The two of them climbed the castle’s spiral staircase to the fifth floor.
A paper crane fluttered ahead, appearing and disappearing, occasionally revealing a corner of white paper.
As dawn approached at five in the morning, they stood at the entrance to the staircase on the fifth floor. Gu Jiu turned to the girl beside her and said, “Ah Ji, you wait for me here; don’t go over.”
It was her filming time now, so she could enter the fifth floor, but Lu Ji could not.
“Be good, listen to me.” Gu Jiu gently touched her face, her voice soft.
Lu Ji’s ears turned slightly red, and she placed the little paper figure on the shoulder of the person across from her, saying, “Then you be careful.”
Glancing at the little paper figure on her shoulder, Gu Jiu didn’t refuse. She waved at Lu Ji and followed the paper crane that flew ahead, stepping into the corridor of the fifth floor.
The structure of the fifth floor was no different from the others, featuring a spacious long corridor lined with walls adorned with half-height paintings. However, to her surprise, all the paintings were blank, just frames hanging with white canvases.
Gu Jiu’s eyes widened in astonishment as she looked one by one; every single one was blank.
Was it really true that the paintings in the corridor of the fifth floor were all blank?
She didn’t believe the castle’s owner would hang blank paintings, so where did the content go? Did it run away on its own?
Streetlights above cast shadows on the ground.
Gu Jiu stood still, frowning as she contemplated for a moment before losing interest and continuing forward.
As she walked, she noticed some differences in the ground and walls around her. Upon closer inspection, it seemed as if there were burn marks, like traces left by flames licking at the surfaces.
Gu Jiu narrowed her eyes, focusing on a corner of the wall. Suddenly, she crouched down and touched the corner with her hand.
A strong sense of danger surged from behind, causing the hairs on her neck to stand on end. Without a second thought, Gu Jiu pulled out her dagger and swung it behind her, the sound of metal ringing as it blocked something.
She stepped forward a few paces and quickly turned, her back against the cold wall, watching vigilantly at what lay behind her.
The expected enemy did not appear; the corridor remained empty, with no one else around besides her.
Gu Jiu’s gaze scanned the corridor, searching for any signs of an enemy.
After about ten minutes, there was still no movement, and the sense of danger faded. Gu Jiu slightly lowered her gaze to her fingers, noticing a bit of black substance on them, as if it were black ash left from something burned.
She brushed the black ash off her hand and continued moving forward, this time not putting away her dagger.
Eventually, she arrived at a door, and everything around her was still very calm.
This was the first door Gu Jiu encountered after reaching the fifth floor.
She looked at the closed door, and as she cautiously reached out to push it, a suffocating sense of danger surged over her once again.
This time, Gu Jiu didn’t retaliate immediately. Instead, she chose to duck and dodge. Out of the corner of her eye, she finally caught sight of her attacker—a figure entirely cloaked in darkness.
The figure was as if it had been dipped in ink, entirely black, without visible facial features. Yet, it moved with alarming agility, wielding a dark noose that it continually aimed at her neck.
Knowing her endurance wasn’t ideal, Gu Jiu had no intention of engaging in a prolonged fight. She lunged forward, slicing through the noose with her dagger while, in the same movement, the nails on her other hand suddenly lengthened and clawed at the shadowy figure—an attack from both angles.
Her sharp, clawed hand penetrated the figure, but it felt as though she had grabbed a handful of icy air.
In a brief moment of distraction, the dark figure slipped from her grasp and, at lightning speed, collided with a painting on the wall, disappearing into it.
Gu Jiu blinked, stepping up to the painting. Where the canvas had once been blank, there was now an image of a person.
The figure in the painting was a woman in a tailored knight’s outfit, her brown hair cascading down. She looked at Gu Jiu with a faint smile, her gaze meeting hers.
Recalling the silhouette of the shadowy figure, Gu Jiu began to understand, and she couldn’t help but smile at the woman in the painting.
She examined the woman in the painting from head to toe, not even sparing a single strand of hair, her face showing a hint of amusement. Then, Gu Jiu lifted her dagger, aiming its sharp tip at the woman’s face, pressing it closer.
As the blade touched the painted woman’s face, she sliced down hard.
Though the canvas remained undamaged, a fresh scar now slashed across the woman’s face, chilling and stark.
The woman in the painting continued to look at her with a smile, her expression unchanged.
After watching for a while longer, Gu Jiu lost interest in investigating what these people in the paintings truly were and turned to push open the door.
The door opened easily.
Beyond it was a movie screening room, which was bustling with activity. The room was packed with people, and a movie was playing on the screen up front.
Gu Jiu stood at the doorway, watching the movie playing before her. The character on the screen was one of the players in this game—the same player who hadn’t appeared in the dining hall the previous evening.
Onscreen, the player was running through the castle, his face pale, his eyes filled with terror.
Suddenly, an invisible force began consuming his legs as he ran. He screamed in horror, but there was nothing he could do. Helplessly, he watched as this unknown force swallowed his body, his desperate cries echoing. Finally, he vanished without a trace, leaving only a pool of blood on the floor as proof that he had ever existed.
As that player disappeared, the scene shifted, showing another player.
This player appeared in a room filled with human-sized dolls. His task was to clean the dolls. His expression was stiff, betraying fear beneath his forced calm as he cautiously went about cleaning.
Without warning, one of the dolls extended a hand, pushing him into the crowd of dolls.
The player’s body was torn apart by the swarm of dolls, his flesh shredded and consumed by the ones crouching around him, leaving not a single trace behind.
Once they devoured him, the dolls returned quietly to their original positions, still and lifeless, like a group of inanimate dolls.
