LABMY CH156

The room on the upper floor of the castle was probably the largest and most spacious in the entire building. Thick curtains draped all the way to the floor, allowing not a single ray of light to penetrate.

Inside, a luxurious wardrobe stood open. When the partition inside was moved aside, a large hole was revealed behind it.

A long passageway extended into the darkness, its depths impossible to discern.

Walking inside, a staircase stretched downward. Along the way, there were no forks in the path, but at the very end, there was a red-brick corridor. Following the corridor to its end, one would find an open iron door.

Inside the iron door, unexpectedly, the space was empty. It was hard to imagine that such a long hidden passageway existed solely to house a single… coffin.

Though the coffin was exceptionally luxurious—its lid was even adorned with gemstones on either side—the entire body of the coffin was pitch black, with gold outlining its edges. Just this one coffin alone was worth a fortune.

The lid was open, allowing the interior to be seen. The base was lined with red velvet fabric, padded with soft cushioning, and even contained a plush quilt with a moon pattern.

Jian Yuanbai: ……

He turned his head and glanced at the person beside him. “Is this… your bed?”

The young man didn’t even dare to look at him. He hung his head like a quail, nervously wringing his hands, and quietly shuffled two steps to the side.

Seeing that Shen Tingyue remained silent, Jian Yuanbai walked up to the coffin, picked up the quilt, and examined it. “Not going to say anything?”

His long, well-defined fingers rested on the crescent moon pattern of the quilt. His deep, magnetic voice carried a teasing tone: “Hmm? Little Moon?”

Shen Tingyue’s gaze flickered as he stammered, “N-No, it’s not.”

“How could I possibly sleep in a coffin?”

He quickly brushed past the topic and eagerly reminded, “You said that if I brought you here, you’d let me bite your neck.”

Jian Yuanbai responded, “I will. Once we leave the castle, I’ll let you bite.”

The little vampire’s eyes widened in shock. “You’re going back on your word!”

Jian Yuanbai hummed in mild confusion. “I only said I’d let you bite my neck. I never said when.”

“How does that count as going back on my word?”

The inexperienced little vampire opened his mouth in disbelief, wanting to argue but finding himself unable to refute.

Jian Yuanbai kindly explained, “These past few days, I’ve been letting you bite my fingers every day. If you keep drinking my blood, you’ll have nothing left to eat.”

Shen Tingyue silently clenched his fists. This was too much. Truly too much.

He wouldn’t drain him dry.

Even though he knew that if he completely drained the man before him, he would regain the memories and strength he had lost, for some unknown reason, he simply didn’t want to do it.

Seeing that the young man was pouting in silence, Jian Yuanbai extended a finger. “Here, you can bite my finger.”

Shen Tingyue wanted to refuse out of pride, but he had been starving since he woke up. Every time he fed, he held himself back, which left him constantly hungry.

The little vampire wrinkled his nose in dissatisfaction but still took the offered finger into his mouth, muttering, “You’re bullying me.”

Jian Yuanbai looked at him with amusement. “I’m not bullying you.”

“I’m bullying the moon.”

As the unique, fragrant blood trickled into his mouth, the little vampire dumbly raised his head. He stared at the flawlessly handsome man before him, then, puzzled, reached out to touch his own chest.

So strange. It felt like his heart had just skipped a beat.

But he was a vampire. How could he have a heartbeat?

Jian Yuanbai had no idea what Shen Tingyue was thinking as he sucked on his finger. Surveying the underground chamber, he realized that while he had managed to get Shen Tingyue to reveal where he had emerged from, this place, apart from confirming his suspicions, didn’t quite meet his requirements.

It could be useful, though—it was large enough to hold one person.

He withdrew his finger, which was now slick with Shen Tingyue’s saliva, wiped it clean with a tissue, then examined the nails on the coffin lid and the scattered nails on the floor. “Were you nailed inside this?”

