If the phrase “the rules are absolute” still applied to this second “game,” then what was written on the mask was the method to break through it.

But how could they break through?

And when would the harpoons fire?

“The clock never stops”…

Could it be one-fifteen?

Qi Xia turned to look at the table clock. It was already one-oh-five. If “one-fifteen” was when the harpoons would fire, then they had less than ten minutes remaining.

“Turn toward your homeland one hundred times”…

The nine people present were from different hometowns. Moreover, “one hundred times” was not a small number.

If their line of thinking was wrong, they could easily waste these ten minutes.

But in this room, besides themselves, what else could “turn”?

Qi Xia’s gaze settled on the table clock in the center of the table.

He leaned forward and gently touched the clock, only to discover it was firmly fixed to the tabletop and couldn’t be moved even a fraction.

“The clock can’t move. Could it be the chairs?”

Qi Xia looked down at the chair beneath him. It was an old, ordinary chair that smelled of mildew, casually placed on the ground with no mechanisms whatsoever.

If that was the case, then only…

Qi Xia reached out and turned the tabletop. Sure enough, a faint sound of chains came from inside the table.

However, the table was very heavy. Even using considerable force, he could only rotate the table a few centimeters.

“One hundred times…”

This number definitely couldn’t be completed by just two or three people. All nine people present needed to work together to turn the tabletop if they hoped to have any chance of survival.

Lin Qin keenly caught Qi Xia’s movement and called for everyone to stop.

Everyone gathered around the table to take a look and discovered that the table could indeed rotate.

“You’re really something, con man,” Qiao Jiajin nodded and said. “If we turn this table one hundred times, we should be able to open that invisible door.”

Qi Xia glanced at the clock again. Although time was pressing, the problem had now become more straightforward.

Turning this round table one hundred times toward the direction of their “homeland” essentially came down to two answers.

Left or right.

However, everyone’s hometowns were scattered in various directions—east, south, west, and north. How could they determine whether to go left or right?

“Qi Xia, have you already figured out when the harpoons will fire?” Lin Qin asked, covering his mouth and nose.

“The hint says the time ‘never stops,’ so it will probably be at one-fifteen,” Qi Xia said softly.

Qiao Jiajin’s expression changed after hearing this. “Doesn’t that mean we have less than ten minutes left? Let’s hurry up and start turning.”

Doctor Zhao moved the corpse lying on the tabletop aside, then slowly sat down. He tested the weight of the table and said, “But we only have one chance. This table is so heavy—what if we turn it one hundred times in the wrong direction?”

“That still gives us a fifty percent chance of survival!” Qiao Jiajin said anxiously. “If we don’t move, we’re definitely dead. But if we turn it, we at least have a fifty percent chance of living. Let’s not waste time!”

With that, he used all his strength to begin turning the tabletop to the left.

Although Qiao Jiajin looked thin, his strength was tremendous. He alone rotated the table half a turn.

“What are you all standing around for?! Damn it, help out!” Qiao Jiajin shouted at everyone.

The others knew Qiao Jiajin had a point and could only temporarily help him turn it together.

Right now, there was no correct answer—they could only gamble.

But Qi Xia still hadn’t moved.

He didn’t know which direction to think in.

Left or right?

Why was the keyword “homeland”…?

Everyone was Chinese, so did it mean “the East”?

North is up, south is down, left is west, right is east—so the answer is “right”?

But what about people who lived in the west?

Or perhaps each person’s homeland was related to the “Zuo Zhuan” from the Spring and Autumn period, making the answer “left”?

Qi Xia closed his eyes slightly. He had originally planned to use the two corpses to shield himself, but if all the others died, what would happen when the next game arrived…

“Now is not the time to abandon them.”

Qi Xia thought to himself, then reached out and grabbed a sheet of white paper from the rotating tabletop. He picked up a pen, stood up, and walked to the side. He found an empty spot to sit down and began scribbling away.

Although everyone was somewhat puzzled, their hands didn’t stop moving. They had already turned the tabletop more than ten times.

“If he hadn’t introduced himself as a ‘con man,’ I would’ve thought that guy was a mathematician,” Qiao Jiajin said to Tiantian beside him.

Tiantian was a bit dizzy from spinning herself earlier and could only nod perfunctorily.

This time, Qi Xia didn’t write out vertical equations. Instead, he roughly drew a map of the country on the paper.

“Homeland…?”

His mind raced, and suddenly he thought of something.

“Wait, wait…” Qi Xia’s eyes widened. “If the ‘organizer’s’ powers are so vast that they can find people with similar experiences from so many provinces, could ‘province’ also be a key point?”

He turned around and looked at everyone rotating the table, asking seriously, “Did any of you lie earlier about the ‘homeland’ question?”

Everyone shook their heads.

After all, “homeland” was tied to accent and speech habits—lying would easily expose flaws.

“Good,” Qi Xia nodded slightly. “Now please tell me your hometowns again, one by one.”

Officer Li was the first to speak. “I’m from Inner Mongolia.”

Qi Xia drew a black dot at Inner Mongolia’s location.

“I’m from Sichuan,” Lawyer Zhang Chenze said coldly.

“I’m from Shaanxi lah…” Tiantian said.

“Dali, Yunnan,” kindergarten teacher Xiao Ran said.

“Guangdong,” Qiao Jiajin said.

“Ningxia,” psychological counselor Lin Qin said.

“I work in Jiangsu,” Doctor Zhao said.

Qi Xia marked everyone’s hometowns on the map one by one, then added his own “Shandong.”

At this moment, everyone’s gaze gathered on the writer Han Yimo, because he hadn’t mentioned his hometown from the very beginning.

“Han Yimo, are you from Guangxi or Taiwan?”

Han Yimo was startled. “How did you know?”

“Time is tight. Answer me first.”

“I’m from Guangxi…”

Qi Xia nodded. At this point, only two provinces remained for Han Yimo.

Guangxi Province and Taiwan Province.

If his answer wasn’t one of these two, then he would have told a tremendous lie.

Fortunately, he told the truth.

Qi Xia marked the final province on the map. Now there were nine black dots on the sketch.

“Just as I thought.”

Qi Xia said in a low voice, “Stop quickly. Turn right.”

“Right?”

Qi Xia ran quickly to the table, tossed the white paper onto it, and began turning the tabletop in the opposite direction.

Although everyone was somewhat confused, they followed him and turned.

Doctor Zhao glanced at the map on the tabletop and the nine black dots.

“Why ‘right’?”