Partners

A single sentence sent shockwaves through the room. The moment it was spoken, every gaze zeroed in on Wan Wuqiu and Xie Mingchi.

Xie Mingchi, no stranger to standing onstage and receiving accolades, was long accustomed to attention. But this was different. These weren't admiring or curious stares—these were eyes filled with scrutiny, excitement, and something deeper, darker… a kind of madness he couldn't name.

He didn't like it.

"You two played?" Xiao Xiao's voice cut through the tension. She sounded genuinely surprised. "You played Mr. Du's game and lived to tell the tale? Just the two of you?"

"There were four of us last night," Wan Wuqiu answered calmly. "The two of us, and the two who died. We played the Four Corners Game. On the fourth-floor corridor."

A voice piped up, "What's your relationship?"

Wan Wuqiu didn't even hesitate. "We're partners."

Xie Mingchi: "…"

Xie Mingchi: "???"

What the hell did this guy just say?

He turned to look at Shen Feinian—Wan Wuqiu's official ghost puppet—and saw the man shrug with a helpless expression, as if to say, *This isn't even the first time he's pulled something like this.*

Xie Mingchi had no idea what Wan Wuqiu was trying to pull, but considering their fragile alliance, he held his tongue—for now.

Someone else spoke, connecting the dots. "So two pairs of partners played the game… But isn't the Four Corners Game supposed to end with only one person disappearing?"

That game was infamous, even in the real world. Everyone had heard of it. According to the lore, the final person always vanished.

But in the Puppet Realm, the rules were different.

Wan Wuqiu shook his head. "Technically, only the fourth person should disappear. But the first person triggered a death condition."

The room collectively leaned forward, eager, almost desperate. "What condition?!"

Wan Wuqiu turned to Xie Mingchi. "Do you remember the nursery rhyme?"

Xie nodded. As a music producer, he had an ear for melody and lyrics—and after hearing that creepy little song on repeat all night, he couldn't forget it if he tried. "We woke up in the middle of the night to that sound. Not long after, we were dragged out to play. The lyrics went like this—"

> "Four little children start to play, 

> Stand in corners, don't you say. 

> First one walks, goes straight ahead, 

> Pat your shoulder, don't be led. 

> Second walks and takes a breath, 

> Coughs once loudly, halts like death. 

> Third one walks, then shines a light, 

> Let him pass, don't give a fright. 

> Fourth one walks and walks some more, 

> Till he's gone and is no more…"

Even those who hadn't played the game sucked in a breath.

The Four Corners Game was considered unsolvable—no matter how many times you played, someone always vanished.

And based on that rhyme, it was always the fourth one.

Xie Mingchi gave them a moment to process, then continued. "I was the third. He was the second. We followed the rhyme's instructions exactly when passing off to the next person."

A voice from the crowd asked, "Then what about the first one?"

Wan Wuqiu replied, "She spoke to me."

> Pat your shoulder, don't be led. 

> Don't speak.

Suddenly it all made sense.

If the first and fourth players were a pair—if they were bound together as partners—then the rule was simple: if the fourth dies, the first dies too. Her mistake only sped things up.

People began murmuring, repeating the nursery rhyme under their breath, committing it to memory.

Then Xiao Xiao asked, "First and second are clear, but what about 'shine a light' for the third?"

"Candles," Xie answered. "There was a candle mounted at the corner of the hallway. That's what I lit."

So if the first three followed instructions, they were safe. Only the fourth was doomed.

That reminded Xie Mingchi of the three questions he'd pondered last night. He glanced at Wan Wuqiu, about to speak—but before he could say a word, Wan Wuqiu nodded, as if reading his mind.

Xie Mingchi: "…?"

What the hell? Does this guy have telepathy?

Still, this wasn't the time to get caught up in weird details. These weren't secrets that would hurt them to share. If anything, it might help to have more people working on the problem.

He took a deep breath. "We lived through last night's game, but we've got questions. First: Everyone slept soundly last night—that was strange. We woke up in the middle of the night and were taken to play. We never got a chance to talk to the two who died, so we don't know if they were jolted awake like us. But why just us four? Why didn't anyone else wake up, even with that creepy lullaby playing?"

He paused. "The rhyme wasn't loud, but it was clear. Anyone with light sleep should've heard it. So… maybe you only wake up if you meet certain conditions. Everyone else stays under, like they were drugged."

As the group fell silent, digesting that theory, Xie continued.

"Second question: How is the player order assigned? I was third, he was second. We were paired together, but we weren't next to each other in the game. And the two who died—well, they were separated too. So what determines our placement in the corners? And if the fourth person always dies… then something's ensuring one of us gets marked for death from the start."

He looked around at their faces—some thoughtful, some confused, some terrified.

But it wasn't something that could be solved by thinking alone.

"Either way," Xiao Xiao stood up. Her ghost puppet, Chu You, rose beside her. "We've got a few solid leads. Time to get to work."

