Pushing open the door, the players were greeted by an empty ballroom. Not only was the stage vacant, but so were the seats in the audience area—there wasn’t a single soul in sight.
Six players entered the ballroom.
The ballroom wasn’t very large, capable of seating around five hundred people.
Lights dimly illuminated the perimeter, casting just enough glow for the players to take in the whole room’s layout.
They proceeded backstage.
Backstage, too, was desolate, devoid of any other presence.
“Ten minutes to three,” Lu Haidi reminded them, peeking out toward the audience area, which remained empty. Not a single spectator was visible.
According to the note they received, an audience was supposed to attend their performance. However, what kind of audience they would be expecting had yet to be revealed.
Surely they wouldn’t be conjuring people out of thin air?
Gu Jiu surveyed the ballroom for anything unusual but found nothing out of the ordinary. She turned her attention to the other three players who were set to perform alongside her and asked, “Are there any additional conditions for the roles you’ll be playing? I’m cast as the ‘Injured Dancer.’”
Lu Haidi’s expression shifted slightly as he replied, “I’m playing the role of the ‘Musician of Death.’”
The other two players exchanged glances and said, “I’m the ‘Singer with a Ruined Voice.’”
“I’m the ‘Mad Clown.’”
After each had shared their roles, they wore uneasy expressions. The characters they’d been assigned all seemed like death traps, with no clear way to avoid their fates.
Gu Jiu pondered for a moment and then said, “Let’s adapt to the situation as it unfolds.”
The other three male players nodded silently.
At 3:00 PM, the four players took their places on stage.
Suddenly, the stage lights blazed to life, illuminating the four of them.
Lu Ji and Ruan Yuan hid backstage, carefully observing the ballroom. As the stage lights flared up, they were struck by a shocking realization: the once-empty audience seats were now completely filled.
It was as if these figures had materialized out of nowhere.
Due to the way the ballroom was lit—with only the stage illuminated while the rest of the room lay shrouded in darkness—the audience appeared as a mass of shadowy figures, making it impossible to discern their features.
It was unclear if they were even human.
The sudden burst of bright light stung the eyes of Lu Haidi and the others, causing them to instinctively close their eyes.
Squinting, Gu Jiu managed to get a clear view of the scene unfolding below. Amidst the darkness, a grotesque spectacle played out—a crowd of black figures, their bodies glowing with an eerie, dark-red light, faced the stage. They waved their hands frenetically, faces contorted in silent screams, urging those onstage to start the show.
It was a silent spectacle, a pantomime that was both soundless and riotous.
Gu Jiu quickly reminded them, “The show’s starting—get into your roles, now.”
With that, she gracefully sat down on the stage floor, pressing her hand to her foot, and pulled a dramatically pained expression across her face.
The other three players, still disoriented from the harsh stage lights, hadn’t fully adjusted to the scene below. Seeing her actions, they momentarily froze in confusion.
“What are you waiting for?”
Her voice was edged with impatience, and the three men, jolted back to reality, scrambled to find their places.
Lu Haidi sat at the stage’s only piano, while the other two male players took up positions—one standing beside the piano, the other farther off. After all, no specific spots had been assigned to the singer and clown; they could pick their own places.
A single stage, hosting a dancer, musician, singer, and clown together—quite the absurd combination.
They suspected that the “audience” wouldn’t have any real appreciation for art if this bizarre lineup was anything to go by.
Then, they found themselves at a loss, uncertain of what to do next.
“Start playing!” Gu Jiu urged, thinking to herself that these C-rank players might lack even the most basic ability to improvise under pressure.
If Lu Haidi and the others had heard her inner thoughts, they would have protested on the spot.
They were still trying to wrap their minds around their roles, having no idea how to act or react in a way that might help them avoid these death traps.
Fortunately, Lu Haidi’s experience kicked in. He steadied himself, but as he looked at the piano in front of him, he felt an impending sense of doom.
As a hardened man of steel, he knew nothing about playing an instrument, let alone performing “death music.” Was he supposed to play with his life on the line, perhaps using his own body to produce sound if he failed?
With no other choice, he pressed down on the black and white keys randomly.
A cacophony of jarring, discordant notes filled the stage. It couldn’t even be called music. While his fingers roamed chaotically over the keys, Lu Haidi stayed on high alert, vigilantly watching his surroundings.
