Lingering Unease
The building shuddered violently as Jack Li steadied himself against the cracking stairwell. Qingdao—a coastal city where earthquakes were rare—had never required quake-resistant architecture. Every fissure splitting the walls screamed danger.
"An! Can you hear me?!" Jack bellowed upward, his voice swallowed by the cacophony of collapsing infrastructure. He clawed his way through debris, knees bruised and numb. If Aurora died here today, he saw no reason to keep breathing.
Five minutes. The tremors should've subsided by now. What magnitude could sustain this destruction?
Reaching the third floor, Jack fumbled his keys against the shaking doorknob. The apartment stood eerily still—no overturned furniture, no sign of life. A framed photo on the desk froze his blood: a solitary image of himself by the sea. No trace of Aurora existed here. Not in the shoe cabinet holding only his oxfords, nor the single-person furnishings.
His phone clattered to the floor as the automated voice confirmed the truth: *"The number you have dialed is not in service."
Memories of Aurora's laughter echoed as the ceiling collapsed.
The flickering tungsten bulb cast long shadows across ten figures awakening around a circular table. The stench of rotting mutton filled Jack's nostrils as the goat-headed facilitator spread its arms:
"Welcome back, nine survivors."
Barrett's confusion mirrored their first encounter. Lawyer Liu recited legal threats verbatim. Dr. Lee questioned timelines with identical skepticism. Déjà vu gripped Jack as the tenth member—a grinning youth—had his skull crushed against the table.
"To create a god," the Sheep-Man proclaimed, blood dripping from clawed hands.
Jack's fingers tightened around his identity card. The printed warning shimmered beneath his touch: "Tell no one you remember."
"One liar among nine," the Sheep-Man rasped, distributing cards. Jack watched Officer Liu's calculated silence—he too remembered.
Emma's performative innocence grated as stories unfolded: Candy's fabricated name, Barrett's righteous anger, Taylor's high-rise survival tale. When Jack recounted chasing phantom memories of Aurora, the walls began their geometric shift.
"Rotate it right—a hundred times!" Jack commanded, recognizing the "Sprouting Bamboo" puzzle. The group heaved the table as Barret bellowed counting cadence.
Nine wooden panels formed a trembling pyramid beneath raining harpoons. Tony's whimpers escalated as Jack repositioned the team: "Stay between Liu and me!"
Metal barbs ricocheted like vengeful spirits. One grazed Emma's shield, light slicing through the formation.
"Spin!" Jack roared. The human top deflected death until silence fell.
Officer Liu lifted a harpoon engraved with clues as Jack eyed the ceiling's yawning maw. "They want us to hang."
The Snake-Man's riddle differed from memory: "Ten pills of two types—indistinguishable yet vital. How survive ten days?"
"Crush and divide," Jack answered instantly.
Liam's crew ambushed them at "Paradise's Gate," Barret's tattoos rippling as he headlocked an attacker. "Wanna dance, pretty boy?"
Tony's death premonition manifested as a rebounding harpoon. Barret yanked its chain mid-flight, altering trajectory.
"You're my lucky charm, brainiac," the gangster grinned, helping Tony up.
The school's welcoming committee turned hostile. Barret dislocated a thug's shoulder as Jack intercepted a chair swing.
"Enough!" Ethan emerged, glasses askew from Jack's sucker punch. "Your team's compromised—gender ratio's wrong."
Ethan's notebook revealed grim arithmetic: 3,600 Dao needed, 87 days vanished. The tigar's warning haunted Jack—*"We're trapped in cycles."
Xu Liunian's story hung heavy—the actress-turned-martyr who'd challenged a Horse-God. Her empty seat at meetings screamed finality.
"Every game we conquer brings us closer," Ethan urged, though doubt lingered.
Jack's fist connected with the strategist's jaw. "No more secrets. We do this my way."