That strange feeling from earlier had already faded. Shen Tingyue obediently shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

Jian Yuanbai didn’t press further. He pushed the coffin lid back into place and turned to Shen Tingyue. “Let’s go.”

…

The next day, fewer people gathered in the hall—this time, three were missing.

Before the clock struck nine, Li Lijie spoke loudly to the remaining people. “We can’t keep killing each other. Someone escaped from the castle yesterday. As long as he reports to the police, they’ll come and find us.”

“Do you really want to become murderers?”

Jian Yuanbai was a little surprised and glanced at Li Lijie. Had they really found a way out?

But the fog around the castle was so thick that one couldn’t get far before getting lost.

As soon as Li Lijie finished speaking, several people in the hall suddenly changed expressions. Jian Yuanbai silently took note of them. He had a guess—these people had either killed before or participated in a killing.

There were still six people left in the hall.

As the metallic clang of the bell echoed, the screen lit up.

This time, no names were called. Instead, an image appeared on the screen—the scene outside the castle’s iron gate.

Lying motionless before them was Li Lijie, his pupils dilated, clearly dead.

“You said before the game began that everything that happens here will never be known to outsiders,” Li Lijie had once said.

But the voice from the screen laughed wildly. “Hahaha! I didn’t lie. It’s just that none of you have the ability to leave.”

The so-called voluntary exit had always been a lie.

To leave this place, one had to either be the sole survivor—or be carried out as a corpse.

Jian Yuanbai wasn’t surprised by this outcome. He glanced at the six remaining people in the hall, starting to take note of those who might make a move.

A short-haired girl with sharp eyes, bloodstained hands wrapped in cloth; a middle-aged man whose fingers were lightly bleeding beneath the bandages; a brash young man with dyed yellow hair; Li Lijie, now dead; a slightly frail woman in her thirties with short hair; and Lao Zhao.

Suddenly, Jian Yuanbai’s gaze paused. Did Lao Zhao change his clothes?

Changing clothes after being here for so long was normal. Jian Yuanbai didn’t dwell on it and instead began calculating his odds.

To put an end to this game, he couldn’t follow its rules.

The castle was huge. Tracking people down wouldn’t be easy. More importantly, if he restrained someone and got discovered, he would be putting himself in a position where he couldn’t defend himself.

He watched as the others left one after another. But instead of following, Jian Yuanbai sat silently on the sofa, waiting.

Today’s time seemed to pass especially quickly. Hearing the chime of the pendulum clock, a middle-aged man nearby appeared in the hall. He was clearly puzzled and walked over to take a look at the clock.

The next second, from the staircase corner obscured by the pendulum clock, Jian Yuanbai stepped out with a smile at him.

With a muffled bang, Jian Yuanbai moved fluidly, reversing his grip to pin down the middle-aged man, pressing his knee against the man’s back. No matter how the man struggled, he couldn’t break free.

From the dining room, Shen Tingyue came running out with a tap tap tap, just in time to throw a bundle of rope onto the floor.

The middle-aged man was messily tied up, looking at the two of them in disbelief. “You tampered with the pendulum clock?”

“Impossible, there’s no way to adjust the time.”

Jian Yuanbai raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “This kind of old-fashioned pendulum clock requires a specialized craftsman. Ordinary people indeed can’t adjust it.”

“But, sorry to say, I have a bit of money, so I have a real one at home.”

Without wasting any more words, Jian Yuanbai stuffed a cloth into the man’s mouth, tied him up, and dragged him away.

When the second chime rang, a short-haired girl was startled. She hurried to the hall, afraid she had missed this round’s names being called.

Having gotten used to the pendulum clock marking the start and end of the game, she didn’t notice at all that the interval between the previous chime marking the game’s end and this one signaling the start was slightly shorter than usual.

By the time she arrived, the screen was black, and the hall was empty.

The sharp wind from her sprint made her realize something was wrong. She spun around, but it was too late—a dining knife was already pressed against her neck.

