Chapter 39: The Suicide Cabin

Chapter 39: The Suicide Cabin

"Hee hee..." Michael heard the laughter again, his scalp prickling with terror. His body screamed for him to run, yet he remained frozen stiff. In his panic, he had dropped his phone, plunging the crack under the door into darkness—but he knew those eyes were still fixed on him!

Then, several pale, swollen fingers emerged from the crack, resembling bluish, fungal growths, coated with decaying, mycelium-like matter. The fingers stretched longer and longer, the cold air almost brushing his skin!

Help me! Help me! No, no!

"Michael?" Suddenly, a woman's voice came from above. Someone grabbed the back of his collar and yanked him backward with astonishing force. The woman appeared petite but possessed incredible strength—a feat akin to Lin Daiyu uprooting a willow tree.

Michael was pulled away, landing clumsily and getting a mouthful of dirt, but at least he could finally move his limbs. Trembling, he looked up to see Shi Yi, holding a bottle of *Malanshan Erguotou*, clearly inebriated.

Shi Yi took a swig of liquor, peering down at him with a lazy smile. "You okay?"

"Huff... huff..." Michael gasped, pointing frantically at the door crack. "Hair, it's all hair... there's someone in there—fingers, they reached out!"

If he had been even slightly calmer, he would have noticed that Shi Yi hadn't been informed about the "laughter," yet she was still smiling—somehow, like No. 6, she had deciphered the mystery of the laughter.

As if to reassure him, Shi Yi knelt down to examine the crack. "This gap is so narrow, you can't see anything inside."

Only then did Michael dare to look again. There were no fingers or eyes, and the crack had even narrowed—now not even a strand of hair could fit through.

Yet, a small card was inexplicably tucked into the crack, as if delivered by that hand, proving his vision wasn't entirely an illusion.

Perhaps this female ghost had been a salesperson who failed to meet her KPIs in life.

On the front of the card, bold black letters read: "Feeling hopeless about life?"

Shi Yi picked up the card and flipped it over. Another line of bold text greeted her:

"Then call the suicide hotline!"

Below was a phone number: 995995.

It sounded like "save me, save me."

This number wasn't new to them—Director Sun had once told them to call if they had suicidal thoughts.

It seemed the female ghost in the room was also eager to assist them.

"Not bad, you've got a clue," Shi Yi said, casually tucking the card into Michael's chest pocket. "This is worth at least a side quest of 1,000 in bounty."

At the mention of bounty, Michael's eyes widened. "You... you don't want it?"

Shi Yi stared straight at him. Her face was sweet, but her eyes were hollow and lifeless, just as eerie as the woman behind the door. Her speech was slurred from the drink:

"Why would I want something so troublesome?"

"You saved me... I can't keep the bounty for myself..."

"I know you're too scared to go in alone," Shi Yi chuckled. "Why not ask No. 6? He's a lot more capable than I am."

With that, she staggered back to her room, liquor bottle in hand.

Michael fell into deep thought, clutching the small card. He was 185 cm tall, a solid, dependable man in his prime. Faced with a mere haunted room, of course he would... heroically ask a teammate to accompany him.

He hurried back to the dorm, only to find it dark. No. 6 was lying on the upper bunk, apparently asleep. He slept silently, like a corpse.

Michael turned on the light, tiptoed to the upper bunk to check, but suddenly the blanket bulged, and a fluffy little head popped out. "Shh—"

The angelically beautiful child whispered to him, "My brother is already asleep."

Michael nodded vigorously to show he understood.

It was past 11 p.m. Though exhausted, he could still tough it out. But No. 6 seemed to have limited energy—not only struggling with work during the day but also needing more sleep than most. Perhaps he was just sharper? Was he really as capable as Shi Yi said?

Michael lay back on his bed, toying with the small card, and closed his eyes anxiously.

He tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The bedding and pillow were old and worn, the yellowed pillowcase reeking of the previous occupant's hair oil. He couldn't stand it anymore and tried to flip the pillowcase, but his hand touched something.

It was light and small, made of plastic and metal, sort of like...

The dorm was dark, filled with Zhang Baishan's thunderous snoring.

Michael shakily turned on his flashlight, shining on the small object—

An ordinary pink plastic hair clip.

Exactly like the one worn by the female ghost.

This bed had once been hers. She had slept here, lost a hair clip, leaving her left hair messy, and now her hair oil scent filled his nostrils.

Michael bolted upright, wildly sweeping his flashlight around, terrified the ghost would jump out from somewhere.

But there was nothing—only faint rustling sounds outside, whether from the moaning wind or the sinister laughter from the cabin.

