Ding-dong!
The café’s doorbell chimed for the eighth time.
Fu Changxun’s hand was just touching the doorknob when the entire place suddenly fell into eerie silence.
Before he could even turn around, a dizzying, gut-churning force slammed into him—like he’d been thrown into a washing machine and spun hundreds of times over. Every inch of his body ached, his head buzzed, and nausea surged up violently.
The moment the spinning stopped, he didn’t even look around. He bent over immediately and…
“Urghhh—”
He retched so hard it felt like he might vomit his own gallbladder. His brain throbbed, a loud ringing in his ears.
When he finally caught his breath, Fu Changxun realized the bright café had been replaced by a dark, narrow room. Cracked walls, broken furniture—everything screamed unreal.
“Where the hell am I?”
He was absolutely certain he wasn’t dreaming. But this? This wasn’t reality either.
[Ding-dong!]
[Congratulations, player. You have prematurely triggered the “Low-Dimensional Selection” survival game. You may return to reality by either surviving the designated time or clearing the game.]
[Clearance rewards differ from survival rewards. We recommend aiming to clear the game. If you can’t… then at least try to stay alive. But remember—if you die in here, you’re dead for real!]
[Welcome to the 8-player beginner game: Sin!]
The voice echoed from every direction, yet also seemed to be lodged directly in his skull.
A game? No, this wasn’t just a game. The power that transported him from a café to this place in an instant—this wasn’t something a prank could explain.
His memory started to piece itself back together. He’d been meeting with a patient’s family in the café, discussing psychological issues. Then—he’d run into Lu Qi, his manipulative ex who once tried to gaslight him. Lu Qi had wanted to start shit again, but Fu Changxun shut him down with a scathing comeback.
The patient’s family had left early. Lu Qi, humiliated, had stormed out after being thoroughly roasted.
Feeling satisfied, Fu Changxun had gone to leave too. The moment his hand touched the door…
That damn bell rang.
That must have been the trigger.
As he recalled the chime, his face turned pale.
No one knew this about him, but under the polished surface of a 23-year-old psychology prodigy… he harbored a deep-seated fear of ghosts and darkness.
Swallowing his panic, he forced himself to keep listening.
[You have ten minutes to explore the safe house. After ten minutes, please meet up with your teammates. Identify the [Ghost] among the eight players to clear the game. Otherwise, survive for three days.]
[One accusation allowed per day.]
[Ghost]?
Fu Changxun’s face turned ghostly white. His thoughts raced—So the other seven are players? Is the ghost a real ghost, or a player acting like one?
The game responded with chilling cheerfulness:
[It’s a real ghost~ We suggest checking your stats panel now!]
Heart pounding, Fu Changxun did as instructed and tapped the translucent panel that appeared before him.
[Name: Fu Changxun]
[Username: None (can be changed after first game)]
[Identity: Player (not yet activated)]
[Gender: Male (for now)]
[Age: 23 (still growing)]
[Points: 0 (broke af)]
[Stamina: 20 (roughly half a middle schooler’s)]
[Intelligence: 80 (pretty damn high)]
[Charm: 89 (Higher-dimensional beings will $#…& you. Attracts more ghosts!)]
Fu Changxun: “……”
Great. So he’s basically ghost bait. And what the hell was with all that corrupted text?
[Would you like to enable livestream mode?]
“Livestream?” he muttered. “Isn’t this a survival game? Who the hell am I streaming to?”
The “Low-Dimensional Selection” offered no answer.
But he figured it out quickly enough—if they were the low-dimensional beings, then whoever was watching had to be from a higher dimension. And to those higher-dimensional creatures… killing someone like him was as easy as squashing an ant.
And their idea of fun?
Making ants play survival games.
From that, it was easy enough to guess who the “audience” really was.
“No livestream,” Fu Changxun said.
[Settings updated. Please use your stats wisely. Good luck clearing the game!]
He didn’t dare let his guard down. At once, he got to his feet and began searching the so-called “safe house” as instructed.
The place was utterly dilapidated, with shadows lurking in every corner, any of which could be hiding unseen horrors.
Fu Changxun combed through the space cautiously and turned up a pile of shredded paper scraps, a small knife… and a very familiar doorknob.
It was from the café door—the one he’d touched just before being brought here. Somehow, it had followed him into the game.
He tapped the knob, and a line of text appeared above it:
[The last object you touched upon entering the game has become your lifetime-bound item. Congratulations! You’ve obtained: “A Useless-Looking Doorknob!”]
Fu Changxun: “…”
Had he known, he would’ve brought a damn kitchen knife.
Ten minutes ticked by.
When the countdown ended, a cold chill swept through the air, and with a creaking groan, the room’s door slowly opened on its own.
Voices drifted in from outside. One especially grating, familiar voice was shouting, “Whose dumb prank is this? Let me out of here!”
That idiot Lu Qi got pulled in too?
Fu Changxun stepped outside and found that seven people were already gathered—Lu Qi, the patient’s family member, a couple, a girl who looked like a high schooler, a college-aged guy, and a man who stood at least 190cm tall.
With him, that made eight. Everyone was here.
They were in the foyer of what appeared to be a villa. Like the room he’d just been in, the place was old and falling apart.
When Fu Changxun appeared, aside from Lu Qi and the patient’s family, everyone else couldn’t help but look stunned—clearly caught off guard by his appearance.
Lu Qi was still searching for hidden cameras. Finding none, his gaze settled on Fu Changxun, eyes full of suspicion.
“Did you do this?”
Fu Changxun gave a bitter laugh. “Do you really think I could whisk all of you away without anyone noticing? Come on.”
“Anyway, you all saw the front door of the villa, right? There’s nothing outside—just a void,” the college guy cut in. “I’ve got a pretty good idea what’s going on. You ever read those horror game novels? I think we’re in one.”
He scanned the group. “There’s a [Ghost] among us. We have to find out who it is.”
With someone taking the lead, the boyfriend in the couple chimed in, “I don’t think this is a prank either. Look—my livestream’s full of… viewers.”
Lu Qi snapped, clearly fed up. “So what? Prank games have audiences too. Who even turned on a livestream? Get them to call the cops already—this is kidnapping!”
Of the eight, only the boyfriend had chosen livestream mode. Just as he opened his mouth to reply, a blood-curdling scream split the air.
“AHHH—!”
Fu Changxun’s head whipped around. The high school girl’s face was deathly pale, drenched in cold sweat. Her scream was hoarse, filled with pure terror.
Lu Qi jumped, then barked angrily, “What the hell are you screaming for?!”
The girl’s pupils contracted. Her voice shook as she asked, “So many shadows… they’re everywhere… Can’t you see them?”
As her voice faltered into a whisper, a gust of cold wind swept through the villa.
Silence fell.
