The bizarre, viscous substance felt like a mixture of blood and glue. It pulsed with vein-like roots that throbbed and flowed, freezing to the touch. It crawled and writhed, quickly coating her arms before burrowing beneath her clothes.
The bone-chilling cold seeped through her skin, freezing her blood. It felt as though she were wearing a suit of tight, restrictive rubber. Suffocation pressed against her chest inch by inch, as if she were being squeezed between two closing walls, unable to move a muscle.
The bloody water rose over her neck, feeling like the damp hand of a ghost strangling her. She couldn’t breathe; she couldn’t escape. Her body twitched in a futile, powerless struggle as a wave of absolute despair surged within her.
As her entire body was encased, the sensation of suffocation and confinement reached its peak. Once again, she lost consciousness.
…
Consciousness restored—up from the coffin!
Wang Yue leaped out of the grave with practiced ease. She cast a sidelong glance at the old man; he hadn’t spawned any items this time. Abandoning him, she turned and sprinted straight for the warehouse.
She had a theory: the hatch in the warehouse floor might be a second exit. The difficulty of opening that cellar door was likely on par with the main gates of the Almshouse. Not only did it require a crowbar, but it also seemed to require a specific item to deal with that blood-gel.
Then again, it would be strange for the game to make her go through all that trouble just for a common loot cellar. Perhaps the key to the main gates was hidden inside.
Recalling the monster guarding the tunnel, its characteristics suggested a type of slime mold. Calling it “Blood-Red Slime Mold” seemed appropriate.
This time, her movements were even swifter. She burst into the warehouse like a whirlwind and flipped over several barrels near the door. Luck was on her side—something had spawned. It was a fragment of a shattered statue.
She examined it; it was the base of a statue, depicting a rocky surface, the hem of a robe, and a pair of feet. She stuffed it into her pocket and scanned the wooden shelves. Suddenly, near the bottom, she spotted a tin box about the size of an inkstone.
She approached cautiously, grabbed it, and bolted. Just as she reached the door, the Blood-Red Slime Mold began to pour out from the cracks in the hatch, seemingly drawn by her scent.
Her scalp tingled. She ran a few paces back but noticed that the slime mold wasn’t particularly fast—it moved at roughly a human walking pace. A few quick steps were enough to put a significant distance between them.
It seemed this creature was a stationary guardian; its pursuit capabilities were mediocre at best.
A thought flickered in her mind—kiting.
Anyone who played horror games knew that kiting was a vital skill. As long as one mastered a monster’s abilities and movement patterns, it was possible to outmaneuver and play around them.
Wang Yue considered baiting the slime mold out, leading it in a circle, and then rushing back into the warehouse to open the hatch. However, the slime mold refused to leave the building. It stopped at the threshold and slowly retreated.
It appeared its behavior was similar to a tethered spirit; it would not wander far from the tunnel entrance.
Standing before the warehouse, Wang Yue glanced toward the White Shed. A white figure was floating toward the long dormitory building.
The female ghost’s patrol route seemed randomized. In the last life, she had headed toward the upper left; this time, she was moving toward the lower right.
A sudden flash of inspiration hit Wang Yue. Doesn’t that mean the White Shed is clear for looting?
The White Shed sat right on the central axis of the Almshouse and served as the female ghost’s spawn point. It was highly likely to contain key items!
She hurried to the door and pushed it open.
The floor inside was elevated above the path, paved with ochre checkered tiles. The plaster on the walls and ceiling had turned a somber gray over the years, giving the entire room a dismal tone.
Several smooth iron pillars stood against the wall. Next to them was a bucket containing a soaking whip. It was made of two strands of hemp rope twisted together and interlaced with wire—a vicious weapon. One strike would surely send flesh and blood flying.
A portly man wearing a peaked cap sat by the door.
Seeing her enter, the man raised a ruddy face pockmarked with large pores. His dark green eyes gleamed with a predatory light. His nose was crooked, shoved to one side as if it had been broken in the past, and his beard was coarse and unkempt.