A faint rustling noise came from the right doorway, where Li Lijie peeked out in horror, half his head showing. His gaze landed on Jian Yuanbai, who was holding the knife, and Shen Tingyue, who stood beside him with a rope.

To Li Lijie, the two of them formed four words: partners in crime.

Jian Yuanbai’s gaze met his, and in an instant, Li Lijie turned and bolted. As he ran, he shouted with grief and indignation:

“He’s killing someone—you don’t just hand him the rope!!”

“If you marry a chicken, you follow the chicken; if you marry a dog, you follow the dog—but you’re not even married yet!”

“And even if you were, you can’t just follow blindly! Don’t let love cloud your judgment!!”

His voice was so loud that even after he had vanished, the echoes still lingered.

Jian Yuanbai clicked his tongue. “What nonsense is he yelling?”

He turned to look at the stunned Shen Tingyue, rubbed his nose, and gave an awkward chuckle. “Don’t mind him. He doesn’t know you’re a guy.”

“We’re both men—what could there be between us, right?”

It was just a panicked shout from Li Lijie, but Jian Yuanbai still seriously explained it to Shen Tingyue, telling him not to take it to heart.

The little vampire had just climbed out of his coffin, still dazed and clueless. Naturally, he didn’t understand what protesting too much or a guilty conscience meant.

Shen Tingyue nodded in confusion. “Who was he saying had to get married?”

“Me?”

Jian Yuanbai coughed violently twice, then, with a complicated expression, patted Shen Tingyue’s shoulder. “Boys can’t get married.”

Though he said that, he couldn’t stop his mind from conjuring an image of Shen Tingyue in a wedding dress.

Li Lijie had shouted so loudly that Jian Yuanbai couldn’t guarantee no one else had heard him. He had to hurry and deal with the tied-up captives.

Since they had already alerted the enemy, they could only track them down one by one.

Jian Yuanbai’s approach was actually quite risky. No one would listen to his explanations—they would only think he had ulterior motives, and they might even rally together against him. Meanwhile, the hidden enemies still hadn’t shown themselves.

At the same time, he had to ensure that the people he had tied up wouldn’t be discovered. Otherwise, they would be like lambs waiting to be slaughtered, easy prey.

At that point, he would effectively become the mastermind behind their deaths.

The underground chamber Shen Tingyue had suggested was too far, taking too much time to reach. Plus, it was too empty—there was nothing in it. If the captives managed to untie each other, all of Jian Yuanbai’s efforts would be in vain.

So instead, he put them on the top floor, a space piled high with skeletons.

Most people were naturally terrified of such things and would avoid them out of superstition. Even if they reached the area, they wouldn’t dare go further. Jian Yuanbai added a lock for extra security.

The two captives tied up there were in utter despair.

They were placed deep within the top floor, one to the left and one to the right, tied to steel pipes with their mouths gagged.

The worst part was that the bones were stacked over them. If the middle-aged man so much as lifted his eyes, he would find himself staring into the empty sockets of a skull. If he turned his head, a sinister, grinning jawbone was almost kissing his face.

He wanted to die—he really did.

Between the two captives crouched a little vampire, holding a dining knife and standing guard, his expression solemn.

Jian Yuanbai had instructed him: if anyone tried to break in, he was to dump the bones from the skylight in massive quantities.

If they tried to pry the door open, he was to cover his mouth and hide among the skeletons. Other than the skylight, the room was pitch black, making it difficult to spot anyone hiding in the corners.

As a reward, once the mission was over, he could bite—he could even bite a neck!

After settling Shen Tingyue, Jian Yuanbai began searching the castle for the remaining people.

He was worried about something happening where Shen Tingyue was, but he had no choice but to leave someone on guard.

He could only move quickly and resolve his part of the situation.

Time passed bit by bit. The night deepened.

A loose pipe valve in the bathroom dripped steadily.

