Seeing that Gu Jiu was ready to share some information, Chai Yingying glanced at Zhan Shaohong, noticing that this simp was staring at Gu Jiu in a daze—completely hopeless.
She didn’t hold high regard for players like Zhan Shaohong, who relied on his powerful older brother as a “second-generation dependent,” but the Reincarnation Hall was willing to shell out a significant amount of points for her to enter the game world to protect him. With not only points but also rare item rewards on the line, she gladly accepted this mission.
Zhan Shaohong himself was talentless yet obsessed with beauty. To make sure he behaved, she had to pretend to admire him, showering him with compliments and humor, so he wouldn’t put himself in harm’s way while she was busy.
Aside from protecting him, it would be a bonus to earn points within the game world.
Chai Yingying wasn’t one to turn down points and also wanted to understand the dangers within the game world. So, she didn’t merely follow Zhan Shaohong blindly; she wanted to grasp the situation in the game world as quickly as possible.
Information sharing among unfamiliar players in the game was rare; this directly impacted their points and their ability to clear the level. No one would be foolish enough to share information openly. Gu Jiu, who was initiating a natural exchange of information, caught her off guard.
Zhan Shaohong was clearly unreliable in this regard, and if she didn’t speak up, he would likely start urging her to do so.
After a moment’s thought, Chai Yingying said, “I think this hotel might have more than ten floors—there could be a hidden floor.”
The players present looked at her in surprise.
As soon as they arrived at the hotel, they had already scouted the environment, even measuring each floor with their steps and observing carefully, leaving no room for anomalies. They had gone from the first floor to the tenth and even the top floor, and they had stepped outside the hotel to look up. There was no sign of a hidden floor anywhere.
From every angle, the hotel appeared to have only ten floors.
Gu Jiu asked with interest, “Did you find any clues?”
Under everyone’s gaze, Chai Yingying explained calmly, “Yesterday, I went up the emergency stairwell, moving from the second to the third floor. When I opened the door to the third floor, I noticed something off. The layout was completely different—the emergency doors, the rooms, and even the positioning of the rooms were the opposite of every other floor…”
The first floor of the hotel held the lobby, staff quarters, and storage areas, while the second floor was the restaurant and kitchen. The third to tenth floors were guest rooms, and all seven guest floors shared identical layouts. Once a player had walked through them, there was no mistaking it.
Upon discovering that the third-floor layout was reversed, she knew something was wrong.
Even Zhan Shaohong, who had been staring intently at Gu Jiu, couldn’t help but look over and urge her, “Did you go in? Find anything?”
Chai Yingying shook her head. “I had a bad feeling, so I didn’t go in.”
Her expression grew a bit solemn.
In the game world, players’ instincts were notoriously accurate. She had a premonition that if she had entered that “third floor,” the outcome would not have been good; she might even have died.
Despite the unique opportunity, she had reluctantly given it up.
This hidden third floor could be the very secret that Ai Hui Hotel was desperate to keep concealed. Perhaps, if they entered, they might even find the “Lingyuan” and complete their mission. Chai Yingying understood the importance of the information she’d discovered, but it was too dangerous to explore alone. She couldn’t handle it on her own, so she might as well see if the other players had any ideas.
After a moment of thought, Gu Jiu smiled at Chai Yingying and said, “Thank you. This information is really useful. If I find anything valuable, I’ll let you know as well.”
It was a fair trade; Gu Jiu didn’t want to take advantage of her.
Chai Yingying flashed a charming smile. “Sure, I’ll be waiting.”
It was rare to meet a C-level player with such immense potential in a C-level instance, and Chai Yingying was intrigued. She wondered if Gu Jiu could one day become an S-level player.
The other players’ eyes gleamed with interest as well. They were clearly curious about this hidden “third floor.” Most likely, they would attempt to find it soon.
“Last night’s attack, I believe everyone experienced it, so I’ll get straight to the point,” Gu Jiu said. “I suspect the force attacking us is connected to the Lingyuan, though it could also be something else.”
Once again, her words captured the players’ attention.
“Couldn’t it just be ghosts?” someone suggested. Given the silent, invisible nature of the attack, they leaned toward ghosts as the culprits.
After all, ghosts are known for their ability to hide, and under normal circumstances, players have no way of seeing them.
Gu Jiu responded calmly, “No ghosts appeared.”
What did she mean by that?
The players exchanged glances, wondering. Was Gu Jiu somehow able to detect the presence or absence of ghosts?
Chai Yingying seemed intrigued but quickly caught on. “You may be onto something,” she said.
She didn’t pry further into why Gu Jiu was so certain there were no ghosts involved in the attacks. Players each had unique skills, and perhaps Gu Jiu possessed the ability to see ghosts or sense them with a special tool. There was no need to disclose such abilities unless there was deep trust between players.
After breakfast, Gu Jiu and her team went to the hotel lobby.
At the counter, Gu Jiu retrieved the guest log from a drawer, flipping to the players’ registration page. Just as expected, only fourteen players remained registered.
None of the three looked surprised.
“It seems another five died last night,” Wan Xingzhou muttered, feeling a chill down his spine. “Considering the situation, I was lucky to survive last night.”
His luck always seemed terrible—misfortunes piled up one after another, yet somehow, he managed to stay alive.
Maybe he was like a cockroach in a past life, he thought.
“You should be grateful your bad luck kept you from sleeping. That’s probably why you didn’t get killed in your sleep,” Lu Ji added helpfully.
Wan Xingzhou pouted, not exactly appreciating the “helpful” reminder.
After checking the registry, Gu Jiu signaled them to head to the elevator and go up to the third floor.
