want to live?”
“If you want to live… how about we make a deal?”
Ruan Qing looked utterly fragile and uneasy. His lips parted slightly before he finally whispered, “…What kind of deal?”
The male classmate’s eyes lingered on Ruan Qing’s slightly swollen lips, his expression darkening. His voice dropped to a husky murmur, “Help me… relieve some physical urges. What do you say?”
Without waiting for an answer, he tightened his grip on Ruan Qing’s wrist and pulled him closer.