Finishing his urgent business, a blond-haired man opened the bathroom door—only to bump straight into someone.

Under the moonlight, a shovel swung up high and came crashing down.

The blond-haired man didn’t even have time to say a word before his body collapsed to the ground.

Looking at the corpse, the figure in the darkness stomped hard on the man’s face, his voice low and muffled. “Kicking me on the bus?”

He then delivered a heavy kick to the corpse’s stomach, sending it slamming into the bathroom wall. “Get up and kick me again! Weren’t you so damn cocky?”

The moon was cold and distant.

The figure walking through the dim corridor suddenly halted.

Opposite him, Jian Yuanbai also stopped.

Their eyes met.

Jian Yuanbai was the first to speak, his voice calm. “You killed someone.”

It wasn’t a question—it was a statement.

The blood-spattered Lao Zhao stood before him. Other than murder, Jian Yuanbai could think of no other explanation.

In that instant, he recalled how Lao Zhao had changed his clothes.

After a pause, he said, “This isn’t the first time you’ve killed someone, is it?”

The seemingly honest, mild-mannered farmer smiled at him and replied in an indifferent tone, “No, it’s not.”

“I’ve killed… three or four, I think.”

Lives, to him, were so insignificant they weren’t even worth counting.

Lao Zhao grinned at Jian Yuanbai, his expression twisted. “And you… will be the fifth.”

The bloodstained, rusty shovel swung toward Jian Yuanbai with a gust of wind.

Jian Yuanbai shifted half a step back, tilting his head to dodge it while grabbing hold of the handle.

Lao Zhao turned his hand in a reverse grip, breaking free from Jian Yuanbai’s grasp. His hands, accustomed to hard labor, possessed immense strength, and the shovel in his hands suddenly became a lethal weapon.

But while he was strong, Jian Yuanbai was even stronger. Just as the shovel was about to swing toward him again, he seized the handle and yanked it backward with force. As Lao Zhao was pulled forward, Jian Yuanbai swiftly raised his foot and kicked him.

Lao Zhao failed to dodge in time and crashed hard onto the ground. He struggled to get up quickly.

A sharp whooshing sound cut through the air as Jian Yuanbai swiftly flipped the shovel in his grip, pressing its sharp edge against Lao Zhao’s throat.

Holding the worn-out shovel like a drawn longsword, Jian Yuanbai stood tall, his sharp gaze exuding a piercing intensity.

He looked coldly at Lao Zhao, his voice frosty. “I told you, I can help you figure out a way for your daughter to continue her studies.”

“So why did you still try to kill?”

Lao Zhao remained silent for a long moment. He wanted to laugh, but no sound came out. “My daughter…”

“This isn’t about school.”

“She’s dead. Do you understand?” The spirit in Lao Zhao’s eyes seemed to vanish in an instant, and his entire being shrank into a cowering farmer. “She’s dead.”

“She had already received her college acceptance letter. She was so close to a bright future, but she died—just like that. A car hit her.”

“If I just kill a few people, win one game, she’ll come back.”

He muttered, “She’ll come back… She’ll be alive to call me Dad.”

Jian Yuanbai frowned deeply. “Resurrecting the dead—that’s impossible.”

“It’s possible!”

Lao Zhao suddenly became agitated. “God will fulfill my wish! You don’t understand.”

“God?” Jian Yuanbai’s frown deepened. “What god?”

Lao Zhao only shook his head. “I don’t know. It was in the darkness. I only saw eyes—so many eyes.”

Jian Yuanbai asked, “Where did you see it?”

Lao Zhao whispered mysteriously, “In my dreams. I heard the god’s call.”

A god? In his dreams?

Jian Yuanbai didn’t press further and instead abruptly asked, “Can you pick locks?”

Lao Zhao chuckled. “I’ve worked on construction sites. You see all kinds of things there. I picked up some lockpicking skills from others.”

“I’m not great at it. High-tech locks are beyond me, but these old-fashioned ones are easy.”

