After dinner, the players left the dining room.
As Gu Jiu was about to step into the elevator, Zhan Shaohong’s voice called out, “Gu Jiu, tonight could be quite dangerous. Why don’t you come stay with me? I’ll have Chai Yingying sleep on the floor.”
Chai Yingying: “….” What the hell? Who does that?
The other players looked at Chai Yingying sympathetically. Clearly a beauty, yet she was being treated this poorly.
Liang Lifei was delighted by her misfortune. Since she couldn’t have what she wanted, seeing Chai Yingying miss out, too, naturally made her happy. As for Gu Jiu, she regarded her as someone insignificant. Zhan Shaohong was just infatuated with her looks; once he’d had his fill, he’d move on, so she didn’t feel much hostility.
Gu Jiu smiled and replied, “No need. I have Ah Ji and Wan Xingzhou with me.”
Lu Ji’s expression softened, visibly pleased.
Wan Xingzhou looked ecstatic. He had thought the lady’s offer to let him sleep on her floor earlier was just a passing comment, but it turned out to be real.
Zhan Shaohong looked disappointed, but seeing Gu Jiu’s face, he couldn’t bring himself to force her and could only watch her leave longingly.
Liang Lifei tentatively asked, “Young Master Hong, it’s dangerous tonight; why don’t we all crash in your room?”
Zhan’s followers looked at him with hope.
In the world of Multiverse Games, the team limit was four. In this round, Zhan Shaohong had teamed up with Chai Yingying, Liang Lifei, and one male player. The other three were Reincarnation Hall players, who unexpectedly encountered Zhan Shaohong in this game world and naturally became his followers, protecting his safety.
The followers knew Zhan Shaohong had plenty of defensive items, so staying with him overnight meant guaranteed safety.
Zhan Shaohong was reluctant. “My room only has one bed; there’s no way that many people can sleep there.”
“That’s fine; we can sleep on the floor,” his followers responded in unison.
If tonight’s situation was anything like last night’s, the players wouldn’t dare sleep at all, fearing they’d be killed in their dreams. So if they weren’t going to sleep, the location didn’t really matter.
Luckily, C-level players had strong constitutions and could go several nights without sleep if necessary.
Though Zhan Shaohong wasn’t thrilled, he eventually agreed. He couldn’t let these people die; who would act as his followers or protect him if they did?
×××
Wan Xingzhou followed Gu Jiu happily up to the sixth floor, not even bothering to find bedding. His bag had spare sheets and such.
Swiping the card, Gu Jiu was about to step inside but then paused, retracting her foot.
Lu Ji was about to pull her back, but seeing her stop on her own, he quietly lowered his hand.
No one noticed this brief moment.
Puzzled, Wan Xingzhou asked, “Miss, why aren’t we going in? Don’t tell me…”
Could there be some kind of danger again?
He poked his head in. It was still early evening, and the curtains were open. Though the lights were off, the room was bright enough to see clearly. It was quiet, and nothing seemed amiss.
Gu Jiu remained silent, her gaze sweeping the room.
Her eyes told her that there was no danger inside, not even a shadow, yet her instincts screamed at her. An overwhelming sense of danger tightened around her chest, stopping her from stepping inside recklessly.
Unable to make sense of the situation, Gu Jiu took out an origami crane.
The crane flew steadily, gliding through the doorway and into the room, but as it ventured further in, an invisible force suddenly tore it to shreds.
Wan Xingzhou’s heart skipped a beat.
He wasn’t afraid of a frightening scene—if a vengeful ghost appeared, he could still handle it calmly. But this kind of invisible, unpredictable danger was truly chilling, making it impossible to prepare a defense or even think of a countermeasure.
No wonder that within just three days, nearly half the players had already died.
The three of them stood at the doorway.
The elevator chimed, and Chai Yingying stepped out. Seeing them, she asked, “Why aren’t you going in?”
Gu Jiu turned to her with a smile and said, “There’s danger inside. We’ll wait a bit and see.”
Chai Yingying’s expression turned cautious as she approached, peeking into the room—but, naturally, she saw nothing.
“What brings you up here?” Gu Jiu asked, her tone light and gentle, with a natural warmth that was impossible to take offense at.
Chai Yingying inwardly marveled. No wonder Zhan Shaohong, a notorious womanizer, had become her admirer. Gu Jiu had a combination of irresistible gentleness, beauty, and a special presence—all woven together to create “Gu Jiu.”
If she were a man, she’d also revere a woman like this as a goddess.
“I came up to get an extra blanket. The ones downstairs weren’t enough.” Chai Yingying said casually.
Gu Jiu made a sound of acknowledgment, leaving it unclear whether she believed her or not.
Chai Yingying watched the room for a moment, finding nothing, then waved to them before heading to Room 610 and swiping her card.