But then, as he continued pressing the keys, he felt a strange, invisible force guiding his hands. The chaotic noise gradually shifted into a coherent melody. Yet, the music was unnervingly cold, like taut strings or tearing silk, exuding a lethal chill that pierced the mind and invoked madness.
Lu Haidi’s fingers danced quickly across the keys, but his expression was one of sheer terror.
Beside him, the singer and clown were equally paralyzed with shock. As the horrifying music reverberated, they, too, found themselves no longer in control.
The singer opened his mouth, emitting a raspy sound, somewhere between a scream and a release of pent-up anguish. He tried to stop himself, only to realize he was powerless. His throat throbbed with excruciating pain, as if a blade were scraping through it, leaving unbearable agony.
The clown had already descended into madness. He was down on all fours, repeatedly smashing his head against the floor. Blood trickled from his forehead, tears and mucus mingling as he sobbed uncontrollably.
Though fully conscious, his body moved in wild, uncontrollable fits.
The only one maintaining composure onstage was Gu Jiu.
She remained seated on the ground, one hand pressing her leg to keep up her injured act, her eyes slightly narrowed as she scrutinized the audience below.
She was the injured dancer, and starting the performance by showing pain was perfectly logical, wasn’t it?
Shortly after the music of death began, Gu Jiu felt an invisible force compelling her to stand and dance gracefully.
Remaining calm, she allowed the force to guide her movements, her gaze fixed firmly on the stage.
The more pain the performers showed, the more the audience’s frenzy intensified.
They waved their hands wildly, cheering and shouting in twisted delight at the performers, who appeared to be on the brink of death. Though their faces remained obscured, their frenzied gestures revealed their sheer joy and excitement over the fatal performance unfolding on stage. The eerie, dark red glow emanating from their bodies made it clear to her that these spectators were anything but human.
Backstage, Ruan Yuan watched anxiously, desperate to intervene. She nearly lunged forward, held back only by an invisible barrier preventing her from reaching the stage.
“What should we do?” Ruan Yuan asked in agitation. “Some force is controlling their bodies—they can’t escape it.”
Lu Ji said nothing, his dark eyes fixed on the stage, watching the dancer intently.
Her movements were elegant, her figure slender and delicate, her waist so slim it seemed it might break with a single bend. Each twist and arch of her body drew graceful, mesmerizing arcs that captivated anyone watching.
Every movement was beautiful, her steps light and ethereal, as if she were a butterfly flitting in the air.
Yet, each time she spun, there was a slight stumble, hinting at an injured foot that kept her from executing smooth turns, tugging at the hearts of those watching.
Ruan Yuan glanced over at Lu Ji, noticing her unwavering gaze on the stage, and asked, “Aren’t you worried about your companion?”
After entering the game last night, she had observed the players carefully, noting that these two girls seemed close and exuded a clear, sincere aura. That’s why she had chosen them for an alliance today, aiming to gauge potential allies.
Such a strategy was simply practical, an exchange of information. She always chose people of good character for these arrangements, allowing for brief cooperation if they proved trustworthy.
Yet, seeing Lu Ji’s composed expression, Ruan Yuan couldn’t help but doubt her previous judgment. Had she misread their relationship?
“I trust Ah Jiu,” Lu Ji said calmly.
“Hmm?” Ruan Yuan frowned.
Before she could ask further, a sudden change occurred on stage.
In the middle of a turn, Gu Jiu suddenly leapt to the side. A sharp dagger plunged down from above, aimed precisely at her head. If she hadn’t dodged, it would have struck straight into her skull, piercing through her head.
Ruan Yuan’s eyes widened in shock.
But even more astonishing was what happened next. After her swift sidestep, Gu Jiu regained full control over her body. She seized the dagger embedded in the stage and sprinted toward Lu Haidi and the others, dragging the blade across the piano keys to disrupt the death music.
In a fluid series of moves, she then kicked the singer, who was gasping as though his throat were clutched in an unseen grip, and grabbed the clown by the head, slamming his face down onto the piano.
This swift, decisive action not only broke the death melody but also freed the three of them from the mysterious force that had bound them.
The sudden turn of events sent the audience into an uproar.
The audience, furious, suddenly rose from their seats and began shouting wildly at the stage, protesting that she had ruined the performance.
Holding the dagger, Gu Jiu faced the crazed figures in the audience and barked, “What’s with all the noise? If you want to argue, come up here and do it! I’ll argue with every last one of you!”
The audience, frozen mid-motion, suddenly fell silent, as if an invisible hand had seized their throats.
