After a restful night, Gu Jiu felt quite refreshed upon waking up the next morning.
When they left their room, they found the other players already up early, exploring the castle’s surroundings.
No matter how lazy someone might be in real life, once they enter this game world, the idea of sleeping in vanishes. In a world where life isn’t guaranteed, laziness—one of humanity’s indulgent habits—easily fades away.
In a low voice, Gu Jiu asked, “Ah Ji, did your little paper doll manage to find where the studio is?”
After last night’s dinner, some players had quickly gone to scout out the castle. For players like Lu Ji, who had a scheduled filming task early in the day, it was crucial to identify the location beforehand, so they wouldn’t miss it.
They hadn’t bothered to look themselves because Lu Ji’s paper doll was on the job.
The paper doll, small and light, could even conceal itself when needed. It was perfect for scoping out the surroundings without being noticed.
Gu Jiu wasn’t certain how much control Lu Ji had over the doll, but since she mentioned that it could help survey the castle, she didn’t feel the need to rush. After all, Herlan Castle was vast; exploring the whole place could easily take an entire day.
“The studio is over by the clock tower,” Lu Ji explained. “From here, it’s about a half-hour walk.”
Gu Jiu instinctively looked out the window and saw the clock tower in the distance.
The clock tower was quite a distance from the main castle. There were two ways to reach it: they could either go out the main doors and cross the open garden or take a longer route through the indoor corridors, which would take close to an hour.
The weather today wasn’t promising; the sky was overcast and seemed like it might rain.
“It might rain,” Gu Jiu remarked. “Let’s take the indoor route instead.”
She glanced at her phone—it was 7:00 AM. An hour should be plenty of time.
While the phones had no signal in the game world, they could still tell the time, so most players kept theirs on hand.
Lu Ji had no objections.
They headed down to the first floor and began walking through the left corridor towards the clock tower.
On their way, they passed a few players who were hurrying along; their filming locations were farther off, and they had to pick up the pace to ensure they arrived on time and avoided potential mishaps.
As they moved along the indoor corridor, they gradually left the main part of the castle, and the surroundings grew increasingly silent.
Herlan Castle was immense, yet oddly enough, they hadn’t seen any castle servants. The place seemed meticulously maintained, a task that surely required a significant workforce—yet not a single servant was in sight.
Of course, as one player had jokingly put it, logic doesn’t apply to everything in the game world; overthinking is futile.
Though the corridors had windows along the sides, the overcast sky made the light dim and murky.
On the walls lining the corridor, spaced at regular intervals, were paintings, each about half the height of a person. These were mostly portraits and landscapes, with an overwhelming number of portraits. The figures varied widely: men, women, young, old; some beautiful, others grotesque. The portraits were so lifelike that it almost felt as if, at any moment, these figures might step out of their frames.
This realism was not the kind captured by a camera but the kind painstakingly crafted by a painter’s hand, stroke by stroke.
“Ah Ji, do you think these people are real?” Gu Jiu suddenly asked.
Lu Ji glanced over, his eyes falling on a particularly unpleasant portrait—a hunched, ugly old man with sparse hair, deep, layered wrinkles, liver spots across his face, and features that looked as if they’d been rearranged after a blow. He was certainly not easy on the eyes.
“I don’t know,” she replied coolly.
With a smile, Gu Jiu joked, “If they are real, then whoever’s in that painting… well, that face is quite a sight.”
“.…”
Gu Jiu waited for a moment, observing the painting for any changes, but nothing happened. She shrugged it off.
Finally, they arrived at the studio near the clock tower.
The studio was on the second floor. As they opened the door, they found the room filled with paintings, though most were incomplete, with some only having a few rough outlines sketched out.
All of them shared one characteristic: the subject matter was highly abstract.
Gu Jiu couldn’t decipher what any of the paintings were meant to portray.
Directly opposite the doorway, an empty canvas awaited, with brushes and paints set up beside it, ready for use.
Lu Ji’s gaze wandered over the paintings around the studio, but she didn’t rush to pick up a brush. Instead, she walked over to a nearly complete painting and looked up at it.
The twisted lines and chaotic color combinations made her eyes feel dizzy if she stared too long.