The man extended a meaty, thick-knuckled hand toward her. “Where’s today’s pay?”
“What?” Wang Yue asked, bewildered.
She wondered why this man in the cap hadn’t been eaten by the female ghost. There were also two tall boys standing in the room who seemed perfectly fine. It appeared the NPCs didn’t kill each other.
“Don’t play dumb!”
The man grew enraged and stood up abruptly, his eyes bloodshot and menacing. He jerked his chin and barked an order. “Mitchell, John! Strip her, tie her up, and give her twenty lashes!”
The two boys stepped forward, flanking her. They reached out, intent on tearing her clothes off!
“What are you doing?!”
Wang Yue struggled with all her might, shoving one of them back until he stumbled. She turned tail and ran!
She sprinted a good distance toward the graveyard before looking back. None of the three were chasing her.
Gasping for air, she felt a wave of genuine female vulnerability from that moment they had tried to grab her. Once she calmed down, she thought it through. The “pay” the man mentioned was likely the daily wages the orphans earned from outside labor, which they were required to hand over.
If they didn’t bring enough money, they were beaten. Even the girls would be stripped and lashed with wet whips, subjected to even greater humiliation than the boys.
To search the White Shed, she needed two things: first, for the female ghost to leave, and second, to have money for the man in the cap.
Suddenly, she remembered something. she pulled the tin box she had found in the warehouse from her pocket. She unscrewed the lid and took a sniff. It was lamp oil.
Lamp oil, matches, and the lantern have all appeared. My reasoning was right. There are key items to deal with the ghost, but they need to be assembled from multiple components.
The shattered statue fragment I got from the warehouse barrel is clearly a component too. If I find all the pieces, I can complete the statue—though I don’t know what it does yet.
With two puzzles partially solved, her spirits rose. She circled from the graveyard to the Main Workshop to continue her search.
The interior of the Main Workshop looked like a recycling center for dyes and rope fibers. The air was thick with the pungent scent of paint. Oil-based dyes had dried and cracked in their buckets, covered in a thick layer of dust.
Old ropes were here to be stripped for fiber and refurbished, much like recycling old paper into corrugated cardboard. The Almshouse didn’t just house orphans; it took in elderly beggars and the mentally ill as well. However, no one was fed for free. Like a prison, anyone with an ounce of labor power was forced to work.
Orphans were sent out as child laborers for tasks only children could do, such as cleaning chimneys, weaving cloth, glassblowing, or painting porcelain.
In the Main Workshop, Wang Yue found a crucial item: a Crowbar.
Finding it took little effort; she spotted it immediately. Amidst a pile of dusty junk, the crowbar—painted a vibrant, brand-new red—stood out like a sore thumb.
She walked over and picked it up. It was heavy; her small body struggled to lift it, so she simply dragged it across the floor. She looked around for other spawned items.
Suddenly, a cold wind whistled past. Goosebumps erupted across her skin. She spun around in alarm only to see the female ghost’s upper body emerging through a wall!
She let out a startled cry. She tried to drag the crowbar a few steps, but the freezing chill behind her grew more intense. She abandoned the crowbar and sprinted, bursting through the doors and heading for the graveyard!
After a hundred-meter dash, her breath came in ragged gasps. Her legs felt heavy and weak, forcing her to slow down. She looked back; the female ghost was drifting along, pursuing her at a steady, unhurried pace.
Her heart sank. Her stamina bar was empty—what now?
The ghost wasn’t like the slime mold; it would hunt her to the end. She could open up a gap, but she couldn’t lose it entirely. Being caught was only a matter of time.
She forced herself to take a few more steps, but her stamina was completely spent. Her legs felt like they were encased in lead. Sweat soaked her clothes, making her feel cold and clammy, her breath coming in white plumes.
As the ghost drew closer, frost began to bloom on the ground. The soft soil of the graveyard froze into a brittle icy crust that crunched beneath her feet.
