Yan Chuan checked his messages.
When he caught sight of the content on the screen, he raised an eyebrow.
It was an invitation.
The sender was the person who had previously asked him, “Would you like to know the script’s secrets?” without revealing their true identity.
The last message remained a question mark he had sent; the other party hadn’t responded.
Coincidentally, after a few hours of silence, they sent this message right after he woke up.
Yan Chuan hesitated and sent a “?” back.
The link for the invitation still glowed.
Yan Chuan discerned some text from the cover page.
“Special Variety Show: Spin the Wheel Game, welcome to all escape show contestants!”
“Location: XX Villa, A City Suburb”
“Reward: 50,000 points”
A special variety show?
Was the spin the wheel game the one he thought it was?
Yan Chuan found it somewhat unbelievable.
The invitation clearly stated the location was A City, where he lived, implying this “special variety show” required in-person participation?
Yan Chuan hesitated, carefully not clicking on the link.
Escape shows are notorious for being deceptive. Signing a random flyer could pull one into the script, and clicking this invitation link might be seen as voluntarily participating.
Moreover, the reward of 50,000 points… it seemed very much like a trap.
Ordinary contestants, relying on their diligence to clear scripts and complete tasks, might not accumulate even a few thousand points in one go, not to mention potential injuries within the script.
He often saw contestants in forums ranting about how they had completed both main and side tasks but still lost half their points due to insufficient character portrayal.
Escape shows are quite stringent with points distribution; not only must you complete tasks, but you also need to maintain your “character.”
After all, escape shows are real-life variety shows, albeit the kind that requires quotation marks.
Usually, script rewards are limited to below ten thousand points, so seeing such a large reward would make many contestants eager to participate, regardless of the fact that this was in the real world.
With a 50,000-point reward for an offline special variety show, many people would definitely join.
Yan Chuan lowered his eyes.
But he wouldn’t.
He still felt he should focus on completing the tasks within the script instead of involving himself in this in the real world.
After sending his message without receiving a reply, it felt as if it had sunk into the ocean, making Yan Chuan lose interest in checking messages, casually placing his phone aside.
He stood up, intending to take a shower.
Contestants still exist in the real world when entering the script, similar to an immersive game. However, the scenes they witness and the harm they feel are utterly real.
Having spent more than two weeks in a completely sealed confinement island, Yan Chuan felt he might develop claustrophobia.
With no daylight in sight and relying solely on artificial lighting, the ever-bright prison was a bit terrifying.
Not to mention, there were so many inmates within, leaving him vulnerable to countless gazes.
While in prison, he always had to rush through his showers.
Yan Chuan frowned.
He knew he hadn’t actually experienced all of this in the real world; he had merely slept in his bed, but he still wanted to take a shower.
Yan Chuan grabbed a towel.
As the showerhead sprayed hot water, the glass door of the bathroom became fogged, creating a blurred haze.
He pushed his bangs up, revealing a smooth and fair forehead, with water droplets cascading onto his beautiful, snow-white face.
The steam rose, his cheeks gradually flushed with a hint of red, and his lips turned vibrant.
With dark brows and deep-set eyes, his rosy lips contrasted sharply against the pale skin on his face.
Water drizzled down his pointed chin, landing on his slender chest, his entire body glistening, accentuating his delicate curves.
His skin was flawless and white, with even his joints taking on a subtle pink hue that became even more pronounced with the steam.
During this time, Yan Chuan had filled out a little; compared to how overly thin he had been at first, he was much improved. Although he still looked slender and attractive, he had gained some softness.
His skin was pure and white, warm and inviting to the touch.
“Knock, knock.”
The door was knocked on.
It was Shan Qi.
He called out from outside, “Are you awake?”
Shan Qi knocked a few more times, seemingly in a hurry.
Yan Chuan turned off the shower and emerged from the bathroom, towel wrapped around him and leaving wet footprints on the floor.
Shan Qi knew he was busy with tasks and usually wouldn’t bother him; something must have happened now.
Yan Chuan pushed his damp hair back, dripping water as he approached the door barefoot.
“I’m coming.”
The door swung open abruptly, catching Shan Qi’s hand in mid-air.
As their eyes met, Shan Qi widened his in surprise.
“What’s wrong?” The person who opened the door was dripping wet, water droplets running down his cheeks and forming beads that trickled from his pointed chin into the soft, white towel.
His face was pale, slightly flushed from the steam.
The towel was not very large, barely covering half of his slender, snow-white chest, exposing his delicate collarbone. Long, straight legs protruded from beneath the towel.
His shoulders were rounded, dotted with damp droplets, and he bore a subtle red mark that appeared to be from an accidental graze.
His hair was cut at a shoulder length, wet and clinging to his shoulder, dampening the towel.
His face was small, partially obscured by wet strands of hair, making it look even smaller. His brows were elegant, and his eyes were hazy, with even his slightly turned-up nose having water droplets clinging to it.
“What’s wrong?” With an outstretched alabaster arm, Shan Qi stepped inside, following the slender figure’s lead.
From behind, his beautiful butterfly bones spread like wings ready to take flight, delicate yet graceful.
He couldn’t look any longer… Shan Qi caught himself staring, clearing his throat to cover his distraction.