Gu Jiu had to avert her gaze and press her fingers to her temples as a throbbing ache started to pulse in her head.
“Don’t look at them,” Lu Ji’s soft voice warned. “Step out of the studio and don’t come back in.”
Gu Jiu nodded and checked the time—it was nearly 8:00, with just five minutes to go.
She stepped out of the studio, leaving the door open, allowing her to see Lu Ji standing in front of the blank canvas, brush in hand, ready to paint.
Lu Ji painted for quite a while, yet Gu Jiu noticed that the canvas remained completely empty.
A chill ran through her, and she began to question if what she was seeing was real or some kind of illusion. Was Lu Ji truly alright in there?
Just as she considered stepping into the studio again, she felt a slight tug at the heel of her boot.
Looking down, she saw that Lu Ji’s little paper doll was holding her boot in place with one hand while waving the other, signaling her not to enter.
Her anxious heart calmed at once.
The paper doll, carefully crafted by Lu Ji, represented Lu Ji herself. As long as the paper doll was there, Lu Ji must be safe.
At exactly 8:00, Lu Ji stood before the blank canvas.
A realization dawned on him as he turned to look back, only to find the door had vanished without a trace, sealing the studio into a closed-off space.
It seemed that anyone who entered the studio had to complete their artwork. As for what would happen afterward… Lu Ji looked at the unfinished works around him and understood the fate of those who had completed theirs.
With quiet determination, he picked up the brush from the table and began to paint on the blank canvas.
He didn’t deliberately try to create anything specific; instead, he randomly brushed and smeared colors across the canvas, filling it entirely.
Just as the canvas was nearly covered, the chaotic colors and lines began to twist and writhe, as if imbued with self-awareness, reordering themselves until they finally formed a hauntingly lifelike image.
In the painting, a young girl lay lifeless, and Lu Ji’s face broke into a smile.
It wasn’t a gentle or stiff smile but rather a dark, amused grin with an undercurrent of malice.
“How boring,” he murmured softly. “I really don’t like these disgusting and ugly worlds… Why not just destroy them all…”
Gu Jiu waited outside the studio for hours.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the studio door, until she finally saw Lu Ji, who seemed to appear at the doorway in an instant, as if she’d never moved.
Noticing Gu Jiu still waiting in the same spot as when she’d left, Lu Ji’s pale face softened slightly, and she greeted her calmly, “Ah Jiu.”
Gu Jiu’s eyes brightened with surprise, and she said eagerly, “You’re back! Are you alright?”
Lu Ji replied, “I’m fine. Let’s talk as we walk.”
Gu Jiu nodded. Before they left, she glanced back into the studio at the canvas facing the door, only to find it blank—as if Lu Ji had never painted on it at all.
On their way back, Lu Ji described her experience in the studio.
“At 8:00, I started painting. At first, I didn’t know what I was supposed to draw, so I simply smeared paint on the canvas. Gradually, it took shape, and I realized that the painting was forming an image of my own death.”
She paused briefly.
Gu Jiu listened quietly without interrupting.
“This must be what the note referred to as the ‘Death Painting for Madam Herlan.’ The painter sacrifices their life to create this Death Painting. When the image forms, a murderous force locks onto them, ensuring they die like the figure in the painting. I used a substitution card to escape that power.”
“After I used the substitution card, my painting reverted to an unfinished state.”
Gu Jiu mused aloud, “So, the unfinished paintings must belong to those who managed to escape death.”
“Yes.” Lu Ji’s lips tightened slightly. “Ah Jiu, when you perform in the ballroom this afternoon, be extremely careful. There will be death traps.”
Each player had only one substitution card, allowing them to evade death once.
This game’s mission duration was unknown, and if there were to be a death trap each day, one substitution card wouldn’t be nearly enough.
Gu Jiu nodded thoughtfully. “We’ll have to use the substitution card wisely.”
When they finally returned to the castle’s main hall, it was already noon.
A few players were seated on the sofas in the hall, and their gazes shifted subtly as Gu Jiu and Lu Ji entered.
After they sat down, two players approached them.
“Were you ladies assigned filming tasks this morning?”
