New Item

Chen Ge stepped into the belly of the new set, the Murder by Midnight scenario sprawling before him like a dark mirror of Ping An Apartments. The air thrummed with a living unease—walls exhaling anxiety, floors creaking with the weight of phantom pain. Shadows coiled in corners, and the layout twisted like a labyrinth hexed into being: over a dozen traps lay in wait—spring-loaded snares and false panels—while hidden doors stitched rooms together in a sinister web. Tucked within were vile surprises—gleaming, wicked gems of terror that glinted like cursed artifacts in a Hogwarts dungeon.

Feels real as death—perfect for an escape game. Let's loose the visitors on it soon. Standing there, last night's horrors clawed back—cleavers flashing, Wang Qi's axe rising—shivering through him like a chill from the Forbidden Forest. Time pressed; he gave the set a fleeting sweep, boots echoing down the stairs. Customers await—no dawdling.

Before he reached the front door, Xu Wan's voice pierced the murk, bright and harried as a charm gone awry. "Patience, please—Boss'll be here! Try the park's other lures meantime!"

A gruff voice cut in: "Oi, lass—is your boss really in there? Caught his stream last night—chased by a mob through the woods! Did he truly slip that nightmare?"

"You jest!" another chimed, incredulous. "I watched too—trapped in that flat, lunatics closing in. Can't fathom him dodging that snare!"

"Same stream, were we?" a third scoffed. "Just noise and a black screen—how'd you lot conjure all that?"

"Whatever—he's why we're here!" a fourth barked. "Alive or a corpse, we'll see him!"

The clamor swelled, a cacophony of thrill and morbid glee, drawing Uncle Xu's eye. He stood at the gate, peering at the throng—dozens strong, a tide of eager shadows. Joy warred with dread in his chest. Once a crumbling relic, the Haunted House had morphed into New Century Park's beating heart, queues snaking at dawn. Good tidings, sure, he mused, but their words… Tales of chases and killers spilled from the crowd, knotting his gut. This won't do. Next I see Xiao Chen, we're talking. Hardworking lad, but I'll not let him veer into the abyss!

The gate groaned wide—a crypt unsealed—and Chen Ge emerged, silhouette stark against the gloom. "Sorry for the hold-up, folks—Haunted House is open! Twenty RMB a ticket; no sprogs allowed."

Silence crashed down, heavy as a silencing charm. Then—a rush. Stream-watchers swarmed him, voices a barrage of last night's whys and hows. Chen Ge basked in the chaos—five minutes of fame, a dark lumos in the crowd's gaze—before order reclaimed them. One by one, they filed in, swallowed by the haunt's maw.

Wiser from past blunders, Chen Ge shunned looping Black Friday—its dirge too potent, a spell too dark to repeat unchecked. Instead, he wove it into a tapestry of sound effects—creaks, wails, and whispers—set to strike at random, a poltergeist's whimsy. He turned to Xu Wan, daubing her face with ghostly pallor and shadowed hollows, transforming her into a spectral bride for the Minghun set. She slipped into the gloom to stalk the unwary, while he manned the entrance, hawking tickets like a Diagon Alley vendor.

The tally's creeping up—reputation's soaring. He smirked, sensing the pulse of his haunt growing stronger. Keep this up, and I'll hit the mark to expand in days. He fished out the black phone—its sleek menace a dark talisman—and checked his progress toward the visitor quota, then flicked to the freshly conjured daily missions.

Easy Mission: To terrify, master the rhythm—strike too soon, and the fear fizzles. Install sound detectors or cameras to track their trek through the shadows.

Normal Mission: Surprise is the scare's soul. Place terrors opposite the eye's lure. Scour the haunt—do the props obey this law?

Nightmare Mission: Midnight brings odd echoes from the bathroom. Curious? Follow my lead.

Daily Missions refresh at midnight. One choice per day—rewards scale with peril.

(Beware! Greater difficulty courts greater doom—choose with care!)

Chen Ge skimmed the list, a shiver tracing his spine. Nightmare's out—two sleepless nights've knackered me. The Mirror Monster already haunted his periphery—one fiend was plenty. Nightmare rewards bolster me—skills, power—but the risk's a blade too sharp for now. The Easy Mission taunted—cameras and sensors gleamed like goblin gold, but his purse lay flat 'til Wang Qi's bounty landed.

Normal it is, then. Scares against the grain—clever twist. He tapped acceptance, envisioning visitors jolted by unexpected frights—more shrieks for my lair. Leaning against the entrance's weathered frame, he kept Xu Wan's chatter crackling through his earpiece, a lifeline in the murk.

Noon slunk in, the crowd thinning like mist off a moor. Chen Ge summoned Xu Wan from her ghostly rounds. "Grab lunch—off you go." Alone, he prowled back to Minghun—his own creation, every scare a thread he'd spun with care. With the Normal Mission принят, he spent the afternoon—Xu Wan absent—reweaving the set. Props shifted, shadows deepened, each adjustment a dark charm to catch the unwary off-guard, the haunt's pulse quickening under his hands.

Visitors strode into the Haunted House armed with bravado, minds steeled like first-years facing the Sorting Hat—nigh impossible to rattle at the outset. Chen Ge knew the trick: sow distraction, a feint to snare their gaze. Let them brace for a shadow lunging from one corner—then strike true terror from the blind flank, a banshee's wail where they least expected. The Normal Mission unfurled simpler than he'd wagered—a mere few hours, and the black phone hummed, its screen flaring with triumph.

"Normal Mission complete. Fear thrives on surprise—a master key to dread. Congratulations, you've earned Doctor Skull-Cracker's Uniform!"

"Doctor Skull-Cracker's Uniform (Item - Attire): Clark toiled twenty years in the asylum's depths, madness seeping into his marrow from the patients' rants. One fateful dawn, he snapped—life's chaos, he reckoned, festered in their skulls. His cure? Split them wide, pluck the rot out—salvation through slaughter!"

Chen Ge's lips twitched—after Black Friday's dirge, another grim relic. He tapped the app; the phone purred: Item stowed in the props room. Perfect timing, he mused. Pair this with Murder by Midnight—Merlin's beard, what a brew. Visions swirled—bloodied scrubs stalking the corridors, a mad healer amid Ping An's echoes. He snatched pen and parchment, scribbling feverishly, when his phone trilled—a jarring hex in the quiet.

"He San?" Chen Ge answered, voice low. "What's brewing?"

"Boss, remember my warning?" He San's tone dipped, hushed as if dodging Filch's ear. "The seniors—fired up over you spooking Gao Ru Xue to tears last time—they've rallied a warband for payback! They're en route—brace yourself!"