In this game, the Inspector existed within the game scenario in the role of the inn’s owner and rarely appeared.
After calling from upstairs, Bai Youwei went downstairs to call again.
She finished calling downstairs and saw no sign of anyone. She was about to head back up when the Inspector’s quiet voice drifted from behind her:
“You may stay in Room 305.”
Bai Youwei turned around, standing on the stair landing, and stared at the comic-faced man in bewilderment.
“Are you joking?” She opened her eyes wide. “You want me to sleep in a dead person’s room?!”
The comic-faced man’s expression wasn’t particularly pleasant, but the duties of an Inspector demanded impartiality toward all players, so he still explained dutifully: “Between midnight and six in the morning, players must remain in their own rooms.”
“Even so, you can’t make me sleep in a dead person’s room!” Bai Youwei found this completely unacceptable. “Hotels and inns don’t they usually offer cot services? Give me a cot — Room 201 or 301 would both be fine.”
Room 201 was Su Man’s room, and Room 301 was Zhu Shu’s.
The Inspector declined without expression. “Each player must have their own separate room. If you don’t want Room 305, you may also choose Rooms 401 or 403.”
Room 401 was Lin Kui’s room, and Room 403 was Yan Qingwen’s.
Bai Youwei’s eyes grew even wider. “You want me to sleep in a bed a man has slept in? I have a boyfriend — if he smells something strange after the game ends, how am I supposed to explain that?”
The corner of the Inspector’s mouth twitched slightly. “Your boyfriend’s concerns fall outside my jurisdiction. The available empty rooms are 305, 401, and 403 — there are no other options.”
“What if I want to stay in the lobby?” Bai Youwei asked.
The Inspector shook his head and repeated the same line: “Between midnight and six in the morning, players must remain in their rooms.”
Bai Youwei thought it over. “Why must we stay in our rooms? …Could it be that something is going to happen at night?”
The comic-faced man was experienced at this — he didn’t take the bait, not wanting to be pumped for information.
Bai Youwei said, “Fine then. I’ll take Room 403.”
The comic-faced man turned and walked away.
Bai Youwei muttered after him, “Looks like something is definitely going to happen tonight — otherwise there’d be no reason to restrict movement at all. Our rest time is the killer’s active time, isn’t that right? Tsk tsk… it’s like a werewolf game.”
The comic-faced man: “…”
No response. He continued walking forward, firmly refusing to engage.
Bai Youwei gave an indifferent curl of her lip.
—
After midnight, the inn fell into absolute silence.
It was as though someone had pressed a mute button — even the sound of rain outside the window suddenly seemed distant. And in that stillness came another kind of delicate noise: the creak of the mattress as someone turned over, the soft rustle of a pillow, and the inexplicable groaning sounds of this old building…
Bai Youwei was using the bedding and pillow she’d taken from the dollhouse. She held her rabbit and lay quietly on the bed, turning over occasionally, not daring to fall asleep easily, worried she’d miss any movement in the night.
No one had been sacrificed the entire day. If they were following a one-death-per-day rule, tonight would be the killer’s last chance.
And moreover…
If she was right, once the next victim appeared, the next death notice would also appear.
It was a shame she couldn’t go out — she’d actually quite like to go out and investigate.
What would happen if she went out?
Would violating the rules get her eliminated? …It didn’t really matter. She was just a backup player anyway — as long as she could tell Zhu Shu and Su Man how to decode the cipher before being eliminated, that would be enough.
Thinking this way, Bai Youwei simply sat up.
The rabbit in her arms tumbled to the floor with a thud, jolted awake and looked around in a daze.
A stuffed rabbit that could fall asleep — Bai Youwei was genuinely speechless.
Ever since leveling up in the mermaid labyrinth last time, the rabbit had become more “alive.” Before, it could only follow simple commands; now it seemed to have developed its own awareness.
Bai Youwei wasn’t sure if this kind of upgrade was a good thing — because sometimes, a thing that was too lively was actually less useful than something that simply followed orders blindly.
—