Shen Mo’s apartment was only a staging point. For hot tea and something to eat, they had to go into the Dollhouse.

The last time Yan Qingwen and Zhu Shu had entered the Dollhouse, they’d been in the thick of a battle of wits against the monsters of spring, summer, and autumn. Now they were proper guests — welcomed into the living room, seated by the warm fireplace, with cups of red tea and plates of refreshments in hand.

Zhu Shu sighed appreciatively. “This place has changed so much.”

Without those eerily grinning dolls, the front courtyard was planted with flowers, the back with vegetables — the whole space had become warm and welcoming, filled with the feeling of a real home.

A chicken strutted past the window, puffing out its neck, which made Zhu Shu laugh. She asked, “Weiwei, how did you manage all this? It feels like a countryside retreat. I think I spotted fish in the pond too?”

Bai Youwei was simultaneously sizing up how much meat the chicken was carrying. “…That’s all Teacher Cheng’s doing. To get the vegetables and chickens up and running, he specifically had us bring back a whole stack of books on farming and animal husbandry. He reads them every day — very meticulous about it.”

Zhu Shu smiled and nodded. “That’s Teacher Cheng for you — he’s always very thorough about everything.”

The back door swung open and Pan Xiaoxin came jogging in, panting, his round face damp with sweat. He greeted everyone: “Hi Yan Ge! Hi Zhu Jiejie! I’m going to shower and change.”

Zhu Shu teased him: “Little Xin is so hardworking — running every day like this, aren’t you tired?”

“Not at all!” Pan Xiaoxin replied without hesitation. Although his clothes were soaked through with sweat, his expression was light. “Shen Mo said if I keep running ten laps every day, my stamina will be on par with an adult’s. We’re short on people right now, and the next game might have me in it!”

His face was full of that particular bright eagerness that only children carry — not a trace of fear.

Teacher Cheng leaned out from the kitchen, spatula in hand, and declared: “As the saying goes — when hearts are united, mountains can be moved. A single thread cannot make a cord, a single tree does not make a forest. As long as every one of us does their part, we will certainly win!”

“Is Teacher Cheng going to participate too?” Yan Qingwen, seated in the living room, asked with mild surprise.

Shen Mo gave a calm nod. “Teacher Cheng has expressed the desire to participate. His age is a consideration, but after the enhancements from the maze, his physical condition shouldn’t be a significant disadvantage. If the game happens to intersect with his area of expertise, it could even be an advantage.”

Yan Qingwen fell silent, lifting his teacup and drinking slowly.

Even as Shen Mo said it, he understood — if they weren’t short on people, neither Shen Mo nor Bai Youwei would ever let an elderly man and a child take this kind of risk.

Yan Qingwen weighed his words for a moment, then finally stated his purpose: “What do you think is the reason Song Mingchuan organized a mass migration north after giving up on the Kings? Given his physical state… he could very well die on the way.”

Bai Youwei glanced at Shen Mo, then said evenly, “What other reason would there be? He probably concluded that we have no chance of winning. Rather than continue to invest, he’d rather cut losses early and preserve whatever resources and people he has left.”

“Li Li obtained some documents from the research lab.” Yan Qingwen said. “That enormous diamond-shaped object floating in the sky — after each round of battles, the radiation it emits grows stronger. The current readings have far exceeded the limits the human body can withstand. If the puzzle pieces weren’t protecting the territory, perhaps we would have vanished long ago.”

Bai Youwei’s brow furrowed slightly. “What are you getting at?”

Yan Qingwen looked at her, then at Shen Mo, and said in a low voice: “Through every battle, Song Mingchuan held on, supported you without wavering — no matter how poor his own health became, he kept himself going, because he wanted to avenge his son. For him to change course so abruptly, he must have discovered something that has left him… in complete despair.”

“Are you saying… we’ll die in the final battle?” Shen Mo asked.

“I can only speculate that the final battle may have no winner.” Yan Qingwen paused, then continued: “More precisely… whether in the past or now, no King has ever won the final battle.”

A silence fell over the living room. Outside the window, the chicken clucked. From the kitchen came the steady thud of a chopping knife. And from upstairs, the sound of rushing water…

Zhu Shu looked around at everyone, then asked hesitantly, “How many Kings… are left?”

—