Meanwhile, Lu Haidi and the other two players knelt on the ground, gasping heavily. Only Gu Jiu stood there, illuminated by the bright lights, facing the audience with an arrogant defiance, her delicate yet fierce expression cold as frost.
Ruan Yuan, clutching her chest, could hardly tear her eyes away from Gu Jiu on the stage.
“Oh my god, her aura is just overwhelming…she’s so fierce!”
Her heart raced—Gu Jiu’s commanding presence was enough to leave even another woman in awe.
Due to Gu Jiu’s sudden show of dominance, the stage lights finally dimmed, and a faint glow replaced them around the ballroom. The shadowy figures in the audience dissipated like smoke.
When they looked again, the ballroom was once more empty and silent, with no sign of any shadowy figures.
The barrier gone, Ruan Yuan hurried over to help Lu Haidi to his feet, asking worriedly, “Brother Lu, are you alright?”
Lu Haidi shook his head. Though exhausted, he hadn’t sustained any physical injuries.
However, the other two male players hadn’t fared as well—one had damaged his throat to the point that he couldn’t speak without coughing up blood, while the other had head injuries, the result of his own repeated self-inflicted blows.
Lu Ji walked over and looked at Gu Jiu’s leg. “Is your foot okay?”
Gu Jiu leaned on her with a hint of exhaustion and replied, “So tired…and yes, my foot hurts. Ah Ji, my foot was fine at first, but during the dance, that force kept twisting it until it hurt.”
Lu Ji supported her and remarked, “You should have pretended it was your hand that was injured instead; that way, it wouldn’t affect your walking.”
“Oh, right! I was playing an injured dancer; it didn’t specify that it had to be my foot that was hurt.” Gu Jiu laughed at her own oversight, then shrugged.
“But if it were my hand, I couldn’t have convincingly stayed on the ground at the start of the performance.”
Ruan Yuan, intrigued, asked, “Sister, did you fake the injury earlier? Did it help?”
“Not in the slightest,” Gu Jiu replied nonchalantly.
“Then how did you break free from the control?”
Ruan Yuan’s curiosity was echoed by the other players, who looked at Gu Jiu with relief and gratitude. Had she not managed to free herself and then help them, they would likely have had no choice but to use their substitute cards to escape. But with only one substitute card each, any further death traps would truly be deadly.
Gu Jiu explained, “I used a tool.”
Everyone: “.…” Oh. Well, that made sense.
With the day’s shoot complete, the players, drained both physically and mentally, left the ballroom and returned to the lobby on the first floor.
Seven players had already gathered there, all looking equally worn. Some had bloodstains on their clothes, while others looked utterly drained.
Seeing the six of them appear, leaning on each other for support, the other players barely glanced up before returning to their rest.
Gu Jiu felt a faint ache in her leg, causing her to frown in annoyance. It was an unnecessary injury—completely avoidable—yet here she was, her foot aching from having to play an injured dancer. Had those ghostly spectators not fled so quickly, she might have given them a taste of her “ripping-ghosts-apart” skills.
“Um, I have a healing patch—would you like one?”
A weak voice spoke up, and Gu Jiu looked over. It was the male player who had played the clown. Seeing his head still covered in blood, Gu Jiu felt a bit of sympathy and asked, “Does that actually work?”
“It does,” the clown player replied. “I bought it from Boundless City. It’s good for minor injuries. Stick it where it hurts, and it’ll heal quickly.”
He paused, then added, “And thank you again for earlier. If it weren’t for you, I’d have had to use my substitute card.”
Although he had already thanked her back in the ballroom, he wanted to express his gratitude more tangibly.
Gu Jiu accepted the healing patch without hesitation. Just as she bent down to lift her skirt, Lu Ji was already at her side, gently pulling up the hem, taking off her boot, and placing the healing patch on the sore spot.
The pain in her foot faded almost instantly.
Gu Jiu’s face showed a trace of surprise. She hadn’t realized how effective Boundless City’s items could be.
But even if she now understood their utility, her previous D-rank earnings couldn’t have afforded such luxuries. She would have to wait until she’d accumulated enough points to shop in Boundless City.
Lu Ji checked her foot, and once he confirmed the pain was gone, he carefully put her shoe back on.
Internally, he felt a pang of frustration. Because she rarely got hurt, he’d never thought to prepare these small conveniences. If he’d had one on hand, Gu Jiu wouldn’t have needed to rely on another man’s healing patch.
A tinge of inexplicable dissatisfaction welled up within him.