The door opened, and Chai Yingying froze in the doorway, hesitating to step inside. A fine layer of sweat appeared on her face, and from Gu Jiu’s angle, she could see the tension in her expression.
It seemed that Chai Yingying, too, could sense the threat within.
About half an hour later, the stifling feeling of danger finally lifted, and Gu Jiu stepped into her room.
Wan Xingzhou watched the surroundings carefully, worried that the unseen force might suddenly reappear and try to kill them.
After glancing at the fading daylight outside, Gu Jiu decided to take a shower, bringing along the winged heart-shaped paper creation.
The heart-shaped paper creature followed her into the bathroom. After hovering for a while, it settled high up, seemingly observing but without disturbing Gu Jiu.
The sound of running water filled the air.
When the water stopped, Gu Jiu heard the faint sound of tearing paper. She wiped the water from her face, put on her glasses, and looked over. The heart-shaped paper creature had vanished, and a few scraps floated on the damp floor.
After a brief glance, she got dressed and walked out.
“Ah Ji, the heart you gave me broke,” Gu Jiu said calmly to Lu Ji.
Hearing this, Wan Xingzhou’s expression turned complex.
So Lu Ji had already taken action, offering his heart to the young lady? Who knew that the seemingly silent, reserved Lu Ji was actually someone with such a bold and proactive side?
Lu Ji replied, “It’s all right. I have more.”
He took out another heart-shaped paper creature and handed it to her.
Gu Jiu chuckled, “I still have a few here,” she said but reached out to accept it anyway.
“Your heart-shaped paper creation is really something. Without it, I’d probably have been mysteriously injured again.”
Only when blood started flowing and pain kicked in did players realize they were hurt. Normally, players wouldn’t be so slow to react, but this thing seemed to have the ability to block certain sensory perceptions, making injuries go unnoticed.
Seeing the red heart-shaped paper with wings, Wan Xingzhou realized he’d misunderstood again.
He leaned closer, curiously asking, “Miss, what does this little heart do?”
“It alerts to danger, predicts threats, and blocks some damage.”
Immediately, Wan Xingzhou sidled up to Lu Ji. “Sister Lu, I want a heart too! I promise I’ll treat it well.”
With a look of utter disdain, Lu Ji tossed him one, “Stay away from me!”
Lu Ji had never gotten this close to any human besides Gu Jiu, and certainly not to a stinky man. No way he’d let him near!
Wan Xingzhou understood Lu Ji’s feelings. After all, “she” had her heart set on the young lady, so naturally, she wouldn’t care for men. He got it, so he always kept his distance.
Admiring the paper heart, Wan Xingzhou wasted no time praising Lu Ji’s craftsmanship, making sure “she” felt his sincere flattery. Who knew, maybe if Lu Ji was happy, he’d get a few more paper creations!
Lu Ji: …In your dreams.
After Lu Ji finished his shower, he emerged to find Wan Xingzhou still marveling at the little paper heart.
With a slight frown, Lu Ji had a sense that maybe he shouldn’t have given him the heart after all.
“Wan Xingzhou, aren’t you going to take a shower?” Gu Jiu asked.
“No need, I already showered yesterday…”
Gu Jiu asked, “You ate yesterday, so why eat again today?”
Wan Xingzhou had no response to that logic and slunk into the bathroom, anxiously scanning the small space, afraid he’d have a repeat of last night’s traumatic shower experience—almost breaking his neck in there.
He placed the winged paper heart on the sink, showering while staying on high alert.
The whole shower took less than three minutes. As he dressed, he suddenly heard the sound of tearing paper. He turned to see the heart-shaped paper creature shredded by an invisible force in mid-air, falling slowly to the ground.
It took him a moment to react before he let out a loud, pitiful cry.
“My heart!”
Hearing the shout from outside, Gu Jiu and Lu Ji thought something had happened and came over to knock on the door.
“Wan Xingzhou, what happened?”
Wan Xingzhou opened the door, eyes brimming with tears as he complained miserably, “My heart… it’s gone.”
He stepped aside so Gu Jiu and Lu Ji could see the torn pieces of paper on the floor, soaked by the water, with the color bleeding out. Once destroyed, the paper creation lost its waterproofing and became just ordinary paper.
Gu Jiu said, “As long as you’re okay.”
“No, I’m not okay. My heart’s gone,” Wan Xingzhou lamented, clinging to Lu Ji. “Sister Lu, give me another heart, please!”
Lu Ji responded, “Stop calling me Sister Lu.”
“Then what should I call you?”
Lu Ji’s gaze drifted slightly before he replied, “Just call me by my name.”
“If I do that, will you give me another heart?” Wan Xingzhou tried to negotiate.
Though Lu Ji looked at him with disdain, he considered that Wan Xingzhou would likely become Gu Jiu’s underling in the future, so he generously handed him a few origami cranes.