"Ghost! There's a ghost—!" he screamed, unable to take it anymore.

Lights turned on in both the men's and women's dorms. The on-edge Cleaners quickly rose, thinking something dangerous had happened.

Even No. 6 reluctantly sat up, yawning and looking at him annoyed.

The bright lights illuminated the dorm, and everyone searched in confusion, but found no trace of a ghost.

Realizing he had overreacted, Michael awkwardly laughed. "Sorry, I just had a nightmare and woke up scared..."

Everyone grumbled and went back to sleep after the false alarm.

But Xie Yunzhu kept staring at him. "What's that in your hand?"

The pink hair clip didn't seem like something he would own.

Michael opened his palm, revealing the hair clip and a crumpled small card. He explained what he had seen at the door crack. "Do you think this was that female ghost's bed? Is that why she's targeting me..."

"Oh, probably not," No. 6 said, his tone relaxed.

"Really?" Michael felt a glimmer of hope. "How do you know..."

"Because I searched your bed earlier. There was no hair clip before," No. 6 yawned. "You brought this on yourself by peeking through the crack."

"Aah..." Michael clutched his chest and slowly collapsed onto the bed.

Xie Yunzhu raised an eyebrow. "Let's talk outside."

It was past 3 a.m., and the courtyard was empty. Xie Yunzhu tried pushing the iron door—it didn't budge. Something seemed to be squirming in the dark crack, and Mi Yan curiously crouched to look, but Xie Yunzhu grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up.

Tucking the child under his arm, Xie Yunzhu patted his bottom. "Don't pick up dirty things from the ground."

Mi Yan hung his head and muttered, "Okay."

"Are we really going in this late at night?" The lights were completely off, and beneath the ceiling, it was almost pitch black. Michael was genuinely frightened. "Maybe we should wait until tomorrow morning when everyone's together..."

"The sooner we deal with trouble, the better," Xie Yunzhu said. "This is an active side quest. You were the first to be invited, but you definitely won't be the last."

"Active side quest?" Mi Yan looked up curiously.

"Side quests can be simply categorized as passive and active. Passive ones generally don’t move or expand and require cleaners to trigger them, like the hospital we visited before. Active ones, on the other hand, show strong aggression and a desire to expand—they won’t stop until they’re destroyed. As the instance progresses, their aggression and difficulty increase exponentially."

For example, the ghost in this iron room was completely inactive on the first day. On the second day, it began luring people to peek through the door crack and leaving hair clips in their beds. In a few more days, it might start actively knocking on doors and crawling out from under their blankets. Its location was inside Dorm 6, and there was no escaping it for the next few months.

Xie Yunzhu’s principle had always been to nip problems in the bud, using minimal effort for the best outcome. That was the ultimate art of slacking.

Michael understood this logic. Besides, the fewer cleaners entering the side quest, the higher the bounty reward. No. 6 also seemed like a calm and reliable teammate. But the thought of entering that eerie, ghost-infested room still made him hesitate...

"It’s fine if you don’t want to go in," Xie Yunzhu said indifferently, looking down at his phone screen. "Wait outside—or go back to sleep."

"But I need the bounty," Michael clenched his teeth. "You know I have to find my wife!"

A little courage, but not much—a pathetic, ordinary person. People like him always died quickly in the game, and their deaths were meaningless.

Xie Yunzhu glanced up at him, his eyes reflecting the dim blue light of the phone. "Don’t be foolish. The truth is more expensive than you think. In the end, you’ll find that the meager bounty you earn is only enough to fix your wounds."

"What do you mean..." Michael was stunned. As a timid person, he had persisted this long solely on the belief that he would find his wife. But now this cold man was telling him his persistence was meaningless.

"Because I’ve tried it—every method you can think of, and even those you can’t, I’ve tried them all," Xie Yunzhu sneered. "But it’s useless. I’m still here, dragged out of bed at 4 a.m. by you to clear some broken dungeon and earn a meaningless bounty."

"But the system claims it can fulfill any wish! If even the system can’t do it..." Michael said, bewildered. "What should I do? Who else can give me answers? Every day I can’t find her, it feels like a part of my life is missing forever. What else can I do..."

"I don’t know." Xie Yunzhu couldn’t answer his question because he didn’t know the answer either.

Precisely because he didn’t know, he kept pushing forward, on and on, until he reached the end of despair, until the fire in his heart burned out and turned to ashes. He lived only to find out "why"—why he had to endure all this, why it never ended.

He refused to accept it, so he would fight to the death.

Yet, precisely because he had persisted, he knew how painful the process was—repeated hope, disappointment, and despair, like being shattered ten thousand times and pieced back together. He had become broken, fragmented, and monstrous, a creature surviving solely by burning his beliefs.

