Yan Chuan nodded absently.
After navigating around a section of piping on the right, Yan Chuan and Tang Zhen finally arrived at the pipe entrance of Room Five.
Tang Zhen reached out to push aside the fan blades slightly, using the little bit of light spilling through the gap to peer inside the apartment.
The scene inside unfolded before them through the small opening of the pipe.
Yan Chuan blinked without averting his gaze.
What lay ahead was not the living room, but a bedroom within the apartment.
From the old and monotonous decorations inside, along with a single bed pushed against the wall, Yan Chuan concluded that this wasn’t the room that Zhou Wu and his “wife” occupied.
The floor was even covered in dust, suggesting it had not been cleaned in a long time—like an abandoned room, uninhabited by anyone.
Was this room possibly inhabited by the elderly person living in Room Five?
As he stared for a while, Yan Chuan shifted his neck, feeling soreness.
The size and position of the pipe entrance were fixed, which meant they had to constantly adjust their bodies to change their viewpoint to see the entire room.
Having learned from past experiences, Yan Chuan made small movements, afraid to touch anything again, even though Tang Zhen was right beside him.
“You can lean in a bit closer,” Tang Zhen noticed something and slightly turned his body. “We might have to wait for a while.”
With his doubts now voiced, Yan Chuan pursed his lips and nodded gently.
His shoulders were indeed sore, extending up into the back of his neck. Bending over like this had left his knees and elbows aching.
While he couldn’t see any bruises now, once outside in the light, he would definitely spot the dark purple marks.
Thinking about his health, Yan Chuan shifted a bit closer to Tang Zhen, resting lightly against his shoulder.
Tang Zhen reached out and pressed Yan Chuan’s head down onto his shoulder.
Yan Chuan squished his cheek against Tang Zhen’s solid shoulder, his soft flesh creating a small dent.
What a strange posture this was!
Yan Chuan tried to lift his head from Tang Zhen’s shoulder, but Tang Zhen pushed down on his back, causing Yan Chuan to bump against him again.
Tang Zhen’s muscles were firm, and his bones felt hard; Yan Chuan’s forehead was bruised from the impact.
How could this person be so sturdy, even his shoulder was hard?
“Don’t move around,” Tang Zhen said, keeping his gaze straight ahead. “Someone is coming.”
Yan Chuan: …Who is the one moving around?
But at that moment, footsteps were indeed heard from the room, heavy and deliberate, prompting Yan Chuan to hold back his words.
However, the culprit’s expression remained too calm, blank even, without a single furrow of his brow. It was only Yan Chuan who felt like a foolish little bird caught in a net, dizzy and unable to flap his wings.
This thought frustrated him to the point where he crumpled the fabric of Tang Zhen’s shoulder.
How irritating.
Someone had entered the room.
A middle-aged man appeared in Yan Chuan’s line of sight; he walked with a slight stoop, as if he had been injured, his steps uneven, one foot deep and the other shallow.
It was Zhou Wu.
Yan Chuan furrowed his brow, momentarily forgetting what Tang Zhen had just done.
What was wrong with Zhou Wu?
The lights were dim inside, so Yan Chuan could only squint his eyes, trying to discern Zhou Wu’s expression.
Zhou Wu came out holding a bowl, which contained thick porridge. He directly placed it on the floor, and the porcelain bowl clashed with the ground, producing a loud clatter.
In the corner, there were several dark, shabby bowls with chipped edges, dirty and unkempt.
Who was this for?
Yan Chuan was baffled.
That posture could almost be described as throwing the bowl down; it was somewhat contemptuous, clearly not a good attitude.
Images of Zhou Wu’s panicked face during the day when he begged the contestants to gather rushed into Yan Chuan’s mind, causing him to hold his breath.
Zhou Wu seemed timid and fearful, usually shrinking back; why was he behaving so casually now?
Or rather, who lived in this room?
“Eat it,” Zhou Wu tossed out the sentence before leaving.
Suddenly, a sound of clanging chains echoed in the corner; before Yan Chuan could ponder further, he saw an arm reach out, pushing the bowl toward himself.
Judging by the wrist size, it was an adult’s hand.
Yan Chuan’s brow furrowed slightly.
He had never seen a fourth adult in this household when passing by.
Bending down, Yan Chuan strained his eyes against the pipe opening, trying to catch a glimpse of the person inside the room.
Was he a player… or an NPC?
Faint light illuminated Yan Chuan’s eyes, making his heart race.
Was there a connection to the corpse they saw in the pipe?
It was a man.
A young man, at that.
His hair was long and greasy, tangled and obscuring his face, leaving only a pair of hollow, lifeless eyes visible.
The clothing he wore was unrecognizable due to dirt, hanging loosely on his body and fitting poorly.
Restrained by chains on his hands and feet, he couldn’t sit or stand properly, only able to curl up in the corner of the room, covered in filth.
He pushed the bowl of porridge awkwardly in front of him, struggling to drink from it.
But the porridge was thick, and without utensils, his wrist chained, his movements were limited; one wrong move and he would spill the bowl.
The porridge cascaded out, splattering onto the dirty floor, even flowing onto him.
The man in the corner appeared to see nothing, mechanically licking up the porridge from the floor.
Yan Chuan pursed his lips.
With his view hindered, he couldn’t fully see the man’s features, but he could ascertain that he was definitely not a player or NPC who had appeared in this script.
This condition was clearly abnormal. If he were an NPC, it wouldn’t matter, but if he were a player…
What if he had been trapped here since entering the script, unable to leave? In just a few days, had he been tormented into this state?
Subscribe
Login
0 Comments