“I’m out of hearts, but I still have some cranes.”
Wan Xingzhou happily accepted them.
In the previous world, he’d already seen the power of these paper creatures. Even someone as formidable as Mr. Herlan could be held back by them, which proved just how impressive Lu Ji’s paper-controlling skills were. Clearly, she was also a hidden powerhouse.
After sending Wan Xingzhou off, Lu Ji calmly glanced over at Gu Jiu.
Holding a cup of milk, she smiled and asked, “Ah Ji, are you out of hearts?”
Lu Ji replied evenly, “I still have a few, but I don’t want to give them to him.” Why should he give something he folded with care to an irrelevant man?
Gu Jiu laughed softly and said no more, which left Lu Ji slightly disappointed. He’d thought that if she pressed him a little more, he might have seized the chance to drop a subtle hint. Though he couldn’t outright confess his feelings, he could at least make some gesture so she wouldn’t always see him as a delicate, weak girl to look after—even if, admittedly, he did enjoy her attention.
Later that night, Gu Jiu climbed into bed to sleep.
After last night’s experience, she trusted Lu Ji’s paper creations and decided to rest up for tomorrow’s exploration of the hidden third floor.
Wan Xingzhou was sleeping on a mat not far from her bed.
He couldn’t fall asleep, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
The room wasn’t completely dark; a bedside lamp cast enough light to see everything around clearly.
Suddenly, Wan Xingzhou saw a shadow flicker in front of him. Before he could make sense of it, another shadow passed by, then several others crisscrossed the room. Finally, he realized they were paper creatures.
Dozens of them flew in from various directions, swirling gracefully in the dim light, creating an eerily beautiful display.
Wan Xingzhou was stunned for a moment before he quickly summoned his Red Sword.
He got up and looked toward the bed, locking eyes with Lu Ji.
Lu Ji was sitting up, his hands gently covering Gu Jiu’s ears. The young lady was deep in sleep, her breathing steady and calm, clearly in a deep slumber that anyone would envy.
Lu Ji frowned and hissed softly, “Shut up!”
Wan Xingzhou thought to himself that he hadn’t said a word, so why was he being told to shut up?
Noticing that Lu Ji had covered Gu Jiu’s ears, he understood the intent—Lu Ji didn’t want to wake her.
For a moment, Wan Xingzhou didn’t know whether to feel envious of Gu Jiu or unnerved by the dark, intense aura emanating from Lu Ji. This was thrillingly unsettling.
The paper creatures gathered above, creating a protective shield over the three of them.
Soon, Wan Xingzhou noticed that some of the paper creatures on the outer edges suddenly shredded into pieces and drifted to the ground.
His expression turned serious as he instinctively bent his knees, preparing for battle.
One by one, the paper creatures broke apart, and Wan Xingzhou could feel the icy, murderous intent closing in. His body felt frozen, his hand gripping the Red Sword so tightly that it hurt.
As a layer of shredded paper settled on the floor, Lu Ji raised his hand, releasing another wave of paper creatures that encircled the area, enveloping them in a new, protective barrier.
Fragments of paper drifted down from above, covering Wan Xingzhou’s head and shoulders. He remained tense, unwilling to relax even slightly. When he felt his clothes being sliced open, he quickly rolled toward the bed, narrowly avoiding the invisible force aiming to cut through his body.
It wasn’t until half an hour later that the invisible assault finally subsided.
Just as Wan Xingzhou was about to breathe a sigh of relief, a drowsy voice broke the silence. “Was there an attack just now?”
Lu Ji withdrew his hands from her ears and replied calmly, “It’s over now.”
Gu Jiu sat up, gazing at the red fragments scattered on the floor with a contemplative look. “There’s likely to be another attack tonight. Stay alert.”
Sure enough, another assault came about an hour later.
Sensing the chilling murderous intent, Wan Xingzhou realized he couldn’t always rely on Lu Ji and Gu Jiu. Swiftly, he rummaged through his items and tossed a green string of beads, which held only four beads.
As the string left his hand, the beads scattered, each thumb-sized bead floating mid-air and emitting a faint glow. With a sharp crack, one bead shattered.
Wan Xingzhou winced with a pained expression.
The beads fell back into his hand, now reduced from four to three.
The oppressive aura of killing intent dissipated.
Caressing the beads, he muttered mournfully, “These are Six Spirit Resentment Beads, with a total of six beads, each one sealing a cursed spirit. I bought them from the game store, and nearly spent all my points on them…”
Despite being made from resentful spirits, these beads served as potent defensive tools, meant to stop killing with resentment.
The beads had lived up to their reputation, warding off an attack. He had already used one last night, another now, and with only three remaining, it seemed they would soon be depleted.