Chapter 3: The Most Terrifying Part of the Game is Just the Rookie Village (Part Three)

Shen Lian recalled his previous suicide attempts.

They were all very artsy.

He looked at the saw in his hand.

Very violent.

Slowly, he brought it up to his neck.

Something from the neighboring morgue knocked on the door.

“Wow.”

My life isn’t meant to end yet, he thought, removing the saw.

Alright, he feared this thing in his hand.

Too violent, too direct. Just like jumping off a building or lying down on railway tracks—blood-soaked methods.

Depression was when one’s soul wished to kill their own body, while only reason and the physical self-preservation mechanism struggled against it.

This time, once again, the latter won out.

Alright, after all, a saw did not conform to Shen Lian’s aesthetic of violence.

A loud bang echoed from next door.

Shen Lian was all too familiar with this sound—it signified either breaking into or out through a door.

What had emerged?

Footsteps could be heard.

Peering cautiously through the crack in the door, he met a pair of indifferent eyes just in time.

It was that doctor wearing gold-rimmed glasses.

Zheng Qing had never figured out why such a cryptic dialogue box would appear on his phone:

The meaning of life?

Did living require a purpose? Life itself was its own significance.

At least many years later, those four characters comprising his name would appear in history books with an extraordinary meaning:

—for the masses.

What a splendid purpose indeed.

Feeling utterly uninterested, Zheng Qing clicked the “X” in the top right corner.

“In three seconds without selection, the system will automatically default to agreeing to play the game.”

“Please arrive at the outpatient hall before ten o’clock.”

The impeccably well-mannered Zheng Qing suddenly felt an urge to utter obscenities.

Relying on his home advantage within the hospital, he navigated through various chaotic and unscientific scenes to reach the outpatient hall. Only then was he informed that this was merely “the ‘beautiful’ newbie village.”

Then, without warning, he found himself teleported at random to a place with which he was overwhelmingly familiar:

The morgue.

The door to the morgue was locked.

Zheng Qing truly wanted to curse aloud.

He surveyed his surroundings; the lighting was dim, the cold air chilling to the bone.

There were no abnormalities in the refrigerators.

A series of sounds came from outside.

Someone was out there.

In his hand remained a surgical knife—a No. 20 blade.

The material of the surgical knife’s blade was high-carbon steel, far sharper than most blades. Its cutting and piercing capabilities were both top-notch, allowing for repeated use without issue.

However, due to its length, it could not possibly penetrate deep into vital organs.

Thank goodness for his idle habit—a relic from the practices of French surgeons in the fourteenth or fifteenth century (Note).

Though he could only consider cutting the trachea, neck, brachial artery, femoral artery, and eyes—

He wondered if any of these would be effective against “ghosts.”

Next door lay the sawmill. Perhaps those outside had already obtained a saw.

With one forceful kick, Zheng Qing blasted open the door.

Borrowing the faint light from the “safe passage” signboard, Zheng Qing looked up and spotted a shattered surveillance camera lens.

Indeed, someone had arrived.

A narrow gap remained between the doors of the sawmill. Peering through this crack, he met a pair of eyes head-on.

He recognized the owner of those eyes.

This fellow was the twelfth person to enter the outpatient hall.

Around twenty years old in appearance, with delicate features bearing a sickly pallor.

A black coat was carelessly draped over his hospital gown, its buttons fastened haphazardly askew. His hair was disheveled, reflecting a state of panic-stricken bewilderment.

His left arm was swathed in bandages, likely an injury sustained before the game began; due to his sprained right ankle, he ran with an unsteady gait.

First, he clung to a trash bin, retching violently while breaking down into uncontrollable sobs—it seemed as though he belonged to that class of people who dwell within an ivory tower.

Zheng Qing had noticed his eyes earlier—the pupils were like obsidian, but their gaze was hollow and vacant, as if utterly terrified.

However, at this moment…

Seeing the shattered camera lens, Zheng Qing ruled out the possibility that this fellow could have been teleported directly into the sawmill from the start.

To purposefully smash the camera and arrive at the sawmill—this guy couldn’t be as weak as he appeared to be.

Between surgical knife and saw—

Zheng Qing wasn’t foolish; he chose to swiftly depart.

At that very instant, he heard a clear voice from within the sawmill: “Hello.”

Zheng Qing continued walking towards the staircase entrance.

“Excuse me, is there any extra freezer space available in the morgue?”

Sensing something amiss, Zheng Qing changed his pace from walking to running, hastily leaving this eerie floor behind.

Could this be the “ghost”?

Normal people wouldn’t typically ask such a question.

Holding the saw, Shen Lian exited the sawmill and entered the morgue.

“The extra freezer…” he muttered to himself in a deranged manner.

After much thought, he managed to open one.

Luck was at its peak; there were no corpses inside.

However, whether it was due to psychological suggestion or not, he couldn’t help but feel that the smell within was indescribable.

Clutching the saw, he happily lay down inside, then reached out with the saw from outside to push the box further inward.

He didn’t know the temperature of the freezer, but rumor had it that sleeping without a blanket at night when temperatures dropped below 14 degrees Celsius could lead to freezing death—so this temperature would suffice.

Freezing to death should be considered a relatively good way to go: initially extremely cold, followed by vasodilation-induced heat hallucinations, causing a satisfied smile to bloom across one’s face.

A perfect finale appearance indeed.

And what if suffocation were added on top of that? Although there was a small gap left on the box…

Shen Lian pondered these thoughts hazily, feeling an unparalleled sense of peace.