Wan Xingzhou asked, puzzled, “Miss, are you looking for the hidden third floor? We should probably take the stairwell; the elevator won’t reach any hidden floors.”
Gu Jiu replied, “We’ll get to that later. First, I want to check the rooms of the five players who died last night.”
She was testing him to see if he would experience any hallucinations, wasn’t she?
Wan Xingzhou’s face scrunched up, but he didn’t protest. As a loyal follower, he had to do as she instructed.
He knew his place well—both Gu Jiu and Lu Ji were top-tier players, either fully-fledged or on their way to becoming elites, while he was just a walking bad-luck charm who couldn’t hope to compare and often ended up being a liability. His former teammates had learned this the hard way; those who survived didn’t want anything to do with him afterward.
Over time, Wan Xingzhou stopped looking for partners. Being solo was simpler.
It was only after witnessing Gu Jiu’s skill and strength in their previous game that he’d mustered the courage to join her team.
Though he didn’t fully understand why Gu Jiu agreed to let him join, he resolved to prove his worth. With his current abilities, being her subordinate felt like the best he could contribute.
Wan Xingzhou was cooperative with Gu Jiu’s experiment.
Reaching a room on the third floor, he moved forward without waiting for instructions and kicked open the door, narrowly dodging a splinter of wood flying toward his eye from inside.
A paper crane flew in and intercepted the splinter of wood, only to disintegrate into fragments itself.
Wan Xingzhou broke out in a cold sweat. Although the apothecaries in the Boundless City carried numerous spiritual medicines from the cultivation world—medicines that could even regenerate an eye—it would still be an excruciatingly painful process.
And it wasn’t over yet. As he watched, a silent horror scene unfolded before him in the room.
One of the players was dismembered by an invisible force, their body sliced into countless pieces. The player had died alive, their eyes bulging, mouth open in a silent scream. The stifling stench of blood filled the air…
Then Wan Xingzhou realized that the blood scent wasn’t an illusion—it was real.
The shock was overwhelming.
Gu Jiu and Lu Ji, standing nearby, looked into the room to see blood and chunks of flesh and bone scattered across the walls and floor. The blood had already turned black, emitting a horrifying odor. The remains…
The two understood immediately; these were likely the corpses of the players who died the previous night.
Unlike the first night, the bodies of those who died last night were still there, torn apart in a way that rivaled the worst serial killers. It was horrifying.
The situation inside the room was so revolting that none of them wanted to enter.
Wan Xingzhou quietly closed the door he had kicked open, clutching his chest as he said weakly, “Miss, I just saw the player who stayed in this room being dismembered. An invisible force was slicing his body…”
Gu Jiu nodded. “It’s the same force that attacked us last night.”
Wan Xingzhou nodded grimly. “This kind of killing force that comes out of nowhere is terrifying. There’s no trace of where it comes from…”
If it were a ghost, even an invisible one, the players would have some means to counter it. But this was an entirely different kind of invisible power—something they couldn’t guard against. It reminded him of the “Death Movie” mission, where the players’ lives were controlled by an inescapable rule, one that could only be evaded by using substitute cards or other specific items.
After checking all the rooms of the deceased players and encountering various forms of attacks, Wan Xingzhou felt numb to it all.
It was also clear how unlucky he was; each time, he was the one targeted by the attacks. Fortunately, Gu Jiu and Lu Ji reacted quickly enough to save him from being killed.
Every time, Wan Xingzhou vividly saw the players’ deaths unfold before his eyes.
He didn’t know if it was an illusion or some rule that rewound time to let him witness the exact moments before the players died.
Gu Jiu looked thoughtfully at Wan Xingzhou.
Under her steady gaze, he felt a chill down his spine. But what unsettled him more was Lu Ji’s expression; as long as Gu Jiu stared at him, Lu Ji held that same enigmatic look.
Finally, Gu Jiu spoke, “Wan Xingzhou, have you awakened any special powers?”
Wan Xingzhou wasn’t surprised by her question. Calmly, he replied, “I’ve awakened a skill that lets me sense emotions—a kind of empathy talent. I can feel the emotions of everything around me. It’s pretty useless, honestly.”
“Not necessarily.”
Hm?
Wan Xingzhou looked at Gu Jiu, a bit dumbfounded, unsure of what she meant.
Gu Jiu smiled. “This is just my theory. Wan Xingzhou, out of all the players here, why is it only you who can see these visions? You’re even able to witness the players’ final moments. Haven’t you wondered why?”
Without hesitation, Wan Xingzhou replied, “Of course! It’s because I’m just unlucky.”
Gu Jiu paused. “…You really are unlucky, but for all your bad luck, you haven’t been killed. Isn’t that a form of luck in itself?”
Wan Xingzhou felt indignant; he had worked hard to survive, carving out his own space to live. Bad luck was manageable as long as he didn’t surrender to fate. By striving to become stronger and using that strength to counter his misfortune, he’d managed to survive against the odds.
Gu Jiu said, “Your awakened talent isn’t just about sensing the emotions of everything around you; there’s another innate ability you haven’t discovered yet.”
“What is it?” Wan Xingzhou looked at her with anticipation.
Players knew that those with strong spiritual seeds within them could awaken unique abilities—innate talents that weren’t bestowed by the game and couldn’t be taken away. The more of these talents, the better.
Gu Jiu replied, “It’s your own ability. If even you don’t know, how would anyone else? This is something you’ll have to discover for yourself.”
Wan Xingzhou felt a bit disappointed; he’d assumed Gu Jiu knew something, which was why she had brought it up.
Gu Jiu patted his shoulder. “Think about it; maybe one day you’ll figure it out! Come on, let’s take the stairwell and see if we can find the hidden third floor.”