The two who approached were a man and a woman. The man had a rugged, sturdy build and exuded a sense of security. The woman was petite and adorable, with a round face that suggested she was quite young.
Gu Jiu took a sip of the mango milk Lu Ji had handed her, watching the two newcomers with a smile.
The milk was something Lu Ji had prepared, knowing that the young lady loved dairy products. During their time shopping in Boundless City, she had stocked up on a variety of dairy treats.
Seeing that Gu Jiu and Lu Ji didn’t respond immediately, the two players took the initiative to introduce themselves with sincere smiles.
The man’s name was Lu Haidi, and the woman’s name was Ruan Yuan; they were a couple who had been in the C-level game field for a few months now.
Gu Jiu smoothly introduced herself, “We just reached the C-level, and this is our first time entering a C-level game world.”
Some of the nearby players, who were eavesdropping, looked at them with a hint of disdain. Even within the same level, players who had more experience in game scenarios often considered themselves superior. Although C-level players were generally wary of each other, if a powerful player joined, they would usually treat them with respect, either to avoid conflict or to gain some protection.
Lu Haidi and Ruan Yuan showed no such reaction, however, and continued chatting about today’s filming tasks, revealing a bit about their own.
Ruan Yuan’s task had taken place in the morning, where she played the role of a gardener at the castle.
Lu Haidi’s task was scheduled for the afternoon, though his time had not yet arrived.
“My filming task is also in the afternoon,” Gu Jiu said. “Ah Ji’s task was this morning—she’s playing the role of a painter and had to perform in the studio.”
During the conversation, Gu Jiu noticed a subtle pattern: it seemed acceptable to discuss completed tasks with other players, but unwise to reveal details about tasks that hadn’t yet been completed.
“In the studio, did you encounter anything unusual, Little Sister Lu?” Ruan Yuan asked, addressing Lu Ji in a familiar tone.
Hearing the term “Little Sister Lu”, Lu Ji glanced at Ruan Yuan, recalling how Gu Jiu had once called her that, too.
With a playful tilt of her head, Ruan Yuan added, “Don’t let my round face fool you. I’m actually an adult!”
Apparently, she was uncomfortable calling younger players “Miss” when they were still minors.
Lu Ji replied flatly, “I ended up painting my own death.”
Both Lu Haidi and Ruan Yuan gasped, and the surrounding players glanced over in shock as well, surprised to learn how dangerous Lu Ji’s first-day task had been. Yet, seeing her here unscathed, they understood that she must have used an item to escape.
Ruan Yuan had come with a hint of curiosity but hadn’t expected such an open revelation. Given this, she also didn’t hold back, explaining that during her task, she had nearly been decapitated by a large pair of garden shears. Luckily, she’d managed to dodge the deadly blade in time.
This exchange made it clear that when players took on the roles assigned in their notes, death hovered close by.
While Ruan Yuan’s role as a gardener allowed her to rely on her agility to avoid danger, Lu Ji’s Death Painting was far too perilous to evade, leaving her no choice but to use a substitution card.
“By the way, we haven’t seen any actual film equipment since morning,” Ruan Yuan remarked. “This whole idea of filming a movie seems strange to me.”
What she didn’t say aloud was her suspicion that perhaps it would only make sense once players started dying—only then would they understand what the so-called “Death Film” was about.
After exchanging information, the couple, Ruan Yuan and Lu Haidi, took their leave.
No other players came over to chat with Gu Jiu and Lu Ji after that. The two of them didn’t mind and sat comfortably on the hall’s sofas, resting quietly.
At 2:30 in the afternoon, the two headed to the castle’s ballroom.
The ballroom was located on the first floor of the castle, not far away. When they arrived, they found Lu Haidi and Ruan Yuan, the couple, already there, along with two other male players.
Seeing each other, they quickly realized that their upcoming filming tasks would be in the ballroom.
Gu Jiu spoke up first, “I’m a dancer. What about you all?”
Lu Haidi replied, “I’m the musician.”
The two remaining male players, seeing that their filming time was near and there was no point in hiding it, also confessed their roles.
“I’m the singer.”
“I’m the clown.”