Jian Yuanbai asked, “Were you the one who killed Lu Yongye on the first night?”

This time, it was Lao Zhao’s turn to be surprised. “Lu Yongye? Isn’t she still alive?”

Jian Yuanbai didn’t respond and simply forced him toward the top floor, where piles of white bones lay.

Things were progressing more smoothly than Jian Yuanbai had expected. Fortunately, he had managed to separate them before they could band together.

His approach was bold and risky—it shouldn’t have gone this well. But as a police officer, he couldn’t just stand by and watch people die one after another.

Because everything had gone so smoothly, he felt some guilt and regret. If he had made his decision sooner, maybe more people could have survived.

The long yet fleeting night passed, and at exactly nine o’clock, the screen lit up. A cold, mechanical voice read out Lao Zhao’s name.

Then, as the image on the screen appeared, H was dumbfounded.

In the hall, one person was tied to the sofa, another to the grandfather clock, two more on either side of the staircase, and even the metal support frame that raised the screen had someone tied to it.

Seated on a sofa directly facing the screen was a tall man with long legs crossed and his straight back leaning lazily yet arrogantly against the cushions.

Faced with such a scene, H found himself at a temporary loss for words.

Jian Yuanbai greeted him indifferently, “H?”

“Or should I call you a cultist?”

H’s face twisted in anger. “Cult?”

“How dare an insignificant worm like you call our supreme faith a cult?”

At that moment, a voice suddenly rang inside Jian Yuanbai’s mind:

“Ding-dong! Please have Long Aotian Shen Tingyue recite the Long Aotian dialogue.”

“Dialogue: ‘Interesting. No one has ever dared to call me a worm before—you’re the first.’”

“‘As a reward for your courage, I will grind your bones to dust!’”

“Note: The dialogue must be delivered with full emotion and in a powerful, passionate tone.”

The system, which hadn’t appeared in a long time, immediately left Jian Yuanbai dumbfounded. “First of all, what the hell are you?”

“Second, that line was directed at me. Why do you want Shen Tingyue to respond?”

System: “Please complete the task properly, or else—erasure.”

Erasure was impossible. To make sure the amnesiac host cooperated, the system had to resort to threats.

After a pause, it added, “Please rest assured, the Long Aotian Support Task will not endanger you or Shen Tingyue. Additionally, upon task completion, you will receive a reward.”

Jian Yuanbai asked, “What reward?”

The system went silent for a moment before recalling Huang Baobao’s instructions. “A wife who will be one hundred percent to your satisfaction.”

No danger, and a one-hundred-percent satisfactory beautiful wife.

The heart of a devoted father shattered instantly.

Jian Yuanbai thought for three seconds, then turned and beckoned to Shen Tingyue. “Little Moon, come here. Your adoptivr father wants to discuss something with you.”

The obedient little vampire followed him to the corner. After listening, his eyes widened in disbelief. “Me?”

“But he wasn’t even talking to me!”

“That would be so weird. I’m not doing it.”

The young vampire, though inexperienced in the world, still had a sense of shame. He refused without hesitation.

Jian Yuanbai tapped his slender fingers against the side of his neck. Before he could speak, Shen Tingyue quickly interjected, “Even if you let me bite your neck, I’m still not doing it.”

The man shook his head mischievously. “What I mean is, if you refuse, then you’ll never get to bite again.”

“Not my neck, not my fingers—nothing.”

The little vampire’s eyes widened dramatically. His beautiful eyes were round with disbelief, his lips parted but unable to form words. Finally, he gritted his teeth and squeezed out one word—

“Scoundrel!”

H frowned deeply, watching the two of them suspiciously, unsure of what they were up to.

Then, one of them walked up to the screen.

Jian Yuanbai sat back on the sofa and teased, “Remember—full emotion, powerful tone.”

The little vampire turned sharply, glaring at him with frustration, his face flushing slightly red.

“Shut up already!”