Before long, the crowd dispersed.

Wan Wuqiu stood. Xie Mingchi stopped him with a sharp look. "Why'd you tell them you're my ghost puppet?"

If he were being more blunt, he might've just asked: *Why lie?*

Wan Wuqiu met his gaze, smiling faintly. "Not everyone in the Puppet Realm is trustworthy. Even when we're sharing what we know, we need to hold something back."

To Xie, "holding something back" and "lying" weren't the same. The former slowed things down. The latter sent everyone running in the wrong direction.

He didn't know what Wan Wuqiu was up to.

"Relax," Wan Wuqiu said with easy assurance. "I'm not going to hurt you. Partners need trust."

Trust, my ass, Xie thought darkly.

Still grumbling inside, he left the dining hall, dragging a stunned He Qi with him.

He Qi had slept like a log, only to wake up to blood on the floor and now this madness about his brother nearly dying? If it weren't for pride, he'd be on his knees right now.

What the hell is this place?!

Remembering the rule about never using the stairs from the third floor to the fourth, Xie took the long way around, heading to the first floor to begin their search.

He'd been to the first floor before. Nothing stood out then—just an empty lounge and a few words from the servants before they all went upstairs.

The layout was simple. No rooms, just one large, open parlor.

As he stared at the walls, something clicked in his mind—he remembered what he saw the moment he entered the villa.

Could that vision have triggered something?

To test the idea, he spun around and called out to Wan Wuqiu, who had just arrived downstairs. "Did you see anything strange when you first stepped inside yesterday?"

Wan looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Like… the villa changing shape. Morphing into something else?"

Wan shook his head. "No. You saw that?"

Xie didn't answer.

So it wasn't that.

He dropped the topic. Better not to dwell on something he didn't understand.

But just then, a low rumble echoed through the air—the unmistakable sound of stone grinding on stone.

The stairs were moving again.

Xie looked up. The staircases between the second and third floors stayed put, but the four staircases from the first to second floor were twisting—repositioning their top landings to entirely new locations.

"Holy shit!" He Qi blurted.

Even more startling: the original floorboards at the top of the stairs seemed to retract, vanishing into the walls.

No wonder the path had disappeared mid-game last night. The stairs weren't appearing and disappearing—they were rotating in and out of reach.

That was it.

Xie's eyes lit up. "He Qi! Note the time and where each staircase leads!"

"Wha—oh, right!" He Qi scrambled to pull out the pen and notepad Xie had told him to pocket that morning. He numbered the staircases in his head and started writing down the time and new room assignments.

Xie felt a spark of hope. Sure, the kid was scared of everything, but at least he was efficient.

Wan Wuqiu looked down at the notes. "You're trying to find a pattern?"

Xie nodded. "Exactly. Last night, the stairs moved, then returned about half an hour later. But since we woke up this morning, they haven't moved once—until now. I think there's a different rotation pattern for day and night."

He didn't know much about the Puppet Realm, but he knew one thing: *If something's weird, it's important.* Those moving stairs weren't for aesthetics—they were part of the game.

And every game had rules.

Wan Wuqiu seemed to agree. "Then He Qi can keep logging everything. If we track it for the whole day, we might be able to figure out the cycle."

"Got it!" He Qi answered eagerly. Thinking was hard, but doing grunt work? That he could handle.

There wasn't much else on the first floor—just rows of photo frames on the walls.

Over twenty of them.

Each one showed Mr. Du standing stiffly in the middle, surrounded by a group of children. Smiling kids of all ages—some no more than seven or eight, others around He Qi's age.

Xie leaned in to study the first one.

Same background—the villa's lounge. Mr. Du in the center, smile frozen on his face, trying his best to look "kind."

Fourteen kids. Every single photo had fourteen kids.

He took it off the wall and flipped it over.

> "January 18th, 2021. Visiting children."

He frowned. So these were kids who had once toured the villa?

He checked another frame.

Different date. Same note: "Visiting children."

A theory began to form.

"Help me take these all down," Xie said to Wan Wuqiu and Shen Feinian. "Please."

They didn't ask questions. Within minutes, all the photos were laid out on a table.

Xie arranged them by date. The earliest was from twenty-three years ago.

Every year, fourteen kids.

Every year, a photo with Mr. Du.

The most recent was from last year.

And across two decades of pictures, Mr. Du hadn't aged a day. Same smile. Same pose. Same clothes. Same prayer beads on his wrist.

Exactly the same as the Mr. Du they'd seen this year.

Like he'd forgotten who he used to be—only remembering what he was *supposed* to look like.

Xie stared at the last frame. "So this year's photo hasn't been taken yet… which means we're the fourteen kids for this year."

He turned toward Wan Wuqiu, hoping for confirmation.

But froze in place.

Standing beside Wan Wuqiu was a child. Pale, blood-soaked, eyes burning red.

He stared at Xie Mingchi and smiled.

That smile was not human.

A chill ran down Xie's spine.