"So it’s okay to be afraid," Xie Yunzhu patted his shoulder. "Wait outside. I’ll handle this."

Michael looked at him. His tone was as flat as always, carrying the faint aura of sleep deprivation, yet he felt this man was inexplicably gentle—he must have saved many people like this.

"Beep—beep—"

Following the instructions on the small card, Xie Yunzhu dialed the suicide hotline. There was no signal on his phone, but the call still went through.

"Hello, what’s wrong?" The call was actually answered. A middle-aged man’s voice came through—somewhat sharp and thin, with the leisurely tone of someone living a privileged life.

"Is this the suicide hotline?" Pretending to be a vulnerable suicidal person, Xie Yunzhu instinctively made his voice waver. "Please help me. I want to kill myself."

"Oh my, why would you think that way? Tell me what’s going on. The ointment factory cares deeply about every employee’s mental health!"

"I feel like my life is beyond saving, hopelessly rotten," Xie Yunzhu said with genuine emotion. "Every second I work, I feel nauseous. In the morning, the thought of getting up for work makes me want to suffocate myself with my pillow. When I walk on the street, I wish a car would hit me so I can take a sick leave. The thought of working like this for the rest of my life makes me want to die..."

For every sentence he spoke, the person on the other end responded with a solemn "Hmm," then said with concern, "Don’t worry, I will do everything I can to help you! Now, do exactly as I say—is there anyone else around you?"

"No," Xie Yunzhu answered truthfully.

Michael had already skulked away several meters. Mi Yan was still tucked under Xie Yunzhu’s arm, limbs dangling obediently and quietly watching him.

Well, this was his holy child—not exactly human.

"Good. You know there’s a locked room next to the bathroom, right? Pick up the second empty flowerpot on the windowsill. There’s a key underneath."

Xie Yunzhu did as he was told and indeed found a rusty key under the flowerpot.

"Found it. I’m unlocking the door now—what’s in the room? Will it really save me? I’m so afraid that one day I’ll lose hope and kill myself..."

"More than save you—trust me, all your troubles will disappear," the other person said with a smile.

Xie Yunzhu thought, "Oh?"—Did the man on the phone just laugh? He definitely heard the breathy quality and vibration of a smile. This was the first NPC he had encountered who could laugh; even Sister Kong and Director Sun hadn’t evolved that function.

What made him so different? Who was he?

The man on the other end seemed afraid he might hesitate and rapid-fired a series of questions: "Are you doing as I said?"

"Mhm, mhm. The door is a bit heavy." Xie Yunzhu unlocked it with one hand and pushed open the heavy iron door. Foul, stagnant air heavy with death rushed out.

In the dim darkness, he vaguely made out the stained wall opposite, as if covered in wrinkled human skin, with many strange, distorted patterns drawn on it. Xie Yunzhu tried to see clearly, but the lines seemed to writhe before his eyes, growing more three-dimensional, closer, almost pressing against his face.

With a "whoosh," white candles placed in the four corners of the room lit up.

The sudden brightness stung his eyes, and Xie Yunzhu instinctively closed them for a split-second. When he opened them again, a rotting corpse appeared before him!

It was like a horror movie cutting to its most terrifying frame—right in front of him was a swollen, vein-riddled belly, looking as if it could burst at any moment.

He was so close that the tip of his nose almost touched it. Through the taut, nearly transparent skin, he could see a mass of rotting intestines.

A pungent stench of decay hit him. Xie Yunzhu muttered a curse and scrambled backward two steps. Mi Yan’s first reaction was to spread his arms like a baby bird, stepping boldly in front of him. Xie Yunzhu grabbed him and retreated to the door.

By the candlelight, he made out that it was a female corpse. Her heels were pierced by a rusty iron hook, suspending her upside down from the ceiling, which was why he had the privilege of admiring her belly up close.

The corpse was bloated from decomposition, as if it had been soaking in water for goodness knows how long. Her fingers, hanging down to the ground, looked like clumps of oversized mushrooms. Tangles of dried hair were scattered across the floor, with a pink plastic hair clip pinned to it—this was the woman Michael had seen through the door crack.

There were eight corpses hanging upside down like this in the room, each with a different cause of death, lined up neatly in a row.

It gave him a strong sense of *déjà vu*, as if he had stepped into a slaughterhouse. These corpses were like livestock awaiting processing, hanging uniformly on an assembly line, awaiting some form of processing.

With a "bang," in the darkness beyond the candlelight, Xie Yunzhu heard the iron door slam shut behind him.