The gruesome scene on screen thrilled the audience in the theater. They waved their hands, cheering and shouting with intense excitement.
Gu Jiu’s gaze shifted to these audience members, unsurprised to see they were yet another group of dark figures, emanating an eerie dark-red glow.
Suddenly, her hair was tugged slightly, and she noticed the little paper figure on her shoulder. It was signaling her to leave quickly.
The movie was about to end, and once these engrossed viewers noticed her presence, things could get dangerous.
She took one last look at the screen, where close-ups of dead players appeared—the very four who hadn’t shown up at dinner the previous night. Clearly, they had died and inadvertently “starred” in a death film.
Gu Jiu turned and left.
As she walked, she suddenly broke into a sprint. She could already hear sounds behind her; the audience from the theater had noticed her and were coming after her.
Gu Jiu quickened her pace.
The sense of danger surged from behind once more, and she had no time to look back.
She raced toward the stairwell, but just as she reached it, a dark figure jumped out from a picture frame, attempting to tackle her. A paper crane flew out to intercept the figure.
The paper crane was caught by a dark hand.
Seizing the moment, Gu Jiu darted into the stairwell, breathing heavily. She glanced back and saw the dark figure at the stairwell entrance vanish, leaving only a pile of shredded paper on the ground.
“A Jiu, are you alright?”
Lu Ji steadied her, noticing her labored breaths and gently patting her back to soothe her.
Gu Jiu leaned against her, sweat covering her forehead. The intense exertion left her drenched, almost as if she’d been fished out of water.
“Have some water,” Lu Ji offered, unscrewing a bottle and helping her take a drink.
Gu Jiu took several sips, calming her racing heartbeat before apologizing. “Ah Ji, your paper crane got destroyed.”
Lu Ji noticed the paper scraps near the stairwell but dismissed it lightly. “It’s okay. I can always make another one.”
Gu Jiu couldn’t help but smile. She rested her head on Lu Ji’s shoulder, her voice soft. “Thank goodness for your paper crane. Otherwise, I’d have had to fight my way out… and fighting is exhausting…”
Lu Ji’s lips curved slightly. “Then I’ll fold a few more and give them to you.”
“That sounds great, thank you, Ah Ji!” Gu Jiu replied cheerfully. “And I’ll return the favor and give you something nice. We should always exchange gifts with each other.”
Lu Ji hummed in agreement, clearly pleased by the sentiment of “give and take.” It showed how close they were, exchanging gifts as tokens of their affection.
Feeling sticky and uncomfortable after all that sweat, Gu Jiu decided to go back to her room for a shower.
By the time she was done and came out, it was already daylight.
The sky remained gloomy, with light rain falling, casting the entire castle in a dreary mist.
Noticing her damp hair still dripping, Lu Ji grabbed a towel to help dry it and asked about her experience on the fifth floor.
Gu Jiu recounted her encounter, explaining, “So it turns out the fifth floor of the castle is a movie screening room. No wonder players aren’t allowed up there.”
She finally understood why the game was called “Death Movie” this time—it all made sense now.
The players were indeed “filming” a movie. Every time they died during filming, it marked the completion of a segment of the movie.
Lu Ji asked, “Are all those spectators the people in the paintings?”
“They’re not people; they’re a kind of spirit, and they can even step out of the paintings.” Gu Jiu sighed, a rare moment of exasperation.
“Ah Ji, this game’s task is pretty tough. Not only do we have to avoid the death mechanisms triggered during the filming, but we also need to complete the shooting assignments.”
Lu Ji responded, “Then let’s work hard together.”
Gu Jiu tilted her head, reaching over to playfully lift a strand of Lu Ji’s hair, smiling. “Ah Ji, you really know how to comfort people.”
Lu Ji looked at her in confusion. Had he said something comforting?
But seeing the smile on Gu Jiu’s face made his chest feel warm, almost searing. He couldn’t quite understand his emotions.
As they headed out after breakfast, they encountered the couple Lu Haidi and Ruan Yuan walking hand in hand.
From a distance, Lu Haidi seemed to say something, and suddenly, Ruan Yuan stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. Lu Haidi’s face broke into a goofy smile, making him look like a big, muscular oaf.
Watching the couple, Lu Ji suddenly realized that humans could fall in love and, while dating, even kiss each other?
Gu Jiu greeted them with a smile and asked, “What time are your filming sessions today?”
Ruan Yuan replied, “We’re both scheduled for the afternoon. What about you two?”
“I’ve already finished my session, and it’ll be Ah Ji’s turn shortly.”
“Already done?”
Ruan Yuan and Lu Haidi were surprised. It was only a little past eight in the morning, which meant Gu Jiu’s shoot had taken place at dawn. What exactly was her task?
“Uh, do you mind sharing what your session was about?” Ruan Yuan asked tentatively. “In return, I can give you some details about our afternoon task.”
Gu Jiu’s lips curved into a gentle, graceful smile. “Of course.”
She recounted the events on the fifth floor, and as expected, both of them looked horrified.
They had probably assumed, like she initially did, that the so-called “movie filming” was a smokescreen designed by the game to trick players. They hadn’t anticipated it to be a literal movie shoot—albeit a twisted one, where only the player’s death signified the film’s completion.
Ruan Yuan’s face turned pale as she murmured weakly, “So the objective of this game is for players to successfully perform in a death movie…”
And what counted as successfully “performing” in a death movie?
Of course, it was when a player died during filming, thereby earning a place in the castle’s fifth-floor screening room—a grim mark of completion.
But with such a rule, was there any way for players to survive?